Chapter Text
The twin suns of Tatooine hang just above the horizon as Din approaches the Tusken camp – one hand holding the reins of a Bantha, the other signing a response to his partner, who walks at his side. A’Yuqw is a Tusken scout of tribe Gafsa, and more recently, his husband. His steps mirror Din’s own, confident and eager to return to his clan after their journey. He’s also Grogu’s preferred method of transportation, these days. The kid is tucked securely in his carrier, his little claws holding onto the leather bandolier crossing the Tusken’s chest.
Their travel had taken them through the Dune Sea and beyond, into the labyrinthine canyons of the Jundland Wastes to find the secret entrance to the Gafsa – the tribe’s namesake, and the sacred waters of the Tusken people’s ancestral birthplace.
But in the here and now, Din greets the scouts at the outskirts of the camp, taking Grogu back in his arms to let A’Yuqw go on ahead. He guides the Bantha to his enclosure, removing the saddle and giving her a quick brush down before settling her in for the night.
Weaving through the tents glowing with lamplight, he approaches the central fire – the life of the Tusken camp. A’Yuqw is already caught in a conversation with his friends around the campfire, but Din hangs back, watching his partner’s hands talk lightning fast, telling the group of their recent travels, and Grogu’s official adopting into the tribe.
Din stands back and watches, his smile hidden by his helmet. That is, until the conversation takes a turn, and the others start shamelessly asking about their wedding night. When it becomes clear that A'Yuqw is more than willing to answer some of their probing questions, Din quickly makes his exit, face hot. Grogu grumbles in his arms, but Din just hoists him up higher, cradled against his chest as he makes his escape. It’s as he’s just left the last ring of tents that he almost walks over A’Yuqw’s sister, lying on a rug in the moonlit outskirts of camp. He makes some kind of noise of surprise, giving himself away.
“Oh, it’s you,” K’Muxw says, sitting up to look at him. “Come, join me.”
No saying no to her, he thinks, resigning himself to his fate. He sits down beside her with a grunt, letting Grogu free with an instruction to stay close.
He has to force himself to be the first to speak. “What are you doing out here?”
“Stargazing.” It’s harder to see her hands in the pale light, but she’s kind enough to exaggerate her signing. “But I’d rather ask why you’re fleeing camp like a Scyk is on your tail.”
Din sighs heavily. He’d rather talk about anything but this. “I… A’Yuqw was talking to his friends.”
“Never a good sign.”
“They were… asking about… us.” His embarrassment reaches a peak, and he scowls, face hot.
“Ah. And I take it A’Yuqw was answering their questions?”
He nods miserably.
“Well, you chose to live with us. We’re not prudish like the settlers, its normal to discuss sex–”
“But we haven't even– there’s nothing to talk about!”
“For us, that’s something to talk about. Anyway, you must have noticed that this is how we are – surely you’ve been privy to these conversations before now?”
No, he definitely hasn’t.
“Ah. Well, no avoiding it. We’re a curious people. It would be strange if he didn’t talk about it.”
Instead of saying anything in response, he just lets his head fall back to the sand and groans. If he stayed in this spot for the night, perhaps the sands would swallow him whole. That sounds nice.
K’Muxw laughs, and must take pity on him because she changes the subject, talking idly about clan gossip. He shifts into a more comfortable position in the sand, trying to force his muscles to relax. Apparently there’s much to discuss, his wedding having been somewhat of a catalyst for romantic developments.
After a while, he finds his attention straying to his own thoughts. He considers K’Muxw for a moment – someone he’s known for months, who’s now part of his family, and yet he feels like he only knows the broad strokes of her life. She’s friendly and has been kind to him, shared much of her culture with him, and yet he knows comparatively little about her own life. As he watches her talk about K’Trrg’s string of failed partnerships, he finds himself reflected in her – both of them somewhat stoic, reticent to share details of their own life and inner states. For all he’s heard her tease A’Yuqw about his love life, she’s never made any mention of her own.
Maybe it’s the late hour, or the emotional hangover from his own embarrassment, but waits for a lull in the conversation to ask.
“Are you… courting anyone?”
She pauses a moment. “I… have, before. But I have no interest in pursuing another.”
