Archive of Our Own

“I don’t like this, sir,” Cody says, for what Obi-Wan marks as only the third time since they’ve received orders. His commander is the paragon of restraint this rotation, his jaw set and ticking in the way that makes Obi-Wan want to lay him out on his back and kiss it better, though that would be the height of impropriety under the given circumstances. Cody stands at the foot of the bed Obi-Wan is currently seated on in the Negotiator’s medbay, while Helix fusses with the IV drip he’s been setting up in Obi-Wan’s arm, and he’s doing a wonderful job of splitting his gaze between the far wall and the crook of Obi-Wan’s elbow, where the IV is steadily pushing fluid into Obi-Wan’s bloodstream. It’s quite cold, and it sends unpleasant tingles along Obi-Wan’s veins, but considering his general distaste for the medbay on the whole, and particularly for Helix’s ministrations, Obi-Wan supposes it could be worse. And in this case, it is a requirement of the mission, which means there’s no escaping it, no matter how dearly he wants to.

“Which part is giving you trouble?” Obi-Wan asks, as mildly as he can. Cody avoiding eye contact does things to Obi-Wan. He’s aware he’s a bit needy even under normal circumstances, but there’s no need for Cody to dangle the offer of attention in front of him like that, like a tooka with a string. It makes him feel particularly quippy, as Cody well knows. “The part where I’m to be unarmed, or the part where I’m to be on my knees?”

Ah, there it is: his commander’s beautiful amber-brown eyes, shooting him a scathing look. “The part where you’ll be off your suppressants,” he bites out. “Obviously.” He turns that scathing look on Helix, and Obi-Wan tuts.

“Now, Cody, it’s not Helix’s fault that the council assigned us this mission-“

“That the chancellor made the council assign you this mission,” Cody corrects viciously.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “Quite. So there’s no need to get hostile with the medics. Besides, it’s perfectly safe. You’ll be with me, and we’ll be permitted full contact with the ship so long as we follow the rules the Vitovans have laid out for us.” In theory. In practice, well. Even before the war, Obi-Wan was only too aware of the many ways an apparently straight-forward mission could go wrong.

“If you don’t get kidnapped,” Cody, who is just as aware of that fact as Obi-Wan is, retorts, “and it doesn’t turn out to be a trap, and you don’t go into a false heat-“

“I am not going to go into a false heat.” Obi-Wan straightens his shoulders, fixing Cody with a firm look. “This procedure is completely safe, and I’ve been assured,” he glances to Helix meaningfully, “that it should only affect the pheromone suppressants, not my reproductive implant. Frankly, I’m more likely to enter false heats staying on the suppressants as long as I have.”

“Which is why you should be going off them more regularly,” Helix mutters.

“And I will, when we are no longer in the middle of a war.” Obi-Wan has spent a very long time learning the cycles of his body, largely out of self-defense. He’s Stewjoni, and that means a great deal to the galaxy at large – namely, as a very attractive prize, should anyone be able to render him helpless or dependent. Between the Force, Jedi training, and his own not-inconsiderable wits, Obi-Wan has done an excellent job for the past three decades ensuring that if he does enter such a situation, it is brief. It is why he performed the Fiacaili Rèidh when he was thirteen, removing his fangs. It is why he has been on pheromone suppressants, to subdue the activation of his scent glands, for the better part of his life, and why he has most certainly been on hormonal suppressants since sexual maturity, to keep his reproductive cycle contained. Stewjoni heats are hardly the wild, insatiable kriff-fests the holovids make them out to be, but they do tend to be distracting to the sentients around Obi-Wan when he enters them, which affects his ability to do his job. It’s really simpler to not.

Obi-Wan is also aware, thanks to Bant’s nagging throughout his late teens and twenties, that being constantly on said suppressants is not good for his health. He has to go off the hormonal suppressants at least once a cycle if he doesn’t want the resulting heat to be truly miserable, and he ought to go off pheromone suppressants twice as often, or risk his body sending him into false heats by deciding there’s some reproductive crisis at its inability to attract a mate. Prior to the war, Obi-Wan would do so privately, finding a week where he could foist Anakin off on another master for his padawan’s studies, and spend the time sequestered inside his quarters – sometimes with Quin, if his friend was on Coruscant at the time, but largely on his own, with no difficulty. Now, Obi-Wan can rarely be spared from some crisis or other for even a few days at a time. He’s not about to subject his men to the distraction that is a heat-stricken Stewjoni, and when he’s off his pheromone suppressants he just gets the urge to scent-mark everything. Even aside from the risks that poses, if not to the human men under his command then to certain other species – some Jedi included, which is yet another reason Obi-Wan is careful with who has been exposed to his pheromones, by diligent upkeep of his suppressants and careful isolation while off them – the behavior itself wouldn’t be appropriate and makes him more of a target – a high enough bar already, considering he’s one of the main faces of the GAR and the Jedi Order at this point – to anyone who realizes what, precisely, he is.

That number is already substantially higher than Obi-Wan is comfortable with; those who knew him prior to his padawanship are aware, of course, and there are a few individuals who it really couldn’t be helped – Anakin is not as observant as Obi-Wan sometimes wishes, but it had seemed reasonable, at a certain point, to inform his padawan of Obi-Wan’s actual species, the results of which had not been entirely pleasant for either of them – but Obi-Wan’s official listing in the Jedi’s public files is simply ‘near-human,’ which is neither a lie nor unreasonable. But then Cody had shown up knowing, and Obi-Wan had been informed that the Kaminoans had scanned his DNA at some point during his visit, and so his official GAR files had listed him as Stewjoni until the Jedi Order had stepped in and corrected that admission. But it means the Chancellor knows, and some if not presumably all of the Security Council, and likely several senators, all of whom Obi-Wan would really prefer did not. Not to mention, somehow, several Separatist leaders. Perhaps Dooku had been informed by Qui-Gon at some point before his leaving the Order; regardless, it has made Obi-Wan’s life difficult in the sort of irritating ways that remind him why he chooses to conceal his species to begin with.

