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In light of the converted clones' arrival, General Amidala delayed their next mission - a simple recovery that wouldn't need more than ten men - and gave them some downtime. Sabine, Zeb and Hera had gotten quite a bit of help from the pilots in regards to repair advice, and now that they were landed for a bit, they decided to get to work.
That meant that Kanan had free time on his hands. Ezra had vanished on the crew to disappear with Waxer and Boil. He was pretty sure they were teaching the boy how to shoot and playing airball in the courtyard. Even with his new lease on life, he wasn't sure if his presence would be appreciated. Still, he wanted to check up on the youngling and just enjoy this relaxation and happiness while it lasted.
The courtyard proved empty, save a few of Amidala's advisors milling about discussing the palace. He returned to the main building, sliding quietly through the main halls and into the abandoned medical wing on the far side of the compound. It was still strange to be assaulted by his mental senses again, but he felt Ezra, Rex and the main host of the 212th holed up there, along with a few signatures he didn't recognize. The door was partially open when he got there, the clones all packed into the observatory, laying on each other and seated on the floor, all the furniture pushed against the walls. The only seat pulled out was a loveseat, where the current speaker and Ezra were seated.
If he recalled correctly, it was a clone named Mirage, the longest surviving pilot in the troupe. It seemed like he was finishing a story about a dogfight with a fighter droid.
"Then the General swooped in, and cut it's head clean off!" Mirage exclaimed, all joy and exuberant movements. Ezra was grinning from ear to ear, clapping his hands together in excitement. It was sweet to watch, wonderful to feel. He didn't realize how much he'd missed the feeling of happiness, even just like this.
Rex, standing not too far away from the door, spotted him and motioned him in. He shook his head, but Rex motioned stronger. He gave up - if he didn't listen, it was likely Rex was going to drag him in by the ear and that would just be humiliating.
"We've got a friend." Rex announced.
"Hey! It's Caleb!" One of the strange signatures laughed. He was an old clone, like Rex, but with a full beard and a sarcastic grin.
"Don't be pushy, Fives." Another old clone reprimanded tiredly.
"It's Caleb." He repeated with a pout.
"Listen to your wife." A third commented, his grey hair slicked back out of his eyes.
"Shut up, Kano." Fives griped.
"Introductions are in order, I think." Rex interrupted. "Kanan, I'd like you to meet the free remains of the 501st, Kamino's finest."
"Kanan?" Fives made a face like someone stuck a sour strip to the roof of his mouth.
"I changed my name when . . . well, for my own safety." He replied, more bashful than he'd been in a while.
Kano nodded understandingly, pushing Fives back.
"These are my men." Rex explained, gesturing to each as he mentioned them. "Fives, Echo, Kano, Boomer, Hardcase, Redeye, Denal, Koho, Oz, Mixer and Ringo."
"All of us old now, aren't we?" Koho sniggered.
"Something like that." Hardcase smirked.
"Hey, since we're telling stories," Boomer smacked Cody on the back, "tell the one about the ballroom incident."
"Ballroom?" Ezra perked up, mirroring Kanan's thoughts.
"One of the few missions where clones were allowed into the palace." Shotglass elaborated. "It's a really good story, but it makes the Commander blush."
"C'mon, you gotta tell me now!" Ezra pleaded. Cody, for his part, looked ready to bolt. Rex put a hand on his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.
"Fine." He sighed, dejected. "I'll tell it."
Ezra wiggled over so Cody could have some room.
"What happened?" The youngling chirped.
"General Kenobi was a High General in the Republic, meaning she was one of the few with control over multiple battalions. She was the one who gave marching orders to other Jedi. She chose the 212th as her primary host. The 212th, however, was an attack battalion, on par with the 501st Legion as The GAR's largest host."
"Right." Ezra nodded.
