Chapter Text
He recognised the man before he even saw the face. Not hard, really. This was a man he had studied from a distance for a significant length of time, home and away and anything else that a Marshal in a borrowed set of Mandalorian armour did. Still, the shock of light grey hair was one of the few things unchanged about Cobb Vanth. His posture was both tired and clearly tense, eyes hard with clear anger. His clothing had been reduced to a form fitting pair of short breeches and his trademark red scarf had been replaced by some type of mechanical device around his neck that blinked every so often in warning. And then there were the clear signs of injuries; bruising, scars, cuts. A small turn revealed the edges of a clear flogging in the last week before the man slowly, carefully, settled on his knees beside the Baron Fett had come to see.
And there, of course, was the most important addition. A new brand at the small of the man’s back, still red and raw and angry.
There was a long pause as Fett weighed up the situation before turning his head finally to the Baron.
“You were saying about the recent additions to your fleet,” Fett kept his voice deliberately bored, just as bored as he had been before Djarin’s probable if brief bed-partner was led into the room on the end of a chain like a pet. From the relaxed look on the Baron’s face it was clear that possible associations between Fett and Vanth had not been considered, the Marshal a mere display of power and authority and little else.
The relaxation was not shared. Based on the sharp expression on the newly captured slave’s face, it was clear that the armour had been duly noted and Fett was aware of careful eyes surveying him coldly. Extremely coldly, for that matter, but then was that not expected? It was perfectly reasonable that Djarin had never mentioned where the armour had ended up and entirely feasible that Fett, a notable crime lord, had simply taken them from his fellow Mandalorian through force.
Based on Vanth’s clear anger the odds that the man had been Din’s bed-fellow moved from ‘probable’ to ‘extremely likely’, but Fett rarely concerned himself with other’s sexual habits. If Vanth could relax some of Djarin’s stricter than thou codes then that was distinctly preferable in his opinion. Who was he to judge.
“I was indeed,” the Baron, a small, fat man with a penchant for heavy rings and brightly coloured robes clapped his hands together with a beaming smile. “But I think we may have covered much of what we needed for tonight.”
Fett raised his head, his eyes narrowing. He had been scheduled to head back that night. “We have not finished our arrangements.”
“And I look forward to our discussions. But that, my dear sir, should be tomorrow’s task. It is too late for you to venture back at this hour, surely? My home,” Another flourish, a tinkle of metal, a flash of light bouncing from glass beads. “Is yours.”
Fett’s jaw tightened briefly. This had not been agreed. Still, the ‘home’, as the Baron put it, seemed to be safe enough. The politics had been mild, threat limited, and Fett had understood that the Baron stood to gain significantly more by their agreement than he would. It was simply another stepping stone in bringing the world to an acceptable level of coordination, and the Baron’s requests were basic even if Fett suspect there would be some unspoken motivation hidden in the background. Perhaps gaining additional favour, or understanding Fett’s tastes in order to craft proposals to their best advantage.
Such things made little difference to his irritation at the invitation-instruction, but Fett merely tilted his head for a moment in acknowledgement. A message would need to be sent to explain his absence.
His gaze flickered to the silent, still sullen slave on his knees, the silver head now tilted downward.
Possibly two messages.
A soft laugh indicated that the small look toward the slave had not been missed. The Baron beamed again happily, and gave a small tug to the shiny silver chain that led to the man’s collar that pulled the Marshal’s head up. Another flash of anger in Vanth’s eyes that clearly stated disembowelment if anyone dared say a word, before the man grasped hold of his willpower and turned his gaze back to the floor once again.
“Ah, you have seen my new acquisition. Isn’t he beautiful? A little rough around the edges, but he has a fine past.”
Fett was fully aware of said fine past and its significant amount of bloodshed and escape, a skillset that the Marshal had seemingly honed over the years. The Baron, he suspected, probably knew less of Vanth’s credentials and more of whatever story he was fed, plus the older marks of the Hutts to verify possible training.
“I didn’t think you purchased slaves.” Fett replied shortly.
“I normally don’t, but he was offered to me as part of a deal.” The Baron tugged on Vanth’s chain again, and a small flicker of irritation crossed the older man’s face before Vanth closed his eyes and tried to regain whatever decorum he had left. Fett watched him thoughtfully. Neither the home nor the guards would prove much of a hurdle should Vanth decide to simply leave, and yet there he was, chained, almost fully naked, and clearly furious. Why did he not simply escape once more?
“You use him for pleasure?” he said after a while. The small smile confirmed that a little too well, and the lack of words was at least a bonus. And that really was a waste. Vanth might be pretty but he was also a good, competent fighter. Whoever had sold him had either misjudged him entirely or had been perfectly aware of the man’s history and wished to humiliate.
“As I say, a little rough around the edges but I’ve never held with the concept of an old dog never learning new tricks. Besides which, I’m sure these are simply tricks he needs coaxing to do.” The Baron looked down at his prize for a moment, then up again brightly. “Why, did you wish to borrow him? He may behave more for you. You have that…,”
Fett wondered what the next word would be and how happy he would be about it.
“.. gravitas.” the Baron finished happily.
Did he wish to borrow him? It was not a question Fett had anticipated, and not one he was sure he knew the immediate answer to.
He had no doubt about Vanth’s view on the matter, of course. There was no mistaking the tension in the Marshal’s shoulders at that suggestion, but the man continued to stare toward the floor. Fett studied him again. Technically this was not his problem, as Fennec would very rightly point out. But still. Marshal Cobb Vanth had performed a good and honourable task protecting his small town in the middle of nowhere, and Fett could only imagine Din Djarin’s reaction to this discovery. Most likely short, efficient and violent. Djarin was nothing if not loyal to his friends, and Fett assumed that would be tripled when partners were involved.
