Archive of Our Own

When Luke gets off the holocall with Leia, he puts up a pretty good front pretending nothing abnormal happened.

Din would’ve noticed, but Din’s off planet, dealing with another Mandalorian argument he wishes to resolve without causing another civil war. Apparently, it’s going well.

Boba notices, but he isn’t proactive the way Din is. When your relatively absent DNA donor/father dies when you’re barely an adolescent and then you’re raised by bounty hunters and prison guards, emotional vulnerability isn’t exactly a priority, so Boba does what he normally does.

He quirks one scarred-white brow at Luke and doesn’t speak a word. He knows Luke well— better than most, he’d like to think— by now, and seeing the blonde man’s weak attempt at a smile makes him cock his head to the side and fold his arms.

“What?” Luke asks over their lunch. It’s simple— bantha steak and some kind of greens Boba likes the seasoning on— and they’re eating at the small table in Boba’s rooms instead of the long, sprawling table in the main dining area. Boba only eats there when business is to be done over a meal, and Luke never does. He makes himself scarce the second Boba has business to attend to, taking Grogu off into the desert to meditate or find peace. Jedi osik.

Boba doesn’t reply to Luke’s question. Brown eyes meet blue and Luke squints at him. They maintain their staring contest for a moment more before Luke blinks a few times and darts his eyes away, just down to Boba’s chest plate, but away from his gaze all the same.

“Leia wants to visit.”

Boba frowns. “So?”

“She— and Han, by the way— says she wants to see where I’m living. She wants to see the palace.” Luke takes the hem of his tunic between two fingers and picks at a stray thread.

“She wants to make sure I’m not holding you hostage,” Boba translates, and Luke’s silence is telling enough. “Cyare, I’ll behave for your sister even if Solo must come along. They’re your family.”

Luke sighs and leans forward, the force scooting his plate out of the way so he can press his forehead against the smooth stone table. “She— It’s like she doesn’t trust my judgment. She thinks I’m too forgiving, or too— I don’t know. Immature. We're the same age. I'm not stupid.”

Boba rubs his palm across Luke’s back, feeling well-shaped muscles turned rock-solid with his partner's stress. "You're not. You're clever, and you've lived through more horrors than most in the galaxy," he says. He knows his voice is doing that thing it tends to do with Luke, that soft edge it takes on, and normally he hates it. Now, though, he feels maybe like he might be worth this kind, tender Jedi, like his rough and worn exterior might hold something kinder inside that could be deserving of Luke.

At least, he kriffing hopes so.

“I know,” he mutters and tilts his head to the side, muscles flexing under Boba’s touch. His eyes are so blue, bluer than anything naturally occurring on Tatooine including, often, the sky, and Boba shifts his hand to swipe the pad of his thumb underneath Luke’s eye on the soft skin there. “I just hate feeling like she thinks so.”

“Neither me nor Din would dare share our bed with a fool,” Boba murmurs, “We’re too old for that.”

Luke laughs and the sparkle returns to his eyes. “I suppose that’s fair. I should trust your judgment, really,” he says and then bites down on his lip. His expression takes a turn– one Boba knows intimately– and a strand of corn-yellow hair falls in his face. “I wonder if you’d be interested in sharing your bed now, however.”

Boba snorts. “You can just ask, cyare.”

“And if this is me just asking?”

“Hmm,” Boba murmurs and tucks the falling strand of hair behind Luke’s ear, smoothing his fingertips over the skin there. “No.”

Luke splutters and shifts in his seat, reaching out to touch Boba, but the older man is already pulling away. He stands up and tucks his helmet under his arm. “Bo,” he whines.

“I take it back,” Boba says and bends down to press a quick kiss to Luke’s forehead, “Maybe you are a little bit too willing to forgive. Have you forgotten I tried to kill you?”

“We’ve all tried to kill each other. Both my partners are Mandalorians,” Luke sighs and props his chin up on his palm. “Tonight? When Din returns?”

“Anything,” Boba promises before pulling his helmet back on. “Tell the Huttslayer she’s welcome in my palace any time. I’ll tell Fennec not to shoot the Falcon on sight.” Luke scoffs but offers Boba small, grateful expression, before the armored man leaves their quarters to continue running Mos Espa. He has people to rule.

