Their first meeting was something of a disaster, if Anakin were to be completely honest.
He had just come from a relentless and brutal six weeks on the frontlines with Master Mundi. The 501st had suffered heavy casualties and instead of allowing them the time to unwind and grieve properly for their lost brothers, the Jedi Council had tasked Anakin’s battalion with an emergency mission. Some idiotic senator had disappeared on a diplomatic trip in the Outer Rim.
So here he was, lightsaber wedged between clenched teeth and wriggling padawan learner slung haphazardly over his shoulder like a knapsack as Anakin held on for dear life to the collapsing platform. Zygerria was one of the few remaining old worlds that employed bounty hunters to acquire exotic specimens from across the galaxy and actively participated in the trade and trafficking of slaves. Having spent much of his childhood as one, Anakin despised the Zygerrians on principle, and it hadn’t taken much to get his men to start shooting. Things escalated out of control after Hardcase accidentally drove a slaver's ship into one of the numerous towers on the queen’s lavish compound and caused a domino effect of collapse that ended with Anakin clinging to the side of a crumbling building, Ahsoka’s skinny arms slowly squeezing the life out of him via her vise-grip around his neck.
He finally managed to leverage them onto flat ground with Rex’s help. Mace Windu’s voice was an annoying drone in Anakin’s ear as he ushered his padawan into the adjacent room, blocking a few stray shots from nearby bounty hunters. The Jedi Council did that sometimes — randomly assigning supervision whenever Anakin had to interact with senators of the Republic aside from Padmé Amidala. He’d received severally strongly-worded complaints over the years, most from stuffy old men who accused Anakin of placing them in unnecessary danger and branding him an uncultured swine with the filthy mouth of a drunk pirate. Plo had been devastated when Ahsoka started mimicking Anakin’s colorful vocabulary.
“There’s no senator here, Master Windu,” Anakin shouted into his earpiece. He dodged a guard’s gold plasma whip and glanced around at the chaos. Civilians and slaves were fleeing every which way. He could hardly even see his apprentice in all the frantic bodies.
Anakin leapt over the heads of panicked men and women. With the aid of the Force, he threw open the thick bronze doors leading to the queen’s private quarters. It was empty but for a small group of Togruta girls huddled beside a massive bed. Anakin managed to sidestep the metal candlestick that swung out of nowhere. His assailant used the momentum to land a surprisingly strong kick to Anakin’s abdomen that sent the young Jedi general staggering into the bed. A heavy weight descended upon him, something sharp and cold wedging itself against Anakin’s pounding jugular. He looked up into kohl-lined blue eyes and felt his heart stutter a beat in his heaving chest.
“Skywalker, come in, have you located Senator Kenobi?” Windu asked in the silence. Anakin’s eyes raked down the mostly nude figure coiled like a tense cobra atop his prone body and swallowed.
“Not yet. It’s just some concubine, Master Windu,” He squeezed out, ripping the earpiece out and hissing in pain when the blade dug warningly into his skin. Anakin held up both hands, one of which was holding his deactivated lightsaber.
“I’m a Jedi, I wish you no harm,” He told the slave, hoping to deescalate the situation. Recognition flickered in the auburn-haired man’s gaze as he relaxed his stance and incidentally sat his shapely bottom directly on top of Anakin’s crotch.
“The GAR received my distress signal?” He murmured, stroking a hand over his chin. “About bloody time they sent someone.”
Anakin frowned at the implication. “You’re not a sex slav—”
“Senator Obi-Wan Kenobi of Naboo,” The man finished for him with a winning smile.
“Oh,” He said, still staring, “Anakin Skywalker.”
Heavy footfalls came from the open door.
“General, we’re running out of tim—” Rex’s voice died in his throat at the sight of them. Anakin realized with detached horror that his hands had somehow found their way onto the senator’s bare thighs during their little exchange. Rex scratched his stubbled chin beneath the Zygerrian helmet and admitted, “I suppose we could hold off the palace guards a bit longer if you need some more time to finish whatever’s going on in here.”