"General Kenobi and the 212th were always on the front lines, always taking heavy damages and losses, always on the tails of the clankers. The other side to that coin was that the Republic needed Kenobi as a negotiator, being infamously good at soothing tensions and establishing relationships. So, when she was needed elsewhere, sometimes we got to follow her. We called those times 'clean missions', because we never got dirty. On this particular clean mission, we were headed to a planet where they would not negotiate unless all parties had a significant other. We were warned about it too late - normally on planets like that, Skywalker pretends to be her husband - so we had to come up with something quickly."
"I love this part." Waxer grinned.
The robes were soft and supple and perhaps that's what made it the most uncomfortable. It was like something she would wear to meditate in the Temple, all delicate fabric and neutral tones.
"It suits you." Blueyes commented. "Brings out the colour of your eyes."
He snorted - leave it to Blueyes to compliment his identical twin and actually be sincere about it. "No plastic feels strange."
"Indeed, it does." She stepped out from the bathroom, where she'd gone to dress. "You will feel better as the night goes on."
"Will I?" He muttered, to Blueyes' disdain. He was allowed to feel dubious about this, dammit.
"Sargent, would you mind giving us a moment?"
"Yes, General."
She walked right up to him and he finally allowed himself to look at her. It was custom on this planet for the hosts to choose the clothing of the guests, taking biological requirements into consideration, of course.
She was stunning on her own, naked and splayed with her feathers brushing the ceiling or splattered in droid oil and grit from a battle. But this . . . This was a crime against his senses, a test of willpower gods would fail.
Her hair was styled over her right shoulder, shimmering aquamarine braided in with gold that vanished in her hair. Her dress was scaled in design, almost plated, but it shimmered and refracted light. The deep sapphire colour brought out every shade of bronze on her wings, draped luxuriantly in stone-laced chains. It was high-necked and full-sleeved, at her request, but the back was low and open, stopping when her tailbone did. It was mercifully narrow to hide her scarring, but it fit her like skin. He wondered how she could move in it, let alone sashay like she was.
"I have no god to pray to for help, or I would be doing that right now."
The burst of colour her clothes normally didn't have brought out the shade of her eyes, liquid and serene like clear water. She had on some kind of gossamer shimmer that alternated between blue and gold with the angle of the light. It was scattered across all her visible skin, right down to her fingertips.
"This should be easy." She assured, guiding his hand to her ribcage, where the aliik was tucked away, just for them, thatched in by her scarring. "We're already married."
He sighed, pulling her in close. "I'm not worried about being your husband, I'm worried about all the etiquette I don't know."
"The custom here, from what the late briefing told me, is that they see marriage as two halves combining to a whole. If we operate together fluidly, which we do, there should be no issue. Any cultural missteps can be talked down, since we're new to the planet."
"And what about the after party?"
She stroked his cheek, bright eyes dancing. "At least you'll be on the ground for it."
| | |
The dining room was massive, easily the size on the canteen on the ship, and decorated in jewels and elaborate stonework. One beautiful table dominated the room, and most of the guests were already seated. Apparently, guests of honour were the last to enter and be seated before the court, second only to the rulers.
They walked in, her arm resting daintily on his, the shocked gasp went up around the room. Colours, and the appreciable relationships between them, seemed to be a cultural cornerstone. They actually got applause.
"The Prince-Consort has outdone himself." The Minister of State said, bowing as they passed.
Cody didn't know what was so amazing about him, in particular, with her. She was stunning, all dazzling blues and bronzes, like a living work of art. They were lead to their place, at the hand of the King, but quietly instructed to remain standing until the rulers had entered.
The King and Prince-Consort were lead in, both in dazzling arrays of purple and silver that complimented the berry tone of their skin.
"What a masterpiece pair." The King breathed, the Prince-Consort giggling cutesy and flush with triumph. "Let us not starve our guests a moment longer! Bring out the food!"
As soon as the pleasantries had passed, she almost immediately fell into a discussion with the King, psuedo-negotiations to see exactly what he was after and where he would flex.
"I can't believe Eler did such a fantastic job." The Duchess next to him squealed. "Commander, was it?"
