Wrest Pin | The Mandalorian

Chapter Six: The Interlude

Mando could feel she was still awake.

In the pitch darkness of the room – her breathing had evened out as if she had dozed off for a time, but then it returned at some point. She had flinched – and he wondered if maybe it was a nightmare. Mando laid beside her, her body into his chest, her head beneath his chin where he was partially propped against the metal framed head of the bed. He continued to glance at the window – morning was hours away then, but he kept watch. He didn't want to risk her waking up before he did once light poured into the room.

Her breath caressed his collar bone, turning into the pillow beneath them. He figured she was searching for a more comfortable position – or maybe she wasn't truly awake and only partially so. His suspicions were confirmed when a sleep thick voice whispered into the blackness, "Mando?"

His hand raised, sliding under his hair and gripping – but not tightly enough to hurt her. Despite wanting to pull her head back – despite wanting to do it all again but correctly this time, the way he wanted it to be done to her. But she had kept slowing him – grabbing at his hands and trying to calm the ravish nature of his advance that had suddenly been so extreme he hadn't had time to stop himself. He had wanted to make sure she couldn't bite back her cries – and yet a part of him knew it had all be wrong. He had been wrong.

Selfish.

Seeing her between his knees, kneeling there – it had been the end somehow. Those feelings from the desert had pressed against him. And he had taken something she hadn't necessarily offered him. Had never asked for. It was something he had wanted and he wasn't even sure if she did. But the guilt laden thoughts were polluted with wishes she hadn't held him back in the way she had – she hadn't touched him so softly. That she hadn't caressed him as if comforting him – because he hadn't been in control. His mind and body had gotten switched up – he had wanted nothing more than to press her into the mattress and pull every sound he could from her...

It wasn't the time, or the place.

He hummed to acknowledge her – a deep rumbling in his chest. Unable to find words. She continued to breathe against his skin, and he reached out slowly, placing a palm on her thigh where the nightgown had rolled itself back up to her hip in her sleep. He dug his fingers in – maybe a bit too roughly because her hand covered his, sliding her thumb along his knuckles – again, again, trying to force her gentle touch into his skin.

Mando clenched his jaw...

"Are you gonna sleep?" Her voice was so quiet – she sounded exhausted.

He answered simply, "Yes."

She rolled closer – head resting on his bicep, facing him. Her question came that sent the guilt spiraling dug into him deeply – a question that he thought logically was just...just a question...but it made his regret more tangible. It made it feel more like a mistake when he knew – he knew – she just sounded genuinely unknowing...

"Why did we do that?"

It had happened very quickly. Maybe she was replaying the events, she probably hadn't even realized what turmoil was happening inside of him when he had turned the light out to conceal them into darkness, as if his marring of her soft skin could be hidden by something so thin. He resisted the urge to roll over her – to fuck her into the mattress and show her exactly why they had done it. To show her his body wasn't meant to be so close to one like hers. And to do exactly what he had wanted the first time – but the wariness and the others in the house had prevented him from doing.

He leaned downward instead, putting his lips to hers, and she only kissed back in her bleary state with slight movements of her lips. He pushed her hair back with a flat palm sliding over her forehead and he stated firmly, "Because I'm selfish."