Cody, of course, he trusts implicitly, and Obi-Wan is aware now of just how thoroughly the man had been torturing himself for his attraction to Obi-Wan before Obi-Wan allowed himself to admit he was in fact attracted to his Commander in return. Cody had gone so far as to reassure Obi-Wan that if Obi-Wan wasn’t comfortable being physically intimate with Cody, for any reason – though, here, Obi-Wan had understood that Cody was aware of just why Stewjoni were largely found as pleasure slaves when they ventured out from their isolationist homeworld into the galaxy – that he would understand and wouldn’t resent it in the slightest. Which was a very sweet sentiment, and one Obi-Wan had promptly corrected, over a number of rounds on a variety of surfaces. He would frankly enjoy spending a heat – or several – with Cody, at some hazy point in an indistinguishable post-war future, but for the time being, he will take what enjoyment in his Commander he can get, and return it tenfold.

All of which is to say, it’s been over two years since Obi-Wan has been off either cocktail of his suppressants, a state which would still be consistent if not for the mission they’ve been assigned. The Vitovans, of Viatov IV, are known to be prickly and particular about outsiders, and they have a very strict culture regarding what sorts of chemicals they consider ‘good and decent’ to put in one’s body. Suppressants of the nature Obi-Wan is on do not fit the bill. And, naturally, they happen to be amongst the population of individuals who have been made aware of Obi-Wan’s biological status. Obi-Wan does not want to imply that the chancellor himself might have told them something so obviously personal, but considering that Viatov IV is in Hutt space, and that the chancellor was the one who had set up all of the proceedings, the list of potential culprits is not high. Regardless, the Vitovans have been assured that Obi-Wan will not be on his pheromone blockers while planetside, and as the Senate has determined access to the planet would be critically significant to the war efforts for its quadanium mines, which would substantially up most of their weapon yields, The Negotiator is naturally who they would most prefer to send. Obi-Wan, of course, is an obedient Jedi and a servant of the GAR, and as such is not allowed to say no.

Cue Cody’s deep, if restrained, displeasure.

Obi-Wan takes his hand, and Cody looks at him. They’re usually fairly discrete, though hardly a secret, either from their men or the Council. It’s just Helix in the medbay with them at present, and he’s making a wonderful show of monitoring Obi-Wan’s vitals, giving them a facsimile of privacy, so Obi-Wan feels perfectly comfortable murmuring, “It will be alright, darling. There’s no one I’d trust more than you to have by my side, and if all goes well, it’ll only be for a few rotations. The men will be in orbit the whole time.”

Cody wets his lips – Obi-Wan would really like to push him down on the bed and find a better home for that tongue, namely Obi-Wan’s mouth, but there will be time for that later, even if doing so would likely do the trick of distracting his stalwart commander from the trouble he’s clearly bracing for, warranted or not – and then looks down at their joined hands. Obi-Wan squeezes, and Cody exhales softly. They both know the score, and there’s only so much they can prepare for. Cody, in Obi-Wan’s experience, has a tendency to prepare for the worst. “I know,” he says, “but I still don’t like it.” He glances over to Helix, and asks, “How much longer?”

“Fifteen minutes on the drip to flush his system,” Helix says, still pointedly not making eye contact. “Another ten, if he doesn’t run, so I can get a baseline of his vitals while he’s off the drugs.”

“I am still here, you know,” Obi-Wan says mildly, and Helix snorts.

“I’m aware, General,” he says. “And I’d call that a miracle.”

Obi-Wan sniffs dramatically, and holds in a smile as it makes Cody bite down his own chuckle, leaning ever so slightly into Obi-Wan’s orbit, letting their arms brush together before he lets Obi-Wan go. “If I leave you here on your own, are you going to be good for Helix and sit here for the next half hour?” he asks.

“I heard twenty-five minutes,” Obi-Wan objects.

“Don’t worry, Commander, I’ll strap him to the bed if he starts making escape plans,” Helix says. Obi-Wan shoots him a withering look, though admittedly one he has learned all medics are completely immune to.

“Really, now,” he says, shooting Cody a wink, for the pure joy that is Cody’s exasperated smile in response. “You make one attempt to escape via the air ducts, and get labeled a flight risk for life.”

“In Helix’s defense, it was a memorable occasion.”

“I was completely delirious, and should not be held accountable for my actions.”

“But you were of perfectly sound mind every other time you’ve dodged a routine physical,” Helix says dryly. “Not to mention the knife wounds, blaster burn, the poison snake bites-“

“I can metabolize poison. There were troopers who had more pressing concerns!”

“You cannot metabolize poison,” Cody objects.

“Caskan wolf-snake venom, I most certainly can-“

“Which is why you passed out in the Commander’s arms two hours later, and he brought you to me.” Helix flicks the bag attached to Obi-Wan’s IV drip, then gives Obi-Wan a significant glance. “Not to worry, though, I know I’m not special. I hear Kix has taken to ambushing Skywalker in the mess hall and sparring gyms when he needs to bring him in for a physical.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Helix gives such a noncommittal hum – and that is one of Obi-Wan’s tactics, so he’s rather offended it’s being used against him now – that Obi-Wan swivels pleading eyes to Cody, who takes two steps back, raising his hands.

“Oh, no,” Cody says. “I know better than to get between a medic and their patient.”

“Smart man,” Helix says.

