Kamino Wardrobe Malfunction
The unfortunate thing about fighting in the rain, Obi-Wan reflected, was that Jedi robes were actually very absorbent. So fighting on Kamino, the atmosphere of which hadn’t stopped raining since he had arrived several hours prior, was proving... difficult. He could hardly move his arms fast enough to deflect Fett’s blaster bolts, wrapped as he was in heavy, wet fabric. The superheated steam rising from his lightsaber every time a droplet hit it was inconvenient, as well.
He dropped into a roll to dodge another volley that he definitely wouldn’t have been able to deflect, leaving his robe puddled on the platform in the process. Oh well, another one gone. Fett took the opportunity to launch a missile that sent him flying, and young Boba cleverly followed it up with the ship’s guns. Very touching father-son synchronicity. Obi-Wan sometimes despaired of ever managing to cooperate with Anakin so easily.
He lost his grip on his lightsaber somewhere in between getting thrown around like a rag doll by various explosions, but more importantly, said explosions seemed to have set his tunic on fire. Obi-Wan ripped it off, not quite trusting the rain on this blasted planet to extinguish it fast enough, and got tackled by Fett for his trouble.
They rolled about in the rain for a few seconds, trading kicks and punches, and at this point Obi-Wan was beginning to feel very cold. He was down to his thinnest, tightest layer, which had somehow gotten caught on Fett’s armor and was hiking up further and further during their struggle.
And then, with a tremendous ripping sound, the fabric gave completely against the sharp edges of Fett’s beskar plates and tore straight open down the middle.
Fett paused.
Obi-Wan, feeling quite displeased with the course of his day thus far and more than a little belligerent, took the opportunity to plant his feet on Fett’s armored chest and kick him halfway across the landing platform.
(A hypothetical thought exercise: what would you do, if you were a Mandalorian with a blood feud against the Jedi, and you encountered a Jedi who now looked like something off the cover of a smutty holonovel, long copper hair tousled by wind and slicked back with water, newly-bared chest glistening in the rain, who is now violently ripping off the remains of his shirt, tossing it aside with a noticeable flex of his arms, and advancing on you half-naked and weaponless but still undeniably dangerous, power in every muscle?)
“Where the kriff are all your clothes?!” the Mandalorian demanded. “It’s been thirty seconds and you somehow managed to rip them all off during a fight! My ten-year-old is watching, have some decency!”
“I took them off because of you!” Obi-Wan rejoined, irate. “You tore open my shirt yourself!” He gestured wildly at his naked torso. “This is your fault!!”
(A second hypothetical thought exercise: you are a single father who has been too hellbent on revenge to get any for over a decade--even your son was produced asexually--and your admittedly very attractive sworn enemy is half-naked, dripping wet, and saying that to you.)
Fett attacked him.
There was more tussling, more rolling about in the rain, and then Obi-Wan was getting dragged about with a fibercord whip around his wrists and generally having a rotten time of it.
(A third hypothetical thought exercise: you are an angry, horny Mandalorian. You may or may not have a thing for bondage.)
Unfortunately, getting dragged about caused friction even in the rain, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes in despair as his trousers, heavy with rainwater, were slowly and steadily dragged downwards.
(A fourth hypothetical thought exercise: you are an angry, horny Mandalorian.
Your sworn enemy has a very nice ass.)