Chapter Text
Obi-Wan woke alone in his bed. He rolled over into the phantom sensation of Kote’s arms around him and sighed when all he felt were cool sheets.
Obi-wan understood why Mand’alor Fett had hurried his son back under his wings - by the Force , the man must have been out of his mind with fear when he heard the little gag-piece by the Coruscanti Times - but his boyfriend’s absence still made his chest tighten.
He lay there, letting the innate peace of the Temple wash over him. The undercurrent of mischief ran stronger than usual - he could only imagine how much gossip their Market Day visit had started - but he could feel no common thread of ill-will towards Kote. It was a relief to know that his family was approaching his boyfriend (a Mandalorian , of all beings) with such open minds and hearts.
Obi-Wan let out a deep sigh. The weight of his covers pulled his chest back down - the sensation was comforting in its repetition.
Kote . That man could be the death of Obi-Wan and he wouldn’t even complain. Their lives had crossed purely by chance: Kote had just completed a hunt and Obi-Wan had gotten off-planet leave for a week after a round of exams. Had either of them chosen a different bar that night, had either of them chosen a different partner that night, Obi-Wan might never have known Kote and this alliance definitely would not have taken place.
And now… Now Kote had carved himself a place inside Obi-Wan’s rib cage, nestled tight between his lungs and his heart. He made Obi-Wan’s breath quicken and his heart race whenever they were together. Every smile sent his way made warm tingles shoot up and down Obi-Wan’s spine, every word that spilled from his soft lips was the sweetest music Obi-Wan had ever heard, and every touch was like lightning against Obi-Wan’s skin. Kote’s very presence in the Force was a warm sunrise, steadfast and true and bright and hopeful and utterly gorgeous and-
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, Force . Obi-Wan was screwed .
The next two days passed in a blur of introductions. Obi-Wan’s crechemates demanded to meet the “Hot Facial Scar Guy that’s been making Obi-Wan sigh out of every window he comes across” (Siri’s words, not Obi-Wan’s), which Kote bore with laughing dignity. Kote’s siblings - vode - demanded to meet him during their next holocall. The sea of faces was somewhat overwhelming to Obi-Wan, but they teased him and Kote freely. Kote said it was a good sign.
“If they had been cordial, that would have been a bad sign,” Kote said with a kiss on Obi-Wan’s hair. “If they’re willing to joke around with you, it means that they understand you’re here to stay and they think you can take it.”
“Well then, I look forwards to seeing them in person,” Obi-Wan said with a grin.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I highly doubt that anyone thought to warn Mando’ade about the infamous Jedi Prank Wars.”
Kote doubled over laughing and Obi-Wan could only stare at the sight of him - the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, and the small divots in Kote’s cheeks that only became visible when he smiled, and the stray lock of black hair that Kote couldn’t brush out of his eyes because he was clutching his sides.
Obi-Wan tucked it back on Kote’s head absent-mindedly. When he looked down from his hand, Kote’s laughter had died off and he was instead smiling softly at Obi-Wan. “You’re incredible - you know that, right?” Kote said.
Obi-Wan ducked his head to leave a soft, lingering kiss on Kote’s mouth. “I am a reflection of those around me,” he replied. “You make me want to be better, Kote.”
This time, it was Kote who surged forward to lean in and kiss Obi-Wan as he cradled the redhead’s jaw in one warm hand.
Obi-wan let Kote tilt his head to a better angle as he threw his arms over his boyfriend’s broad shoulders. His eyes fluttered closed and he sank into the kiss. Kote’s arm slid around his waist as his lips glided smoothly over Obi-Wan’s.
For long, languid minutes, Obi-Wan floated in the warm feelings they both exuded into the Force. When Kote finally pulled back, Obi-Wan surged forward to nip one more kiss from Kote’s lower lip.
“Ob’ika,” Kote groaned, “don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.”
Obi-Wan heaved himself up to swing his leg over Kote’s thighs, rolling them over and sitting astride his boyfriend. “Who said anything about being unwilling?” he asked with a smirk.
Kote pulled Obi-Wan down insistently and Obi-Wan went, laughing.
They were cuddling together in the afterglow, bare under Obi-Wan’s sheets, when both their comms chirped with a notification. They wordlessly agreed to ignore it, content to doze together in the warm contact, soft kisses, and the gentle strokes of hands on skin.