Fett sighed internally. He had never enjoyed the concept of slave pleasures, let alone wish to suggest that he might be that way inclined. But still, if Vanth was with him then he was not with other people, and that, at least, might be some small mercy.
“Possibly. He is clean?” Fett asked idly.
“Fully checked. His collar provides a significant shock if he misbehaves, but I have not had to try that aspect out yet. He is obedient to a certain level.”
The statement regarding Vanth’s obedience was either generous or naive, but suggested again that the man was trying his best. He looked at him again, a small ball of kneeling rage that was so perfectly controlled that Fett was almost impressed.
No, he could not let him go back to whatever else the Baron had lined up for him. Fett might not know the Marshal personally but there were some things that were just intolerable.
“Sure.” he said finally. “Bring him to my room.”
The Baron beamed again. “Oh, good. I wasn’t certain whether you partook .. partakes… well, utilised the males of the area. I should really obtain a female, but as you note, slaves are not normally my area.”
Fett tilted his head in acknowledgement, not bothering to comment on preferences. Instead he simply followed one of the droids out toward the corridor and around several corners and stairs before finding himself in what was clearly one of the larger guest quarters of the home. He looked around him idly. Minimalist, certainly, but luxurious enough. The bed was a good size despite minimal bedding, and the walls flickered from the lighting in what he assumed was supposed to be a warm and welcoming way.
Of course, that wasn’t the only thing that the man had probably provided. Fett’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room for potential hiding spots and technologies. The Baron was not known to be a violent man but since his wealth was linked to intelligence and information then it would be foolish to assume the guest room would not be the same. A camera somewhere, he assumed. Either way, it was good to remember that privacy almost certainly came with caveats.
There was a beep at the door, and Fett turned to watch another droid bring in the clearly reluctant slave still at the end of his ridiculously light chain that was for decoration rather than restraint. Vanth's hatred struck him again, stated so clearly from the tension in the man’s shoulders to those narrowed eyes that plainly wished Fett either dead or sufficiently inconvenienced through being torn to pieces. Subtlety did not seem to be Vanth’s strong point, but he was there and he currently wasn’t attempting to move and that brought with it questions of its own.
Another flicker of curiosity hit him before he remembered about the droid.
“You can leave him there,” Fett said, ignoring the chain that was offered to him. He'd take that off later. “What sets off the shock collar?”
Another piece of technology was handed to him, this one a small hand sized device with a few buttons on it. Fett studied it and gave a small nod. Simple enough.
“Thank you. That will be all.”
His words were answered by a few soft beeps before the droid turned, the soft sounds of the door closing behind it. And finally there was silence once again, only broken by a few noises from the ongoing city activities outside the windows and the faintest sounds of light breathing from Vanth that was the only thing that betrayed his nervousness.
For a short while Fett simply studied the man in front of him, both familiar and not. First things first, and Fett turned his attention to the injuries that dotted the man's body like tattoos. The bruising on one side of his chest appeared to be a week old and caused by a heavy blow, several other cuts suggestive of a fight rather than a punishment. The marks of the flogging suggested they had been given a few days earlier. Whatever obedience Vanth possessed had not been able to stop the man’s hands from clenching into light fists at his side, the apprehension outlined in the man’s body as though he readying to jump away as Fett made his inspection.
Those weren’t the only things that had been inflicted upon him, of course. Someone had taken the time to groom him; his hair brushed and gleaming, his beard trimmed, his skin clear. Taken the time to do other things as well. Fett studied the new branding mark carefully. It had managed to avoid infection but it still looked a painful addition to the beaten tapestry of the man’s skin, and it didn’t need much imagination to understand Vanth’s probable reaction to its addition.
Fett’s eyes hardened again. If this could occur to an experienced fighter like Vanth, what else could be occurring without his knowledge?
“So.” Fett said in a low voice. “What happened?”
The silence was thick and sullen. Unsurprising. Fett huffed a soft laugh to himself and tossed the shock collar remote toward the bed, returning to stand in front of him.
“Look at me.” Fett said.
Still nothing. Vanth’s jaw tightened. Fett smiled ruefully, before raising both his head and the sharpness of his tone. They might well have observers, after all.
“Look at me.” It was no longer a request but an order.
Another stretch of silence but Fett could read the other man’s indecision clear enough, defiance battling with whatever inside him was determining that obedience was the sensible option. Sure enough, Vanth finally raised his head and looked at him, a weary resignation that was clearly fighting with the rage of his position.
“You don’t wanna do this,” The words, when they came, were so soft and unexpected that it took a few moments for Fett to comprehend them. They also leaned closer to a small threat than a plea for leniency, and a small smile of respect flickered at the corner of his mouth at the challenge. Whoever had tried to beat the stubbornness from Cobb Vanth had clearly failed, and Fett was pleased to note it.
Of course this was not the time to talk, not yet.
“Is this room likely to be bugged?” He moved a little closer as he spoke, noting how the man instinctively tensed as Fett raised a hand to touch the other man’s hair assessingly. Vanth’s eyes narrowed briefly in clear thought but there was a small, reluctant shake of the head. His eyes darted toward one corner of the room and then back again steadily. Camera. How depressingly predictable.
“Mm,” Fett’s hand dropped away as he studied him again, running a few options through his mind. A live feed or recorded? Could easily be either, could easily be both. Safest to assume someone was watching, if nothing more than out of curiosity.
