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Cody was going to kill his General, when he finally let him back on Coruscant.
Technically, General Kenobi wouldn’t even be his general anymore, by then, and the only authority he’d have to answer to for his murder would be the Jedi, who probably wouldn’t even convict him when he pled innocent by way of he’s an infuriating Force-damned bastard.
Daydreaming about murder probably wasn’t on the list of relaxing non-activities Cody was meant to be indulging in at this lovely beachfront resort, but he wouldn’t even be here if his general hadn’t forced him to take a vacation on a planet far removed from any front he’d seen during the war. You deserve a break after these past years, Commander, he’d said, as if the kriffing asshole wasn’t planning on pulling even more late nights on Coruscant to push through last-minute promotions for all his men in an army that wouldn’t exist in another week.
Ugh. If Cody went back to Coruscant a General, murder would be too kind a fate for his idiot Jedi. Maybe he’d kick his ass from one end of the Temple to the other, first, and then see where the day took him.
Possibly he was just the slightest bit drunk. Every cocktail the bartender had sent down to him where he was sprawled out on the beach had been delicious, without even the slightest hint of alcohol, but Cody was feeling loose and languid and luxurious under the shade of his umbrella.
He sighed, reaching up to push his sweat-damp curls out of his face from where they’d finally gotten long enough to escape the regulation cut he’d sported throughout the war. Lazing around doing absolutely nothing had sounded like the height of relaxation when he’d been running around from campaign to campaign, surrounded by nonstop action and misery and Force-damned datawork, but in practice, after a tenday in island paradise he was really, really bored.
The light footsteps coming up behind him were a welcome distraction, all things considered.
“Y’know, I was wondering why Obi-Wan gave me that look when I told him where I’d be celebrating the end of the war.”
“That’s a nice way of saying ‘laying low after you blew all of your covers spectacularly’,” Cody drawled, tilting his head back to look upside-down up at Quinlan Vos.
Mm. That was… a lot of skin. Quinlan’s tiny black shorts were clinging to his thighs, sheer white shirt light and loose and framing his bare chest, though it was still partly buttoned, which was more restraint than Cody had; he’d shrugged out of his own shirt around his fourth fruity drink. Cody grinned up at him.
“Having fun, Commander?” Quinlan teased, moving his sunglasses to the top of his head so Cody could see the way his eyes traveled down the length of Cody’s own body.
“Eh,” Cody waved a hand dismissively, settling back down.
Quinlan snorted a laugh. “Well in that case,” he said, “mind if join you?”
“Pull up a towel,” Cody invited, scooting over so Quinlan could set up under the shade with him. He really did look unfairly good; clearly he’d been on planet for a bit, given that his skin looked sun-bronzed, at least a couple shades darker than it’d been the last time Cody had seen him. His shirt was sheer enough that Cody could easily trace the lines of his body underneath it, broad shoulders and sculpted arms on display even though he was, for once, wearing sleeves. Cody rolled his eyes at himself, tossing back the last of his drink.
“So what’s a nice, respectable guy like you doing all the way out here?” Quinlan asked, and despite the his joking tone he was looking at Cody with a genuine curiosity.
Cody rolled his eyes again. “Apparently,” he said, sitting up fully to match Quinlan, “I work too hard, and I deserve a break.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Quinlan said, and while Cody wasn’t drunk enough to prove that he could, in fact, argue with that he apparently was drunk enough to pull a face. “No?” Quinlan asked, audibly holding back a laugh.
“Could take a break on Coruscant,” he grumbled, reaching up to push his hair out of his face again.
“You could,” Quinlan agreed, “but then I’d never have run into you here.”
Cody snorted. “My hero,” he said, dry, and the flash of Quinlan’s smile was bright and enticing.
“I aim to please,” Quinlan told him, sly, and Cody couldn’t help but laugh. Quinlan sat back, clearly pleased with himself, and the light, easy humor suited him so much better than the wry sarcasm Cody was used to.
Behind them, right on cue—whatever complaints Cody had about the rest of his trip, he certainly couldn’t fault the service—the server droid from the cantina bar was approaching, marching steadily through the sand and carrying two bright pink drinks in tall glasses, garnished with some sort of green herb. “Two Blushing Lady cocktails,” it said, offering up the serving tray. “A light and refreshing drink, with herbal and citrusy notes, and featuring a floral liqueur imported from Chandrila.” It made, Cody noted, no mention of whatever copious amounts of alcohol all those delicate flavors were masking.