Din does return that night, and Boba does make good on his promise. By the time he’s two fingers deep in Luke, pulling gentle moans from his jetii’s mouth with his tongue and hands, he has all but forgotten about the conversation about Luke’s sister coming to visit.

That is, until Luke, Din pressed between his hips and Boba biting up his throat, says, “Oh, Din, by the way,” before interrupting himself with a moan. “My sister is visiting next week.”

Din’s hips stutter but then he nods, leans down, and kisses Luke all too sweetly. “Okay,” he says simply, like having the Princess of Alderaan and the smuggler-turned-kept-boy for the anti-Imperial Rebellion in Boba Fett’s palace was an ordinary, everyday occurrence. To Din, it might as well have been, Boba supposes. He pulls the unquestioning man closer and kisses him, hard and hot, and Din stutters again, this time drawing a longer, hotter noise from Luke’s lips.

“Come on, ner me’suum’ika,” Boba murmurs to Din, and then strokes his fingers over the twin scars bisecting Luke’s chest just below his nipples. “Show our cyar’au how much we love him.”

Din does, and when the three of them are laying in a sweaty heap across Boba’s oversized beds, Luke crawls over to rest his cheek on Boba’s pec. “Bo,” he breathes. Din is asleep beside them, his back brushing Boba’s own bare skin, and Luke reaches over to trace a long scar on Din’s side.

“Jet’iika,” Boba replies, and Luke’s cheeks flush red at the nickname.

“You know I don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispers and bites down on Boba’s skin in retort. Boba snorts and pulls Luke easily closer to him, the taller yet slighter man fitting against him just as well as Din always has, just differently.

“What is it, little sun?” he murmurs into Luke’s golden hair.

“I love you,” he says against scarred skin. Boba’s gentle petting hesitates for just a moment before resuming. It isn’t something they say often– Din had never spoken those words once before Luke, and Boba hadn’t said them since he was barely ten.

“Cyare,” Boba says back instead, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Not really anything, I guess, just,” Luke breathes and then hides his face in the scar-torn skin between Boba’s pecs. “I don’t want her to be… Unhappy, somehow, with the choices I’ve made.”

Boba squeezes Luke tighter. “Has she met Din?”

“No.”

“Then there’s always that.”

Luke tilts his face so he can get a slanted view of Boba’s face. “Hm?”

“If she sees Tatooine, sees this scarred old man you’ve shacked up with, and decides they leave her wanting, at least you have the kind-hearted, handsome Mand’alor at your side,” Boba says. It doesn’t come out bitter, nor does it leave his throat with any sort of affectation, but Luke still makes a face.

“If she meets you as you are now and doesn’t see what I see, then…” Luke trails off, clearly not meaning any actual threat to his sister, but the thought sits between them. “I love you, and I love Din, and that’s what matters.”

Boba curls a tired hand into Luke’s hair. “You sound like you’re convincing yourself, more than anyone else, cyare. You’re single-handedly training a new generation of jetii, and you’re happy. After everything you’ve been through, shouldn’t that be enough?”

Luke sighs and shifts to hug closer against Boba’s chest. “If all was fair in the galaxy, it would be,” he says and reaches out to touch Din’s shoulder. Boba recognizes the way he’s moving, the way he seems like he’s itching to be closer and closer to him and Din– he needs to feel held. Luke needs to know he is wanted here.

Boba wraps his arms around his partner and hugs tight, rolling with Luke against his chest until the blonde is pinned between Boba’s sturdy body and Din’s warm back. Luke hums and presses his cheek to the skin just below Boba’s collarbones.

“The palace is open to them. If your sister has an issue with how you’re living your life, we can deal with that then,” Boba says softly. Din stretches beside them, not quite awake but shifting in a dream, and turns until he’s boxing Luke in between them. His wide hands settle on Luke’s waist and Boba feels Luke smile against his chest. “You are so loved, Luke Skywalker.”

They fall asleep like that, the three of them curled together in the dry chill of Tatooine nighttime.

The Millenium Falcon enters the atmosphere an hour before dinner is meant to be served.

Fennec comms at once and Boba, fully armored and settled on the throne, waves his hand to end business for the day. Din behind him, darksaber at his hip and thick cape falling off one shoulder, shifts from foot to foot as the room empties out.

“To the landing pad?” he asks quietly. The modulator of his helmet makes his voice thick and slightly distorted, but it doesn’t disguise Din’s nerves.