“Where'd you get that armour from?” Vanth spoke again, and this time the words had a fierceness to them that would have made Fett check him for weapons had the man not been all but naked. Rough. Defiant. Clearly angry. Was it his imagination that there was a hint of concern in there too, fear for how Fett had extracted the armour from Din?
“Without injury. Quiet for a moment,” Fett spoke almost absent-mindedly and he didn’t need to look at the other man to know the growl on his lips. This was obedient? The Baron must have been extremely drawn to the man’s looks to overlook the sheer murderous intent of a man who had clearly spent much of his life resolving issues through careful applications of a blaster.
Still, Vanth’s habits aside, this was not the immediate place for a deep conversation. A cover story would need to be obtained, and at least visual was significantly easier to hide than verbal.
His own actions were clearly gaining curiosity from Vanth. Fett could see the man watch his movements as he walked to the bed and requisitioned one of the large heavy pillows that had lain near the top. A quick calculation gave him the best place to stand in order to have his back to the camera and blocking enough of Cobb for details to be obscured, yet enough to convince a casual viewer of their supposed activity.
Speaking of supposed activity-
Vanth frowned as the pillow was carefully placed on the floor in front of Fett’s feet and was given an expectant look. Fett doubted whether it would take long for the man to understand the meaning, and sure enough the Marshal’s gaze moved from pillow to Fett and then down again, thoughts flickering across his expression as realisation slowly began to emerge.
“Problem?” Fett raised an eyebrow, his voice a little louder in the small possibility that someone was listening, before leaning closer and dropping his voice again. “I’m assuming you know how a blow job works. Make it look feasible. And no, you don’t actually need to get your mouth dirty.”
He certainly had no intention of actually exposing himself, not under such circumstances. That Vanth was male was immaterial, and on the condition that the man’s mouth and thoughts didn’t let him down then he would be perfectly within Fett’s usual pool of interest. Truth be told, Fett couldn’t fault Djarin’s taste either, but that was neither here nor there. A beaten man on his knees out of obligation and threat had nothing to offer Fett in terms of sexual demand. A beaten man on his knees out of need and desire was a completely different thing, of course, but that was neither here nor there. Typical, really. The first possibility in some time and it was within a situation that was completely abhorrent.
Vanth had clearly understood his role in the deception, although by his expression he was still struggling with the concept. For the first time Fett fancied he could see fear in the other man’s eyes, although kept his sympathies to himself. It was clearly killing the man to be in the position he was in, and he had no doubt that pity would almost certainly destroy him. Clearly, whatever ‘training’ the man had received as a pleasure slave had been limited which begged the question whether the Baron had hoped Fett would tame his wayward slave or discover how reactive Vanth could get when he made the offer.
Finally, and with obvious reluctance, Vanth sank to his knees on the pillow that Fett had provided. Not that he was willing to go meekly, of course. There was a small furious glare upward, something that would have fired his interest significantly had this been a normal and willing sexual encounter, before Vanth slowly, carefully, leaned forward as though to service him.
Fett’s hand gently rested in the man’s hair, feeling the instinctive flinch before Vanth remembered what was happening and carefully relaxed again.
“So?” Fett murmured as Vanth went through the pantomime of pretence, his hand covering the lack of anything before the man’s head began to slowly bob. “What happened, Marshal?”
It was just as well this wasn’t a real encounter with his penis otherwise Vanth probably would have bit him out of shock. The bobbing head stopped, a very wary look aimed at him as the man clearly tried to work out why he knew who he was.
“And you are?” Vanth said finally, and a little fiercely. Fett eyed him. The chances that Vanth wouldn’t know his face was limited, but he doubted his name was the question. No, the question was almost certainly ‘why would you care’. And, if he was honest, it was a fair one.
“A friend of Din’s.” Friend was probably stretching the truth, but Fett felt the situation warranted such a departure from reality. “You were using my armour to protect your village.”
“You were the original owner of the armour?” Vanth’s eyes narrowed carefully. “I purchased it. I assumed you were dead.”
“So did others. It was a fair assumption.” Fett made a small gesture. “You might want to keep going.”
There was a small, soft sound of defeat before the small head movements continued again, Vanth slowly entering into what was clearly a decent rhythm. His hand was a small beacon of heat from where it rested against Fett’s hip, the other curled by his mouth to conceal the ruse, and both were strangely comfortable. The original question, of course, remained unanswered.
“I assume there is some threat that I’m unaware of that keeps you to this obligation,” Fett continued, and the question was greeted by another soft sigh, this one leaning more into a growl. There was no mistaking the edge when the words finally came.
“Does it matter?”
Fett frowned. “That was not the sentiment I was expecting from you,”
Another glance upward, this one a flash of fire and rage and defiance, and yes, that was definitely something that Fett could appreciate. Meek and mild had never drawn his interest, obedience even less so.
For a moment he wasn’t sure whether Vanth would speak but slowly, finally, as though pulling teeth, he began.
“Mos Pelgo. There’s no one there to protect them if people try to get retribution for anything bad I do here,” Vanth’s voice was fierce and low, and Fett knew the tones of self criticism when he heard it. The Marshal paused for a moment as he clearly struggled to find the next words, a series of emotions crossing his face as he did so. Finally he tipped his head as though still suckling, aiding the act but equally shielding his gaze from Fett. Vanth’s voice grew softer, quieter, a painful confession in a day of misery.
“There was a small caravan of us heading to the far mines.” he said. “Couple of days trip, ain’t nothing much, done it hundred of times. Always been safe, good sightlines, no worries.”