“Rex, this is the senator we’re looking for,” Anakin introduced in the awkward silence. No one moved. The distracting warmth of Senator Kenobi’s skin was starting to penetrate his heavy robes.
“Right,” Obi-Wan leapt off him in a whirl of translucent silk and gold. He adjusted the delicate gold belt slung low across his hips and held out a hand to the huddled Togruta girls, bejeweled bangles rattling on his wrist. “We must liberate the enslaved men and women here, General Skywalker.”
“Wasn’t your official mission supposed to be bartering a trade agreement between the Republic and some neutral planet on the other side of the galaxy? How did you end up a slave on Zygerria?” Anakin asked suspiciously, struggling upright under his captain’s judgmental gaze. The senator shrugged, meeting his eyes with a small mischievous smile.
“I got sidetracked,” He said lightly, “I am new at this after all.”
“How’s Padmé?” Anakin asked as he helped the frightened slave girls to their feet. He hadn’t seen her in person since the young woman had gone back to her home planet under her husband’s insistence to finish the rest of her pregnancy in peace. Master Mundi had mentioned something about one of her most-trusted aides taking her place as the Senator of Naboo, but Anakin hadn’t paid much attention to the informal debriefing at the time.
“Frustrated and bored. She probably wants a divorce,” Obi-Wan replied airily, picking up one of the plasma whips and beckoning for the women to follow him. Anakin’s eyes automatically fell to the tantalizing swell of his ass beneath the silk. Rex’s armored elbow digging painfully into his ribs broke Anakin from his trance.
“Can you do that after we get out of here, sir?”
“Do what? I wasn’t doing anything,” Anakin scowled, turning on his weapon. He ignored Rex’s insufferable eye-roll and jumped into the fray.
The facts were: Kenobi was shorter than Anakin by a few inches, he was wearing nothing but kinky undergarments forced on him by the Zygerrian queen, and Anakin’s troopers had barely met him. Yet, somehow after just a few minutes, he was already commanding the members of the 501st with an ease that had Anakin silently seething from where he stood with Ahsoka, watching the senator coordinate tasks to different teams of clones. To add insult to injury, Anakin’s soldiers had stopped glancing to him for confirmation.
“The tea you asked for, sir,” Cody said, stepping past Anakin with both hands carefully balancing a mug of something hot. He was currently on loan from the 212th who usually served under Anakin’s former master Jedi General Qui-Gon Jinn.
“Gratitude, Commander Cody,” The senator turned to him with a bright smile, his fingers brushing Cody’s as he accepted the drink. Anakin stared in disbelief as the clone commander smiled helplessly back with that utterly charmed expression most of his other troopers wore when they interacted with Kenobi.
The dry summer breeze on Zygerria rustled through the leaves overhead, scattering loose pieces onto the moving figures down below and lifting the opaque silk train of Obi-Wan’s weird little skirt, exposing toned thighs. The unopened medi-pack slipped from Kix's limp fingers and landed on Jesse, not that his injured teammate even noticed. Both were too busy staring. Cody, who was halfway up the ramp to their ship, walked solidly into Rex and dropped his headgear. Ahsoka sighed dreamily beside her master.
“Ok, that’s enough excitement for one day,” Anakin muttered, hurriedly stripping out of his slave trader disguise and throwing the long embroidered tunic over the startled senator, who nearly spilled his hot tea. Kenobi looked up at him reproachfully, and Anakin squashed the strange urge to apologize for being so rough. Instead, he drew the garment tight and buttoned it up to the man’s neck, obscuring as much skin as possible. Anakin heard a few troopers give groans of disappointment followed by a smattering of vulgar Huttese that they’d learned from him.
“Speed it up,” He ordered, snapping his fingers at them, “get the trafficking victims onboard. We’re behind schedule as it is.” Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, “go wait in the fighter.” He glanced at Rex who seemed to be the only one relatively immune to Kenobi’s strange allure, “keep an eye on him, Captain.”
