Part II: Obi-Wan and Anakin fight, kiss and make up, and then fight some more. Also, gay dance clubs and BDSM and brunch, oh my! See Part I for overall warnings/more extensive notes. Rated R/M.
Marriage is What Brings Us Together Today
Part II: The Dream of Love Wrapped Within the Great Dream of Everlasting Rest
Anakin glanced over at his traveling companion, frowning slightly at the steely silence between them. Obi-Wan had been in a foul mood since departing from Coruscant, and that mood had only worsened as they got closer to their destination. "So, uh, I'm gonna go change," he said, rising from the pilot's seat and heading into the cargo bay.
They were to be arriving on Analbeadla in the early evening, just in time for the party kicking off the beginning of the Pride festivities, which meant changing in the ship en route instead of once they hit planetside.
The Jedi Temple's quartermaster had, with some amusement, provided them with the kind of clothing that would help them fit in without calling too much attention to themselves. Anakin laid out the outfits, unable to suppress the swell of excitement at the prospect of seeing Obi-Wan in his. Obi-Wan's ensemble consisted of synthetic animal hide pants, a matching vest, and strappy black boots, while Anakin found himself sliding on skin-tight black pants and a mesh tunic. He left his glove on; his mechno was too conspicuous, and thanks to the Republic's use of his and Obi-Wan's likenesses in Holonet propaganda, it had become something of a trend on some of the more fashion-forward planets, meaning it would help him to fit right in.
There was just one piece of the puzzle left. He dug around in his discarded utility belt until he found it: His wedding ring, slung on a silver chain. While Obi-Wan had needed to borrow a piece of jewelry to symbolize their partnership, Anakin had one already available, in Padme's apartment, tucked away in a box beside his Padawan braid and the japor snippet he had carved her as a child. Wedding rings were a tradition on Naboo, as on many planets, and they'd exchanged them as they had exchanged vows. Anakin had never been able to wear his openly, instead entrusting its safekeeping to his wife.
He hadn't had any qualms about explaining the mission. She was well aware of the difference between their personal and professional lives, and besides, she knew that nothing he did (or thought about doing) with Obi-Wan lessened what he had with her. Still, she'd made a weird face when he'd told her, which made her the fourth or fifth person to do that, now, and it was grating on his nerves a bit.
Trying to shove down his frustration, he slipped the chain around his neck (wearing it on his mechno hand would just look weird) and stretched. "Come on, Master!" he called, trying to keep the whine out of his voice. He was getting a little bit desperate for Obi-Wan to break the silence, but he knew from experience it was better not to push, at least not right away.
After a few long moments, Obi-Wan emerged from the cockpit, taking a look at his own supplied outfit for the evening and running a hand over his beard. "I have a bad feeling about this," he murmured, but nonetheless pulled on the clothes, completing the illusion by spiking his hair straight up, which surprised Anakin a bit, truth be told. Still, he'd seen Obi-Wan go through more dramatic transformations for the sake of a mission; he was just glad he could recognize his friend's face this time.
"Have you thought of a name?" he asked. There, if he asked something specifically about the mission, Obi-Wan couldn't freeze him out.
Obi-Wan paused for a moment. "I was going to use 'Ben,'" he said, and Anakin frowned at the implication of Obi-Wan using the nickname bestowed upon him by Bail Organa. It was bad enough that he was pretty sure he knew where Obi-Wan's own fake wedding band had come from. "What about you?"
Anakin shrugged. "Lars Quell," he replied, trying to keep his voice from tightening.
"Really?" Obi-Wan said, incredulously. "But you've already used that. Honestly, some creativity wouldn't be remiss, Anakin."
Scowling, Anakin retorted, "Nobody here's gonna be from Zygerria, and I hardly count 'Ben' as creative."
Obi-Wan crossed his arms, the effect somewhat dampened by his new look, but only just. "Fine," he said unhappily, and Anakin resisted the urge to mimic his movements.
"Fine," he sniffed as well, striding back to the cockpit. "Do you know where we're going?" he asked, snippier than he might have intended to be, but also maybe not.
"Of course I do," Obi-Wan snapped back, following him and taking his place in the co-pilot's seat. "Because I read the mission briefing instead of making a fool out of myself in the Orange District last night."
"It was method acting!" Anakin protested anew. When Obi-Wan didn't immediately respond, Anakin added, "Where am I supposed to go once we hit the main city?"
Obi-Wan powered up the ship's global positioning system and crossed his arms over his chest. Anakin frowned. Something told him that this was just going to be an extremely long and unpleasant mission from start to finish.
It hadn't gotten better once they'd touched down on Analbeadla.