Another pause. Tension in his shoulders, and Fett had already guessed how this would end up.
“We got attacked, group of about twenty but there were snipers far back too. Good ones, too. Got a couple of shots that even I’d be hard pressed to do, and that’s saying somethin’.” Vanth’s voice had dropped so quiet that Fett had to concentrate to hear him, but he doubted whether the man even realised his volume.
“I took down some.. No, I took down a lot, but it felt like a whole damned army and they took out our other two experienced fighters almost immediately. S’like they’d already worked out who to target, y’know? And they then ..,”
He didn’t quite trail off but the next few words refused to come.
“Threatened to kill the others unless you did what they said?” Fett said finally.
Another pause, different. Fett’s eyes narrowed. Not quite, clearly, and there was a faintly guilty atmosphere that he couldn’t place.
“I didn’t have anything else to bargain with.” Vanth said finally, reluctantly, his words a mix between bitterness and a plea for understanding. Fett studied him for a moment before the implications slowly settled in his mind.
“You offered yourself in exchange for their lives. It was your idea.” he said incredulously. Vanth looked up at him again, hot, angry, embarrassed, and there was no hiding the shame and anger that intermingled in his eyes.
“I tried for wealth, items, they would only take what we could give them immediately and they were of the opinion that was easier to take it from corpses,” Vanth’s voice was both a snarl and a rush, as though desperate to get out an argument that he’d gone over many times in his mind. Perhaps he had. Fett had no doubt about the pain in the man’s eyes as he spoke.
“There was nothing else. They kept sayin’ they wanted to make a statement, show what kinda people they were. And the team I was with … they were barely much older than kids, some of ‘em first time out from the town. My group.. they’d have slaughtered them all, string ‘em up for their parents to find as some type of reputation thing. And I reckoned if they were up for big statements, boost their reputation, show how hard they were then … well, I’m well known around these parts. I figured that havin’ the lawman in this area at their feet might buy us some time.”
Fett found his hand moving to stroke over the man’s hair again, partly to offer an explanation of the man’s pause and partly as an automatic soothing gesture that was as much a surprise to him as it was to Vanth. He could feel the man’s tremble through the palm of his hand, a mix of anger and embarrassment and emotion, and it was a few moments before Vanth could speak again.
“So, yeah. Here I am, on my damned knees and my nose inches away from your cock.” The bitterness was both obvious and unsurprising. “Wasn’t expecting them to try and sell me as some sort of sex doll at my age, but I guess I should have guessed. If I try breaking out from here that big army’s just gonna go to Mos Pelgo and finish stuff off. The town ain’t ready for that.”
“And if I was able to defend your town from any reprisals?” Fett murmured. For a moment Vanth didn’t move before a slow and suspicious look aimed itself back at him, a man clearly too used to catches.
“Unless you were plannin’ on staying there for some time, that ain’t much use. And why would you do that?”
“You’re Din’s..,” Careful assessment of words. “.. friend. He will insist on helping regardless of whether you wish it or not once he discovers the situation-,”
“Fuck, no.” Vanth sat back on his heels, the violence of his reaction making Fett blink for a moment. The initial rage had turned into a blazing fire. “Din ain’t finding out about this. Not now. Not ever. And if you tell him-,”
Fett watched him, fascinated by the naked man on his knees who was planning to threaten him with presumably some unnamed horror. He’d known this anger before, of course. Sensible courses of action need not apply.
“He will find out,” Fett said finally. “It may not be from me, but he will find out. You know that.”
Vanth glared at him silently. Fett studied him a little longer, then made a small gesture back toward his groin. Strength of emotion he could understand, but a cover story required some dedication otherwise there was no point in the entire masquerade. Vanth snarled softly, muttered some no doubt rude word under his breath, and slowly resumed his actions. Fett slowly and carefully replaced his hand on Vanth’s head as the small rhythm continue, stroking his palm over the softness of his head in what he hoped would help give credibility to the act.
Probably best to ignore the fact that Vanth seemed to grudgingly relax further at the stroke. Touch starved? Most likely. Based on his skin it was likely that the only sensations Vanth had felt in the last few weeks were either painful or embarrassing.
“You must have a plan to extract yourself from this situation,” Fett murmured and was rewarded by another hard stare but little else, Vanth continuing to work with a frown on his face. The silence meant nothing, of course. The Marshal was a seasoned fighter and not wishing to speak his plans aloud to a man he’d barely met whose credentials were merely ‘friend of Din’s’ without Djarin present and able to vouch for him was sensible. Annoying, but sensible.
Still, did it matter what Vanth’s actual plans were? There was a simple, if expensive, way to extract him. Purchase of Vanth’s hide was likely to be straight forward and probably could be achieved over breakfast along with whatever foodstuffs the Baron had decided to offer. Buying Vanth didn’t necessarily have to be a loss, either. Perhaps the purchase could be a loan, one that could be paid off whenever the man wished to do so - there was no godly way that Vanth would not demand to return the money - and when Fett could be bothered. Or, indeed, a simple debt. There was never a point where experienced fighters beholden to him would be a hindrance, and even if Vanth sulked for several years Djarin’s thanks alone would pay back the amount at least twice over.
“Hmm,” he said instead. Vanth’s head lifted, another fierce glare aimed at him.
“What does that mean?” he demanded.
“It means ‘hmm’,”
“Don’t get involved. I can handle this.”
Fett’s eyebrow rose to indicate that their current positions suggested that Vanth’s handling of the situation could do with some improvement. The other man scowled.