It was only when Kote’s comm began wailing incessantly - a high-pitched, drawn-out sound recorded in the pits of hell, in Obi-Wan’s opinion - that the Mandalorian groaned and pulled himself out of Obi-Wan’s embrace.
“Rex,” he said as an explanation when Obi-Wan whined at the loss of warmth.
Obi-Wan propped himself up on an elbow as he rubbed his eyes and watched Kote pad over to their discarded clothes and pick up his comm. “Me’ven?” he grunted at his little brother.
“We’ve been invited to a Senate gala tomorrow night,” came Rex’s voice, made tinny by the comm.
“And this couldn’t wait until I’d returned to the suite?” Kote grumbled, stretching out his back. He twisted this way and that for a few seconds to dispel any lingering stiffness, and Obi-Wan watched the ripple of his muscles shamelessly. His eyes caressed across Kote’s shoulders, down his spine, down to his still-bare hips, and to Kote’s defined glutes and quads. He thought of what those thighs felt like when they squeezed around his torso like the most pleasant of vices and shivered.
“Well, Buir didn’t know if you were coming back,” Rex sniped back, bringing Obi-Wan out of his reverie.
Kote turned his head and ran an appreciative glance over Obi-Wan’s form, still partially covered by the white sheets. He grinned wryly. “Okay, he may have been right about that,” he admitted.
Rex said nothing for half a minute, then in a resigned tone: “You’re with him now, aren’t you?”
Obi-Wan’s face split into a grin. “Hello there, Rex,” he sing-songed.
“ Gross ,” Rex whispered, probably not intending for the mic to pick it up. “Well,” he said at regular volume, “Buir says we need to go in full dress.”
Kote’s head fell back. “We can’t go in beskar’gam?” he whined.
“No,” Rex sighed. He and his brother were of the same opinion. “Because the Senators would take it as a sign of aggression, gestures of peace, blah, blah, blah.”
Kote rolled his eyes. “Fine. When do you need me back so we can put the dancing monkey suits on?”
“Come back for midmeal tomorrow, Vod.”
Kote glanced back at Obi-Wan, a question in his eyes. Using the Force, Obi-Wan summoned his own comm to look at the invitation. Arrival was scheduled for the eighteenth hour, so six hours to get ready was a bit much. On the other hand, Obi-Wan wasn’t about to be the kind of person who got between his partner and their family. He nodded with a smile.
“I’ll be back at the suite for midmeal, then - is Buir doing skraan’ikase?”
Rex laughed. “If that’s what it takes to drag you away from your cyare…” he teased.
Obi-Wan felt his face flush. “You don’t need to drag him, Rex,” he shot back. “I’m not holding him hostage.”
The younger Fett laughed over the comm. “Maybe not, but we’ve always needed to bribe Kote into doing things he didn’t want to.”
“Alright, alright.” Kote rolled his eyes playfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rex.”
“So I was right! You aren’t coming back tonight!”
“Not anymore, I’m not. Ret’ , Rex,” Kote said before flicking his comm off. Kote sighed, put his comm back down, and stepped back into Obi-Wan’s bed. He fell onto Obi-Wan, pushing them both back down onto the mattress.
Obi-Wan chuckled at his boyfriend as Kote squished his face into Obi-Wan’s chest. He carded his hands through Kote’s curls, still slightly damp with sweat. “I hate the dress suit,” Kote groaned into Obi-Wan’s pecs.
Obi-Wan hummed. “I’m sure you look quite dashing in it, though.”
“All beauty comes at a cost,” Kote sighed. He turned his head to look Obi-Wan in the eyes. “I suppose I can get dressed up - but I’ll be looking good for you, not for any pomped-up Senator.”
“Oh, you look amazing to me without even trying, my Darling.”
“Flatterer.” Kote pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s jaw.
Obi-Wan leaned down and caught Kote’s lips for a slower, longer, kiss. “I speak naught but the truth,” he whispered. “Your very soul is gorgeous to me. Any physical beauty you add to that is secondary.” He very pointedly drew an appreciative gaze up and down Kote’s body. “And you have no lack in that department either,” he leaned in to whisper in Kote’s ear, “ner meshla cyare.”