Part of the reason was that it was usually Obi-Wan's job to double-check the ship's built-in navigation device and verify that, in fact, Anakin was piloting in the right direction. For whatever reason, however, Obi-Wan had missed a couple of cues, leading to Anakin needing to turn the ship around and backtrack a bit, and so they had arrived later than anticipated, something that never failed to rankle Obi-Wan.
Attempting to slough off some tension, Anakin had cracked a smile. "I guess there's a reason nobody calls you the Navigator, huh, Master?" he'd quipped, but Obi-Wan had not been impressed.
"Eat a dick, Anakin."
"Aw, that's the spirit!" He was legitimately bemused by/on his Master's behalf, but all the same, it was tiring being the only one in a good mood. En route to their destination, Obi-Wan's silent treatment was so intense that they had even foregone 'slugging' one another when a squat-looking starship had crossed their path, the specific make of which was usually enough for both Master and Padawan to rush to punch the other on the bicep and yell "slug bug," along with whatever color and any other distinguishing characteristics of the vehicle. It was a game that Anakin had initiated and that they had played since he was a little boy; he'd also gotten Ahsoka to join in, but not as consistently. "I guess you're really mad at me," Anakin had groused as he watched Obi-Wan's eyes slide over the neighboring ship. Obi-Wan had said nothing, but merely continued staring out the window.
Eventually, of course, they arrived, and Anakin, irritated and feeling sore after being cooped up in their own ship for hours with little movement, stretched and surveyed the immediate area. Closing his eyes, he felt around through the Force for anything suspicious. "Lotsa frenetic energy," he said finally, "but no Separatist sleemos. Yet."
"Yet," Obi-Wan repeated tightly. For some reason, this being the first thing his Master had to say only served to annoy him. Fists clenched a little at his side, he began leading the way towards the throngs of people in the center of the planet's largest city's biggest square, Obi-Wan's essence in the Force more jagged than usual.
It wasn't difficult to find the nightclub hosting the night's festivities. Spotlights lit up the night and a massive multi-colored flag fluttered over the entry-way. Anakin stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and soaking up the sensations in the Force; pleasure, excitement, arousal ... all the feelings that drew him to the Outlander time and time again. But this was a mission and as such, he would be on his best behavior, at least as it extended to staying in character.
Obi-Wan acquiesced to holding his hand as they made their way through the line to get in, their fake IDs provided by Republic Intelligence enough to, at least, fool the bouncer. The dance music pounding from the speakers sounded like home, as far as Anakin was concerned. "Well, at least we haven't missed the Queen's presentation," Obi-Wan muttered as they made their way through the crowd.
Arriving at the edge of the assembled throng, Anakin caught a glimpse of a makeshift stage, upon which a tall, hefty being waved a feather boa in time with the music. "That is Queen Flameout," Obi-Wan informed him, sotto voice, as if Anakin couldn't have figured it out on his own, what with the elaborate wig - it rivaled any of Padme's - and sequined gown and heavy makeup. The Queen continued with the show, all moving arms and swinging hips, artificially-enhanced lips moving in unison with the words of the song. Other members of the crowd - all men, dressed as men with few exceptions - whooped and cheered, holding out small-denomination credit chips as the Queen moved up and down the stage.
At last, the show came to a close as the Queen performed a mildly-complex acrobatic act culminating in a cartwheel that ended in the Queen doing a split on the stage, one bedazzled arm raised high in the air.
Having assured themselves that the Queen was, for the moment, safe, the two Jedi turned to one another. "Go patrol the perimeter," Obi-Wan instructed, and Anakin immediately bristled.
"Fine, but where are you going, then, Master?" he replied, trying to inject a lighter tone into his voice.
Obi-Wan leveled him with a withering look. "For a drink, of course," he quipped darkly, and then walked away and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Anakin alone to contemplate his own next move.
Hours into the evening, and Anakin found himself less aggrieved by Obi-Wan's 'tude; being modestly hammered helped with that, and he sucked down another delicious shot of something the slightly muscled waiter in a gimp mask had called a 'G-Shot,' made of differently-colored gelatins (he preferred yellow, as evidenced by the remains of several tiny cups surrounding him along 'his' stretch of bar). The evening's party was in full-swing: Men of all different ages shimmied and sometimes very nearly grinded against one another in a cacophony of heated, shiny flesh. Fog machines artificially enhanced the ambiance of the giant dance floor, as well as turrets of glitter that occasionally rained down. A steady stream of loud, thumping music pumped through a cranked-up sound system. All in all, a good night, except, well, in truth, he had no idea whatsoever where Obi-Wan was. Anakin had not immediately followed him towards the bar, but when he'd arrived, his Master was nowhere to be found.
He craned his neck and squinted into the fog for the fourth or fifth time, trying to ascertain the familiar shape of his fellow Jedi, when a hand on his shoulder made him jump. "Ah! You scared me," he gasped, but he was relieved nonetheless to be reunited with his Master-cum-fake-husband.