“I don’t need supervision, General Skywalker,” The senator said with a scowl. The black liner around his eyes took away some of the austere effect and made him look more coquettish than angry. Anakin put his hands on his hips and glared mulishly back, “you do what I tell you to do, Senator Kenobi.”
“Not supervision, sir. Much-deserved rest after a hard mission,” Rex said civilly as he gestured toward the ramp, “our general is a bit clumsy with words, but he means well.”
Anakin harrumphed and turned away. So what if he held onto that little grudge and made the landing back on Coruscant extra bumpy. It wasn’t as if he’d have to work with the new Naboo senator again any time soon. He was scheduled to rendezvous with Master Saesee Tiin and the Delta Squad after this ridiculous side trip anyway.
“What the kriff is this?!”
“Do you like it, general?” Hardcase asked eagerly from where he was sprawled over a metal crate in their designated hanger. Anakin stared at the new artwork adorning his battalion’s starfighters and gunships.
It was…an extremely provocative cartoon of Senator Obi-Wan Kenobi clad in skimpy gold lingerie, cradling a vaguely phallic-looking blaster cannon.
“Hey, you said we should come up with a design for the 501st. Remember? To boost morale and whatnot,” Tup reminded, scratching the side of his face.
“I meant something like the Wolfpack's nose art! You know, my head and Ahsoka’s next to some of yours,” Anakin hissed, blood pressure mounting at his men’s casual indifference.
“But that’s so boring,” Hardcase whined, flopping onto his side and upending some half-used paint cans onto the ground. Someone had slapped a giant red handprint over the white armor covering his backside. Judging by the messy streaks of paint on Fives' chest-plate and hands, Anakin hazarded a guess that the "someone" had been him. The young general whirled on Rex and Cody.
“The men voted, sir,” Rex informed him with a straight face, glancing to the 212th’s clone commander for support. “It was an overwhelming yes.”
“Six months,” Anakin fisted his hair and exhaled noisily through his nose, “six months of me trying to get you all to agree on something, and all it took was some random redhead politician in bejeweled underwear to win you over?”
“Well, I would have preferred more clothes, but the situation on Zygerria was beyond my control. Exemplary work on the design, Captain Rex. Very flattering if somewhat exaggerated portrayal of my proportions,” An amused voice said from behind. Obi-Wan was decked out in elegant ivory robes and matching trousers today. Fine gold threat wove through the expensive fabric around his collar and sleeves. His hair and beard were immaculate.
“Thanks, senator,” Rex murmured, looking a little embarrassed and proud at the same time. Anakin screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Traitors, the lot of them.
“I’ve lost control of my squadron,” Anakin murmured, lifting his gaze to the heavens for some strength and guidance from the Force.
“That is certainly one way to put it,” Master Plo Koon observed as he trailed in after the smiling senator, closely accompanied by a frowning Mace Windu.
“Senator, apologies for the highly inappropriate graphics—” Windu began cautiously, but Obi-Wan lifted a hand to stop him.
“It is quite alright, Master Windu,” He said mildly, “I am not offended. The war has been hard on everyone, especially the clone soldiers. I am happy to provide a bit of levity to the troops in such grave times.”
Out of the corner of Anakin’s eye, he spotted Hardcase elbowing Fives with a wide grin.
“You really do lift all of us up, sir,” Echo called out emphatically amongst the snickering men, “we love having you onboard.”
“I suppose Commander Wolffe will be bitterly disappointed you won’t be joining us later,” Plo said, folding his arms over his chest. Anakin eyed the sharp Wolfpack insignia on his grayish-white vambraces with jealousy. Why couldn’t his men come up with something as sleek and cool-looking like that instead of the almost pornographic pin-up now slathered over all of their ships.
“Ah, please do send him my regards,” Kenobi acknowledged with a fond smile, “I thoroughly enjoyed working with the 104th on our last two trips to Kashyyyk.”
“Yes, zero casualties both times, I heard,” Plo remarked, “you have become somewhat of a good-luck symbol to the Wolfpack.”
“I am sure that the stroke of fortune was due to Wolffe’s spectacular leadership and not my presence,” Kenobi laughed, blue eyes sparkling prettily in the bright hanger.
