Codywan Fakeout Makeout
“Blast,” Obi-Wan said. “Looks like someone’s not happy we’re here.” He nodded his head at a few rough-looking specimens were eyeing them from the bar, fingering their blasters and muttering to the barkeep.
He had been tracking a lead on one of the senators’ multitude of would-be assassins, as he so often seemed to these days. Every time Obi-Wan returned to Coruscant he had another three missions lined up for him, whereas Anakin seemed to always have enough leave to attend Senator Amidala’s various soirees.
He really was getting too obvious; a few concerned knights and masters had told him that young Ahsoka spent most of her time in the Temple alone in the archives or tagging along with Master Koon or various other masters who made time for her in their off hours. A varied education was of course valuable (Obi-Wan had spent quite a lot of time with Yoda and his friends’ masters as a padawan, himself), but he was concerned that Ahsoka was learning far more about how to be a warrior than how to be a Jedi from Anakin.
But at this point there was little he could do; Anakin was a knight, not a padawan, and Obi-Wan was currently in a shady nightclub on Corellia getting dirty looks from the regulars he’d been asking pointed questions to.
“It seems there’s nothing for it,” Obi-Wan sighed, making to approach them and hopefully negotiate his way out of a fight, but a hand grabbed his arm before he could.
“Sir,” Cody said, looking dashing but supremely uncomfortable in the sleek vest and tight shirt (complete with a plunging neckline) that was in fashion for Corellian pilots at the moment. Obi-Wan understood; he usually never left the Temple without at least three layers of tunics on, but for missions like these discretion was the better part of valor. Typically Vos or another shadow would’ve been tapped for such a thing, but apparently the chancellor had (yet again) requested him personally, as he often did for off-planet missions.
“Yes, Cody?” Obi-Wan stressed. Cody had insisted on coming along, and Obi-Wan had insisted in turn that they not blow their cover by using titles. Cody was, perhaps predictably, struggling.
“If you go over now you’re going to start a fight,” Cody hissed, “and then everything will go to hell and I won’t be able to keep up like Skywalker always does because I’m not insane.”
Obi-Wan blinked, thrown (and perhaps a little affronted, though Cody had a point). “And what do you suggest?”
Cody’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, then he blurted, “Dance with me.”
Obi-Wan blinked, his traitorous heart skipping a beat. “During an investigation?”
Cody’s face did something complicated, but there was a doomed resolve in his eyes as if he was about to face down a firing squad. He took Obi-Wan by the wrists and dragged him out onto the dance floor.
Their friends at the bar had started shouldering past drunken, gyrating clubgoers toward them, which was evidently what had caused Cody’s alarm. Obi-Wan pushed past his own reticence–he should not let his… one-sided attachment to Cody get in the way of their duty, and if Cody wanted to avoid a fight in this environment, Obi-Wan would defer to him.
So he grabbed Cody, one hand low on his back and the other on his nape, and started dancing.
“Sir?” Cody yelped, face crimson and stiff as a board. He might have flinched away if Obi-Wan hadn’t just pressed closer.
“You asked me to dance, Cody, so I’m dancing,” Obi-Wan said, trying very hard to keep his voice light and unaffected. He might have only danced at diplomatic banquets the past few years, but as a padawan he and his friends had sneaked out to the lower level bars and nightclubs on more than a few occasions.
He’d have to be careful not to fall back into old habits–Cody was his comrade and subordinate, and no matter Obi-Wan’s personal feelings Cody didn’t share them. But if they were to fool their new friends he’d need some cooperation.
“You have to touch me if we’re going to dance,” Obi-Wan whispered into his ear, beard brushing his jaw, and Cody’s hands came up lightning quick to grip hard at his hips. He still wasn’t moving.
“Aw, you pulled a shy one,” a gorgeous Twi’lek dancing next to them cooed, voice loud enough to be heard over the pounding music, an equally attractive human man and woman in each arm. “He’s delicious. Want to dance with us instead, pet?”
Cody shook his head rapidly. “No, thank you, sir,” he managed, and might have saluted if his hands hadn’t been glued to Obi-Wan’s waist.