“Oh,” Din says. He looks back up at the stars, and thinks about her answer for a moment. He himself wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship before he met A’Yuqw. But if he examines himself further, perhaps he had just convinced himself he wasn’t interested, as a way of holding back his own loneliness. He would convince himself that his solitary life was his choice, yet his few fumbling attempts at intimacy were always shaded in his own longing for connection.
They lay side by side for a long moment, listening to the distant sounds of conversation, the crackle of the bonfire. Long minutes go by. She’s the first to break the silence, offering up her knowledge of the stars and the stories that live on in them. He watches her hands move, and in that moment he finds himself silently grateful that it’s her who he almost ran over as he attempted to flee camp.
When they finally call it a night, Din picks up Grogu from where the kid was passed out at his side. He stands on stiff legs, stretching out his sore back for a moment before turning back to K’Muxw, getting her attention. “Would you join us for a meal tomorrow?”
She doesn’t answer for a long moment, and Din begins to worry at his lip, hidden in his helmet. Is it insulting to invite her to her own family’s tent? Should he have asked A’Yuqw first?
“Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.”
He lets out a sigh, nodding. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Din.”
He’s known for a while what his marriage would entail – acceptance into the clan means following their customs, after all.
Going through with it, he’s quickly realizing, is another matter. Knowing that behind this door lies an unmasked K’Muxw is unnerving. It still feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to see her, but A’Yuqw is waiting on the other side too, and he can never stay away from him for long.
The two of them are seated at the small table, Grogu on A’Yuqw’s lap. He glances at him for just a moment, before taking in K’Muxw’s face for the first time.
Her face looks like A’Yuqw’s, and he doesn’t know if it's because of the family resemblance or if it's just the way that Tuskens look, but it's comforting in its familiarity. She’s got a longer face, and her horns are different – flatter against her head, maybe. Her eyes are more of a pale yellow than the icy white of A’Yuqw’s, but still lined with webs of gold, still that vertical pupil, scalloped and alien.
“Well?” A’Yuqw says, drawing his attention back to him. “Don’t leave her hanging.”
“Oh, right,” he says, fumbling with the release of his helmet. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to liven it up from where it’s no doubt been pressed flat to his head.
It’s uncomfortable, watching her scrutinize him. Their eyes meet, and Din looks away almost immediately.
“Huh. You’re all… hairy.”
“K’Muxw!” A’Yuqw admonishes, trying not to laugh.
He scratches at his mustache, self conscious, then turns to see A’Yuqw’s mouth quirk into a smile again. How does his smile feel so familiar already? It settles something in his chest, and he looks back at K’Muxw, shrugging.
“Well, I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
Dinner is a lively affair, given that they can speak while eating without much of a pause. Din finds himself gradually relaxing into the evening, getting used to his face being on display, to this new dynamic between them.
After the bowls are scraped clean, A’Yuqw fetches a cloth bag and places it on the table in front of them. Scatterbones, he calls it, a game played by tossing Logra knucklebones. It’s more complex than it looks, with each side of the bone representing a different creature, and rules about doubles and triples and re-trys and so on. Din’s focus wavers, turning to K’Muxw as she plays a game herself, tossing one of the bones in the air and catching it on the back of the same hand.
“Got it?”
“Sure.”
A’Yuqw looks skeptical, but begins the game regardless. He and his sister are fast, clearly well practiced at the game and with no lack of competition between them. They have to keep reminding Din to take his turn, too distracted watching his kid playing with his own smaller set.
He rolls, and the siblings’ hands both reach out and snatch the bones from the table before he can figure out what he’s looking at. Din blinks.
“Ha, you’ll have to be faster than that!”
“Be nice, A’Yuqw,” K’Muxw scolds, grinning. She rolls again, barely pausing to let Din catch up. He supposes this is what he signed up for.
Grogu is taking to their marriage well, Din thinks.
A’Yuqw is squatting at Grogu’s bedside, running his finger up the small bridge of his nose. The kid’s doing his best to avoid taking a nap, but he’s no match for A’Yuqw and his gentle singing voice. Tucked in beside him is the stuffed frog A’Yuqw had made for him, his little claws holding the thing tight.
When Grogu’s eyes finally stay closed, A’Yuqw stands back up with a small smile, still looking down at Din’s son like he’s his own. He is, now, but it's comforting to Din to see how seriously A’Yuqw has taken his role in the kid’s life. It shouldn’t be surprising, he supposes, since the Tusken was already acting like a co-parent long before they got married.