“Wait, my orders were to head out and meet Master Tiin,” Anakin frowned, dragging his gaze from the man’s annoying attractive face, “has there been a change of plans?”
“Yes, your former master has arrived back on Coruscant, so he will be going instead,” Mace explained, “Commander Cody will rejoin his battalion, and you will escort Senator Kenobi to the Mandalore system to resume trade negotiations.”
“All fun’s gotta come to an end,” Rex clapped Cody on the shoulder plate, “see you when we get back.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Commander,” Kenobi said, holding out his hand. Cody took it and smiled back, “pleasure’s all mine, senator. Safe trip.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Anakin muttered to Mace Windu.
“Afraid not,” The older Jedi murmured back, tucking his hands into his voluminous robes. “These are strange and desperate times, Skywalker. We need all the help we can get.”
He seemed to be the only other Jedi who did not automatically worship the ground Senator Kenobi walked on, and at the moment, Anakin felt somehow grateful for Windu’s factory default setting. He distrusted everyone on sight and only a tiny handful managed to survive and worm their way into the “tolerable” category over the years. Anakin himself was probably still reigning champ on the long list of items that gave Mace Windu heartburn, but at that particular moment, he felt an odd kinship with the grumpy Jedi master.
Strange times indeed.
“So, when do we get to see that version of you on the side of the ship, hmm?”
Anakin heard the smooth lilting accent before he even set foot inside their hanger bay. Oh, hell no. The Force would not be so cruel as to test Anakin’s non-existent patience and pair those two together for this mission.
“Well, general Skywalker has yet to arrive, I suppose we have time for a little—”
“INAPPROPRIATE!” Anakin bellowed, bursting in to put an end to the potential Jedi Code violations.
His ears had not failed him. Kit Fisto, all six-foot-four of him, was leaning into Senator Kenobi’s personal space with that signature devilish smirk on his face. Anakin didn’t understand how he even got onto the Jedi Council in the first place with all the constant flirting and random stripping. The annual budget spent on keeping Kit Fisto from running around semi-nude and permanently scarring the younglings in the Temple was staggeringly high. Even now, his Jedi robes hung loosely on his toned body, revealing washboard abs.
Kenobi, on the other hand, was dressed to the nines again. This time in a black piece accented with splashes of red, tapered at the waist to emphasize his broad shoulders. Anakin had gone on all of two missions (three if counting the Zygerria rescue) with the senator, and he was already willing to bet the lives of his non-existent children and grandchildren that this set of fine robes would likely be in tatters at the end of the day. That female Sith apprentice of Dooku’s seemed to revel in ripping them off of him and then dangling a half-naked Kenobi like juicy bait for Anakin to find.
He was like Kit Fisto with clothes, in that they seemed to never stay on his body properly for extended periods of time. Well, Kenobi was less green, didn’t smell faintly of sun-dried fish all the time, and thankfully lacked the lower-body strength to kick Anakin through several layers of transparisteel for sharing his nuggets of truth.
“Ah, Master Skywalker,” Fisto greeted cheerfully, one muscular arm not-so-casually draping itself over Kenobi’s shoulder. The hand of the helmeted Coruscant Guard standing beside the senator twitched toward his blaster gun. Anakin kind of wanted to do the same with his lightsaber. Rex heaved an exasperated sigh behind him.
“Master Fisto, are you coming with us?” Anakin gritted out through clenched teeth.
Please say no. Please say no.
“Yes, and Aayla will be meeting us there as well,” Kit answered before turning to smile at Kenobi, “you will adore her, Obi-Wan. Master Secura is a delight to be around.”
They were on a first-name basis already?
And Master Secura, who battled Separatists in little more than underwear, was going to rendezvous with them on a water planet somewhere. Great. Just fucking great. Anakin had disapproved when Ahsoka decided to follow in the female master’s footsteps and insisted on fighting in that absurdly inconvenient tube-top of hers. Thankfully, she’d changed into something easier to maneuver in these days. His mind briefly wandered to a mental image of Senator Kenobi in a tube-top. Now that was a terrifying thought, even though downstairs Anakin vehemently disagreed.