“Don’t.” The word was almost a hiss. Pride. Always came before a downfall. Thankfully Fett had no real intention of worrying about what Vanth did and didn’t want him to do, and idly stroked his hand across Vanth’s hair again to shield the fact that the man had clearly stopped his blow job activities.
“Get up,” he instructed, and made some movements with his hands as though tucking himself away. “We can talk about this in the morning.”
The words had been mildly intended, a natural progression and nothing more, and yet Fett was conscious of the flash of alarm that crossed Vanth’s face at the suggestion. Curious.
“I mean for you to leave to your own quarters rather than sleep with me,” Fett clarified, just in case Vanth had skipped ahead in their pantomime, but this failed to improve the man’s disposition. A small glance toward the door, Vanth still on his knees, and a flicker of something that might even have been fear showing so briefly in those hazel eyes before Vanth looked away. Fett stared at him a little longer, trying to understand the man’s hesitance.
“Is there a problem with that plan?”
“No.” Vanth said, a little too quickly. Fett raised an eyebrow and there was a soft but heavy sigh. “No, sir.”
The last word had hints of sarcasm but it was greatly improved. Not that Fett cared whether the man called him sir or not, but he doubted Vanth’s hide would withstand too many corrections for an automatic sir not to be of benefit. But the man was still on his knees and clearly did not wish to leave.
“Forgive my observation, but your ‘no’ seems incorrect.” Fett said in a low voice. “You believe something will happen to you when you go back to quarters?”
Another flash of a look, this time reluctant. So that was a yes.
“Training?” Fett guessed. Vanth’s jaw tightened again, a small flush blossoming over his cheeks as he looked away once more. Another probable yes.
Fett sighed through his teeth before folding his arms and stepping away toward the bed. He was aware of the miserable gaze of Vanth following him, a man conscious of his own execution. But a blow job could not realistically stretch to multiple hours, and Fett looked back at him again carefully as he considered his options.
Perhaps his expression could have been slightly less fierce by the way the Marshal avoided his gaze, defiance unable to withstand the shame of whatever might come.
“I .. I could perhaps..,” Vanth said finally, but even he couldn’t finish that particular offer. Not that he needed to. There was a bed, there was a man he was supposed to pleasure, and other things took much longer than a blowjob to be completed.
Their eyes met briefly, one stern and one wretched, before Vanth looked away again and finally, slowly, pushed himself up from the pillow. Stooping to pick it up, he placed it back on the bed and began to make his way toward the door.
“Wait.” Fett held up a hand. Vanth paused, then glanced back at him. Not that Fett had an answer for him yet either, but sending the man to another fate did not settle well. Pretending that he was taking him to Fett’s bed was an obvious choice, but came with its own list of problems. Clothing was possible for small acts, beds were a different beast altogether and Fett had no inclination to give the camera a decorative show even if Vanth was willing.
Still, it was still possible, with some distraction, to hide what was and wasn’t occurring.
“Get on the bed.” The irritation in his voice wasn’t any type of act, and the fact that Vanth hesitated made him even more annoyed. “Move.”
Vanth growled another thing under his breath before moving back to the bed and slowly, carefully, sitting on the edge as though the damned thing was posed to eat him. Fett eyed him for a moment and then moved to his equipment to transmit to Fennec the short message of his delay that he had planned to send long before Cobb Vanth was supplied to his room as service.
The silence for several minutes was clearly making the other man uncomfortable as he shifted his weight and continued to look around him with the wary eyes of one expecting an ambush. Apparently the Marshal’s paranoia was indeed high, and Fett noted the fact that Vanth was again no longer prepared to meet his gaze.
Hm.
The message was sent, and now came other necessities. Fett stripped himself from boots and the heavier elements of his clothing as Vanth desperately tried not to watch him do so, and wondered briefly what was going through the Marshal’s mind. Did the man believe he would take him up on the offer, or did he not want to assume otherwise? Either way, Fett was confident that any actual activity with Vanth without his consent would almost certainly end up in a fight, albeit it unwise and short for Vanth.
“Do you need anything? Drink, bathroom, food..?” Fett queried idly. This was answered by a small shake of the head, Vanth’s gaze fixed where Fett’s hands were unfastening various belts from his person. Their eyes met again before Vanth slowly and gingerly edged himself further onto the bed to wait for whatever his fate was.
And now, of course, was the question of what he was going to do with him. It was a question that Fett hadn’t yet decided on an answer, other than aspects that had been automatically ruled out for so many reasons. Conversation at least was possible without worrying too much about eavesdroppers, but their actions required a dash of feasibility and a nod to justification for keeping Vanth there, and feared crime lords certainly did not keep male pleasure slaves simply to lie next to. Or at least, he assumed. The topic rarely came up.
Still, he doubted whether he would be quizzed too heavily, and from the previous sullen actions of Vanth Fett was generally certain he could gain reputation simply by how his orders were obeyed by a clearly reluctant man.
And speaking of orders, there were a few he needed to give.
“Lie on your front.” he spoke briskly, working through his pack to discover the items he needed. A pause, and Fett shot an irritable look toward the still immobile Vanth. “Don’t make me add to the decoration on your hide. Lie on your front.”
Oh, the look he received for that one. Fett was generally certain if the man had anything even faintly weapon like Vanth would have used it at that point. Those furious eyes turned to him again, the rage pushing him forward but intelligence holding him back. Finally, reluctantly, stiffly, Vanth slowly rolled to his stomach and rested his chin on his folded arms, staring defiantly toward the headboard as though he cared little what would be happening to him. Fett smiled grimly to himself. Well, at least it beat puppy dog eyes staring at him mournfully.
