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Diego walked into the coffee shop. He went over to the counter. There were people sitting at the tables, but they didn’t all look human. Some of them were aliens, in full costume and makeup. Diego looked down and saw that he was wearing his Cassian costume. So he was on set. But he didn’t remember a coffee shop on set. That didn’t make sense. He had questions, but he didn’t ask them, instead it was almost as if he was watching himself. He took a few steps forward and got in line behind a tentacle faced alien. Did that kind of alien even drink coffee? Wait, but he was on set. This was an actor. Not a real alien. He would just have to figure out a way to drink the coffee without ruining his mask and makeup. Maybe he’d ask for a straw. Diego watched as he ordered his drink and moved aside. He took it when it was ready, and did not ask for a straw.
“Next!” the barista yelled, and Diego looked up. It was Jabba the Hutt. Wait. This made even less sense. There was no Jabba in Rogue One. Also, why was Jabba a barista? Did he even have the necessary dexterity to make a coffee and operate the equipment?
“Yes, hello, sorry, I’ll have an Americano.”
“Name?”
“Name?”
“Your name. To put on the cup.”
Diego wanted to say his name, he wanted to say Diego, but what came out was “Cassian”. He moved aside to wait for his drink and let the next person in line go on ahead. The next person in line was Donnie, in his Chirrut costume. Diego was relieved, maybe he would have answers.
“Hey, do you know what’s going on?” he asked him.
“I’m ordering coffee.”
“Yes, I know, but – “
“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.”
Diego gave up and waited for his drink. When it was finally ready, he took it from Jabba, hoping his fingers would brush up against his, but they did not, and he sadly sat down at an empty table, thinking. Either this was an elaborate joke, or he was really somehow inside the events of the movie he was cast to play a role in. He might as well take advantage of the situation and figure out something he’d been wondering and dreaming of for years.
Jabba’s texture.
He had a toy Jabba at home. He had bought it for his son, but it was really for him, both of his children knew that. Sometimes he slept with the toy in his embrace, but it was never enough. It wasn’t the same as the real Jabba. He thought about kissing Jabba. He thought about his tongue. The texture of his skin. It was probably rubbery and slimy all at once. He had to find out for himself, and now, with Jabba right here…there had to be a way.
He couldn’t just run up and touch him and then run away. It wouldn’t be enough. He had to be able to touch and explore at his leisure, and the only way to do that was to actually get close to Jabba. To seduce him. Diego knew the way to any human or alien’s heart. He finished his coffee and tossed it in the trash. If there was a coffee shop, there had to also be a bodega.
Half an hour later, Diego had a grocery bag full of tomatillos, onions, garlic, tortillas, eggs, cheese, and all the other ingredients he would need. Now he just needed to find a place to cook everything. He saw Felicity walk by, and grabbed her arm.
“Hey! What are you doing?” she said, wrenching free.
“Can I ask you for a favor please?”
“What?”
“Do you know where I can borrow a kitchen for thirty minutes?” he asked her. She looked at him like he was completely crazy, which he thought was fair.
“Why do you need that?”
“Please, I’ll give you some of what I cook.” Diego said, giving her the biggest puppy dog eyes he could possibly manage. He hoped the fluffy collar of his jacket helped. It must have, because she rolled her eyes and nodded, leading the way down a path to a small, dark hut. Inside there was a small stove, a table, and a sink. There were some dishes and cutlery.
“I’ll help you, so this can go faster. We’re not supposed to be here,” she said. He put her to work, having her chop and mix while he fried and quickly put together two plates of food. It smelled delicious, and he gave her the smaller plate. She took a bite and closed her eyes happily.
“This is so good,” she said, and Diego smiled proudly.
“Thank you. I’ll see you later,” he said, and went off back into the street. He hoped that Jabba was still at the coffee shop, but when he got there, there was a different, human barista on duty instead. He waited in line with his plate of food, and when he got to the front, he asked where Jabba was.
“He’s off for the day.”
“Do you know where I can find him?” Diego asked.
“He lives just down that way, two blocks. When he smells that food, he’ll open the door for you. What is it?”
“Chilaquiles. Thank you!” Diego said, and went right back out the door, the bell above tinkling as he left. Diego made his way to the home that he thought might be the right one, and raised his fist to knock at the door – but before he could do so, it swung open. There stood Jabba in all his glory.
“What do you want?” he asked in Huttese. Diego was not sure how he could understand him, but he could. It was like he was speaking in Huttese but then it was translated into Spanish by the time it got to Diego’s ears. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d been speaking in Spanish this whole time, even though he knew that Donnie and Felicity communicated with him in English. Diego shook his head to clear it. That was beside the point. He was here on a mission.
“I brought you something. Chilaquiles. They’re my specialty. I think you’ll like them very much. Can I come inside?” Diego asked. Jabba stepped aside, his eyes following the plate of food as Diego walked inside and put them down on a table. They were alone.
“Are they poisoned?” Jabba asked, walking over to the table. There were no chairs. Diego supposed Jabba couldn’t fit himself on a chair that would fit into this small house anyway. The top of his head was barely inches away from the ceiling.
“Why would I bring you poisoned food? I cooked for you. Please eat. I can take a bite first if you’re afraid of it.” Diego volunteered, taking a forkful and eating it. He was pleased. He had outdone himself. Jabba did not hesitate after he saw this. He ate the food happily, shutting his eyes and moaning when he was finished.
“You liked it then,” Diego said, pleased. Jabba opened his eyes.
“Yes, I did. I still don’t know why you did this though,” he asked.
“I just wanted to ask a small favor from you,” Diego asked. Jabba blinked.
“May I touch you?”
Jabba looked at him, thinking, and then nodded. Diego took a step forward, and put the palm of his hand slowly onto Jabba’s chest. It was warm, and there was a thin layer of mucous over the skin beneath. There was a gentle, weak pulse beneath, but it beat slower than Diego’s own heart did. He moved his palm slowly up Jabba’s body, looking into his eyes.
“It’s better than I thought,” he said. Jabba smiled, drooling a little bit. Diego decided it was now or never. If he didn’t ask for this, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
“Can I French kiss you?” he asked.
“What is a French kiss?” Jabba asked.
“I’m told it has tongue.” Diego explained. Jabba nodded. Diego climbed up onto the table, making sure not to step on the empty plate, and braced himself by putting his arms where Jabba’s shoulders would be. Jabba’s mouth was bigger than his, but he put out his tongue, and ended up licking Diego’s face. Diego laughed and reached in to do his best to kiss him. He tasted of chilaquiles and was very wet. It was not entirely unpleasant. When Diego stepped back and opened his eyes, his eyelashes had strings of slime and mucous stretching out between them.
“Is that what you wanted?” Jabba asked. Diego wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat, and nodded.
“Yes, Jabba. Thank you.”
“Your food was good.”
“Chilaquiles.”
“The chilaquiles were good.”
“Thank you,” Diego said, took the empty plate, and went back outside, happy at last.