Kote sprang up as if burned. His eyes drilled into Obi-Wan’s with a burning intensity. “Say that again,” he ordered breathlessly.
“Ner meshla cyare.”
Kote hauled Obi-Wan up by the back of his head into a bruising, all-consuming kiss. “Again,” he demanded.
“Ner meshla cyare.”
Another kiss. “Again.”
This time, Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to Kote’s forehead and said, “Ner,” another kiss to the broad tip of his nose, “meshla,” a kiss on each cheek, “cyare,” and finished with a long kiss to Kote’s lips.
Obi-Wan fell backwards onto the bed, dragging Kote down with him. He kicked his legs around to get out from under the sheets.
“I will never, ever, ever , get tired of hearing you speak in my tongue,” Kote said, breathless. “Nu draar.”
Giddy, Obi-Wan checked on his Force bonds. His shields were still intact on all of them. Perfect . With Force-quickened reflexes, he lurched forward, flipping their positions so that he was straddling a starstruck Kote’s hips. “Then teach me more things to say.”
Kote’s hands shot up to frame his hips, the Mandalorian’s chest rising and falling with quickening breath. “If you’re thinking enough to learn a language, I’m not doing my job right.”
Obi-Wan leaned down with a smirk. “Then get to it, cyare.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kote got back to their suite fifteen minutes before the twelfth hour. The second the door closed behind him, Rex became a whirlwind of teasing remarks. His favourite talking points seemed to be: Obi-Wan’s strength, the strength of Obi-Wan’s bed, and the overall structural integrity of the Jedi Temple.
“We didn’t break his bed, let alone the entire Temple ,” Kote said with a roll of his eyes.
“Rex, leave your brother alone,” Jan’buir called over in Mando’a.
“ Thank you, Buir,” Kote called back in the same language.
Jan’buir stepped into the entrance hall with the shit-eating grin every last Vod had inherited and Kote sighed internally. “The rest of your Vode will want to get some teasing in when we get home! You wouldn’t want him to have answers ready for every little question, now would you, Rex’ika?”
“I hate you, Buir.”
Rex cackled, the traitor .
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Vod’ika. Just you wait - when you find a cyare, I’ll remember this.” Kote pointed one finger at Rex in a promise. “And Buir, I can and will ask Ba’buir for stories about you from before your verd’goten.”
“All you’re going to hear are stories of standard ad’ik’osik,” Jan’buir started, but Kote cut him off.
“But what about the story Ba’buir promised me about the time a certain someone got grounded for impersonating their Buir to a client while on contract while said Buir was sick? Or when a certain someone tried to sneak around the Mereel compound after a bar crawl, waaaaay past curfew and somehow wandered into the wrong barracks? Or that one time a certain someone was proposed to by seven separate members of the same royal family? Or-”
“Gev, gev, I get the picture!” Jan’buir said, laughing. “Come on, ner’ade, I got your softshells out of your packs and ironed - believe me, there were more wrinkles in that fabric than there are shards of Concord Dawn!”
Laughing, the three Fetts strode down the hall of their overly lavish suite. Jan’buir peeled off to his bedroom while Rex and Kote wrestled over who got to use the shower first. Kote let Rex win and sat laughing as the blonde slammed the refresher door shut with a victorious crow. That was alright - you had to give the little ones little victories so that they didn’t try for the big ones, as Sil’buir used to say.
Kote unzipped the bag that held his uniform and separated the pieces - undershirt, trousers, vest, jacket, medals, cords, and boots. Once they were all laid nice and flat on his bed, Kote sent a photo to Obi-Wan, captioned “socially acceptable instruments of torture”.
Obi-Wan sent back a short clip of his Master being berated by Obi-Wan’s Ba’buir. “-honestly, Qui-Gon, you can’t wear your regular rags to a gala! I swear, I raised you better than this-” The video was shaking and Obi-Wan’s laughter could be heard the entire time.
Kote smothered an inelegant snort and typed out a quick reply. He and Obi-Wan kept texting each other until there was an uncharacteristic pause on his end.
Kote: everything ok?
Ob’ika: sorry, OB needs 2 get rdy now, c u @ gala -QV
Kote sighed. I’ll see him soon, he told himself. Soon .
Five hours later, Kote stepped out of the speeder after his Buir and forced himself to ignore the flashes of all the cameras along the red carpet.