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes at Cody for the betrayal, but Cody just cups the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and presses his forehead briefly against Obi-Wan’s – not one of Obi-Wan’s tactics, but one of Cody’s, and a very effective one to boot – before he murmurs, “I’ll be back in twenty. I want to brief Waxer and Gregor for the mission protocols. Just the ones they need to know about,” he adds, his face making some complicated shapes that Obi-Wan will have to tease out of him later. “Be good for Helix.”

“I always am.”

The looks Cody gives him tells Obi-Wan they both know how much of a lie that is, but in his own defense, it’s much harder to dodge preemptive mission medical requirements than post-mission ones. Obi-Wan will just have to sit here until the IV drip has finished with him. In fifteen minutes, however, he has every intention of finding Cody.

***

Briefing Waxer and Gregor takes longer than twenty minutes, mostly because both men have questions, and a lot of the same objections Cody does, though their focus is less on the fact that the Vitovans have decided the General’s medical business is their business, and more on the fact that Obi-Wan – and to a lesser extent Cody – are to be weaponless while planetside. Cody’s allowed to carry a short vibroblade, but he’s not allowed a blaster or most of his armor (apparently, all plast-alloys are ‘uncouth’ and not permitted in the capital), and Obi-Wan’s lightsaber is out of the question. Waxer even spends several minutes attempting to brainstorm alternative methods for sneaking something down, before Cody steps in and reminds him that whether they like it or not, these orders come from the top, and if Cody can kick a clanker so hard it shuts down, he can certainly do the same to humanoids if they start trouble. Waxer grumbles that he’d still prefer a full squad for backup, but he lets the matter drop.

Gregor is the one who asks, “So, if you’re not going to be wearing plastoid, what exactly are you wearing?” Which is how Cody ends up in the hanger for departure in a kriffing Jedi tunic.

It’s not his idea. No plast-alloys means Cody can’t even wear his bodyglove, which is elastic plastiweave, and he’s got dress greys and bridge fatigues, except Obi-Wan had said wearing grey wasn’t an option because the Vitovans consider the color sacred, with only their priests and leadership allowed to wear it, and either Cody or Obi-Wan showing up in the color would not qualify for the kind of genuflecting – read, di’kutla political groveling – required of the negotiation. But Cody owns exactly three outfits, including his armor, and hadn’t exactly had time to take a poll of which men owned civvies and might let him borrow them, which had meant a trip to their quartermaster, Checkoff, for any other option. And Checkoff had rolled his eyes, informed Cody that they didn’t exactly keep costuming around, and stuffed a set of dark leggings and beige tunics into his arms.

“It won’t be comfortable,” Checkoff said, without a trace of sympathy, “but that’s what we’ve got. Take it or leave it.”

Since leaving it would mean going naked, Cody took it. It does not fit comfortably. It barely qualifies as fitting at all; Cody is about Obi-Wan’s height, but he’s much wider in the shoulders, and while Obi-Wan is certainly fit, his build is lean and athletic where Cody’s is broad and solid. The leggings are tolerable – Cody is used to the tight fit of his bodyglove, which is comparable, and they’re meant to be more flexible anyway, though they strain a fair bit at the seams – but the tunics are a horror to figure out how to tie himself into, even having more than a little experience stripping Obi-Wan out of them. He doesn’t wear any tabards, thank the ka’ra, but the undertunic is snug and strains at his biceps and throat. He’d forgo the overtunic altogether – it’s a nightmare of ties to sash it around himself – but without its looser fit, it’s apparent that Cody is wearing clothes a size too small. At least with the belt over it, he can strap the vibroblade and utility pouches to his hips, and he’s wearing his own boots, both of which make him feel better about this whole thing.

The look on Obi-Wan’s face when he enters the hanger is also worth the laughter Cody can see being choked down by several of his vode without buckets, and suspects he can feel even in the vibrating air around those who have them. Obi-Wan doesn’t look like laughing. Though he bites down a grin at Cody’s approach, his express is more hungry than mocking.

“Don’t laugh,” Cody threatens anyway, pointing a finger at his General. “It’s not funny.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Obi-Wan teases, as Cody falls into habitual parade rest beside him. Obi-Wan’s dressed more or less as he usually does, minus the plastoid plating he usually wears, in deference to the clones’ insistence that it makes their life that much harder if their Jedi refuses even basic battlefield protection. The only real change, other than the lightsaber absent from his hip, is that he’s rolled up the tight sleeves of his undertunic to the elbow, exposing his forearms and wrists.

It's embarrassing, really, that Cody’s eyes keep drifting to that bare skin, as if he hasn’t had plenty of opportunities to see his General stripped naked. Obi-Wan usually smells like the spicy sapir tea he drinks and something Cody classifies as electricity, bringing to mind the hum of his ‘saber, but at this distance, there’s something distractingly…earthy to his scent now, honey floral. It prickles at the back of Cody’s neck, and has him wetting his lips. He needs to be focused. Though if this is what Obi-Wan smells like without the pheromone blockers he wears all the time, it might be worth the distraction to keep him off them.

Hopefully oblivious to the turn Cody’s thoughts have taken, Obi-Wan clips a commlink onto his belt, and gestures to the ship, “Shall we, Commander?”

“I still don’t like this,” Cody informs him automatically, and sees Obi-Wan’s smile twitch again.

“So you’ve said.” And he strides up the shuttle ramp without another word. Cody shakes himself, watching Obi-Wan’s swaying hips like something less than a professional soldier, and follows after.

He’s situated himself in the rear of the craft, doing a third check of his gear – still substantially less than he’s comfortable with – when the easy lull of Obi-Wan chatting with their pilot dies down, and Obi-Wan slips back to join him. “Tink says it’ll be fifteen to landing,” Obi-Wan informs him. “We’ll have an escort to meet with the High Ministers waiting.”

