Some back story, first: At this year's Star Wars Weekends, James Arnold Taylor (Obi-Wan Kenobi), Ashley Eckstein (Ahsoka Tano), and Dee Bradley Baker (ALL THE CLONES, HA) put on a show called "Behind the Force," which included a never-before-seen skit in which Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are on a diplomatic mission to Tatooine and, among other things, Obi-Wan is pressured into donning a dancer's outfit as part of his Jedi duties, thus saving Ahsoka from sexual harassment, and substituting it for his own, of course. (Fun fact: The video link on my LJ/AO3 version of the story is for the session that patientalien and I got to go to, I recognize the fan dressed in the Jedi outfit who did one of the guest spots.) A while ago, "lady-anakin-skywalker" over on Tumblr drew me a mock-up of Obi-Wan's dancer's outfit (which I've used to accompany the story here), complete with characteristic expression of dubiousness, and an idea for a short story about the aftermath of the mission started percolating. And now, well, here it is.
Summary: Obi-Wan's "well-toned" body has more than a few admirers following a diplomatic mission to Tatooine, much to his chagrin. Title comes from Moulin Rouge.
Rhythm of the Night
The outfit was form-fitting, even the portions of it that managed to leave some of his dignity intact. The top rode high up his chest, revealing what the 'droid guard had leeringly referred to as his "well-toned" torso. The pants were loose but see-through, lightweight and made entirely of shimmersilk, with an obscenely low waistband. He had not been given any undergarments. The shoes were a far cry from his standard-issue Jedi boots, and looked as though they might fall apart if one attempted to trek across even some of the milder terrains his sacred duty had thus far mandated that he go. Both garments were lined with tiny noisemakers that jiggled whenever he so much as lifted an arm, making stealth impossible. In addition, his forehead had been bedecked in an assortment of small jewels, pasted on by fellow servants of the Hutts, most of them young women, who had also rubbed exotic-smelling oils into his skin and lined his eyes and lips in something he thought he might sweat off in this humidity.
A small chime signaled that the show was about to begin. With one final glance down at himself, Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed and uncrossed his arms. "The things I do in the name of diplomacy," he grumbled, and made his way towards the performance stage.
"This was a good idea, baby," Anakin Skywalker announced to his wife. Reclined across her gigantic bed, head propped on his hands, he wiggled a bootless foot in her direction and grinned lazily. "How's Threepio doin' with those mission briefings?"
Dressed in a somewhat wrinkled nightgown, her hair hanging in uncharacteristic, unstyled clumps, Padme Amidala yawned. "I just put the fear of incurring the wrath of the former Queen of Naboo in him when he revealed that he's only sixty percent done," she replied. Faintly, they could hear the perpetually nervous 'droid muttering "oh dear" across the hallway, and probably pacing, as well.
Anakin's smile faded just a bit. "That's not nice," he protested. "You know how anxious he gets."
Padme waved her hand. "The longer he takes, the more time we get to spend here together," she reminded him; and then a moment later, she wrinkled her nose a bit. "Do the Jedi think it's weird how much you act like machines are people?" she asked, and Anakin just huffed. It was possible that four days in close quarters - judging by the smell percolating between them and the rooms' general disarray, very close quarters - had killed some of the inherent romantic quality of Padme's aforementioned "good idea." Truth be told, they were starting to grate on one another's nerves.
"I'm hungry," Anakin complained suddenly, and then his commlink chirped. "You're always hungry," he could hear Padme grouse, but ignored her in favor of grabbing the small device off of her cluttered bedside table. "It's from Ahsoka," he announced, spying the word 'Snips' across the tiny screen.
"How's her mission to Tatooine with Master Obi-Wan going?" Padme asked, and made a face as she picked something dubious out of her hair. She watched Anakin's face shift from passive to possibly a little shocked, and moved towards the bed. "What's wrong, Ani? Are they in trouble?"
Anakin cleared his throat. "Not exactly," he said finally, and just as Padme was about to yank the commlink from his hand, he turned it around.
"Oh," she gasped.
"Yeah."
"Huh." She squinted at the screen again. "You know, he's got the hips for it, at least."
"Ha, yeah, he does." He began keying something. "She said she sent it to you, too," he said, and Padme hurried to collect her own (bedazzled) communication device. "Who are you forwarding it to?" he asked her.
She didn't look up from the task at hand. "Like everyone I know, duh."
"Same here."