“Your Majesty, over here!”
“King Fett, what do you think about the trade wars in the mid-rim?!”
“Your Highnesses!! Coruscant Times, are you looking for romance in the Core?!”
“Over here, over here! Some poses for the Core Cosmopolitan!”
“Fett-”
“Your Majesty-”
“-over here!!”
“-some questions-”
“Prince Fett-”
“-truth about your children-”
“-Kamino?!”
“Pose!”
“This way!”
For the love of the Manda, did these vultures never get tired of hearing themselves talk?! Kote drowned out the noise as he followed Jan’buir up the steps, Rex two steps to his left. He knew they made quite the picture in their pristine suits, with their rank insignias over their shoulders, ribbons and medals on their left breast, braided cords looped over their right arms - one for each victorious campaign. Rex and Kote both had five each - Kamino, Keldabe, Concordia, Ordo, and Concord Dawn - but Jan’buir’s cords were nearly too many to count.
On top of all that, all three Fetts wore shining beskar circlets on their brows. Jan’buir, as Mand’alor, has the thickest and most ornate of the bands. The polished beskar came to an angled point between his brows in a mimicry of the T-visors on his buy’ce and six spikes rose from his crown, each one engraved with the broken chain links Jan’buir had chosen as his aliik upon his return to Manda’yaim. Kote’s circlet was a much simpler band with his golden sunburst rising over his forehead. Rex had a thin circlet with one hundred and twenty-seven tally marks engraved in the beskar - one for every Vod Rex saved when the Kaminiise flooded the training rooms, the act which earned him his jaig eyes.
They passed under the enormous doors to the senate dome and all three Fetts breathed a sigh of relief as the voices of the paparazzi died out. “I hate Core-world niceties,” Jan’buir grumbled. “They rarely mean what they say or say what they mean.”
“If you have a problem with someone, punch ‘em and be done with it,” Rex intoned.
Kote rolled his eyes as they approached the ballroom. “K’atini, ner aliit.”
“K’atini,” they echoed.
“Announcing His Royal Majesty, Mand’alor Jango Fett of Mandalore, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Kote Fett of Mandalore, and His Royal Highness Prince Rex Fett of Mandalore!” the butler- waiter- person-who-guarded-the-door-but-for-niceties-instead-of-threats called. Immediately, all of the heads in the ballroom swivelled to look at the trio as Jan’buir led them down the ornate stairs. Even the band seemed to hesitate for a moment as Kote ran an assessing stare over them.
Jan’buir led them to one of the small round tables floating at chest height. He took a tall, thin glass from a passing droid .and sipped at it. Kote swallowed a laugh at the face Janèbuir made once the flavour hit him. “Too sweet,” he spat out.
Rex snorted into his drink, a multicoloured concoction of some sort. “D’you think the ‘imposing Mando’ act will get them to leave us alone for a bit?”
Spying Palpatine gliding towards them, Kote sighed. The smarmy politician wasn’t moving directly towards them, but flitting about from group to group while closing in. Kote rather thought that captured the man's political style as well: if it took less than an hour to get to the point, you were too direct. “Nope,” he said to his father and brother. “Chakaar inbound,” he whispered under his breath.
Rex and Jan’buir both groaned quietly. “Ah, Man’dalor Fett!” Palpatine said in faux-surprise. Kote was fairly sure he mispronounced the title on purpose. Bitch. “I must admit, I was surprised to see you here. I understand that galas such as these are not a common luxury within the outer rim.”
“Manda’yaim is in the mid rim,” Jan’buir replied curtly. He downed the rest of his drink, seemingly resigned to his fate as - and Kote shuddered at the thought that this mantle might one day fall to him - a politician .
Kote left their table to refill his glass, glad to get away from Palpatine’s self-important voice. Manda, does he love to hear himself talk, he thought. Just as he took a sip from his new glass - watered-down Alderaanian whiskey - a posse of giggling young adults formed up around him.
“So, I hear you’re the Crown Prince?” one of them asked. Kote couldn’t tell which one. “Why you and not one of your brothers? What makes you… special?” they dissolved into another fit of giggles, sending Kote’s new entourage off as well.
“Mandalorian succession doesn’t work that way,” he said as blandly as he could.
They giggled again, hiding half their faces behind fans as they gazed up at him and -
Oh no.