"Uh, yes ma'am." He replied. "Commander Cody."
"I had thought you made a handsome pair when you arrived, with your neutral shades and tone contrasts. Rainbows, I didn't think it could be enhanced. The blue she is wearing brings out her copper tones so much, it let me notice the amber of your eyes. And the rich earthen brown of your skin - fantastic. She's so sandy, you're so deep. It's a beautiful contrast for a pair. A marvel." She tittered excitedly. "And look at that flush! The softest pink, so warm and alive. Your humble nature is very valuable in this time of war and peacocking."
"He is indeed a specimen." His General teased from his side.
"I'm not the impressive one." He countered without thinking. "Your Elders had you right."
"Elders, Master Jedi?" The Prince-Consort asked, intrigued.
"I am a very rare species from Stewjon. A raptor."
A delighted gasp went around the table. She smiled indulgently.
"Indeed. When my feathers molted and I began to gain my adult abilities, they returned with me to Stewjon to learn about the coming changes. My Elders had been thrilled with my colouring and indeed asked me to remain."
"I can see why." The Duchess tittered again.
"Quite." She smiled again, glittering in the favourable lighting. Everything on this planet was made to shine. She fit right in. "That is why my partner needed to be beautiful as well."
His neck flushed from the praise and he took her hand.
The table cooed.
"As fluid and graceful as the slope of your wings, Master Jedi." The King said softly, affectionately. "Our negotiations will go well, I suspect."
"As do I, your Majesty. Our interests and values seem well-aligned." She raised her glass. "To the success of our negotiations and the long lives of our partners."
"Here here!" The table roared.
He let himself be swept away in the revelry - he would likely never have the chance to be her husband in public ever again.
| | |
The after party was a decidedly more laid-back affair, with easy mingling and low chatter. A marble dance floor was arranged, but it seemed like there was protocol that revolved around it.
"What happens now, General?" He asked lowly, holding her hand.
"The King and Prince-Consort will have their dance, then us, then the floor opens to free dancing."
"Is a local dance we have to do?"
"No, it's our choice. I was thinking the pel Kaldabe."
He blinked, startled. "Here? That might be . . . a little rough for them."
"Perhaps, but the sensuality . . . That is something they will appreciate. A good show is a good show, after all."
He breathed deeply. "Okay, General."
"I'll lead." Her wing brushed along his back. "I won't let anything happen to you."
| | |
The pel Kaldabe was something the two of them had developed off an old Mando'a tradition. The wedding ceremonies used to see the spouses square off, fighting with swords and knives. Whoever lost initiated the Kaldabe Kiss, then they were considered married. The other's eternal battle partner.
For Cody's own safety, they'd decided to forego the battle of hand-to-hand or armed combat. Instead, they developed a dance of sorts that mixed the intimacies of dancing and melee combat. Graceful movements, close presses and sharp strikes and blocks. No dodging, not like this. One part of them touching at all times, they would spin and swirl, her wings held tightly against her back. It would end completely pressed together, their foreheads touching as they shared breath. The "soft Kaldabe" .
It was intimate, something only they did, and something he'd been aching to do in front of an audience since they'd developed it. He was never really possessive of her, but he wanted to announce her choice, that he was worthy of the Firebird. That he had made a choice too, given his body and soul away when no one could stop him.
"Our honoured guests!" The King announced. "Please grace us with a performance. To witness a pair in motion is the most beautiful thing of all."
They bowed, then walked out onto the floor separately. They stood across from one another, the music swelling around them. It was soft, alluring, sensual. They stepped forward together, eyeing the other's movements. But he misstepped and she dashed forwards, palm connecting with his shoulder and beginning the game.
He grabbed her wrist, spinning her around sharply and yanking her into his chest. Her wings were more lax than they had been the first time they did this, eased enough that he could see over her shoulder. They shifted to the aside, then she dropped her wings and curled out of his grasp. She caught his incoming jab, pulling him in to twirl with her, wings flaring about them, but not unfurled. It allowed him to catch her wrists and pull them behind her back, pinning them there and lifting her up. She was heavy, but he had done this before, plenty of times.