He could tell his Master had returned, not simply because, after more than a decade spent within arms' length of one another, he knew Obi-Wan's Force signature like the back of his hand (artificial and otherwise), but also because, well. It would have been rather difficult not to hear him at the moment.
"Master, you're jiggling," Anakin announced, his head poking up from the worn sofa in the middle of their living quarters. He giggled. Obi-Wan sighed.
"Indeed, I am. I am also in possession of an incredible number of lewd commlink requests, as well as several images, all of which were received in the last couple of rotations." Arms crossed anew, he stared hard at Anakin, who did his best to look aghast.
"Master, that's terrible, absolutely terrible." He coughed, unable to hold eye contact. "I don't suppose you kept them, because we could probably trace them back to their owners." His eyes widened. "Maybe it's a Separatist plot! C'mon, Master, let me see, we have to expose this scum before they can cause even more harm to the Republic!"
Obi-Wan just stared tiredly at him. "As a matter of fact, I know quite well who the culprits are." With that, he brandished his standard-issue Jedi commlink, revealing, as Anakin half-expected, a high-angled photo of Anakin with Padme, both crouched on a rug that Threepio had since been ordered to steam-clean. For her part, Padme just looked bored, and even appeared to be checking something on her own commlink when the picture was taken. Anakin, kneeling behind her and shirtless (among other things), was giving the small camera lens a 'thumbs up' signal. "'Wish u wur hear!'" the caption read.
"I believe this is your 'selfie'?" Obi-Wan queried, and Anakin feigned horror.
"Ahsoka must have sent that. I uh, I'll have to talk to her. She's a terrible Padawan. Terrible." Anakin studiously furrowed his brows.
Obi-Wan just 'hmmm'-ed. "Believe me, Ahsoka has already been spoken to about the consequences of taking embarrassing photos of her Grandmaster." He made a gesture across his commlink screen and showed Anakin a brief series of additional 'gifts': The smarmy replies from Garen Muln, Quinlan Vos, Kit Fisto, Mace Windu; the topless photo of Senator Riyo Chuchi; the kindly, yet pointed reminder from Bant that "STI testing is free and confidential in the Healer's Ward to all Jedi, and we're open weekends"; and something Anakin had once described as a "dick pic" from ... "Is that ... Senator Organa's?" Anakin gaped, and Obi-Wan coughed and pulled the device away abruptly.
"Maybe. That's, er, private." He held Anakin's gaze for several seconds, and then gave up. Anakin pumped his fist in triumph. "I'm going to go shower," he muttered, and Anakin sniggered again as his attempt to stalk away in a huff was accompanied by tiny, jangly bells across his chest and around each ankle.
"Make sure to wash that makeup off good; it'll make you break out if you don't get it all off," Anakin said helpfully, and then stroked his chin. "I think Padme has some creme you could borrow."
"That won't be necessary." And yet: "How do you know so much about stage makeup anyways, Anakin?"
Anakin reclined his chin on his hands. "My mom and I were slaves of Gardulla the Hutt when I was like three, remember? Her dancers were really nice to me; I always got little treats for helping them with their costumes and holding their brushes and stuff. Mom was like everyone's mom there." He made a gesture suddenly, his hands held at chest-height to emphasize girth. "I saw a lotta boobs back then, too."
"Of course you did," Obi-Wan sighed, and ignored Anakin's continued chortling as he stalked into the 'fresher, locking the door behind him. Alone at last, he flicked through his recent commlink messages until he found the one he was looking for: "'wanna cum over 1ce ur back?'" it asked, and Obi-Wan wondered whether it was a gift for a grown-ass man in a high-profile career like Bail Organa to sound, for all intents and purposes, like a youngling via text message.
"'I would be amenable to that'" he typed back, feeling sloppy for leaving off proper end punctuation.
Senator Organa's response was swift: "'xcellnt, u can give me a private encore.'"
Obi-Wan growled. "'I'm not bringing the outfit, Bail,'" he shot back, and three little dots indicated that Bail was already working on a reply.
"'ok ok,'" he sent, and then a moment later: "'I mean dont rule nething out.'" As if to seal the deal, so to speak, another dick pic soon arrived, this one accompanied by a smiley face macro. "'heeeyyy ben hes happy 2 c u,'" Bail wrote, and Obi-Wan tapped out one last response before setting the commlink face-down next to the sink.
"'I'll bring it so I can burn it,'" he wrote, and twisted the hot water knob below the shower head as far as it would go, somehow knowing that it wouldn't possibly be enough. "I should really be paid for this," he grumbled, and left the offending garments puddled on the floor.