Cody grunts with acknowledgement; he’s moved from making sure everything is situated on his belt correctly to tugging at the overtunic’s stays again. It can’t help with the way that he’s pinched in to the undertunic, but fussing at least makes him feel like he’s doing something.

Warm, calloused hands close over his, and Cody stills, looking up to meet equally warm amused blue eyes. “Dare I ask,” Obi-Wan teases, his voice soft and gentle, “why you’re wearing my clothes?”

“The Vitovans’ kriffing rules.” Cody responds, rolling his eyes, though he feels a hint of a blush heat his dark cheeks. “No plast, no grey…I don’t exactly have civvies, so I had to ask Checkoff, and apparently all we have on board that fits the bill is what we ordered for you.” Because Cody’s Jedi loves to leave parts of his clothes on the battlefield – mostly the outer robe, which he isn’t wearing currently, but occasionally other pieces, much to Cody’s dismay – which means their quartermaster always has a spare tucked away. He’ll have to order again after this, because Cody’s burning these as soon as they’re off him, wastefulness be damned.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says succinctly, and the mirth in his face is a lot less compassionate than Cody thinks he deserves. “Well, you certainly look…”

“Ridiculous?” Cody offers. Like he’s playacting at being a Jedi, and doing a poor job of it to boot. No wonder his brothers were laughing.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Obi-Wan murmurs, teasing his lower lip with his teeth. Huh. So Cody hadn’t imagined the spark of heat in his gaze outside the ship. Obi-Wan has never had any objections to Cody in his armor, but he likes something about this – maybe just the novelty of Cody out of armor, maybe the idea of Cody wearing something that belongs to Obi-Wan himself…But his eyes flick to Cody’s again, and then soften. “We aren’t quite the same size, though, are we?” he says sympathetically.

“Not exactly.”

“Here.” And Cody startles as Obi-Wan’s hands leave his in favor of crisply beginning to undo the ties holding the tunics together, much faster than Cody could on his own.

“What-“ He looks sharply towards the pilot’s area, then back at Obi-Wan. “We’re not-“

Obi-Wan huffs in amusement, still divesting Cody of the overtunic. “I’m not seducing you, dearest. Take your shirt off.”

As if those don’t sound like two directly contradictory statements. But Cody obeys, peeling the undertunic off with no small amount of relief. It bares the rippling muscles of his chest and arms, and Obi-Wan gives an appreciative smirk, glancing up at Cody from under his lashes with a wink, before he slides the overtunic back around Cody’s shoulders, nimbly retying it and clipping the belt back into place. “There,” he says. “Better?”

Cody blinks, then rolls his shoulders, testing the give. Without the undertunic, his arms are bare, and there’s a sliver of his chest visible beneath the folds of fabric, but between that and whatever Obi-Wan’s done to adjust the ties of the overtunic, the clothes actually feel like they fit him now. “Better,” he agrees.

“It should be warm enough on the surface that you needn’t have the extra layers,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes roving critically over Cody’s torso. “Particularly if they’re uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want you distracted.”

Cody is used to being uncomfortable. It’s a staple of his life – certainly his life before Obi-Wan, though his general makes an effort to find Cody little pleasures, even aside from the gift that is bedding him, to make his life as comfortable as wartime can be. It wouldn’t stop him from completing his mission, but it warms Cody’s chest that Obi-Wan is attentive to him like this, and he inhales deeply, shivering a little, though not from any cold. In the confines of the ship, Obi-Wan’s scent is even more potent, rich honey and warm flowers that make Cody think of sunny fields of amber and gold.

“Are you quite alright?” Obi-Wan asks, and Cody blinks, shaking his head to try and snap out of it. Obi-Wan’s brow is furrowed, curious but not alarmed. Cody blushes.

“I’m fine,” he says. And then, without meaning to, “You smell good. Like this.”

Understanding blossoms on Obi-Wan’s face, surprise first and then amusement and warmth. “Ah, yes. Helix said much the same. He’s not sure if it’s because the men have somewhat enhanced senses, for Human Standard, or if it’s simply more potent than usual because of how long I’ve been on suppressants. Either way, it should settle a bit once my body readjusts. Be grateful you’re merely human, Commander. Some species have a much stronger reaction to Stewjoni pheromones than simply thinking we smell good.”

If this is Cody’s reaction as Human Standard, he can’t imagine what it must be like for those other species. He clears his throat. “Well. Thank you. For help with-“ He gestures to his outfit.

Obi-Wan’s tongue swipes out, wetting his lips, and Cody watches his fingers clench before he very consciously folds his hands behind his back. “You’re welcome.”

It’s Cody’s turn to frown. “Are you alright?” he probes carefully. He knows most of Obi-Wan’s tells by now, and what it looks like when his Jedi General is attempting to exert control over himself and struggling.

Obi-Wan hesitates, and his cheeks go beautifully pink. “Quite,” he coughs. “Just…acclimating myself.”

“To?” Cody’s not the one putting out pheromones. Clones don’t do that sort of thing. Tweaked genetics or not, they’re baseline human, through and through.

Obi-Wan’s hands appear again, and he rubs at his wrist, expression pinching as he digs in his thumb. It intensifies the scent, and Cody fights against both the urge to take a half-step forward, and a full retreat back. With a slightly self-deprecating apologetic glance, Obi-Wan says, “Instinct. I’d rather forgotten…on the suppressants, my scent glands aren’t active, so I don’t really feel the impulses. It’s part of why I wear them; I could likely get away with not, in most scenarios, but I find it better for everyone if I’m not scent-marking everything. It seems somewhat hypocritical of a Jedi, even if it’s not necessarily claiming in the possessive.”