Vanth’s startle of shock as the cool, thick gel like substance of bacta was applied to his burn was both endearing and amusing.
“Sweet to know I have your faith,” Fett remarked drily in a low voice as his fingers worked the gel into the right spots. “Probably best if we don’t talk about what you thought I’d be doing.”
He didn’t need to see the man’s face to know he was flushing again. Another small endearing trait, not that Vanth would want to hear it nor Fett wish to admit it.
Now that Fett was so close, sitting next to him on the bed, he could easily see the other signs of punishment criss-crossed over the other man’s skin. There were also too many other bruises to count, a mix of colours and stages of healing, some impact, some deliberate. Many would be improved significantly from a bacta spray, but Fett doubted it would be worth it. He had no doubt Vanth would inadvertently replace the marks with fresher ones as soon as he was healthy. He seemed to be that way inclined for troublemaking, and nothing seemed to urge punishments from enthusiastic keepers like unmarked, clear skin.
“So what now?” Vanth finally broke the silence, a soft but faintly accusatory murmur between them without moving his head. “Can’t say I’m not enjoying the mattress, though. First time I’ve been on something soft in several weeks.”
There had been no thanks given, but he hadn’t been expecting any. Fett finished soothing in the bacta and stared at the Marshal’s back critically.
“Do those marks carry on under your limited garments?” he asked pointedly.
“My ass has taken a beating, yeah, if that’s what you’re asking. I can still do things though.”
Fett wondered whether he felt inclined to ask what those things were. The act of sitting by itself sounded like it might involve a considerable amount of willpower, but he was beginning to suspect that Vanth was driven by a fair amount of sheer stubbornness. He was almost startled when Vanth’s head lifted and a glance that didn’t immediately speak of rage and disembowelment looked at him.
“I can massage your back?” he suggested, and Fett’s imagination didn’t need to engage in order to hear that hopeful tone in the words. Fett hesitated. The suggestion as it was sounded strangely appealing, but the landscape of his own back often held more complexities than the current battleground that was Vanth’s.
“I have scarring.” he said finally.
“Then I’ll be careful.” There was a hint of cheerfulness in Vanth’s voice, a man who had finally found a faintly dry path through the swamp and a flicker of the man that Fett recognised from the town. Fett was still not entirely convinced.
“And how-,”
“Take off your shirt and lie down. I’m pretty good. Had a few jobs back in the day where if you didn’t rub out the pains then you couldn’t move your arms the following day.” Vanth was already moving when he was aware of the pointed silence coming from Fett. Surprised eyes turned to him, hesitated, then winced. “Okay, sorry. Could you take off your shirt and lie down, sir.”
“A little better.” Fett’s delay had been purely through thought rather than insult but he was happy enough to accept the offer.
“Adapt, survive.” Vanth replied, waiting for his move. Fett eyed him again. Again, the lack of clothes wasn’t so much a concern as it was an annoyance, a feeling that his person was being driven by someone other than him, but his days often held more unpleasant aspects than a simple back massage by someone he grudgingly trusted. Vanth gave him a small, lazy smile, again hinting of the relaxed one that he often aimed at Djarin, and flourished his hand toward the bed again in what was probably an inviting way.
“Now, I don’t have any oils I can use but m’pretty sure I can give you a decent job just with my hands.” Vanth continued. “Much easier on bare skin, of course..,”
“Hm,” Fett folded his arms.
“It will be good, sir,” Vanth’s voice drawled over the last word, a very fine line from mockery, but Fett was almost prepared to let him get away with it. Almost. A hard stare aimed itself at a clearly unrepentant Vanth before Fett carefully removed his shirt and lay where the man gestured. He almost jumped as he felt Vanth straddle his thighs, the other man’s ass parking itself comfortably and lightly over Fett’s legs in a manner that was significantly more intimate than he’d anticipated.
“What-,”
“S’okay.” Warm hands draped themselves over his shoulders, a small squeeze of Vanth’s fingers as they trailed down Fett’s back from his shoulder blades to his middle back. That particular assessment was still doubtful but he decided to keep his concerns to himself for the time being as a warmth of sensation flooded through him from the delicate touch.
At least one thing was certain. Vanth was good at massage. Remarkably so, in fact. If there was such a thing as uncomfortably comfortable, Fett believed he had found it.
“Relax a bit.” Vanth continued his work, finding a rhythm, focusing on knots and tensions and areas of his body that had not so far proved an immediate concern to Fett until Cobb Vanth decided to become ‘useful’. The heat of the Marshal’s body was still sitting on his thighs, his groin brushing against the rise of Fett’s backside in such a light manner that he wasn’t certain his imagination was involved, and his hands were both skillful and utterly indecent as far as Fett’s instincts were concerned.
This was not a position Fett ever believed he would find himself in, and he was annoyed that it had.
“So what are you planning,” he said instead. The hands paused for a moment before Vanth began again, a little more cautiously.
“There’s gonna be opportunities to leave.” Rub. Knead. Stroke. Repeat. “I can wait.”
“Can you.” He didn’t mention the alternative activities that Cobb Vanth could be doing that evening. He didn’t need to. The hands paused again before Vanth made a soft growl at the back of his throat and continued.
“You don’t understand. I need to make sure that I can get out with enough time to sort stuff out.”
“And I am your best way to achieve that.”
Vanth merely continued with his activities in silence. Fett waited for a few more moments, easing into the sensation of Vanth’s thumbs kneading into sensitive spots either side of his spine, before making a soft growl of his own. The delay was irritating and pointless, Vanth’s reluctance unknown.
