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Watching silent, leaning against the rear wall of the cockpit with his head tilted slightly as he regards your form splayed out on the pilot seat. He’s partially veiled in darkness, a stoic and unmoving figure in the shadows while you are illuminated by the soft light shining into the cabin from the repair dock the Razor Crest is currently sat in. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, caught in a place you shouldn’t be by a man who won’t hesitate to throw you off his ship for breaking the rules.
But that’s the game.
This is the thrill you’ve been chasing ever since you first met the mysterious armoured bounty hunter several weeks ago. He had taken you on board the Crest out of pity, that must’ve been it. To him you had been simply a poor lost girl, and he was the fool who needed an assistant of sorts. Perhaps he needed the company too, or something more, but he’d never admitted it to you.
Now he finds you a breathless, half-naked mess in his seat on his ship. Your breasts freed from the caging fabric around them, rising and falling with your careless breath. Your dexterous fingers dipped below the waistband of your pants, but stilled with your clit pinched between two of them under the fabric. Your gentle, too-quiet mewls of pleasure coming to a halt as he moves.
The game had started by accident, because you were too careless and liked him too much. It had very quickly become clear to you—after settling in to your role on the ship like a duck to water—that he was more than his profession, than his armour, than his creed. He wasn’t just some strong brute hunting quarry for credits. He was powerful and astute, a man of honour and of heart no matter how much he tried to bury it.
So naturally you wanted him more than anything.
You weren’t sure of his desire for you, although you had some inkling from the way he paid attention to you as you worked on the ship. Most likely he thought you didn’t notice him staring, thought his helmet made it impossible to tell, but you felt it every time. So you knew he had walked in on you as you thought of him, hands working underneath the fabric of your clothing, even before he realised what was happening.
“I- I’m sorry” he had stuttered in shock at the realisation, turning immediately but hesitating to leave.
“Stay. Please” was your immediate, unthinking response and you swear you heard his breath hitch at your request.
“Is that what you want? Me to- To watch?” he responded eventually, slowly, turning back towards you.
“Yes. If it’s what you want”
And it was.
So he had stayed, and watched. Again, and again, and again. It played out the same every time; him catching you in some immodest display, though no longer by accident, and watching rapt and unspeaking each time you brought yourself off for him. Never touching you, never asking you for more. Just watching, and never speaking of it.
“Keep going” he tells you now, bringing you back to yourself. He crosses his arms, leans back again and tilts his head nodding towards the place your fingers are splayed inside the fabric of your pants.
You gulp down dumbly, throat dry, before pulling back your hand to help you shimmy out of the pants and toss off the shirt that had been bunched up above your chest. You spread your legs wide, hoping desperately that the sight of you naked and spread for him on his seat will be driving him wild inside the mass of metal covering him. You let yourself imagine him wanting you, taking you. Think about his skin; it would be hot under you. How would he touch you? Would it be gentle, like you’re a glass ornament he’s afraid to shatter. Or would he lean in to his strength? You think about his large hand around your throat, squeezing. The image of it makes you moan and slide your hands back down your body.
It’s difficult to discern exactly what his reaction is to you. The man gives nothing away – always able to hide any slack-jawed admiration, reddened cheeks or looks of desire behind the helmet that never comes off. He’s not much of a talker either, choosing the simplest answers and instructions and rarely making real conversation with you. He has the advantage there. It makes you feel like he holds all the power, he is able to keep calm and collected where even the simplest brush of your body against his covered frame would cause you to stutter and stumble even when you were so sure of yourself.
This, now, is a rare moment when you perceive that you have at least some command. At the very least you know he’s captured; following your movements and paying attention only to you for once. The action of your hands, fingers gently grazing over your skin to return to their place between your legs while your other palms at your breasts, your touch frustratingly light as you tease your sensitive nipples.
The way the cool, dim light falls over you makes it seem like you’re bathed in ethereal moonlight, like some goddess of sin. The smallest gasp escapes your lips when you glide over your clit, and you know he can see exactly how wet you are. You keep your eyes firmly on him as you slide two digits inside yourself with ease, feeling the rush of heat as you curl them against your upper wall and desperately trying to hold on to the imagined eye contact you have with the emotionless visage before you. Odd, not to know the colour of the man’s eyes but still willingly give him this deeply intimate moment.
Pulling your fingers back, you hold them up to show him they are slick with you before bringing them to your lips. It’s obscene, opening your mouth and tasting yourself as he continues to watch in silence, statuesque. The slightest movement of his hand as you do so, balling up in to a fist, gives you more of a rush than any other person has ever provided you. So you keep going; saliva coated digits trailing between your breasts and further, down past your bellybutton, down to you slick folds to continue teasing that bundle of nerves that holds the key to your release.