“He’s with me,” Obi-Wan said with a sharp, rather unfriendly grin. He pulled Cody even closer, until they were pressed together from hips to chest. Cody shuddered against him, and Obi-Wan resolved to apologize profusely later on. His commander was clearly incredibly uncomfortable.
Obi-Wan managed to coax Cody into dancing, so close that it was more like grinding (albeit far too awkward to be as enjoyable as Obi-Wan used to find that sort of thing). Cody’s face was so red that Obi-Wan was worried he was going to get overheated. He tried to ignore the steadily-piling evidence that Cody disliked his closeness, disliked his touch. It was perhaps the most proper dancing Obi-Wan had ever engaged in at a club, and people were starting to notice.
“This isn’t working,” he said, as quietly as one could while still being heard over the music. “We’re just drawing more attention to ourselves.”
One of Cody’s arms abruptly circled his waist, the other hand coming up to press at his spine, and suddenly Obi-Wan was looking right into his amber eyes. His face was still red and he still looked horrifically embarrassed, but his gaze was dark and intent.
“I’m gonna try something,” he murmured. “You can court-martial me later, Obi-Wan, but will you trust me to do this now?”
“Yes, of course, what–” Obi-Wan began, and then Cody’s lips were on his.
Even if he was uncomfortable with dancing, it was clear that this was an area Cody excelled at. Obi-Wan had to clutch at his solid back to stay steady, Cody’s mouth devouring his, stealing his breath and lighting up his nerves until he could barely focus on anything else.
He made to pull back, to gather himself and catch his breath (and perhaps check to see where their pursuers were and if they had their weapons out), but Cody just followed him until Obi-Wan had to cling to his shoulders to stay upright. He felt Cody spread his fingers against his back and easily adjust to supporting the majority of Obi-Wan’s weight; he might literally sweep him off his feet if this continued.
Someone grabbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder and tried to yank him off, but Cody finally broke the kiss just to yank him back and snarl, in a passable Corellian accent, “The kriff is your problem? You looking to eat my blaster, wermo?”
Obi-Wan couldn’t actually see his assailant, because Cody was wisely pressing his much more recognizable face into his neck. Perhaps that was for the best; Obi-Wan was feeling a bit faint.
“Isn’t that that Jedi–”
“What kind of Jedi would be sucking face in a kriffin’ Corellian cantina?” Cody retorted. “Now kark off before I feed you your own karking teeth.”
At this point other disgruntled dancers started yelling and heckling them, and their assailant slunk away with his tail between his legs, both metaphorically and literally.
“Your boy’s got bite,” the Twi’lek woman from before laughed, watching with interest, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but agree.
They continued dancing just long enough to avoid looking like they were running away. Anger apparently distracted Cody enough for him to become more at ease, which Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for or not. They eventually peeled off and left to follow a new lead, hopefully without any angry, suspicious patrons this time.
They walked in silence for a minute, Obi-Wan wishing that Corellia was a bit less hot. The muggy night air was doing little to cool his hot face, which would be even more obvious than Cody’s on his pale skin.
“I’m very sorry you had to do that, commander,” Obi-Wan said at last, once he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack.
Cody tensed beside him, still close enough that Obi-Wan could feel it. “Sir, I’m the one who came up with the idea to dance, and I’m the one who… uh.”
“Nevertheless, I forced you into that position,” he said wretchedly, looking anywhere but at the commander. Gorgeous, amazing, duty-bound Cody. How could Obi-Wan take advantage of his loyalty and dedication? “If you no longer feel comfortable working with me, I’ll get you transferred wherever you want, I swear it–”
And then Cody took his face in his hands and kissed him again, in full view of everyone in the crowded street. It was softer, but no less passionate than the one before, and he kept kissing him until Obi-Wan gathered the strength to pull away.
“Cody… you don’t have to–”
“I wanted to,” Cody interrupted, voice firm and eyes molten. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to, general. O-Obi-Wan.” He broke eye contact to duck his head. “If you’ll still have me as your commander, I would be honored to continue serving with you.”
He should say no. He was attached, and Cody’s direct superior, and Cody might have been mentally and physically in his twenties but he was chronologically twelve, for the Force’s sake–
But Obi-Wan was so happy he could hardly speak.
“If you’re sure,” he said at last, and the smile he got back–shy and sweet and beautiful–was blinding.