Cody lets that reorient his world. He knows Obi-Wan cares for him, loves him even, but it’s still somehow a surprise, every time, to hear how deep that affection goes. All the way down to his carefully suppressed biology, apparently. “And you want to mark me?” he asks, just to be sure.

Obi-Wan lifts an eyebrow. “You’re wearing my clothes, Commander, and looking rather delicious while you do it. I hardly think anyone would blame me.” He exhales hard, and gives Cody a small smile. “It’s alright. I’m not planning on indulging.”

“Why not?” Obi-Wan blinks, but Cody presses, “If it’s distracting you, wouldn’t it be easier, especially for the mission?” He’s probably sealing his own fate, the thought of Obi-Wan’s potent scent smeared across his skin enough to remind him just how tight these leggings are, the waistband pinching into his hips, but if the choice is Obi-Wan distracted or Cody distracted, Obi-Wan’s the Jedi, and it’s only sensible to make sure he’s alert to danger. Cody can handle it.

“You’re sure?” Obi-Wan licks his lips again, looking doubtful. “I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

“Cyare,” Cody murmurs, taking Obi-Wan’s arm gently, tilting it so the wrist is up. His thumb strokes along the side of the bone, and Obi-Wan’s breath catches. Cody presses the digit to Obi-Wan’s pulse point, and feels it jump. “We wear your battalion colors. I don’t think any of the men would be opposed to wearing your scent.” He’s not sure what this not-claiming entails, what it means culturally to Obi-Wan’s people, but the 212^th is his – Cody is his – and Cody highly doubts there’s a brother on the ship that would mind Obi-Wan claiming them, as they’ve claimed him in return.

“Come here.” Obi-Wan tugs Cody in a step, stealing a kiss before resting his forehead against Cody’s in a keldabe. His hand lifts, and Cody feels the soft skin of Obi-Wan’s wrist rub against his temple, then down the underside of his jaw and along his throat. It’s soft and warm, and Cody can feel his own pulse pick up, even as Obi-Wan purrs, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I really don’t deserve you.”

And Cody is karked six ways to Taungsday, because as he inhales, Obi-Wan’s pheromones coating his tongue as much as his skin, his whole body flushes and his head spins, dizzy with how good it is. Obi-Wan always smells good, and Cody’s never let that distract him. This is something else, bursts of storm crackling on the horizon, fat raindrops churning up the hot ground-scent of a field in bloom. His normally carefully attuned tactical sense swims, and when Obi-Wan steps away, breathing a sigh of relief, it takes every ounce of Cody’s training to hold in a keen. Panic flares in his chest, the awareness that this is probably very, very bad…and is smothered, almost immediately, by the beatific smile Obi-Wan gives him, the cup of his hand against Cody’s cheek. “Thank you,” he says again, and Cody’s heart makes a valiant effort to beat right out of his chest. He’s absolutely screwed.

And with his head growing cloudy, buoyed on honey-sweet waves, he’s having a very hard time remembering why that’s a bad thing.

***

Scenting Cody calms the itching in Obi-Wan’s wrists, allowing him to breathe easier, to focus on the mission. He feels slightly bad for his Commander; judging by the dilation of Cody’s pupils, he’s not unaffected by Obi-Wan’s scent, lips parted as he breathes it in. It’s flattering, really. Obi-Wan’s pheromones aren’t nearly as potent as they’d be in heat – and he’s certain he isn’t entering one, is aware of the shifts in his body, settled and easy in the presence of a mate, but without any of the internal pangs that mean his body is preparing to take that mate inside itself to conceive – and Helix had still blinked when the top notes had started coming through, informing Obi-Wan wryly that he ought to avoid the common areas until his body settled down again, lest he be overwhelmed by flustered troopers.

It’s part of why he had remained dutifully in the medbay, rankling as that had been, rather than hunting Cody down through the ship prior to takeoff. Obi-Wan doesn’t like to inconvenience his men, and just because this mission is about diplomacy doesn’t mean they don’t have their own tasks to attend to while he and Cody are onworld.

Cody seems to shake it when they step out of the recycled air of the shuttle, sucking in steadying breaths on the landing platform while Obi-Wan signals Tink to take off again, glancing around for their escort. He puts a respectful few steps between himself and Cody just to be sure, and gets a side-eye from his Commander that says Cody knows what he’s doing. He does seem to appreciate the space, however, so Obi-Wan maintains it, as one of the Vitovan representatives makes their way out to greet them. Obi-Wan tilts his chin down, sweeping one leg back into a low, respectful bow, though the posture the Vitovans favor reminds him more of a curtsey. After a moment, Cody gives a stiffer version of the same.

Obi-Wan thinks he might hear a seam pop in Cody’s leggings, and has to bite down fiercely on a grin.

When they rise, they’re permitted to follow the representative into the main building. The Vitovans are humanoids, though a step farther from near-human than Obi-Wan is, with willowy builds that remind him of the Kaminoans, crests along the sides of their heads that flare with their moods, and light dustings of scales along most of their visible skin. Their guide is dressed in crisp linens, colored deep mauve, which lets Obi-Wan know they’re a servant to the ministers, even aside from the gold brocade marked into the shoulders of the overshirt. Obi-Wan keeps his head bowed, though his eyes up, and senses with comfort Cody at his back, a familiar two steps behind to flank him. Obi-Wan might not have his ‘saber, but it is impossible to feel defenseless with both the Force and Cody at his disposal.

The council chamber itself is small, as council chambers go. Obi-Wan’s been in several, and for all the Vitovans’ focus on customs, they do at least suggest a favoring of simplicity. When they’re invited in, Obi-Wan gestures Cody to take one knee – permitted, as his guard, to remain at the ready – and folds into a full kneel himself, head still bowed politely, hands palm-up on his thighs. “Ministers,” he greets, infusing deferential charm into his voice. “On behalf of the Republic Senate and Chancellor Palpatine, I thank you for granting me this audience with your council. I hope our talks will be quite fruitful indeed.”

