#CobbPaz

[inkformyblood]

Starting this fic over again as I wasn’t vibing so take 2!

“Remembering when Din first got his jetpack.”

“Oh?” Cobb sits up, drawing one leg up to sling his arm across it. There’s a flash of hunger painted in broad strokes across his face, his pupils dilated to the point of exclusion, and his mouth curled in a grin that’s two teeth shy of being a snarl. Paz would give him everything sweet and soft thing in the universe if Cobb would let him, he’d disembowel everyone who’d raised a hand to the other man and leave them bleeding and gasping at his feet, so he’s more than willing to give him this small piece of himself.

“Set the thrusters wrong.” Paz grins, catches sight of his reflection in the curved window of the ship, and pauses. It’s him, his face of skin and blood and tufted fur, not the one he is used to seeing with painted metal and a sharp visor, and he still doesn’t look like himself. He tips his head to one side and the reflection moves as well, the scar across his nose making it seem like there’s a crack in the glass.

He continues, never breaking his stare with this new fragile version of himself. ”Wound up upside, all tangled up in the ropes, and trying to swing himself free before Teacher saw.”

[inkformyblood]

giving me all i could need (DinCobbPaz Kitty Month)

Din x Cobb x Paz established relationship, space road trip, very mild citrus content. Post-Canon, Not Canon Compliant.

There’s barely enough room for the three of them on the ship Paz has claimed as his own, some hijacked passed-around wreckage that Peli has proclaimed as a well-loved antique before she had thrown the keys at his head. Paz sits, sprawls really, in the captain’s chair that’s been refurbished, reupholstered and straight-up replaced too many times to guess at what the original colour had been. It’s a shade too small for the bulk of him so he sits off-centre, legs spread wide and braced against the floor, one arm thrown across the gap to the jump seat to rest there while he busies himself with the controls. 

The flight system beeps, working through the pre-programmed path in the blur of a haphazard grid that would occasionally spin and display that they were travelling backwards. Paz didn’t know why, some quirk in the programming that reminds him of a teenager just learning how to use their backpack. If he closes his eyes, he can still picture Din, suspended from the support wires across the ceiling of their home at the time, his jetpack sputtering faintly as he swayed and kicked as he tried to free himself. 

“What are you laughing about?”

Paz glances to his side, moving his head before he remembers his peripheral vision and continuing with the movement regardless. Anything worth looking at is worth looking at with his full attention, especially if what he is looking at is the warm grin of Cobb Vanth, worn-in and comfortable and sweet with the nip of moonshine he tipped into his flask of caf when they bundled out of their home earlier that morning. It had been a late night for Cobb, likely spent in the cantina as he had been singing as he stumbled to kick off his boots in the early hours, low hums that rattled in Cobb’s chest before breaking into snatches of a crooning song that had trailed into snores. 

“Remembering when Din first got his jetpack.”

“Oh?” Cobb sits up, drawing one leg up to sling his arm across it. There’s a flash of hunger painted in broad strokes across his face, his pupils dilated to the point of exclusion, and his mouth curled in a grin that’s two teeth shy of being a snarl. Paz would give him everything sweet and soft thing in the universe if Cobb would let him, he’d disembowel everyone who’d raised a hand to the other man and leave them bleeding and gasping at his feet, so he’s more than willing to give him this small piece of himself.

“Set the thrusters wrong.” Paz grins, catches sight of his reflection in the curved window of the ship, and pauses. It’s him, his face of skin and blood and tufted fur, not the one he is used to seeing with painted metal and a sharp visor, and he still doesn’t look like himself. He tips his head to one side and the reflection moves as well, the scar across his nose making it seem like there’s a crack in the glass. 

He continues, never breaking his stare with this new fragile version of himself. ”Wound up upside, all tangled up in the ropes, and trying to swing himself free before Teacher saw.”

Din huffs out a gentle laugh next to his elbow, pushing himself into a lazy slouch in the shadows next to Paz’s chair.  There had been no hope of fitting a third chair in the cramped cabin, barely enough space to tuck a bed big enough for the three of them in one of the storage spaces, so they’ve made do. The strap creaks as Din tucks his arm through it, turning his head just enough that the edges of his veil brush against Paz’s arm in the facsimile of a kiss. It sways with the movement, lending the impression of a grin to Din’s voice. “I would have been fine.”

“So?” Cobb hikes himself up, draping over Paz’s shoulder in a collection of sharp-angled elbows and the protrusion of his ribs through the soft fabric of his shirt. He brushes a kiss against Paz’s temple along the way, nosing past the riot of curls to do so, his breath warm. “What happened?”