He remembers how Grogu had reacted to seeing A’Yuqw’s face for the first time, the day after their wedding. A’Yuqw, nervously taking off his head coverings, staring at his son with real worry in his eyes. Grogu had ignored all that, instead climbing up his front to be able to touch A‘Yuqw’s face himself.
“He seems happy. With us, I mean.”
A’Yuqw grins at that, leaning over to kiss the cheek of Din’s helmet in a move that makes his face heat up.
“Of course he is. Now go on, you’ve got work to do,” A’Yuqw shoves at his shoulder playfully. “Leave me alone, I have to focus.”
Din can feel the sweat dripping down his face under his helmet, and wishes he could wipe his brow, push his damp hair off his forehead.
A’Yurak’s been teaching him the more advanced elements of caring for the clan’s Bantha, from feeding and grooming to trimming their nails and untangling their long fur. It’s hard work under the unforgiving suns, but the young human is a good enough teacher, even if he’s a bit reserved.
It feels good to work, to do something other than cooking, no matter how much he’s grown to enjoy it. It’s satisfying to push his body, and to feel the aftereffects linger for the next day. Besides, the physical labour gives him space to think, to daylight the stream of his uncertain thoughts.
Things have been going well.
He has to remind himself of this, as he thinks of the few days since their marriage. Things have been good – he and A’Yuqw travel well together, they fall in step together, care for his son together – all this he knows well. There’s an ease he only feels when he’s got A’Yuqw in his sight, at his side, and yet.
If he’s honest with himself, he feels flayed open every time A’Yuqw looks upon his bare face with his strange eyes. It makes his skin feel like sand being scoured over an open wound. He's sure his lifetime of hiding behind his armour is by and large the reason, but A’Yuqw has lived the same hidden life, and yet he seems to relax into baring himself like easing himself into the cool waters of the Gafsa.
He bares his face and hands to A’Yuqw, but only in the scant time before they both collapse into an exhausted sleep. It’s worked so far, hiding behind his flight suit and the excuse of travel, of convenience. But today, A’Yuqw works at his loom, and Din will return to him well before the suns set, and has no such excuse to turn away from his intense gaze.
“Hey!”
Din turns, focusing back onto reality, and onto the image of A’Yurak waving his wedge knife at him. “Pay attention to what you’re doing with those!”
He looks down, noticing the clippers in his hand, poised to make a too-short cut into the hoof of the Bantha he’s working with. His hand jerks away, and he curses himself for his inattention. Looking back at the teenager, he signs out a quick apology.
“No harm done, this time,” he pats at his Bantha’s flank. “But you should go.”
“I– alright,” Din says, sighing. He can’t say the dismissal doesn’t sting.
“Get some rest, and come back tomorrow.”
He just nods, thanks the kid for his time, and makes his retreat.
He’s nervous as he approaches A’Yuqw’s tent – their tent, now. They’ve spent their nights together since their marriage, yet still his heart thuds in his chest at the prospect of revealing his face. He’s got Bantha hair stuck to the fabric of his flight suit, and he’s sure he doesn’t smell that fresh, either.
Despite A’Yuqw’s assurances, he's still self conscious of his appearance, always making sure to be well groomed and presentable when they are together. It's some measure of control he can have, some way of avoiding disappointment.
At the entry to the tent, he pauses a moment, listening to the sounds of movement beyond the door, barely perceptible. The shuffle and clack of a loom, the low sounds of his husband humming tunelessly as he works. Din’s palms feel as sweaty as the rest of him, and he clenches his fists before taking a steadying breath and opening the tent flap.
A’Yuqw looks up immediately, his bare face breaking into a smile. It takes him a moment to put down the shuttle in his lap before calling out a greeting.
“Din! You’re back, good. Just let me finish this bit.”
He sits on a low stool, wearing only his light inner robes. One scaly foot rests on the pedal of the machine, tapping rhythmically as A’Yuqw works away. Threads of beige and gold and green come together in his new project on the loom, one he refuses to discuss with Din until it’s finished. It’s a smaller stretch of fabric, and he has an inkling of who it might be for, despite A’Yuqw’s best efforts at secrecy.
He shakes out his boots at the doorway, his cape too – the old one, still full of holes and tears. His new and elaborately woven cloak is worn only when he’s certain it won’t be damaged by manual labour or in a fight. He keeps the helmet on as he greets A’Yuqw with a gentle kov’nyn, Beskar meeting scaly skin. A’Yuqw’s hand squeezes at his neck, glides down to his waist as he stands at his side.