“Thanks,” Cody said, swapping his empty glass out for the new drink.
“You’re not paying for these, are you?” Quinlan asked, but he took the other drink regardless.
“No,” Cody scoffed, “This is all on General Kenobi’s tab.”
“Good,” Quinlan said, taking a sip. “Man shouldn’t be forced to pay for things on his own forced vacation. Although, didn’t the Senate finally agree to backpay and pensions for all of you?”
“Sure,” Cody said, his smile edging into bitter. “Not sure how I’ll be getting that money, considering I don’t have a bank account, but…” he shrugged. The Personhood bill, for all that it would help his brothers, was not what he wanted to talk about right now.
Quinlan, thankfully, just laughed. “There are probably a million aides on Coruscant running around trying to figure all that and more out,” he said. “Guess this time you get to just lie back and let someone else do all the work.”
Cody sipped his drink. “Mm,” he started, running his tongue over his bottom lip just to watch Quinlan’s eyes flick down, “don’t think that’s really my style. Might make me feel better if I could at least be there, even just to delegate.”
“Miss giving orders that bad, Commander? Because I might be able to help you out with that,” Quinlan said, the corner of his mouth upturned in a tease of a smile.
Cody blinked, even as he felt the tips of his ears go hot the way they always did when Quinlan flirted with him. He’d never been quite this forward, though, sitting so close to Cody, leaning in so that Cody didn’t even have to move his eyes down to see the curve of his bare, muscled chest.
There was a shimmer there, flecks of loose glitter catching the sunlight. Cody smiled. Quinlan, at least, was being much more adventurous on his vacation. He brought his hand up to collect a stray piece from the line of Quinlan’s collarbone.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, amused.
Quinlan’s smirk was wicked. “Could be better.”
“Oh?” Cody raised an eyebrow. “Is that so.”
Quinlan hummed, then leaned in closer, until Cody could feel his breath across his cheek. “Why don’t we head inside and I can show you,” he murmured, and Cody shut his eyes.
“I-” he started, then moved back just enough to get some air. He felt Quinlan move back, as well, his warmth receding, and reached out to fist a hand in his shirt and pull him back in. Their foreheads bumped, and Quinlan’s laughing “Ow!” broke some of the tension that had been building between them.
“Sorry!” Cody said, sheepish, but Quinlan’s smile was warm.
“It’s alright, Commander,” he assured, “you’re good. I shouldn’t have come on so strong.”
Cody looked down to where his hand was still tangled in the fabric of Quinlan’s open shirt. “It’s not that,” he said, and to his relief the words came out steady, a little wry. “I just… I’ve never really thought about- that.”
Quinlan raised an eyebrow at him, but Cody had seen him give that look to Obi-Wan enough times to know that he was laughing at him, just a little.
“There was a war on!” Cody defended. “I couldn’t exactly afford to be distracted by your shoulders.”
Quinlan did laugh at that, delighted, but he also brought his hand up to curl around Cody’s own. “But were you?” he asked. “Distracted? By my shoulders, or something else?"
Cody rolled his eyes. “Who wears sleeveless shirts in a warzone?” he said, pointed. “Di’kutla jetii, that’s who.”
“But you liked it,” Quinlan teased. The curve of his grin was infuriating. Cody wanted… Cody wanted.
He wanted to lean in and taste that grin, wanted sun-warm skin against his own, wanted all the things he hadn’t let himself think about during the war, prioritizing his duty to his brothers and his responsibilities as Marshall Commander over his personal life, much to the despair of any brother unlucky enough to end up on leave with him. Apparently he got creative, when he was drunk enough, and Vos had been a not-infrequent irritant and inspiration both.
Cody leaned back in, using his grip on Quinlan’s shirt to pull him closer until their mouths were almost brushing. “You gonna do something about it?” he challenged, anticipation rising hot and fluttering in his chest.
“I could be convinced,” Quinlan said, and Cody huffed an amused breath, pulling him in the rest of the way. He kept the kiss chaste, light and playful, the curve of Quinlan’s smile slanting perfectly against his own, before moving to rest their foreheads together briefly.
“Well, then,” Quinlan started, pulling back enough to give Cody a considering look, “let me treat you right.” He moved their hands to slot their fingers together, then leaned in, easy, to press a tiny little kiss to the corner of Cody’s mouth. “Come get dinner with me, and then we’ll see where the night takes us.”
“I can work with that,” Cody said, pleased, and he sealed the deal by tilting his head to kiss him again.