“Mmm,” Boba agrees and stands. His prosthetic leg creaks as he does and he grunts, kicking it out once, twice, before it begins behaving again. “You take on a Krayt dragon with thirty men but meeting your boyfriend’s sister makes you jumpy.”

It isn’t a question, or an accusation, but Din seems to take it as both.

“I suppose,” he replies. “Is it so bad to want their approval? If your father was still here, I would seek the same.”

Boba nods at that and reaches up to cup Din’s neck, pressing their helmets together with a gentle clang. The motion seems to say all Din needs, and his shoulders lower back to their usual position. “Come on. Let’s go find our Jedi.”

It doesn’t take long.

Fennec commed Luke too, when the ship began to grow close, and the two Mandalorians find him standing on the landing pad beside the elite sniper. His hair is carefully combed– not that it’ll stay that way, when the Falcon lands just beside him– and he’s wearing his favorite tunic, the black one that Boba always wants to tear off him. Now, however, all he does is slide one gloved hand over the smooth plane of Luke’s back, feeling the tense muscles there.

Luke offers him a slight smile, and then they’re interrupted by the buffeting air of a ship almost too big for the pad beginning its descent. Din, Boba, and Fennec step back onto the outside edge, but Luke stays put. The wind circles around him and pulls at his robes and tunics, but his hair stays infuriatingly perfect, the force holding him safely in place. Boba laughs softly.

The walkway comes down quickly before the sand has even finished settling. A short woman with dark hair wearing a matching jacket and pants set runs down it quickly and Luke sweeps her into a hug at once.

The tension Boba has been feeling emanating off Luke for days disappears at once. Their mingled laughs and swift conversation fill the air, and Boba is almost too busy smiling at his partner’s joy to notice the second figure descending the walkway.

Almost.

You don’t make a living as the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter if your boyfriend’s happiness is enough to distract you from a threat, and while Boba might have forgiven Luke and his family for the part they played in sending him into that sarlacc, his body still seizes at the sight of Han Solo stalking down behind the twins.

He must grow tense, because Din touches his back gently.

“Breathe,” Din says on the private comm channel between their helmets.

“Shut up,” Boba responds, getting only an amused chuckle in return.

“Leia, Han, come,” Luke is saying as he leads the little trio closer. Behind them is a wookie– Boba tries not to wrinkle his nose– and an astromech, painted blue in places. “Let me show you the place.”

Din and Boba stay in the shadows by the doorway until Luke releases his sister and returns to them, seeming small and vulnerable in his unarmored state. Boba and Din both have tried to convince him to wear some– ANY– armor, but beskar clouds the force, apparently. Between them, despite being right in between them in height, he seems small. Boba wants to protect him.

“Bo, Din, come… Well, I suppose you’ve already met,” he says and gestures between Han, Leia, and Boba Fett. “Han, Leia, this is Boba, and Din.” He gestures to each Mandalorian in turn. Boba tugs his helmet off, if only to see the look on Solo’s face, and is pleased when the man’s lip twitches into something close to neutrality.

“Princess,” Boba says and takes Leia’s offered hand. “Welcome to Tatooine.”

Din, beside him, stands stiff and still until Leia offers her hand to him as well. He shakes it awkwardly, a jerky little motion that makes his cape swish, but Leia just grins.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Din, and… I’m glad you’re alive, Fett,” she says and her grin quirks into something else, something Boba has seen a thousand times on Luke’s face. They don’t look identical, but the resemblance is clear. They have the same mischievous, trouble-making twinkle in their eyes, and Boba thinks briefly that maybe he should’ve been afraid afterall.

Boba barks out a laugh despite himself. “I am as well, Princess,” he says. “Might I interest you in a tour of the palace?” He offers his arm to Leia, who accepts. She’s much shorter than him but Boba just lowers his elbow and hands his helmet to Fennec, who takes it and joins Din at the rear of their little group.

“After I escaped the sarlacc,” Boba says, and takes small joy in the slight flinch he sees in Solo’s expression, “I took over the palace. I am the Daimyo of Mos Espa now, and it has become a much more… civilized town.”

Leia takes in the palace around her, clean and well-guarded, and nods. “The last time I was here, Fett, Jabba the Hutt was in charge. I can’t imagine anyone could do more bad here than him, and if Luke is willing to stay here… It must be alright. You don’t have to convince me,” she says.