Hardcase whistled at that announcement, leaning in to confess to Tup, “I love this job.”
“Same,” Tup whispered back, fist-bumping him gleefully.
“Shall we head out?” Commander Monnk, head of Kit’s battalion of SCUBA troopers, asked Rex.
“Might as well,” Anakin’s captain muttered, shaking his head as he walked over to the other commander.
“Commander Fox,” Kenobi turned to address the silent Coruscant Guard. Anakin narrowed his eyes. So that was Fox. No wonder the armor looked familiar. Rex had spoken of him a few times in the past, and not with very kind words. Anakin had crossed paths with the commander outside of Chancellor Palpatine’s office, but never really interacted extensively.
“Be careful out there, sir,” He heard the clone say quietly.
“You as well, my friend,” The senator smiled, brushing some imaginary dust off of Fox’s shoulder, “Don’t work too hard and forget to eat or sleep while I am away. Take care of yourself. Senator’s orders.”
“Yes, sir,” came the resigned answer.
“Lucky bastard,” Fives sniffed sullenly, walking past Anakin with his arms full of scuba gear. Anakin kind of hated that he agreed with the jealous sentiment.
Then, Fisto leaned out of the gunship and held out his hand with a flourish. Kenobi took it without hesitation and allowed the Jedi master to help him into the aircraft. Kit’s hand conveniently stayed on the senator’s narrow waist.
Oh, Anakin was going to tattle so hard on him to Mace Windu when they returned.
Secura and Kenobi looked a little too enticing standing together. And then, they got wet, which made things ten times worse.
“Sorry, senator,” Dogma said, almost on the verge of tears when Kit finally fished everyone out of the sea, “I lost your extra robes that Commander Fox instructed us to bring onboard.”
“Don’t worry,” Kenobi said, hair still dripping and soaked through, “we only need to light a fire and our current clothes should be dry in no time.”
“Great idea. I will find us some food,” The Nautolan master said, striding away from their little clearing in a tiny pair of swim shorts and nothing else. Another cloak sacrificed to the cloak gods. Anakin massaged his aching temples. Only he, Rex and a few of the 501st who had elected to stay on land during the negotiations remained relatively dry.
“The temperatures here experience a sharp drop at night despite the vast oceans,” Aayla was saying to Bly, “we should huddle to conserve warmth.”
“Sir, I’m afraid that won’t be very comfortable,” Her commander pointed out, gesturing to the members of the 327th, all of whom were still dripping wet and standing around in their sticky armor. They all smelled faintly of fish now.
“That is the least of our worries…” Aayla trailed off as the senator shrugged out of his heavy waterlogged robes and rolled his shoulders with a small sigh of relief. They were all staring, including Anakin who should have been immune by now and yet sadly wasn’t.
Kenobi was ridiculously fit for a politician, with long elegant limbs and corded muscle under miles of pale skin. He carded a hand through his wet hair and shook water out of the copper strands.
“Ok, let’s cuddle,” Bly murmured.
“She said huddle,” Anakin corrected absently.
“Everything alright?” Obi-Wan asked.
“I caught us dinner,” Kit emerged from the waves again, grinning from ear-to-ear as he dragged a giant squid out of the water.
Kenobi smiled at him, “remarkable job, Master Fisto.”
“Call me Kit,” Kit purred, beckoning invitingly to him. The senator bent down for a closer examination and the fabric of his wet pants strained across his firm buttocks. Anakin might have made a tiny noise that only a select group of canine species could hear. Aayla put a hand over her mouth and inhaled sharply at the sheer glory that was Kenobi’s ass.
“Kit's in violation of the Code,” Anakin hissed at her.
“As if you aren’t, Skywalker,” Secura shot back, eyeing his nether region, “don’t tell me that’s your lightsaber sticking out of your crotch.”
He subtly adjusted himself, “Agree to disagree, Master Secura.”