The Daily Grind || BobaDin Omegaverse Fanfic

Chapter 2: The Arrival of Rivals

Vocabulary:

Preening

: a term used (typically in regard to alpha's) to describe when a human is emoting in a way that depicts self-satisfaction or pride over their endeavors, behaviors, or actions, typically in a way to earn the attention of a (current or desired) mate/partner. This is most prevalent during reproductive cycles when they are trying to find/lure in potential mates.

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Boba tries not to linger on Mando's skin for too long.

As requested, Mando appears at his door an hour before first sunrise. Boba is already dressed in his armor, helmet held in the crook of his arm, when he opens the door and steps aside, letting the Mandalorian in. Like last night, Mando methodically strips off his armor and detaches his cloak, placing both neatly on the worktable, before turning around and unclipping the flight suit around his neck.

Boba inhales deeply, drinking in that rich scent like a warm cup of caf, nerves tingling in equal parts fascination and caution. When Mando gives him permission—a subtle tilt of his helmet—he leans in, crowding the Mandalorian against the worktable, and noses along his neck. Mando tips his head back to give him better access, content in being boxed in as Boba braces his hands on either side of him.

"Fennec up?" Boba asks for the sake of conversation, despite Mando's disinclination towards small-talk. He gets it, he's the same way. But it feels better to acknowledge the man he's running his nose along rather than ignoring him until they head down for first meal.

Mando nods his head softly, bumping slightly against Boba's cheek. "She says to get your ass downstairs before the sun's reach high noon."

Boba snorts, rolling his eyes. He doubts that woman even sleeps. Just roosts in her room, tuning up her blaster until it's an adequate time to be up and stalking the halls again, ragging on Boba to do the same.

"And Hadu?" He asks.

"Also up. She's with Shand."

Not surprising. Hadu is distasteful of the palace and all the staff on a good day. Outside of Boba, the closest person she sticks with is Fennec. Mando, too, on account that he knows Tusken and she can actually have a decent conversation with him. It alleviates a little of the pressure in his chest, rooted there from a guilt he touches every time he catches Hadu miserably sulking in a corner. She was such a confident, lively presence in the Dune Sea, surrounded by her customs and culture. Out there, her technique was unmatched and her love for her tribe like a third sun burning deep in the desert sands.

But here, she hangs back, clutching her gaffi stick and scrutinizing any that come across her. She sticks close to his side, watching from over his shoulder, examining the way he interacts with the locals to pick apart and understand what it is they're saying.

It's good that she has someone besides him to talk to, but it doesn't ease the ache behind his breastbone where the rest of their tribe still resides.

"Udesii," Mando murmurs, lightly skimming his knuckles against Boba's chestplate. "Easy."

Boba grips the edge of the table, irritation flaring. The fact that his grief is so easily picked up on grates against his bones. It wasn't like this before the Sarlacc. Scentblockers worked back then, at least. And even then, he could still tuck his thoughts, his emotions, close to his chest and keep them there without anyone the wiser.

Now, every emotion pours off of him like he's a karking teenager again, fumblingly trying to manage the sudden changes in his body and all the complicated instincts that came with them. He has to relearn how to control the out-put of his pheromones and master his instincts, but on a much larger, more painstaking scale. It'd be easier if the Sarlacc had just permanently ruined his cycles. At least casteless, he wouldn't have to worry about broadcasting his vulnerabilities to anyone within proximity.