Beside him, Cody twitches.

“General Kenobi, is it?” one of the ministers says. Obi-Wan keeps his posture in the submission required, though he allows himself a gentle probe with the Force, trying to sense which one it is. High Lord Denrac, perhaps, leader of the Minister’s Council. “We do appreciate your adherence to our laws for this visit. You may look upon the council.”

“Thank you, Minister.” Obi-Wan lifts his head; Cody does not, though Obi-Wan can feel tension radiating from him in the Force. Obi-Wan hopes it is merely unease at not being permitted a full scan of the area, and not a sign he’s already spotted trouble. “If I may,” he addresses the council, “I’d like to discuss what the Republic is willing to offer-“

The minister holds up a hand, and Obi-Wan obligingly shuts his mouth. He is good at negotiation mainly by three virtues: patience, genuinely caring about the fate of any victimized parties, and an ability to mask irritation and irreverence at pontification with wit and careful amicability. He’s currently exercising the last virtue of the three. “We will not discuss the Republic’s offer at this time,” Denrac says. Obi-Wan can confirm it is him now, able to match his face to the profile provided by GAR High Command. “Civilized beings discuss business after their guests have been fed.”

“No offense was meant, Minister. The Republic honors the civility of Viatov IV.” The superiority drowning the Force in this room is matched only, in Obi-Wan’s experience, by his one visit to Arkania during his early years as Anakin’s master. He’s surprised he doesn’t hear Cody withhold a snort; his Commander has very little patience for supercilious politicians, no matter their allegiance.

They are permitted to stand, and directed to a washroom, where an attendant waits, informing them that once they are ready, they will be taken to the banquet hall. Obi-Wan takes the moment of privacy to flex his shoulders and roll his neck, stretching out the joints. He’s not in his twenties anymore, and though he maintains a high degree of flexibility by both his species and his Jedi calisthenics routines, he’s sure his knees will not be happy with him by the end of this visit.

Cody braces himself against the marbled sinks, splashing water on his face. Without looking at Obi-Wan, he says, “Well, they didn’t immediately throw us in a cell. We’ve had worse starts to missions than that.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, stepping next to Cody to wash his own hands. “Perhaps wait to see our dinner guests before you start making assertions, my dear.” It would not be the first time they’ve gone to what was supposed to be a neutral table, only to find there were Separatist representatives already waiting.

Cody’s shoulders go taut, the muscles in his arms flexing. Obi-Wan will have to reward him thoroughly for how well he’s performing, once this mission is done. It does occur to him that his libido may be acting up; he’d think it a side effect of the suppressant flush, but Obi-Wan always wants Cody, and by mutual agreement, they keep their hands to themselves while actively deployed, which means it has been a few days since Obi-Wan was last satisfactorily laid. Stewjoni sex drives tend to act in cycles; Obi-Wan’s was largely if not entirely dormant since his mid-twenties, when he’d stopped having frequent casual sex, and has activated again now that he has a consistent, available partner. It’s part of what makes him embarrassingly needy during the dry spells – if a few days to a few weeks at a time can be called such – and part of why Obi-Wan makes the most of every downtime opportunity with his chosen mate.

Still, he will have to keep an eye on himself. He doesn’t believe the hormonal changes should be any more than slight, and it’s not unreasonable for the rush to make him a little more eager than usual, but he can’t let it interfere with the mission. There will be time to meditate between negotiations, and after they’re completed, Obi-Wan will be able to take his time with Cody, in a way they are both bound to enjoy.

“Be almost funny if it was Grievous,” Cody says contemplatively, drawing Obi-Wan away from a fantasy involving the sparring gyms and a locked shower room door. “I’d be curious what that demagolka would look like stripped to flesh and bone.”

“Dead, I imagine,” Obi-Wan quips, drying his hands on one of the clean linen towels, “considering how much of his plastisteel carapace is directly attached to vital organs.” Though he ought to be more master of himself, he gives in to temptation, sliding his fingers lightly through the curls at the back of Cody’s head, allowing the scent gland in his wrist to brush over the skin again. It feels harmless enough, and Cody shudders, pressing back into the touch, so Obi-Wan indulges himself for another moment before letting go, adding conversationally, “And I highly doubt Dooku or Ventress would truly adhere to being unarmed, even with the Vitovans demanding it.”

“Let’s just hope none of them are at dinner, then,” Cody says, though Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s mistaken that his Commander sounds more than a little breathless. He frowns, but before he can ask, Cody pushes away from the sink, straightening his tunic and picking at the seams on his leggings with a wince. “On your lead, General.”

Obi-Wan can take a cue when he hears one, even if his gut clenches at the dismissal. Cody had okayed the scenting, but perhaps Obi-Wan should have restrained himself to the one instance. Harmless has varying definitions, and what seems harmless to Obi-Wan may not be harmless to Cody. They’ve already had several long talks regarding Vode versus Jedi culture and Human Standard versus Stewjoni biology, not to mention their relative positions in the army. There is a power imbalance between them intrinsically, no matter the efforts they put in to bridge the gap. Obi-Wan resolves to keep an eye on Cody through dinner, and to keep his hands to himself, at least until he can clarify. Reaching for the washroom door, he does as Cody bids, leading the way.