“I’m not inclined to play either. What is your aversion to my assistance? I doubt you sincerely believe I am working against you.”
“I don’t think you’re working against me, pal-”
“..pal?”
“-but I don’t want your kind of help. I can do it by myself.” The stubborn voice of a teenager, despite the fact Vanth was more than a few decades away from that period of his life.
“And what, exactly, is my type of help?” Fett was beginning to become annoyed, then paused and frowned at a possible explanation. Surely not. “Mandalorian? Please tell me this isn’t about keeping up appearances with Djarin. My opinion of you would drop significantly if it is.”
“Of course not.” Vanth snapped back, and Fett was perfectly aware that both of them recognised that lie when they heard it. For all that was holy… The man was worried about losing face with his boyfriend. He growled softly and pointedly and felt the hands hesitate again.
“If you dislike my help so much, perhaps this evening should end.” Fett’s voice was stern and bitter.
He could feel the tension in Vanth’s body from where it was still perched on his thighs, a man who was gingerly testing how much shit he was in and finding that the measure was overwhelmed. Fennec would have an opinion on this too, of course. Don’t bother to help people who didn’t help themselves, and Fett was surprised by the flash of anger through him before he sealed that away.
“Okay. I’m sorry.” Vanth began to stroke again, cautiously, carefully, a little peace offering. Fett felt himself relax again into the mattress, the scowl slowly fading at the touch. There was never any risk that he would send the man back to whatever cellar he was being kept in but there was equally no issue in Vanth believing that there was a very small chance that there was.
Time drifted on, and Vanth’s hands began to slow. Finally Fett shifted his hips pointedly and felt the man almost startle, a nod to how tired he actually was.
“Off.” he instructed. Vanth stayed put.
“It’s okay, I can continue-,”
“Off.” More teeth in the order. There was a soft mutter before Vanth slid from him like he was dismounting a particularly low bantha, rolling to lie on his side next to him. It didn’t take an expert to note the hint of anxiety in his eyes, a man who wasn’t certain what the next steps were but was pretty damned sure they would be unpleasant in some form.
In contrast, Fett felt reasonable. A stretch confirmed that his muscles were feeling significantly better than usual and the edges of sleep were closer than he’d ordinarily expect.
“You can stay there for the night.” Fett said finally. Vanth stared at him for a moment incredulously, then huffed softly.
“They won’t let me. If you’re not using me-,”
“Then I will find a use for you later.” Fett pinched the bridge of his nose with a hand before letting it fall back, easing himself onto his back and staring up at the ceiling for a moment.
Vanth hesitated again before curling up on the other side, clearly uncertain whether to watch the door or Fett himself. The corner of Fett’s mouth lifted ruefully.
“Get some sleep.” His tone made it clear it was an order rather than a suggestion. Fett settled further, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. He could feel Vanth readjust his position a few times, trying to find a comfortable spot on his bruises, before finally the man stilled. And, for a short time at least, things were relatively peaceful. The night caressed them, a comfortable silence that felt better than Fett had hoped for. Even sleep came swiftly, although it left even swifter when the door chirped a warning some time later.
He growled softly. This was becoming more than tiresome.
Fett squinted upwards in the dark and then turned his head toward the door, pushing himself upward irritably as the door chirped its intrusive chirp again into relative peace. He hadn’t been the only one to stir either, Fett conscious of Vanth’s gaze on him as he crossed the space toward the entrance.
“What is it?” Fett didn’t bother to hide the irritability in his voice as the door slid open. The droid blinked a few lights at him in the manner that droids did and took a few moments to consider its line.
“My apologies for waking you. I have come to collect the slave.”
Fett’s eyes narrowed. Apparently Vanth was right when he’d insisted that they’d not let him sleep unmolested.
“I haven’t yet finished with him. Leave him with me until morning.”
The droid flashed a few more lights as though calculating its odds.
“With respect, the master has decreed his training needs to continue and without physical-,”
“And how,” Fett interrupted softly and dangerously. “Would you know what we’re doing or not?”
More lights. More pauses.
“My master-,”
“Your master has kindly offered me his services. I will continue his physical training tonight. Would that be sufficient for you?”
More lights, the silence lengthening. Fett held some regrets that he had not replaced his shirt before sleeping, but a bare chest whilst debating over use of a pleasure slave would probably only strengthen his argument he was planning to use him. Finally the lights began to slow again, the droid slowly coming back to life.
“My master is in agreement and is grateful for your kind offer. He looks forward to greeting you at breakfast.”
What the master thought they’d be doing at breakfast was anyone’s guess. Fett tilted his head in acknowledgement. What would occur would occur. For the time being he had other matters to consider, and said matter was watching him carefully from the bed as he turned around from the closing door.
For a few moments there was nothing but silence as they studied each other. Finally Fett made a small growl in the back of his throat and stalked back to the bed, ignoring the other man as he did so.
“Settle back down.” The intention was a request, the tone less so. Not that Vanth was planning to be obedient either. The silver head indicated toward the door with a small nod, his gaze never leaving Fett’s.
“You heard what they said.”
“That they’re watching? Yes. I did.” he settled back on the mattress and closed his eyes. For a moment, anyway. “Bed.”
“And the training?” Vanth replied, carefully. Fett took a deeper breath of air and held it for a moment, grasping onto his patience before slowly allowing its release.
“Since you’re failing miserably at obeying a straight forward instruction I am loathed to attempt anything further for fear of being completely and utterly overwhelmed by annoyance.” Fett directed the words to the ceiling since that had an infinitely higher chance of actually listening to him. “And if I didn’t know better, you sound disappointed.”