She unfurled her auxiliaries, the primary flights catching the soft mood lighting and reflecting back the stunning colours of both her dress and the gems on the walls.
She broke free and used the leverage to make him bend backwards, allowing her to swing her legs to one side and knock him off balance. She landed on her feet, wings arched in a presenting fashion, but he was pulled off his, allowing her control of the floor once again. She had him by the forearm in the Soldier's Handshake, holding her arm straight at the shoulder and walking them in graceful circles to the slowed beat of the music. When the tempo picked up, she slid her hand back to catch his wrist, swirling him this time, fast enough that the tabbards on his fancy robes swished up, and began some delicate footwork. It was harder to predict and counter with her dress in the way, but she stuck to a samba they'd practised before.
She struck out with her palm, but he managed to grab it, pull them chest to chest, circling once more. In the slow moments, they stepped as one entity, eyes never once flickering. She allowed herself a small smile - part of the wedding dance was the performance for an audience, something they'd not been permitted.
"Well," he whispered, "the Force is mysterious."
Her smirk grew as she pulled back and allowed cool air to cool the rising tension. Too quick a climax would leave the audience wanting.
He used his minimal height advantage and pull her up by the arms, hook his ankle around hers and pull her off balance. His one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling while the other slid sensually down her arm. Her wing splayed across the ground, the sensitive inner bronze feathers shining dully, while her other wing wrapped around him like a caress. Her now-freed arm fell limp, fingertips grazing the marble. Her head tipped back and he ducked into her neck, holding her there for just a moment longer,
The scrape of her heel against the marble was all the warning he got before she caught support for her weight and hauled them upwards, spinning him and pinning him in place against her chest with one arm strapped across his torso and the other following the line of his hip and the crease of his thigh.
The music was reaching it's crescendo and someone had to lose the battle, soon. The blood she had rushing to his erection was no help. The mating bite scar on his shoulder practially burned the longer this went on.
He spun in her grip, catching her thigh with his hand and pulling it up his hip, her wrists caught in his other hand. To escape, she'd have to pull away, lose contact, then lose the game. Her eyes flashed as she realized this, but she grinned and did it anyway.
They paused, separate for each other for the first time in minutes, breathing elevated just enough to be audible.
She smiled gently as she swayed towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and criss-crossing her wings across his back. Their foreheads bumped gently, sweetly, and they remained there until the thunderous roar of applause died down.
| | |
The men watching from the balconies were going to rib him something awful for it tomorrow, but he was happy to deal with whatever they had to say.
The way Obi-Wan ravished him when they returned back to their room more than made up for any hardship his brothers could ever put him through. He was just grateful they were going back to blacks and armour tomorrow, otherwise he would have a hard time explaining away the hickeys and bites.
"The dress itched terribly, despite it's flourish."
The roomful of clones and youngling snapped to the door, where she was standing with her arms crossed and a fond smirk on her lips.
"Pity they didn't let you keep it." Boil commented.
"The Prince-Consort gave it to me as a gift for the way I looked in it. It's in my footlocker, aboard the ship."
"You gotta wear it again,, General!" Waxer moaned.
"I'd like to see it." Ringo added.
"I will not be donning it again. It takes a crew of handmaids and a literal screwdriver simply to get it on, not even adjusted."
"Aww, C'mon General." Wooley laughed hoarsely, his voice still not recovered. "Put something nice on for the Commander!"
Kanan's eyebrows shot up at the comment, but Kenobi laughed it off.
"I already know what Cody likes, and that dress does not make the list."
"Well, if he ever starts to bore you, you know where we are." Crys joked.
"The offer is generous, but I am afraid I am taken."
"Pity." Crys winked.
Kanan watched her leave before they could beg her for a story and wondered just how far her affection for the Commander really went.