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It’s becoming rare that there isn’t someone coming by to have a word with Fett. Twenty to forty people and aliens of all races loiter around the throne room. Some wringing their hands with nerves, others chatting softly, and a few actually lounged on the furniture. Acting like this was some sort of cantina or club rather than a place of office.
It’s rare that you can’t be found among them. Walking around while dressed mildly. Chatting with some to try and understand why they’ve come. Smiling to others in a small attempt to calm their nerves. And smacking the feet of those who got too comfortable in your husband’s throne room. Daring to put their feet up on tables they didn’t earn.
Most of the time you seem to be nothing more than a fellow guest. Choosing not to wear your usual armor or fancy dressings during this this time. You’re confidence kept you safe from those you keep in line.
Boba keeps an eye on you. His helmet tilting just a bit to watch you move about the throne room. Hoping to catch you looking at him as you often did. He wouldn’t wave or anything like that, but the little nod towards you was the equivalence to a kiss.
Sometimes he wouldn’t just nod towards you. Instead he’d slightly raise his hand with fingers curling. The gesture is made without interrupting whoever was seeking his help. Keeping his head pointed toward his guest while you casually made your way onto the platform.
Jabba was dead and gone, with it went his treatment of women in the throne room. You weren’t going to be forced into metal lingerie and have a chain put around your throat. Boba had seen too much of that in his youth. The last thing he wanted was to have an encore of that with his wife as the main act.
So everything you do in the throne room is by choice. You can, and have, ignored his gesture for you to come forward. When going to him it’s up to you where your seat will be. Usually Fennec sits on his left, giving you his right. But that position is only comfortable long enough to show an imagine, not to stay for a longer period of time. Instead you take a seat at his feet. Scooting closely to lean against his leg, your head resting on his thigh where he can easily reach you.
His gloves are thick and unforgiving on your skin. And yet you still keen into his hand when he touches your head. Letting his hand rest against your hair, sometimes scratching but mainly just resting. Loving the reminder that you are near.