Boba distantly wishes he had asked Luke whether his sister was strong in the force as well.

“Fennec and I,” he says and gestures to the woman with the sniper rifle slung across her back, “have made many strives to end slavery on Tatooine, to limit the spice trade, and we’ve taken out two trafficking rings. Your Luke helped with one– We cleared out a whole cave system they were hiding in.”

Luke’s face lights up and he opens his mouth to respond, but Leia stops them and turns to face Boba Fett.

“You don’t have to sell yourself to me,” she says softly. “He’s your Luke, too. I just wanted to see how my baby brother was getting along, I promise. I have no hidden agenda.”

Luke splutters– “I was born first! Obi-Wan said so!”

Leia raises one carefully plucked eyebrow at him, and then–

“Well I don’t trust you worth a damn.”

“Solo,” Boba murmurs, “I had hoped we could play nice.”

The man in question, his mouth still open from his outburst, has his hand on his holstered blaster and his other one pinned behind his back by a large, unpainted Mandalorian.

“No blasters,” Din says quietly, evenly, in that steady way Boba loves. Han’s face shifts at once and his fingers flex. When Din releases him, Han doesn’t go for the gun again, instead just crossing his arms over his chest.

“This bantha dung trapped me in carbonite! Are we all really just going to forgive him?” he asks and looks between Luke and Leia. The twins look at him, and then Luke moves to stand in front of Boba. The slight blonde protecting the dense, armored warrior is almost laughable, but then Luke’s eyes go steely.

“I have,” Luke says quietly. “I don’t care if you don’t, but you won’t change my mind.”

Han scoffs and looks down the hallway, a defeated but stubborn expression settling into the lines of his cheeks. “Isn’t he a little old for you, at least?”

“You and Leia are a decade apart,” Luke snarks back. “Come on. We’re going to be late for dinner.”

Dinner starts awkwardly.

Boba and Din flank Luke, but Din isn’t eating. He isn’t even served a plate.

That’s not abnormal for him– Often he doesn’t want to eat in the public dining room, so he takes a serving back to Boba’s private chambers and eats behind a closed door, helmet still within arms’ reach. Boba doesn’t even think twice about it, content to have the other man simply nearby, but Han and the wookie seem to have some concerns.

“What’s with him?” Han asks and jerks his fork to point at Din. He asks Luke, not even deigning to give Din a glance, and Boba sets his knife down.

“Who, Din? My partner?” Luke asks and raises his eyebrow. It’s a warning, one Boba ignored too many times at the beginning of their relationship not to fear it now, but Han just stumbles right on through it.

“Why doesn’t he take his helmet off? He ugly?”

Boba’s fist clenches tight around his fork and he pauses eating for a moment just to breathe. He reminds himself of the list he’s been writing ever since he found out Han Solo was coming to Mos Espa– REASONS NOT TO KILL THAT PIECE OF OSIK. It’s not very long, most of them being Luke-related, but it helps, albeit briefly.

“It is the way,” Luke says simply, and that helps even more. Boba’s face curls in a smile and he would bet credits Din’s does as well.

“The–” Han huffs and stabs his fork into his food. “Luke, are you sure this is what you want to be doing? Boba Kriffing Fett– Who tried to kill us, if you don’t remember– and some Mando who won’t even show you his face?”

“Luke is clan,” Din says lowly.

“So what, it’s arbitrary?” Solo sneers, and Boba is done.

He doesn’t draw a weapon, he doesn’t even stand– Boba Fett just sets his fork down and folds his hands under his chin. “First, I’d like to point out that you all but did kill me. I was trapped in that sarlacc being eaten by acid for days, after you kicked me into it. I lost armor, I lost a leg, and my body is this scarred husk after what you did to me.

“Second, Din, my partner, who you have done nothing but insult, is the Mand’alor, so I would be careful what you say about him. There are many, many more of us. Third, Luke has made his own choices. He is here to teach the next generation of Jedi. I hate the jedi– I have since they killed my father in front of me and sent me to prison at the age of ten. Luke–” He cuts himself off to take a breath. “I love Luke.”

He pretends not to notice the way Luke’s eyes go wide at the admission. He’s said it before, but not often. Boba Fett holds his love close to his chest, preferring to whisper Mando’an poetry and sweet nothings Luke will never understand, but it burns as hot as sarlacc acid.