There are, in fact, no Separatist representatives waiting for them in the banquet hall, just a long table of ministers and serving staff. Obi-Wan is grateful kneeling is not required for this as he takes his seat, Cody to his left. He keeps his hands folded in his lap politely, pressing his wrists down into his thighs. The glands don’t itch so much as ache now; he’s scented the only thing that he has a claim to in this room, and has settled into the mild discomfort of his body using hormonal pathways that have been dormant for too long. Helix had told him he could expect that, and that once the discomfort eased, so too would the intensity of his pheromones, leaving Obi-Wan’s scent milder and less affecting. He’s fortunate the Vitovans have a limited sense of smell, compared even to humans, or he would have asked for more lead-time before approaching them. Certainly, they’re not one of the species that Obi-Wan is at risk of aphrodisiacally dosing on accident. Obi-Wan wouldn’t put it past the Chancellor to be uninformed enough to send him on this mission even if that were the case, and had verified it personally.

The food is beautifully presented but remarkably bland; spices apparently are also frowned upon by the Vitovan Minister’s Council, and Obi-Wan despairs privately that he is unlikely to find even passable tea on this mission. Still, he smiles through the meal. He has been given permission to look at the council directly, but he still takes care to keep his gaze low and deferential. Cody doesn’t look up from his plate once, which might be in keeping with the mission brief, or might be owing to the flush rising in his cheeks. His Force-presence is flaring in odd ways, but he’s locked his shields in place, keeping Obi-Wan out, so he can’t get a better reading than off, somehow. Obi-Wan resists the urge to reach out physically, not even to scent him again, just to touch him, to squeeze his shoulder perhaps, or offer some other small, tactile comfort, as the clones often do amongst each other. Had he overstepped in the washroom? Was scenting Cody at all a mistake?

Instead, he praises the ministers on the meal, carefully laying in, “It reminds me of the fare at the Temple on Coruscant. Restraint is a central tenet of the Jedi faith, and the Republic values it greatly. It’s wonderful to work with a world that espouses it as well.”

High Lord Denrac preens. A mistake less trained diplomats make is assuming that negotiations start at the negotiating table. Anakin has never really seemed to understand that distinction, at least as far as Obi-Wan can tell. But Obi-Wan has had to navigate the difficulties of his nature, and the precarious place it has left him in the Jedi Order, almost since birth and certainly since he was twelve years of age and coming to understand just why no master seemed interested in taking him on as an apprentice. Obi-Wan has honed his skills on negotiating his very existence, and that does not occur openly. Qui-Gon never sat Obi-Wan down and demanded he file his fangs in exchange for apprenticeship. The Council never summoned Obi-Wan to their chambers and asked that he wear pheromone blockers if he’d like to remain part of the Order. But Obi-Wan was nearly not a padawan so many times over he has lost count, at least three of those belonging to the man who was his master, and it had become abundantly clear to him that if he wanted to be a Jedi Knight – and it was, indeed, the only thing Obi-Wan had ever wanted – then he would have to bargain for it, because Obi-Wan had already tried so hard, had done everything he knew how to do. All that was left was bartering the unacceptable parts of himself, trading them in for what Master Jinn would accept, and what the Council would find potential in if Qui-Gon decided Obi-Wan was not worth it once again.

Negotiations do not start at the negotiating table. They start the moment you decide you want something, and engage the person who currently has it. These negotiations started with the Senate and the Chancellor wanting mining rights from the Minster’s Council for quadanium, and Denrac might believe it uncivilized to barter over a meal, but Obi-Wan has been doing his job since the moment they set foot on this planet.

It's a job which flies from his thoughts the moment a hand seizes his thigh under the table, where the Vitovans can’t see, the fingers strong and familiar and shaking so badly Obi-Wan nearly jumps, smacking his knee against the polished wood above it. He jerks to look at Cody, eyes wide, and is startled at the intensity in Cody’s gaze, cast down just enough to be polite to their hosts, high enough he can meet Obi-Wan’s desperately. He looks…well, still beautiful, Cody is always beautiful, but there are beads of sweat at his hairline and it’s clear he’s only not panting by sheer force of will, his breaths shallow and uneven. His jaw clenches so tightly, Obi-Wan fears he’ll crack his teeth, and every muscle on display in his arms is bulging with the strain of holding himself together. Obi-Wan presses out with the Force, entreating Cody to let him in, and Cody’s shields drop for the first time this evening.

Obi-Wan has done everything in his power to be a perfect Jedi. He has mastered his instincts, learned patience and self-control and the ability to remain apparently neutral no matter how turbulent the feelings inside. It is by that measure alone that his face doesn’t change when Cody lowers his shields.

Cody is shaking, terrified and confused and in pain he does not understand. Something is wrong, burning hot and feverish inside him, clawing him up from the inside out with need. Obi-Wan manages to school his gasp, manages to merely fist Cody’s hand underneath his own where it’s pressed against his thigh, sucking in his own sharp breath of horror and confusion because Cody is burning, Cody is desperate, and he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, but Obi-Wan realizes with pure utter shock what it looks like.

But Cody is human. So Obi-Wan has to be wrong.

***

Cody is normally better at keeping himself together when he feels a mission start to go sideways. CCs have to be able to keep their shit together, have to be able to put the mission before all else, be it the loss of a brother, a limb, or his sanity. It’s feeling an awful lot like that last one right now, and Cody’s training is doing kriff-all to combat it.

He can’t think straight. It’s like he’s been dunked in the Kaminoan ocean, turbulent waves crashing over his head, affecting his hearing, his vision. Except this ocean must be boiling, because Cody’s barely wearing one layer and he’s sure he’s sweating, wants to rip the clothes off his body, wants to dunk himself in the actual Kaminoan ocean, freezing enough most of the year to catch hypothermia in less than an hour. Every inch of his skin itches with want.