“Helped him down.” Paz would have liked to say he had purely honourable intentions in his memories, but he knows himself too well. It had been an excuse to hook his hands over the faint divot of Din’s waist, to feel the gentle slap of his tail, stripes flickering as if in warning, as he had lifted him down and disengaged the dull roar of his jet pack, a final moment of treasured contact, before he had stepped away. 

Din sighs, using Paz to pull himself upright and press his covered face to Cobb’s. In the reflection, they’re the night sky and the sunrise, Din’s veil whispering over Cobb’s face, flattening closer to his own features as he leans closer. 

“I knew he was strong, could see he was big,” Din murmurs, tailored for Cobb’s hearing and Paz’s eavesdropping. He braces himself against Paz’s arm, skims his claws over the lines of his tattoo without needing to look down. Beneath his veil, his ears flick, calibrating to the cadence of Paz’s hitched gasp. “But then I knew . We hadn’t sparred for months beforehand, too many injuries we’d been told.”

Cobb chuckles, crackling in the back of his throat, rumbling like a purr. He leans closer, the reflected starlight catching the gleam of his eyes. They shine green, a rare colour on Tatooine and the visual only lasts a moment before Cobb tips his head, eliminating the reflection. “So, what’d you do then, darling?”

“Fucked myself stupid for the next week.”

Paz breaks his stare and slams his head back into the top of the chair. He misses his helmet for the briefest of moments as pain blooms in a blunt line over the nape of his skull, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters but this. From his new angle, Paz can see the underside of Cobb’s jaw, the slightly curved scar that has healed silver over the jut of his jaw from an accidental press of Paz’s teeth, the bob of his throat as he swallows. Din is still mostly concealed by his veil, the rough overhang of fabric tucked into a neat fabric band around the base of his throat, but his hand raises to press a claw into the corner of Paz’s mouth. It’s sharp, sharp like the rest of him, and Paz acquiesces in an instant, lets Din run his claw over Paz’s fangs and tastes the dull scratch of it.

Cobb whistles, reminiscent of the wind gusting through a canyon, the desert carved into his bones making itself known in the absence of itself. His grin is lazy, lopsided to reveal the capped fangs he’s so proud of. The gold doesn’t gleam, not here in the dim starlight, but Paz is struck again with the urge to try and make the metal sing, whether by armour or by dedication he doesn’t know. 

“Going to give us a replay? Put on a little show to pass the time?” Cobb leans closer, nosing over the hang of fabric until he locates the line of Din’s jaw, the movement growing faster every time. Paz can’t make out if he kisses or bites, the only indication a shift of Cobb’s jaw, but Din groans as if he has done both.

Din tugs on the corner of Paz’s mouth, drawing the skin taut and there’s a pull on the dry skin on his lip, tearing it open. Copper pools over his tongue as he licks at it, pressing his tongue sideways into Din’s claw in a silent wet offering.

“We’re nearly there,” Din says, quiet and methodical as he is in everything, measuring out affection and cruelty in equal heaped portions. “I’d need more time than we have spare.”

Cobb groans like it’s painful, his thighs flexing as he presses himself closer to Din, every muscle in his body drawn tight and trembling before Din moves back with a gentle noise like he’s soothing a bantha. Din climbs back down, sure-footed in every movement as if he knows the universe will rearrange itself to his aims, and he pauses, both feet back on the thin metal grate of the cockpit and his hands braced on Paz’s arm. 

“I’m going to get ready,” Din says and Paz turns to look at him, to drink him in from the shift of his veil as he breathes, the fabric slightly rucked up at one side and a shade darker from the press of Cobb’s mouth, to the span of his shoulders that looks almost shocking compared to the dip of his waist. His tail sways, the fur fluffing up at the end and his stripes rippling with the movement, and it replaces Din’s hands as he steps away. Paz catches his tail, his grip loose enough that it’d be more sensation than pressure, and lowers his head to kiss the end. Din doesn’t pause, fur brushing past Paz’s face as he slips free, but there’s a benediction in that too.

Paz turns back to the console as best as he’s able with the stretch of Cobb still laid over him. The skin and flesh face reflected back at him is softer now, the harsh lines over his forehead smoothed out, his mouth a gentle curve rather than a battle cry. Paz grins and sees his face flicker back into something closer to understanding. 

Cobb blinks, catching Paz’s gaze in the window, his focus constricting between him and the void beyond before he settles. “How’s time without your helmet treating you, baby?”

Biting back the reflexive denial born from a flushed feeling in his chest, the urge to consume until he’s full when he hadn’t ever realised that he was empty before, Paz scoffs. He breaks away, checking over the scheduled flight plan and beginning to make the minute adjustments necessary to keep them aligned. “It’s been fine,” he decides finally. “Different.”