“Luke is a good man. He’s a smart man, cleverer than I ever could hope to be, and a fierce warrior. He is more than capable of making his own choices and choosing his own partners.”

Boba only stops because he feels a hand on his pauldron. Din, now standing, leans forward.

“He wanted so badly for the two of you to approve,” Din says in that quiet, steady voice of his. “If you don’t, I think Fennec and I will escort you out.”

Leia, finally, pushes Han back into his chair and springs to her feet. Her height doesn’t change much. “Luke– No, that isn’t what this is about,” she insists, looking from Boba to Din to Luke. “Han, we’re done.”

Han deflates and sinks into his seat, all anger forgotten. “Oh thank crik,” he mutters. “He’s much scarier now.”

“I… I would like to apologize, first,” Leia says and looks pleadingly at Boba. “I didn’t mean to offend, I just… It was difficult for me, at first, to understand why Luke would…”

“Hook up with an old, ugly clone?” Boba says. There isn’t a tone of self-deprecation in the words, only believed truth, and Luke and Din both mutter disagreements beside him. “So you sent your husband, a man I previously hunted down, to rile me up? See if I’d snap?”

Leia’s cheeks flush red and she smooths her jacket. “I suppose it wasn’t the smartest choice,” she admits, “But Luke only deserves the best.”

“There’s one thing we agree on,” Boba says simply and reaches out to link hands with the Jedi in question. “I will do anything in my power to protect Luke Skywalker. If he ever decides he’s sick of me, I will let him go without a question. I’ll give him my ship, if he asks. I meant what I said: I love him. I…”

Din takes his other hand, and Boba feels the last rumbles of anger fade away into the force.

“I didn’t understand what Din saw in him, at first. I didn’t think we could get past what happened all those years ago, with Solo, and the Hutts. But the longer he stayed, the more I felt wrong for all of the harm I did to him, and to you. Solo, you’re on thin transparisteel.”

Solo snorts but seems fine with the statement, if the vague wave of his hand is anything to go by.

“If you have a problem with me,” Boba says, an air of finality in his voice, “take it up with me. Let Luke be his own man.”

Leia examines him for a minute more, her dark gaze fierce against the already scarred skin, and then nods.

“I apologize for our overstep,” she says and offers a hand. “Boba Fett, I think you are a good man, but if you– Or you–” she adds, looking at Din’s visor as well, “--ever hurt him, you’re dead.” She pushes back her coat and a familiar silver cylinder hangs there, a lightsaber quite similar to Luke’s own.

“Understood,” Boba says and shakes her hand again, just like he did on the landing pad. “Now can I eat?”

Luke takes Boba to bed with a ferocity Boba hasn’t seen since the first few months he was welcomed into Din and Luke’s relationship. He kisses every scar, leaves marks with his teeth between many of them, and rides Boba with a single-minded love that the Mandalorian can’t quite absorb without feeling deeply overwhelmed. Din kisses Boba sweetly, his helmet discarded on the armor rack in the corner of the Daimyo’s rooms, and the three of them sleep tangled together, this time with Boba in the middle of his two loves.

They wake to a voice in their rooms. Boba reaches for the blaster that lives under their pillow but before he can raise it, he recognizes the voice.

“Kriff– Sorry! I was just looking around, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Leia Organa-Solo says from the doorway, her gaze focused on Boba Fett’s uncovered chest. He briefly thanks the force that the thin blanket didn’t fall further than his navel in the night, Din and Luke both similarly covered. The Princess of Alderaan doesn’t need to see his dick.

Boba waves his hand in forgiveness and then strokes his other one down Luke’s arm, pulling little pinprick porgbumps out of the pale skin.

“It’s alright,” he says and shifts so he can sit up, gently laying Luke down on the bed beside him. “It’s later than I think we intended to sleep.”

Leia looks from Din, helmet-less but face covered by his pillow, to Luke, curled at Boba’s side wearing only one of Boba’s old shirts and underclothes. At least he’s dressed.

“You’re good for him,” she says after a moment, nods, and disappears back into the hallway. Boba feels something warm his chest, his body, and he recognizes it from the first few months he, Din, and Luke danced around this thing they were doing. He misnamed it then as embarrassment, but he knows now that it’s more like feeling seen, feeling exposed.