For his part, Obi-Wan did not seem to look any worse for the wear; if anything, however, the slight flush of his skin after hours spent in the slightly sweltering night club, and the unusual tightness and dark pallor of his clothing went a long way towards helping him appear, well, ravishable. Then, of course, he had to go and ruin it, gesturing down at the cups littering Anakin's bar space. "How many of those have you had?" he asked, voice coated with disdain.
"Not enough for you to make a case to the Galactic Senate about it." It occurred to Anakin that this made them seem hideously married for real, but he decided not to push Obi-Wan.
A sudden flurry of glitter rained down, and a foghorn sounded several times, ushering in yet another fast-paced marathon of dance music. Having looked up, Obi-Wan's gaze eventually latched onto the overhanging cages near the center of the room. "So uncivilized," he said, smirking a little, watching a group of three men, all about Anakin's age, swivel against one another and along the bars of the entrapment.
Beside him, Anakin rolled his eyes. "Is it uncivilized because it's fun?" he griped. The alcohol in his system, and his general irritation over the past couple of days had loosened his already liberal tongue: "Sorry you don't seem to know what that is, Master."
Obi-Wan turned and looked him over. He didn't say anything for several seconds, and Anakin blinked, worried now that his Master's silent treatment would continue into the next day, as well. To his relief, however, Obi-Wan spoke: "Really?" he queried, and Anakin grew confused. "You know, just because you weren't around for most of it doesn't mean I didn't have upstarts in my adolescence; and anyways, I've been on plenty of missions to shady locales just like this one. My experience with night clubs does not end at tugging you from the Outlander at three in the morning with you missing your shirt, my very young former apprentice."
"Hah." It was both an exhalation of breath and a bemused response to this newfound information. "I don't believe you," he challenged, sure that Obi-Wan was just putting him on. When his Master did not yet cave, however, he tagged on a smug "prove it," and downed another yellow gelatin shot.
His Master appeared to be considering something. "Fine," he said suddenly, and before Anakin could offer his own "fine" in retort, he was gazing at Obi-Wan's retreating back. The older man (though not terribly so, he was starting to realize; even the beard, which should have been something of a deterrent in taking his disguise as a club-hopping youth seriously, seemed to enhance the overall effect of his costume more than it detracted) made his way towards the base of the cage, where several other patrons were congregating. One seemed to take an interest in Obi-Wan in particular, and soon, Anakin watched with his mouth agape from across the room as his Master began to gyrate alongside him. A second joined in, and then a third, and then his Master was climbing into the cage itself. His animal hide vest open, hair slicked stylishly, the soft downy hairs below his belly button on display, he was something to see, and the multi-colored lights made the sheen on his skin all the more prominent. At least four or five other men danced alongside him now, rubbing against him, hands reaching out to touch his chest or even, Anakin couldn't help but notice, palm over Obi-Wan's crotch.
After several minutes, his Master seemed to politely extract himself from the small cluster of admirers, climbing down the ladder without using any of his Jedi abilities, though Anakin was sure he found it tempting. Slowly, Obi-Wan made his way back towards his former Padawan; when he arrived, Anakin could see glitter dotting the sides of his face, his chest, even his hair, though Obi-Wan seemed to be aware of this much and reached up to ruffle his 'do a little. "You were saying?" he proffered with a small smile and a raised eyebrow.
"Wow, Master," Anakin said, at a loss for words. "Just ... wow." Impulsively, he reached out and tugged Obi-Wan to him, holding his face in his hands before planting a kiss on his mouth. The lip-lock lasted for several seconds; Obi-Wan made a slight moue of surprise, but eventually his eyes closed and he allowed Anakin to deepen things, even to probe his Master's mouth with his tongue. When at last Anakin broke it off, they were both panting a little.
Late the next morning found the two undercover Jedi arriving at a posh country club for the formal Pride Brunch with the Queen and other Analbeadlean dignitaries. It was a prime target for Separatist attack, so in normal circumstances, the Jedi would be on high alert.
These, however, were not normal circumstances. After Obi-Wan had demonstrated his prowess in the cage, and Anakin had demonstrated his appreciation via a tongue in Obi-Wan's mouth, the evening had degenerated considerably. The proof of this was currently huddled in the passenger seat of their rented speeder, looking miserable in a khaki-colored linen blend suit with the shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel.
"If you hadn't insisted on five double Tatooine sunburns on top of all of those gelatin shots, you wouldn't be in this situation," Obi-Wan informed him after Anakin groaned when the speeder took a particularly sharp corner.
Obi-Wan hadn't been exactly sober upon leaving the club either, but he'd found himself all but carrying Anakin back to their vehicle, the younger man handsy and inappropriately demonstrative in his drunkenness. It wasn't entirely an unfamiliar scenario, which had only served to irritate him even more, his own alcohol consumption making him all-too-aware of Anakin's current shortcomings, his inability to put the past well and truly behind him.
