Rough Day by guardianangelicas

Heaven in Hyperspace

This story doesn't belong to me. It belongs to guardianangelicas on AO3.

So... you don't go down on him later.

Which-y'know, sucks.

But as it turns out, the reasoning behind it actually ends up sucking more than the actual... well, lack of sucking.

Turns out, Mando isn't used to having someone dress his wounds while he's unconscious. The ugly, purple welt on your cheekbone is a glaring monument to that; somehow numb and throbbing in equal parts, painting the side of your face dark and swollen as you stare at it in the mirror of the tiny bloom closet sized fresher. Maker, it's ugly. You wouldn't complain if you deserved it, but you're pretty sure he was still passed out cold when a flash of beskar suddenly came up and clocked you one good right in the side of the face.

One unintentional twitch of his elbow and you suddenly have a black eye. Imagine the damage he could do if he was actually awake.

Perhaps it was an act of folly on your part, but next time you'll be sure to reattach his armor and underplates after applying bacta to his scars as opposed to before. Not like you were trying to be helpful or anything, make sure he wasn't needlessly exposed unless circumstances absolutely dictated it. He already made himself vulnerable enough just by losing consciousness in front of you, you didn't want him to have to wake up in such an open, susceptible position as well.

But see, that ended up presenting a problem you now have to deal with. Because, after finishing patching him up to the best of your ability (one-handed, with a piece of scrap metal extended cautiously in front of you like a shield), you originally just planned for a quick, ten-second excursion to the fresher to check out the gnarly bruise still throbbing painfully along the entire left side of your face. You didn't expect to get so distracted by the slightly bloodshot eye and the split lip framing the corner of your mouth.

Holy fuck. He hit you harder than you thought. It's not like you're actually upset with him or anything, but. Holy fuck.

And then of course, things go from bad to worse when you suddenly jump at the sound of steel clanging outside the fresher, the Mandalorian abruptly startling awake in the hull. Maybe it's a testament to your compassion that you immediately want to hide it from him, spare him the knowledge that he accidentally whacked you in the face so hard you saw stars when you had nothing but pure intentions. Then again, a small voice in your head supplies unhelpfully as you glance back in utter shock at the mirror, still working to process just how fucking horrendous you look right now. He called you pretty, didn't he?

Yes, he did.

Twice.

He'll need a shower and a change of clothes as soon as possible, but everything's in here with you. Which means you're going to have to pass by each other.

... Which means you're going to see him in his cum-stained pants, and he's going to see you with this hideous mark swelling across your cheekbone.

It's unavoidable. Duck and hide under your hair all you want, it's unavoidable. You should just do it, you reason. Just open the door and get it all over with while he's still regaining his bearings, still working to process what happened. Maybe if you're quick, you can slip by without him looking at you too hard. Maybe he won't even look at you at all, too ashamed and consumed by his own state of disarray to notice yours.

Once you finally work up the nerve to slide the door open a few inches however, you're able to catch just a single flash of armor through the small space between either piece of sheet metal before you're immediately yanking it back shut again.