He doesn’t mind feeling exposed with Luke. He’s never minded being exposed with Din– Din gets him in a way nobody besides his father really ever has– but Luke is this golden boy, perfect jedi. He’s nothing like the men who killed Jango Fett, nothing like the jedi that sent Boba to prison the moment he was untethered.

“Luke,” he murmurs into the man’s forehead and pulls away to look at him. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to get out of bed at all. Luke had clutched him so tight the night before, worn bruises into his skin with his fingers, and whispered words of love into his chest. Even Din had thanked Boba, told him he loved him, and Boba could feel the words of the riduurok rumbling in his chest.

“Mm?” Luke hums and rolls to look up at Boba, punching all the air out of the clone’s chest. In the sunlight Luke glows. His skin is soft with definition in every perfect place; his eyes burn blue through Boba’s gaze– Luke is beautiful.

“Good morning, ner kar’ta,” Boba says softly. Din’s hands slide across his side and hold him, his thick, hairy chest to Boba’s own scarred back, and Luke barely has time to form the question in his mouth before Din answers it.

“My heart,” he rumbles and kisses the back of Boba’s neck.

“Oh,” Luke breathes.

“My little jedi, my sun,” Boba adds, “My star.”

“What do you call Din? Ner… Ner boor–” he cuts himself off and gestures vaguely with his hands. Boba smiles and tilts into Din’s touch.

“Ner buurinaar. My little storm,” Boba answers and pulls him in, kissing Luke softly. “My sun and my storm, my light and my shadow.”

Din hums behind him and pulls Boba closer, pressing their bodies tighter together. “Ner riduure,” he says, so softly Boba thought for a moment he heard him wrong, and then Boba laughs. It’s a loud, clumsy laugh, one that fits Boba’s barrel chest and echoes through their chambers.

“All you have to do is ask, Din.”

Din freezes against him.

“What– What’s happening,” Luke asks, eyes flicking from Boba’s face to Din’s. “Din?”

“Nothing,” Boba assures and shifts so he can see Din’s face. “Whenever you’re ready, Din,” he says, watching the man’s face shift from disbelief to a gentle, quiet happiness as their lips seal together in a sweet kiss.

“Let’s go get breakfast,” Din murmurs once he pulls back. Luke looks between the two of them and watches as Din gets up, stretching out despite his nudity. It had taken the Mandalorian a while to grow comfortable being exposed with his partners, but now he seems to find joy in sharing his body with Luke and Boba. At least, Boba would’ve thought so, by the way he flexes his back and stretches out his arms.

Boba follows soon after, reluctantly releasing Luke, and plods after Din to take a quick turn in the refresher.

“Wait for me!” Luke says and follows, “Do we have time to–”

“We’ll make time,” Boba says, knowing what Luke is going to say, “you horny little loth-cat.” He pulls Luke into the refresher behind him and Din, and within seconds, Din is on his knees in front of Luke.

“Let me?” he asks softly and grabs at Luke’s thighs, nuzzling into the crease between his leg and his hip, and Luke spreads eagerly.

They were already going to be late for breakfast, but by the time they’re done, they’re significantly later. The suns are high in the sky by the time the Mandalorians are armored up and ready to go, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a bright smile on his face, mirrored in Din’s posture, and Boba can’t help but gently reach out and touch each of them in turn, just to remember that they’re real.

Real, and his.

They meet Han and Leia for brunch, and then Han asks Luke to take him out to town. Din and Boba agree over their personal comms for Din to accompany them, especially as the people of Mos Espa know Din’s figure more than they know Luke’s.

Most of them don’t know Luke’s at all. Boba has been careful to keep the Jedi an open secret, and those of them who know about Boba Fett’s blonde partner don’t know that he’s Luke Skywalker, Rebellion hero and famed Jedi Knight. All they see is a soft, nurturing man, and Boba can’t help but wish that is all Luke had to be.

Boba and Leia are left together, and after thinking for a moment, Boba turns to the princess.

“Want to see the shooting range?”

Leia’s eyes light up the same way Luke’s did when Boba asked the same question, and he knows he’s chosen correctly. They walk down, leaving Fennec in charge upstairs. Business is closed today, citing ‘personal business’ as the reason for Fett’s absence, so the palace is mostly empty. Boba has his rifle on his back, as always, but his personal armory is down by the shooting range, so he doesn’t bring anything for Leia, and she doesn’t ask.

When they arrive, Boba unlocks the door quickly with his personal code to show her the massive array of weapons.

