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Sunlight filters in through the curtains of your bedroom window. Stretching, you pull yourself from the fog of sleep, but when you reach next to you the bed is empty. Din is no longer there.
A slight chill runs through you as your bare feet make contact with the floor. One of Din’s worn out, casual shirts tugs at your hips, the sleeves slipping over your fingers. It was practically yours now truthfully, something he didn’t mind in slightest.
Peeking into the adjacent refresher room, you find your husband. Din stares at his reflection in the small mirror on the fresher wall, rubbing his hands over his chin. His beard has gotten a bit fuller than he usually allows, due to him being home more frequently. Which also meant less time masked.
A smile adorns your face as you watch him, still in awe of his beauty after all your time together. There are moments when you still find yourself surprised to see him without his helmet on, but it’s a part of him you’re forever grateful he chose to share with you.
Entranced by the moment, a blissful sigh escapes you, catching Din’s attention. You can’t help but beam at him; melting under the gaze of his warm brown eyes.
“Good morning, cyar’ika,” Din greets you with a soft smile.
“Morning, riduur. What are you up to?”
“Thinking of shaving. Our son has brought to my attention that my beard has gotten a little out of hand.”
“You know, I kind of like it,” you remark, tracing your fingers along his jawline.
A pleased expression graces Din’s features as he takes your hand from his face, placing a gentle kiss to your palm. “As good as that is to hear, it doesn’t mesh quite well with my helmet’s modulator.”
“I could shave it for you then, if that’s the case,” you offer and Din kisses your cheek in acceptance. “But first, speaking of our little green monster, where is Grogu?”
“He’s playing in the yard, probably after the frogs again,” answers Din nonchalantly as he goes to pour you a cup of caf in the little kitchenette.
The fact that Din now feels comfortable enough to leave Grogu on his own outside warms your heart. Before that wouldn’t have even be a possibility. Yes, the sensors around the property probably aided his calm state, but still the progress was substantial to say the least. You were so happy Din was able to find some peace, finally.
With a steaming mug of fresh caf in hand, the pair of you make your way back to the refresher room. The necessary hair cutting tools are neatly tucked away in a drawer under the sink. After taking a sip of your drink, careful not to burn your tongue, you attempt to push yourself atop the sink’s counter. Not quite able to manage, Din gently but firmly grips your waist, setting you down on the stone surface. The way he always seems to effortlessly lift even you, never fails to leave you dizzy with butterflies.
“Okay, now hold still,” you command, once you’ve finally settled, tools at the ready.
Din stands between your dangling legs, placing his hands securely at your hips. You think it’s to keep you steady, but he truly wants to keep you closer. Taking a wet rag, you first dampen his face, before lathering a small amount of shaving gel in your hands. Gently you smooth the soft foam around Din’s jaw, and he melts at the touch. His eyes slowly shut as his head tips back, a soft hum radiating from him in contentment.
You stifle a chuckle while carefully dragging the razor across his facial hair, still leaving his typical trail of stubble behind. Din watches intently while you work, his eyes practically aglow; a sight that’s nearly too distracting. Aware of the effect he’s having, his grip on you tightens. Both thumbs press deeper into your waist, rubbing circles in the soft, full curves of your stomach. Even through the fabric of his stolen shirt, the touch sends shivers down your spine.
“You are so beautiful, riduur,” he says, a teasing grin dancing on his mouth. “Mesh’la.”
“Din, I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” you scold half heartedly.
“Can’t help it,” he replies. There’s a devious glint in his eyes as he gives you a firm squeeze, and before you can even begin on the other half of his face, his lips press against your jaw. The feather light touch along with the texture of the shaving cream tickles your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“You’re making me a mess,” you attempt to laugh, trying to get back to the task at hand, but he’s not letting you go that easy.
The kisses trail down your neck, tender but needy. Any more protests you have are drowned out as Din playfully nips at your neck. Biting back a groan, you squirm under his sturdy grasp; he was enjoying this far too much.
“Riduur, you’re just too distracting,” Din whispers against your skin.
That was it, you can’t take it anymore. Finally setting aside the razor, you wrap your legs around his waist, grab the front of his shirt, and capture his lips with your own. The kiss is deep and heated; the faint lingering sweetness of the morning’s caf dancing on your tongues. The two of you were covered in a mess of foam, the intended task failed to be completed, but it didn’t matter. What matters is the taste of Din’s lips, his strong hands on your waist, the way he always makes you feel so precious and loved. This is what matters. Shaving could wait.