Debutantes .
“Crown Prince or not, it’s still rare for a Mandalorian to join our ranks,” another one of them said. This one was human, in their late teens or early twenties, and draped in a fine silk gown. Small glowing pearls floated around their head, bobbing and swaying gently with any movement they made. They were conventionally pretty, Kote supposed, but not enough to have tempted him before he met Obi-Wan. Now that the man had accepted his courtship? These socialites were in for a rude awakening if they thought they could so easily slide into Clan Fett.
“Join your ranks? How so?” he asked, taking another sip.
More infernal giggles. “You were presented, were you not?” a twi’lek in an airy blouse and skirt asked. They ducked their head coquettishly. “Welcome to Coruscanti society, your Highness.”
“I return to my homeworld in two days,” he said blandly, to a round of nervous and disappointed murmurs.
“Does that mean you… won’t be here for the social season?” another of the socialites asked.
“I thought the whole point of your visit was to secure a match,” said yet another.
Kote chuckled. “Arranged marriages don’t exist on Mandalore.” He took a bigger gulp of his drink. “If two people who don’t choose each other are forced to cohabitate or start a family, blood ends up on the walls.”
More nervous twittering. “But, your Highness, surely your father sees the benefits such a match would bring to Mandalore? Why, the social standing alone would be worth any consideration!”
“If I get married for something as fleeting as social standing , my family is more than welcome to disown me,” Kote deadpanned. “Marriage vows are some of the most sacred words in our language - I would never utter them to a single soul unless I was sure I truly wanted to bind our lives together for eternity. Companionship, chemistry, the perfect balance of challenge and comfort, and unwavering faith in one another: that is what would have me take a knee and swear my vows. Nothing less.” He hoped he sounded dismissive enough of them that they’d leave him alone.
No such luck. “That is so romantic! ” a Rodian cried - actually cried , their eyes were shiny with tears. “Would you tell us more about this ideal partner?”
The socialites quickly voiced their agreements, nodding enthusiastically. Just then, the doors at the top of the stairs swung open again to let in the next group of guests. Salvation! KOte crowed in his mind.
“Announcing Junior Padawan Siri Tachi of the Jedi Order, Senior Padawan Luminara Unduli of the Jedi Order, Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi of the Jedi Order, Knight Kit Fisto of the Jedi Order, Kight Gi M’lii of the Jedi Order, Knight Tor-in Oak of the Jedi Order, Master Qui-Gon Jinn of the Jedi Order, Master Mace Windu of the Jedi Order, Master Yan Dooku of the Jedi Order, and Master Jocasta Nu of the Jedi Order!”
Oh, thank the karking Manda .
The Jedi floated down the stairway in that ethereal elegance they were known for, their faces smooth masks of marble. Kote’s eyes were immediately drawn to Obi-Wan, who - who had changed his hair . Gone was the inch-long head/nerf-tail combo that was traditional for Padawans. Obi-Wan must have used a hair-growth cream because his hair now came down to his jaw in a soft curtain. The top half was pinned back by two silver wing-shaped hairpins and his braid trailed down his shoulder, laden with far more beads and bands than usual. Instead of his usual rough-spun beige robes, perfect for field work, Obi-Wan was clad in finely-pressed silk robes made up of pale cream tunics and pale silver-blue tabards. His boots were oiled and polished until they shined in the low light as Obi-Wan’s feet came down the stairs. None of the Jedi wore their cloaks - although Dooku wore a cape clasped to his tabards - and so the new set of robes his much less of Obi-Wan’s form. The belt emphasized his trim waist and his crisp tabards accentuated the width of his shoulders. His arms pressed against his sleeves in a constant hint of strength. Attached to Obi-Wan’s belt, the knife and sheath Kote made for him rolled with every motion of Obi-Wan’s hips. The sheath was as polished as the rest of Obi-Wan’s appearance, the orange sunburst eye-catching against the dark leather.
Kote’s mouth dried as his eyes dragged their way up Obi-Wan’s form to his face. The blue of his eyes was all the more vivid thanks to the dark liner drawn around his eyes - Kote didn’t know whether to thank the artist or strangle them - and his lips were subtly tinted a few shades darker with the lip-stain Kote knew Obi-Wan loved to use when he went out.