“Yeah, that’s understandable. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Cobb slowly levers himself back into his seat. He picks up one of the harnesses, previously unbuckled the moment that the pull of Tatooine had lessened, and taps it against the other. “I won’t lie though, you’re damn pretty, baby. I’m glad I get to see you.”

Paz flushes. “Shut up.”

“Will do, darling.”

The sound of the engine fluctuates as it begins to work through the flight path, a tremor rustling through the cramped cabin. Paz braces himself against the floor, his stance widening, and he stretches across to press his hand against Cobb’s chest, keeping him secure. Cobb’s hands fall to his wrist, claws pricking against the gap on Paz’s wrist as his glove slides down and his sleeve rucks up with the movement. There’s a collection of moon-shaped scars over Paz’s skin from Cobb’s claws and he treasures them more than he thought he would, the physical reminder of the other man that he could carry on his skin like a tattoo. 

“Easy,” Paz mumbles, unable to look away from their trajectory, steering with one hand while he feels the uneven beat of Cobb’s heart with his other. 

Cobb doesn’t respond, his breath catching on every point of his teeth, but he smooths the pads of his fingers — as weathered as the rest of him, worn featureless and callused by the desert — over the fresh marks on Paz’s wrist. 

Rain hits against the ship’s windows, smearing the emerging planet beyond into a haze of blurred greens as far as the eye can see and Cobb falls utterly silent. His eyes are wide, pupils near enough blotting out any colour and they shine green, green as the world beyond. His mouth hangs slightly agape, whatever he had been about to say decaying on the prod of his tongue. 

“Din?” Paz calls. He doesn’t turn away from Cobb, keeping his palm firmly in the middle of the man’s chest. Cobb’s heart picks up slightly before settling back down, a noticeable one-two stutter amidst the uneven tempo like cocking a blaster, and Paz bites back a grin.

Beneath them, fabric rustles, the slow familiar sound of a veil being peeled away and the click of buttons being unfastened. Cobb’s jaw snaps closed and he pulls in a trembling breath. Din continues, nearly silent except for the shift of fabric, the sound sliding into something distinctly artificial and Paz pats Cobb’s chest. He wonders what Cobb would look like in armour, his chest covered by a ka’ra, the sound it would make beneath Paz’s hand. Fett’s armour is a bastard metal, a compound produced to make beskar stretch farther and it had been necessary then, probably would be again in the future, Paz wouldn’t take that pride from him by word or by deed, but his armour had never truly been Cobb’s. 

Paz pulls himself away from that thought, feeling it catch in the soft palate of his mouth regardless, something for him to gnaw at until it bled. Standing takes a moment, realigning his spine, stamping feeling back into his feet, the assorted curses that accompany it; all watched by Cobb out of the corner of his green-tinged eyes as the rain descends around them. This had been a good choice. Turning away from Cobb, Paz swings himself through the door and heads to the lower levels of the ship. The metal rungs of the ladder are slick with the change in temperature and Paz sets himself against them like he’s taking stock of an armoury, each movement deliberate, sweeping the span of his hands over each one. Cobb, he knows, wouldn’t wait, would throw himself down the cramped passageway once the instant of wonder had bedded in and allowed room for any other thoughts.

Din stands in the huddle of the doorway, tucking his trousers into his boots. The socks he had chosen had been a pair of Paz’s, a heavy woollen set with a pattern of interwoven cables running down both sides in a near-perfect match of the starting mechanism of Din’s Razor Crest, the tangle of wires as much a necessary part of the engine as the open-palmed slap the central console needed before it decided to do anything.

Draped over himself is the rain gear, pale enough that his form distorts like the rain streaming down the windows. “I left your set over there. Thought you would like to get ready before Cobb comes down.”

“I love you,” Paz says, leaning over to kiss the crown of Din’s head. One of Din’s ears flicks with the motion, tapping against the curve of Paz’s throat before he retreats, settling himself on the other low bench. 

 He tugs on the overcoat quickly, head lowered and lip caught between his teeth as works at the fastenings. Glancing up, he catches Din’s gaze, his dark eyes downcast and thoughtful, and hums a questioning noise at him.

“Just thinking,” Din answers. He holds out his hands and the loose sleeves of the overcoat rise up his arms, already rolled over several times. “I used to hate wearing these.”

Paz snorts out a laugh, not bothering to try and scrub the expression on his face. It still feels strange, the creases over his nose odd without the pressure of his helmet to constrict them, but he’s trying. He’s learning. “I remember.” 

Din rises, his tail flicking out to test the stretch of the fabric before it falls back into its usual place. He takes Paz’s arm in his hands, the fabric of the overcoat crinkling beneath his touch, and turns his hand to view the fresh cuts over his wrist. Slightly beneath them, healed dark and smooth, is an older collection of scars, all blunt edges clustered over a small patch of Paz’s arm.

