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Luke stared dubiously at the line of metal on the bed.
He had seen such a spread many times over the past few months, but a spread more red and silver than this green and black.
“Is this really necessary?” Luke asked for the umpteenth time.
“I’ve told you that my family is not exactly friendly to outsiders,” Din replies from the fresher, his shiny dome poking out to look at Luke in his tight undershirt and pants staring cross-armed at the armor.
“You want to meet them, right?” Luke sighs and nods, knowing that Din must be smiling from under his helmet.
Luke had peeled his lover out of his armor many times, he just had to think about it in reverse, or at least that’s what he convinced himself.
First came the greaves, their leather straps sitting snug against his skin, the metal beginning to weigh his legs down.
Strapping his blaster to his thigh was at least familiar, the small weapon fitting snugly in its holster. An extra thick layer of padding went over his chest, falling below his hips. He held that in place with his own black fabric belt.
The chest plate was heavier than he expected, weighing over his shoulders and cinching in at the sides. It felt somewhat like a hug, or a constriction from a dianoga.
He loosened the straps a cinch.
The pauldrons hook on next, and finally he comes to the vambraces, but a soft tanned hand steps in and grabs them before he can.
Din tilts his head in the teasing way he does that means he is smiling at Luke, and slides one of the green and black vambraces on his right arm. Before placing the second one however, he slides the vambrace from his left arm.
It's a pure silver vambrace, made more recently than his other scratched armor, and it holds the symbol of Din’s clan with Grogu, the mudhorn.
The Mandalorian gently slides it onto Luke’s left forearm, cinching it into place, his hands dragging over the fabric before gripping at Luke’s black gloved fingers.
With a squeeze he releases, and hands the vambrace that was supposed to be Luke’s back to him. With a crooked grin, the Jedi grips Din’s arm to slide the less decorated vambrace into place.
“What was that all about?” Luke asks as he grabs the helmet from the bed.
Din takes a hold of the dark beskar, and places it over Luke’s head before he would answer.
“It shows off our relationship to other Mandalorians.” Luke can’t help a giggle at that, surprised by the tone his voice takes through the mask.
He creeps up onto tiptoe to bump their foreheads together in a keldabe, knowing that his partner must be blushing beneath the helm.
“You look good in armor.” Din murmurs between them. And Luke can feel what he means, the well of love in the Mandalorian’s burning extra bright.
“Let’s go meet your family.” Luke says, pulling away. Then he looks down.
“Ah.” He exclaims quietly, before trying to pull his wide eyed stare through his helmet up at his partner.
“It seems I should have put my boots on first.”
When Din shoves him with two fingers to the middle of the chest, Luke is surprised how easily he falls back on the bed, feeling held down by the metal encasing him, muffled in the Force like a pillow around his ears.
The Mandalorian’s hands are careful and sure as he slides on first one boot then the next, pressing his helmet into Luke’s hands before he pulls him up to standing.
“Now you’re ready.”