All in all, he stole the very breath out of Kote’s chest. Given the slight sparkle in Obi-Wan’s eyes and the slight twitch of his lips, his cyare knew it too.
The Jetii delegation reached the ballroom floor and split up wordlessly. Most of them approached certain politicians and were greeted with warm smiles - Kote smiled as he noticed Dooku clasping forearms with Jan’buir while practically ignoring an incensed Palpatine. Obi-Wan made a beeline straight to him.
Kote stepped forward, out of the throng of debutantes. If any of them protested, he didn’t hear them. All he saw, all he heard, all he felt, all he knew was this apparition of beauty, strength, and cunning that approached him. Obi-Wan came to a stop before him and Kote absent-mindedly put his right hand forward to clasp forearms with Obi-Wan in the Mando way.
Instead, Obi-Wan gripped him gently by the fingers and bowed deeply as he brought Kote’s knuckles to his darkened lips. His eyes never left Kote’s, a line of sizzling contact between them. “Your Highness,” he murmured against the back of Kote’s hand. KOte felt Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up into a smirk. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” Oh, if only we were alone…
“Padawan Kenobi,” he said instead. It came out far more breathless than he intended and Obi-Wan’s smirk widened. As Obi-Wan stood from his bow, Kote switched the grip of their hands until his hand clasped Obi-Wan’s, palm to palm. He brought their combined hands up to lay a kiss on the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. “The pleasure is all mine, cyare.”
Obi-Wan’s smirk widened into a genuine smile. Around them, the music changed and couples made their way to the center of the ballroom. “Kote Fett, Ad be Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan said, bringing out Kote’s full title - and pronouncing it perfectly, too. “May I have the honour of this dance?”
“Hey, that isn’t fair, Jedi!” a shill voice whined. Kote groaned and turned around, not letting go of Obi-Wan’s hand. He’d (gleefully) forgotten about the swarm of socialites.
“Yeah,” another disgruntled debutante said. “We got to him first, we should get his first dances.”
“When you asked me if I was on Coruscant to find a match, I said no. I spoke the truth. I do not need to search for one.” Kote turned back to face Obi-Wan but spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry. “I’ve already met my match.”
Kote ignored the stares and whispers that followed them onto the dance floor. Both he and Obi-Wan knew they were coming and had braced for them. “Ready?” he whispered as they took their spots. His right hand was still clasped in Obi-Wan’s, held up to shoulder height, while his left hand flattened across the small of Obi-Wan’s back.
“Are you?” his Jedi answered with a grin.
Then the music swelled and the dancers flowed into motion. Kote spun Obi-Wan around himself and let himself fall into the movements of the dance. A small part of his brain was thankful that he was old enough to have had these lessons in flash-training on Kamino - formal dancing and etiquette were some of the last modules the CC-class clones completed before their world had turned on its ear. The rest of his brain was split between using that knowledge and admiring Obi-Wan’s every feature. Kote, like all his Vode, was decanted with an eidetic memory. Here, he used it to catalogue every shift of Obi-Wan’s face, every minute moment of joy that Obi-Wan let through for the two of them.
Only for the two of them. The rest of the Galaxy could kriff off - as far as Kote was concerned, the only thing that mattered was the ever-closing space between himself and Obi-Wan and the sparks he felt along his skin wherever they pressed together.
One song bled into another, which bled into another, which bled into yet another, the styles of dance changing with each song. Kote and Obi-Wan adapted seamlessly to each one.
After a half-dozen songs, they left the dancefloor by unspoken agreement. Cheers and applause followed them to the refreshments table where they both quickly downed glasses of water. Out of the corner of his eye, Kote saw a few of the debutantes from earlier. They saw Obi-Wan next to him and pouted, mumbling amongst themselves. Kote threw an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist and raised his glass in a toast towards them.
“Why do you antagonize them, my dear?” Obi-Wan asked.
Kote hummed. “Because they are unused to being unwanted,” he said after some thought. “Because I told them that Mandalore had no arranged marriages and they still tried to maneuver into my life. Because they do not understand that their bright, shiny, expensive beauty pales in comparison to the radiance of your soul.”
Obi-Wan blushed. “Very well, then. I shall leave you to it.”