"Mmph," Anakin grunted at him, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the window as they pulled into their destination.
Obi-Wan climbed out of the speeder, using the reflection of the window to make sure his hair was looking ridiculous enough and smoothing down his own suit jacket. The Temple quartermaster had apparently thought it would be hilarious for him and Anakin to wear matching outfits, though had been generous enough to provide a single neckerchief that Obi-Wan had claimed for himself. "Come on," he prodded Anakin. "And for the love of the Force, BEHAVE." The last thing this mission needed was for the Anakin Skywalker Show to have a mid-day encore in front of several dozen Republic dignitaries.
Anakin gave him a tight smile. "Of course, Master," he replied, falling seamlessly back into that version of himself that oozed charm.
They both endured a receiving line, shaking hands and deflecting compliments - apparently several of those in attendance at the brunch had seen Obi-Wan's impromptu performance and the subsequent groping session - and finally were able to find their seats, at the Queen's table, no less, their spots reserved and even labeled with neat, handwritten place cards.
Though the Queen's boisterous voice could be heard booming at the table's head, the majority of Anakin's and Obi-Wan's (mostly Obi-Wan's, as Anakin was nursing a G-Shot hangover and doing his best to be as annoying about it as possible, no less) conversations took place with other patrons and visitors of Analbeadla's Pride Festival. "So Ben," a rough-looking guest with a tattooed and pierced face (and probably some other things) proffered, looking between Obi-Wan and Anakin, "How long have you and, er, Lars been together?"
"Oh, quite some time," 'Ben' responded, coughing a little out of vague discomfort at being so eyeballed. Sensing this, Anakin's mechno laced its fingers with Obi-Wan's nearest hand.
"Who can remember?" Anakin intoned, nuzzling at Obi-Wan's cheek with his own. The fact that he still smelled like the previous night did not escape Obi-Wan's notice; the other man cleared his throat and subtly jutted his shoulder until Anakin at least partially sat back up. "It seems like only yesterday, we were trying out cock-rings for the first time,
and now look!" He brandished purposefully the chain around his neck, showing off his (actual) wedding ring to anyone in the vicinity. "We're married, Master!"
He must have realized his mis-step the same time that Obi-Wan did; the other man's Force presence was suddenly laden with horror. "I mean, uh ..." Anakin faltered slightly. "Um, well, that is ..."
"Lars is my sub, actually," Obi-Wan cut in smoothly, even reaching over and patting Anakin's arm a little. "That's how we met." Anakin had about a million questions about just how many missions involving gay night clubs and sado-masochism his Master had actually been on before they'd been forced together, but, of course, now was not the time. "He was looking for someone to tell him what to do, and, well, that's my specialty, I suppose."
"Yeah, okay, but sometimes we switch, too, Master." The other patrons looked on curiously, and Obi-Wan's jaw clicked a little. Still, Anakin pressed on, slinging an arm around the other Jedi's shoulders. "Like that one time you and I and, uh, that one guy we met on the Holonet from Alderaan who said he was 'married, yet curious' all got together at his place and you took both of us straight up your -"
"Yes, thank you, Lars, that will be quite sufficient," Obi-Wan bristled, and Anakin smirked.
The tattooed-and-pierced fellow was still watching them idly. "He's got a mouth on him," he commented, and then glanced pointedly at Obi-Wan: "You outta train your slave not to talk back. My boy doesn't even get to sit at the table like a person. And he wears a collar with a giant bell attached and isn't allowed to take it off without express permission from me."
Anakin saw red. He tried to remember that this was all for a greater cause, but it was entirely possible that his first instinct was to start clenching his hand in an all-too-familiar choking motion. Fortunately for all of them, Obi-Wan was good at waylaying his former Padawan's tendencies towards violence, and simply gripped the offending appendage, eventually smoothing out Anakin's fingers by covering them with his own. "Believe me, I've certainly tried, er, breaking his will," Obi-Wan said jovially, though the pressure he was placing on Anakin's hand now was anything but lighthearted. "He's stubborn, this one. But then, I suppose that's why I love him so." The threat of crushed windpipes having surpassed them, he let go of Anakin's hand and patted the other man several times on the head, and even pinched one of his cheeks for good measure. "I love you, Lars," he said moonily, and Anakin smiled through gritted teeth.
"And I love you, Master," he monotoned; and then, because he could, and because Obi-Wan karking deserved it, he impulsively gripped his Master's face once again and kissed him until Obi-Wan literally pulled away, coughing, most likely from the leftover booze fumes emanating from his former apprentice. "I'm so glad we're doing this together," Anakin stated, and Obi-Wan just glowered at him.