He didn’t need to look at the man to know his jaw would be clenched.
“I’m not. I’m just practical. Anything that doesn’t happen now ends up happening to me twice as hard later,”
Annoyingly he could see where the Marshal was coming from. As far as Vanth was concerned, he was stuck in this place for the next few days at minimum. A sensible man would not tempt fate, or at least would pick which bedfellows he thought would be easier to tolerate. Fett closed his eyes and readjusted his position on the mattress calmly. Perhaps he should mention his intentions to purchase the man the next day, but he doubted that method of freedom would sit well. Either way, Vanth could get back to sleep and let him deal with it.
“Just go to bed.”
“Hey! We were talking.”
Fett found his own teeth gritted for a moment. No good deed unpunished.
“If you don’t go to sleep by yourself I will explore ways to achieve it through less traditional means,”
“That a threat?”
“That’s certainly one interpretation of the words.” Fett was beginning to see why the man had managed to collect his array of injuries and punishments. The only reason why his own anger was mostly under control was the underlying tones of caution in the words, a vulnerability that Vanth himself would certainly not enjoy others noting. “You will be protected. Now turn over, shut up and sleep.”
Would he listen this time? He was still shifting, but at least the man had fallen silent. Fett growled inwardly. It was just as well the man had fallen into an inexperienced slave owner’s hands; the chance that Vanth would get away with half of his behaviours without significant repercussions with anyone else was minimal. And that was simply considering Vanth’s lack of obedience; Fett didn’t want to think about the increase in work that would have been placed on the man, let alone what he’d be expected to do.
Not a thought he wanted to consider. And besides which, it was almost immaterial. Vanth would be Fett’s soon enough, at which point the risk to his body and mind would be gone. They could argue the difference when they were in a better location.
The shifting gradually stilled over a thankfully short period of time as Vanth succumbed to the very real need for sleep, and once again there was peace broken only by the soft sounds of breathing as the Marshal slept. Fett studied the ceiling once again and tried to ignore the small curled ball of the other man next to him, face hidden by one hand and the other arm curled up protectively. At least he was easier to manage.
Not that the peacefulness stayed for too long. After a short while Fett was aware that the soft sounds had hitched slightly, a few whines every so often. Nightmares. All too familiar to him, and he watched sympathetically as the other man twitched and shifted in his sleep. He tried to refocus on the ceiling above but apparently his imagination was already captured by Vanth’s current predicament, conscious of every breath, each small whimper, the small trembles and vibrations that were transmitted through the mattress.
Fett frowned upwards. Vanth would settle shortly, he told himself sternly.
Or not.
Another soft, pitiful whimper like a beaten stray and Fett gritted his teeth. After the third one Fett rolled onto his side, lifting his hand with the intent to touch the other man’s waist but held back for a moment carefully. He had no concept of the types of nightmares the man was experiencing. Would a strange touch soothe or amplify? Was this something he should be interfering in at all? For all his swagger and charm, Vanth had a good element of pride and suspicion woven through him. Strange men - strange Mandalorians - knowing his personal issues was likely to grate. Perhaps he should simply pretend he had not heard.
Another soft noise of distress and Fett dismissed that option immediately, slowly and cautiously resting his hand on the man’s bare waist. It was a matter of intense relief that the touch seemed to settle rather than startle, Vanth’s trembles slowly dying away and Fett gained the courage to stroke his hand down the man’s side a little more in the absence of retaliation.
Good. Very good. He just needed to soothe him a little longer, allow him to enter a deeper sleep and then he could-
Vanth made another soft noise, this one sleepy, happier, and squirmed closer until their legs were touching and their bodies were close enough that spooning only required a small roll forward. If he was feeling fair, the man hadn’t needed to squirm that far at all but Fett wasn’t feeling too fair, not with the warmth of Vanth’s body being annoyingly pleasant. He froze. How long had it been since he’d been lying this close with someone for sleep? He honestly couldn’t remember, and that was annoying by itself.
Fett sighed to himself and reluctantly allowed his hand to rest further on Vanth, eventually sliding his arm around him in a light hug. He didn’t bother to find a suitable justification to make certain parts of his mind more comfortable. What would be the point? Lying to yourself so blatantly either meant you were an idiot for believing it or an idiot for trying, and the irritating truth was simply that he was enjoying Vanth pressed against him. A little too much, perhaps, as Vanth squirmed even closer and Fett found the warmth of the man’s lean back pressed against his chest and the curve of the Marshal’s backside nestled closer to areas that really shouldn’t be encouraged, but he was able to shift his own hips backwards to relieve that pressure a touch. The last thing he needed was Vanth to wake and discover a painfully hard erection pressed against his ass, and especially not in this place and not now.
Still, there were still elements that teased Fett’s senses, even without that heaviness in his groin that whispered at him to enjoy the full experience. The sensation of Vanth’s breathing and small little vibrations of a living body next to him. The scent of the man’s skin, clean but still distinctly him. The way that Vanth cuddled - and there wasn’t a better term for it - into him, one of his arms resting lightly against Fett’s.
Fett sighed to himself again. It was one night, and one night alone. Once the man was purchased and safe, he could return him to his rightful Mandalorian and forget the whole damned thing happened. He could only imagine Fennec’s face if she found out he’d been…
Well. Yes.
Fett rested his forehead against Vanth’s shoulder blade and pretended he didn’t hear the soft, happy breath from the other man as he relaxed further into sleep. Protection, that was all he was providing.
And to think he wasn’t planning to lie to himself that night.