Shortly after they finished their third glasses of water, the band began a new song and Obi-Wan eagerly tugged him onto the dancefloor. Laughing, Kote set his glass down and followed, eagerly spinning into Obi-Wan’s arms. They stood in place for a moment, clasping hands and facing each other, for a few counts so they could grasp the rhythm of the reel. Then, they burst into motion, stepping backwards and forwards, spinning and clapping. The song and dance were from Lothal and were simple yet complicated. The dance and music were thirty-two bars long, but were repeated in an endless loop, each repetition faster than the last. The dancers had to move in synch for the lifts and spins to work, which got progressively harder as the song went on. Whenever couple messed up, they left the floor.
It was a sort of “last pair standing” dance, which was easily turned into an enticing competition for the CCs on Kamino. Kote could do this dance blindfolded for well over an hour - his record with Rex was one hour, fifteen minutes, and thirteen-point-oh-three seconds.
When the time came for the first lift, Kote saw the mischievous glint in Obi-Wan’s eye. “Shall we up the ante?” he asked.
Kote grinned in reply. Instead of lifting his partner off the ground for a half-turn, Kote launched Obi-Wan up into a Force-assisted jump and spun around for one and a half turns before catching his boyfriend. “Ooh”s and “aah”s followed their stunt and Kote saw some other dancers give them dirty looks. He ignored them - if they didn’t want the show stolen, it was up to them to be more interesting.
The dance restarted and now Obi-Wan was adding extra flair to his movements. Kote copied him, their heels striking the ground together. For the next spin, they added one more rotation than normal. For the lift, Kote threw Obi-Wan even higher and spun in place two and a half times.
By the third time they entered the starting position, half the couples had left the dance floor. Kote barely registered them leaving. All his attention was on Obi-Wan, his hair a fiery halo with every spin and jump. They were both laughing as they egged each other on, going faster and faster, adding more and more extra bits to their dance. Kote lost count of how many times they’d gone through the movements, forwards, back, apart, together, stomp, spin, forward, clap, back, clap and stomp, spin, back to start. All that mattered was that Obi-Wan was in his arms, smiling and laughing and full of life in a way basic couldn’t describe. Mandokarla.
All of a sudden, instruments ceased their tunes one at a time. Not failing in his rhythm, Kote paid more attention to their surroundings. They were the last couple on the dance floor and - one of the woodwinds failed a now ridiculously-rapid trill and fell silent. Holy Hells, they were outlasting the musicians! He and Obi-Wan shared a wild grin and redoubled their efforts. When the last member of the band missed a note in the opening bars, Kote and Obi-Wan flew through the dance only to the sounds on their own feet, their heavy breaths, and the rhythmic clapping of their audience. When they reached the spin, Kote tossed Obi-Wan as high as he could, spun on himself enough times to make a baseline, human dizzy, and caught Obi-Wan above his head with one arm under his shoulders and the other under his knees.
Kote spun on himself with the last of the momentum from Obi-Wan’s fall. The two of them laughed in exhilaration as Kote let Obi-Wan down. The crowd exploded into cheers and whistles, with occasional shouts for an encore. Kote couldn’t care less. He cradled Obi-Wan’s head in his hands and brought their foreheads together with a dull thunk . “I,” he panted, “am so glad you accepted my knife.”
Obi-Wan laughed, the sound ringing like a bell in Kote’s mind. “And I am eternally glad you offered me your knife.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jango watched in amusement as Kote and his Jetii stumbled off the dance floor, both of them sweaty and shaky on their legs but overjoyed. They collapsed into the nearest chairs - no wonder, they had danced for close to forty-five minutes before their short break and the reel had lasted a full hour - and Jango immediately plonked two full glasses of water on the table. “Drink,” he commanded.
Obi-Wan accepted the water gratefully and guzzled it down like a man who’d just spent nineteen years in the desert. Kote rolled his eyes fondly and drank in smaller sips. “Vor’e, Jan’buir,” he said.
“N’entye, Kote. That was quite the show you boys put on,” he said, pride swelling in his chest.
Obi-Wan’s laughter was still lightly tinged with adrenaline-fueled hysteria. “I’ve never lasted even a third of that time before,” he admitted. “I suppose it’s all in choosing the right partner.”
Jango carefully didn’t look as they grasped for each other’s hands. “I hope you know that this’ll be all over the holonet in an hour, right?”
He roared with laughter at their twin groans.