A’Yuqw is so beautiful, the proud arch of his brow bone, the focused set of his mouth, his pale eyes, shot through with webs of gold. So alien, yet he still feels familiar in a way Din can’t fully comprehend.
A squeal brings his attention to his son, sitting on a thick rug to A’Yuqw’s side. He squats down to pick up the kid, gently pressing their foreheads together. Grogu pats at his helmet, asking to be put back down, and left alone to play with the basket of yarn scraps A’Yuqw had saved for him.
Sighing, sits down heavily next to his son, close enough to A’Yuqw that he could lean forward and press his buy’ce into A’Yuqw’s thigh, if he wanted.. They chat idly as Din removes his armour, recounting the day spent apart.
A’Yuqw’s seen his face a good few times now, and yet he finds it daunting to remove that layer of protection between them. Not when A’Yuqw is so beautiful, and Din knows his face is sweaty, his beard patchy, eyes dark and tired, his hair sticking up and pressed flat against his forehead. A’Yuqw makes no comment to Din’s reluctance to reveal himself, and they continue as such until the itch of dried sweat on his face becomes too much to bear.
He stands, fetching a cloth and wetting it from a pitcher of water, all without facing his partner. His helmet lifts and the cloth drags across his face, providing some measure of relief. He dabs at his neck too, ruffles his hair and runs his bare fingers through his beard. He takes a minute to calm his nerves before he turns, meeting A’Yuqw’s strange eyes.
"Hey handsome."
He says it with a crooked smile, revealing his big canines, and Din feels his knees wobble.
Even when he knows A’Yuqw’s just teasing him, the praise still gets to him. He can’t mean it sincerely, but Din’s face still heats up just the same.
A’Yuqw just keeps looking at him, and he feels frozen in place by his gaze, by those teasing words. His flight suit sticks to his chest uncomfortably, but his spare is still covered in spilled drink from their wedding day.
Something wrenches in his chest, the part of him that feels small and powerless.
“Do you, uh… could I borrow something to wear?”
“Of course.” A’Yuqw stands, rifles through a small basket before pulling out a set of grey robes. Their fingers brush as he hands it over, and Din’s hands shake as he gives A’Yuqw a quick ‘be back soon’ before donning his helmet and fleeing to the privacy of his old tent.
He curses himself as he undresses in the dim light of his tent, shucking the flight suit as if it were at fault for his own discomfort. He just can’t bring himself to bathe himself in front of A’Yuqw, not yet. Not when showing his face still makes his heart trip over itself. Why does it feel easier for him to bare his face to A’Yuqw’s sister, and not the man he married?
He quickly rubs sand over his bare skin, letting the coarse grains absorb his sweat and scour his skin clean. He pulls on the robes, noting A’Yuqw’s scent as he pulls them over his head. It smells like Bantha wool and the oil he uses on his scaly skin. He pulls it closer to his nose, letting the smell settle him.
When he returns back to the warmth of A’Yuqw’s tent, places his helmet down with the rest of his armour before rejoining his husband, sitting across from him silently.
“Hm.”
Din looks up, grunting a questioning tone.
“You look good in my clothes.”
He drops his gaze, feels his face heat up despite himself. He finds himself frowning. A’Yuqw’s flattery makes him heart lurch, sure, but it also feels almost patronizing – he knows he’s average looking, and he’s fine with that. Doesn’t need A’Yuqw to be dishonest with him.
“You… don’t have to keep saying things like that. I know– you don’t need to pretend.”
“Din…” A conflicting series of expressions flit across A’Yuqw’s face; annoyed, heartbroken, exasperated, fond. “Din, I’m not pretending. I’m flirting with you. Because I am attracted to you. Is that so hard to believe?”
Yes. “No, I guess.”
“Idiot,” he says, free hand reaching out to stroke down his face. “Of course you’re beautiful.” He leans forward, and Din's breath catches as he feels the scaly skin of A'Yuqw's forehead press into his own. Skin to skin. He's pleasantly cool against Din's flushed complexion. Clawed fingers scruff through the patchy hair beside his chin that never managed to grow in. Din curses his traitorous body for leaning into the touch, for believing A’Yuqw when he doesn’t.