“Take your pick, princess,” he says and gestures around them. Leia’s eyes go sharp and predatory and she chooses a large rifle, not dissimilar to the one Din favors. It functions both as a hunting rifle and as a sniper, just without the disintegrating capabilities of Din’s own gun. Boba nods approvingly and moves back out into the range, gesturing for her to choose a lane.

“Was this always here?” she asks as she kneels, settling the butt of the gun against her shoulder.

“It was before Jabba. It was old and disused under him– I think they used it as storage,” Boba says and takes up a similar posture. He presses a small button on his own stall and ten targets shaped like B-1 droids swing into view. “Built during the clone wars, I suspect.”

Leia takes one look at the target and laughs, nodding. “A safe assumption, I believe.” She looks down the sights, breathes, and fires on the exhale, sending one target spinning off with a hole directly through the center of its processing center.

Boba whistles, impressed. It was an impressive shot– One very few could make. Definitely not your average princess. He takes his own, garnering a similar result, and the two trade shots until all ten targets are down.

“I’m sorry again for yesterday,” Leia says as Boba grunts, stands, and resets the targets.

He waves his hand. “You were testing me. Luke deserves people looking out for him. I’m just glad it came to a head before I shot your husband in the skull,” he offers and grabs another rifle, one with a scope, and punches in on the pad beside him for the targets to reappear further back.

Leia watches him, something like disbelief on her face, and then it smooths into pleasant diplomacy. Her smile betrays her amusement, though, and Boba offers a small one in turn.

“I just want what’s best for him. He is well protected here,” he says and sinks back into his shooting stance, rifle at his shoulder. Leia does the same, and their little competition resumes.

When Leia and Han leave the next day, Boba finds himself surprisingly disappointed to see the princess walk back up the gangplank of the Falcon. Han doesn’t apologize, but his wookie calls something out that Boba only half understands in shyriiwook that makes up for Solo’s silence.

Luke says a cheerful goodbye to all four beings entering the Falcon, promising to visit more often, and then retreats back to settle with his arms around Din and Boba’s waists. They watch the ship leave in comfortable silence, but as soon as they get word that the ship left the atmosphere, something in Din shifts.

“Ga’copaanir jorhaa’ir riduurok?” he asks Boba, Luke between them still. The blonde’s face twists in confusion. His Mandalorians don’t often speak Mando’a when he’s present, at least not full sentences. Words here and there, pet names, but not this.

Boba tightens his grip on both his partners and turns to look at Din. Very intentionally, he says in basic, “Yes, I would like to speak the riduurok,” he replies. “I would very much like to marry you.”

Luke startles and pulls away. “Wait, what?”

Din is quiet now that the expectation is basic, but Boba reaches out and takes his hand. “I would, Din. Luke, you too. I… I want to be committed to you,” he says. Between two buy’ce and Luke’s wide eyes, they must make a hell of a trio, and Boba can’t help but let the joy bubble in his stomach. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt since he was a boy, too traumatized and too worn down too early to truly experience childhood elation like this, but now, with his two loves, Boba Fett feels happy.

“Take me to bed,” he says and reaches for Luke. Luke, never one to refuse, is on Boba in a heartbeat, tugging them both by the hand back to their rooms. As soon as the doors are shut behind them, Luke reaches up and unlatches Boba’s helmet, setting it gently on the table. He doesn’t reach for Din’s– the other Mandalorian is more sensitive about removing his own helmet– but their faces are both exposed within seconds nonetheless.

“Do you mean it?” Luke gasps as he fits himself between his two armored men. Boba bites at his neck, fitting his teeth beside an older, fading bruise, and hums.

“I do,” he mumbles there.

Din pulls Boba up off of Luke’s throat to kiss him, licking into his mouth and trying to get closer than they physically can with Luke between them. “When?”

“After we talk about it,” Boba says, “And I’d rather not talk very much right now.”

Din laughs, kisses him again, and the three of them undress and fall into bed with not a sense of urgency, but a warm murmur of love, of desire. They fit together in ways Boba never thought he’d find another person to fit, let alone two, and he drinks in every moment of having them with him.

“I love you,” Din breathes into his thigh.

“I love you,” Luke sighs against his skin.

“I love you,” Boba says in turn as he holds his two loves close, bare skin on bare skin, and they don’t leave Boba’s– their– chambers until the next morning.