So sensitive, more than you expect, you choke against the pressure of the small, concentrated circling motions. Throwing your head back until it bumps against the seatback and you’re whining, not just at how good it feels to touch yourself but how good it is to know he’s watching. Your other hand pinching the skin of your thigh hard, the tingle of pain mixed with the pleasure making you feel white-hot and on your way to the heavens.
“M- Mando” you whimper, wanting to make sure he knows it’s him you’re imagining.
But then he’s moving. You hear the slightest noise of his footsteps and open your eyes wide, stopping dead in your movements. He isn’t stopping, coming so close to you it would take nothing at all to reach out and touch the cool metal covering him.
This isn’t how the game goes.
Is this when he finally throws you off the ship?
“What…” you rasp out the beginnings of a question, unsure what to do with this unprecedented action. He’s never been this close while you’ve been this naked. Fuck, your heart is pounding and you’re frozen to the spot waiting for him to make his move, ready to be dragged out of the cockpit and left to fend for yourself.
Instead Mando drops to his knees with a muted thud onto the metal flooring, positioned between your open legs and his gloved hand hovers over your raised knee. Did you finally break him? The thought makes you shiver.
“Can I?” he asks softly.
You just nod, still wide eyed in shock, and when you feel his covered palm land gently down before moving slightly upwards you let out a breath you had no idea you had been holding. The caress is tender and slow, moving half way up the thigh then back down to where it started. You pray to the stars that this never ends, but too soon he’s moving away and leaning back slightly.
“Can you keep your eyes closed?” he enquires, something of a tremble in his voice as he pinches the fabric of the glove between the fingers on his opposite hand and pulls ever so slightly.
Another violent nod and you scrunch your eyes shut as tight as possible for him, never more eager for anything than what you think is happening now.
“Good” you hear him shuffle, something dropping to the floor.
You want to ask him what changed, why he’s offering you this unexpected gift. Want to know how this changes things. But instead you stutter in what you can only call absolute bliss when he lays his now-bare hand against your hip.
He sighs at the contact, and you nearly come undone at the sound alone.
“Keep going” he orders, but less commanding than before, with a squeeze where he’s touching you before he slowly starts to move.
You had almost forgotten about what you had been doing, slowly starting to move your fingers again at his request. Your entire body is buzzing, the places his palm roams scorching with the touch of his skin on yours. Finally. Your imagination is nothing against the real thing. There is nothing but this in your mind now, you want to stay in this moment for the rest of time. His touch will be the only memory you keep from now on.
When his fingers dance across your stomach then down to the opposite hip it’s feather-light and tender, but reaching your other thigh he lets his fingers dig in to the soft flesh making you cry out. He touches you everywhere but the place you don’t dare to even think about him touching, where you still work towards your peak. And oh you’re close, inching closer with every movement of his, every reminder that he is real and here and touching you.
His breath is heavy through the modulator, hitching as he reaches your breasts and kneads the pliant curve of flesh to his will. You groan, zoning in on that feeling but too soon he’s moving on, upwards, hand hesitantly settling around your throat.
“This is what you like?”
Of course, he knows it. Has seen you do this to yourself enough times now, always wishing it was him.
“Yes. Yes. Please” you murmur out, momentarily stilling the ministrations against your swollen clit to ensure you keep you eyes closed when he acquiesces and presses down just slightly at first – making sure it’s safe – then with a tiny bit more pressure and it’s enough.
It doesn’t take anything more than that; you choke, swipe twice more over your clit, and unravel in an instant, falling apart from an orgasm stronger than any other in your life. Your legs shake hard, muscles tensing then releasing. Calling out unintelligible expressions of sheer ecstasy, barely even aware of the fluid gushing from you in your overwhelming pleasure that goes on and on with no beginning or end in sight. Rapture, truly.
Eventually you slump back, completely undone and weightless. Your skin tingles where Mando now lightly caresses, soothing you as your heart-rate slowly comes back down.
When he pulls away, you let out a quiet sob, keeping your eyes shut waiting for him to tell you what to do. There’s some noise, but you can’t move through the thick fog in your mind to know what it is.
“Wait…stay. What does this-” again you try to ask but you’re cut off.
Soft, plush and sweet, you must be dreaming when you feel his lips press against yours. Stars, this can’t be real.
But his lips moving against yours like this, the quiet moan coming from him when you kiss him back, you would never torture yourself with such a beautiful feeling only for it to be completely imagined. Making yourself experience this knowing you could never really have it, that would be more cruel than anything else you’ve thought about with him.
This kiss, this is real. It’s the truest thing you’ve ever know.
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DARK PARADISE AESTHETIC POSTERS || A RIVERDALE STORY
“ Darcy Delgado seems perfect. Untouchable. But everyone has their Achilles heel. For Darcy, that was Jason. She never truly got over him. Even after he left her for Polly, Jason Blossom remained as Darcy's entire world. So when Jason's murder comes to light, Darcy Delgado's seemingly perfect world comes crashing down. If only she'd helped him then, maybe things would be different... “