“You’ve always left your mark well.” 

Din’s breath catches in his throat, a sound that would have been lost beneath the rumble of the engines and would have died in the dampening controls of his helmet’s system. His hands are still on Paz’s arm, his touch delicate, still learning the pressure needed without the weight of gloves over his hands, and Paz takes the opportunity to intertwine his fingers with Din’s. There’s still a moment of hesitation between them, learning how to move without the grounding pressure of their armour, how to love each other in daylight rather than the quiet moments between missions in the relative shadow of one cave system or another, but Paz lets it flow over him. 

When he looks up, Din presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. 

They could stay like that for eternity, until they have rusted and rotted together, intertwined in whatever may come next.

Paz’s ears flick as he hears the sounds of movement from the cockpit, closer to a bar fight than anything else as Cobb makes to throw himself down the ladder while still tangled in the harness. He is as much a force of nature as the desert that holds him so close, moving before he thinks and trusting his instincts to steer him steady, running before he can walk. Paz had met Cobb fresh from a bacta tank, the muzzle half-torn from his face with an arm that hangs limp but is somehow still threatening as he wavers, raising his voice and a hand to jab at Fett’s shoulder. He hadn’t paused as he sized Paz up, a once-over that Paz had seen a thousand times and a slower grin that seemed to be an invitation and promise bound together and then set on fire that had been unique to Cobb. ‘Try me,’ that grin always says, ‘we’ll see who bleeds worse afterwards.’

Paz stands, takes two steps back into hollowed-out space just next to the corridor and breathes in. One and two and—

“Blood and bone, what the fuck is this?”

“Rain gear.” Paz tugs the coat he had thrown over Cobb closed, gently tapping at Cobb’s fingers as he tries to undo the fastenings Paz had clicked closed previously. The manoeuvre had gone easier than he had expected, Cobb skidding to a halt as he made to turn the corner to try and scramble the door controls over and Paz had neatly bundled him up before the other man could protest. 

Cobb stands in the centre of what passes as a docking bay, his ears flattened his head as he stares down at himself. His shoulders are curved, the delicate jut of his shoulder blades drawing the material up and Paz reaches over to tug at him, smoothing his hand over so the seams lie flat. 

“Why do I have to wear this?”

“It’s raining.” Din stands next to the door, off-kilter, as he taps on the control panel behind him. 

“I’ve been in rain before, darling, we have had storms while I’ve been alive.” Cobb bares his teeth at Paz, his smile leaning towards that self-same promise that Paz remembers so well. He backs away half a step. “I’ve never had to wear things like this.”

“More rain,” Paz answers. “Shall we?”

“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm about it.” Cobb takes a clumsy step forward, his arms held stiffly away from his body, and then another. “Let’s go.”

[inkformyblood]

Kicking off NaNoWriMo aka try to get my number of wips down a little with final dincobbpaz kitty month fic with feral Cobb as a treat for me 💜

The man’s armour is dark, the pitted surface made darker by the soot smeared over the surface, and Cobb’s fingers itch. He wants to know, wants to crack open the other man’s chest and crawl inside to shelter from a sandstorm only to see him back up afterwards, wants to break his knuckles against the plane of his helmet just to leave his own mark on the surface so that someone else would remember him after he’s dead. Cobb slinks forward, hips twisting one way and his knees going another, a collection of angles strung into something too stubborn to know he should’ve laid down and decayed decades ago, and reaches for the man’s thigh.

Hand on his wrist, pulling him forwards, balance already three-ways fucked and not going to get any better.

“Fuck off or I’ll break your wrist.”

“Would you?” Cobb blinks down at his own reflection distorted in the slight curve of a helmet, the dark sheen of the visor trembling with every laboured breath. There’s still blood in his hair, dried now and just beginning to flake away, his grin wide and showing off every tooth, the gold replacements catching the firelight and shining.

[inkformyblood]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV), Star Wars: The Book of Boba Fett (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth/Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla, Cobb Vanth/Paz Vizsla Characters: Cobb Vanth, Paz Vizsla Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Post-Canon, Not Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, DinCobbPaz Kitty Month, Cat/Human Hybrids, Injury Recovery, Permanent Injury, Cobb Vanth lost his arm, Mandalorians on Tatooine, All Mandalorians Have a Competence Kink (Star Wars), Protective Paz Vizsla, Pining Series: Part 1 of DinCobbPaz Kitty Month Summary:

Cobb is barely holding himself together after losing his arm. With the Mandalorian covert settling nearby, he decides to pay them a visit looking for Din and he finds more than he expected.