It had been alright when they’d been outside on the platform. Cody had been able to breathe again, even if he could still taste Obi-Wan’s pheromones on his tongue. He’d kept it together through the walk to the council chambers with the reminder to himself that the mission came first, and he’d powered through unpleasant things before. Like his General, Cody knows what being poisoned usually feels like, knows how to evaluate reactions to see what is a medical immediacy and what is a ‘suck it up, because soldiers don’t get to complain.’

This doesn’t feel like the former. It feels, mostly, like the misery of four years of puberty in two, and more than twice as intense for it, when all Cody had wanted to do, almost all the time, was lock himself in his sleeping tube and kark his own fist until he’d rubbed his skin raw and passed out from the dizzying drive of hormones being artificially pumped into his bloodstream to make him stronger, bulkier, more used to adrenaline surges and battlerush. There were other aches from that time – the muscle spasms from too-rapid swelling, the way his bones never felt totally settled in their joints as he shot up in height, the itching all over his skin that had less to do with horniness and more to do with sweat and body hair – but those had been much easier to fight through than the feelings. Especially because there hadn’t been much of an outlet. Most brothers weren’t strangers to giving each other a hand, especially at that age – which they do not talk about with natborns, because natborns have their own feelings about what’s appropriate for genetically-identical men who call each other brothers to do with one another, never mind that the term means something different among the Vode – but they weren’t supposed to want like that at all, and if they did, they were supposed to power through it, to pretend they didn’t. Good soldiers didn’t want things, or didn’t let on if they did.

Cody wants Obi-Wan. He wants him right kriffing now.

That’s not unfamiliar to Cody either. He’s wanted Obi-Wan from the moment he met him. Initially, it was a purely physical reaction: Obi-Wan is attractive, well-built and clever, with classically handsome features, and Cody had recognized that at a distance, filing it away as a mostly-irrelevant tactical assessment. He’d known Obi-Wan was Stewjoni, knew his people were often considered beautiful, and that between that and certain quirks of their anatomy, it wasn’t uncommon for slavers to try and snatch them up, if they could catch one. Just something to be aware of, in case his Jedi General ran afoul of anyone so unscrupulous.

But it had made realizing his interest in Obi-Wan wasn’t just passing attraction a much more acute torture than the longnecks could have dreamed. Because bit by bit, kind word and praise and dedication to not just his men’s safety but their comfort and happiness time and time again, Cody had fallen shebs over nada’gaid for his Jedi General, for Obi-Wan, as much for everything in his heart as for his sparkling blue eyes and infectious smile. The fact that Obi-Wan somehow fell in love with him in return, looked at Cody out of a million other men with almost the same face, the same body, and decided there was something about Cody that made him special to him…Cody still isn’t certain that isn’t a fever dream, brought on by the strain of the war. He’d do anything for Obi-Wan, including being the perfect Commander he was trained to be, which means keeping his kriffing shit together for this mission, even if Obi-Wan kneeling before the council made Cody’s mouth dry with need.

He's fairly certain he managed to suppress that reaction. Mostly. Obi-Wan had joked about Cody not liking him being on his knees for the ministers, and Cody hadn’t really cared about it then. Obi-Wan is mildly but not especially submissive in the private life he shares with Cody, preferring a playful give and take, but publicly he assumes whatever role is required of the Negotiator and plays them well, and Cody admires him for that skill, if worries about how he acquired it. But Cody cares now, his mind repeatedly flashing to the demure glance of Obi-Wan’s eyes up through his lashes, the careful arc of his neck. Cody wants to grab his chin, to tilt his head back, bearing his throat, and bite it until it’s black and blue with imprints of Cody’s teeth in the skin.

If they hadn’t been sharing the washroom to clean up before dinner, there was a very real chance Cody would have taken himself in hand just to take the edge off. It can’t take him long to finish like this. But then Obi-Wan had scented him again, and Cody had felt what control he had over the fever slipping wildly through his grasp, soothing and straining all at the same time. He can only breathe if he’s breathing in Obi-Wan.

He'd hoped he’d be able to make it through dinner.

He’d been very sorely mistaken.

Meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes is the only way he can signal to him that something is wrong; Cody absolutely cannot risk saying what exactly he needs, which would definitely offend their hosts. Cody’s not even totally sure what he needs, other than Obi-Wan, ideally closer, ideally in his lap, where the tunic is doing a remarkable job hiding the fact that if Cody gets any harder, he’s going to break another seam in these too-tight leggings. Cody’s not a small man in any respects, but the folds of fabric mean the throbbing bulge is probably only visible to a trained or searching eye. Fisting his hand against the table keeps Cody from grinding it down into his lap for frantic relief.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan asks softly. His hand is over Cody’s, where Cody has grabbed his thigh – he hadn’t meant to, didn’t know how else to make Obi-Wan look at him, when something had spiked, hot and needy, terrifying in its intensity, and then he hadn’t been able to let go. He makes Cody’s name a question, and Cody is barely more Force-sensitive than a hunk of plastisteel, but he can feel the press of Obi-Wan around him, that humming like ‘saber electricity, and Cody learned how to shield from Prime but he learned how to project from Obi-Wan, and he projects fear-confusion-not-danger-but-need and feels Obi-Wan recoil sharply in response.

“General Kenobi?” The voice comes from the far end of the table, from the High Minister Obi-Wan’s been doing a stellar job of buttering up all evening. “Is everything alright?”

Cody doesn’t beg, as a general rule, but he makes himself make pleading eyes at Obi-Wan. He doesn’t know what the solution is, doesn’t want to force his General to abandon the mission and certainly doesn’t want to make him finish it out alone, but Cody is a liability right now, and Obi-Wan needs to know that.

Obi-Wan holds eye contact with Cody for another long moment, examining him with his eyes and in the Force. Then, without looking back to the head of the table, he says, “I’m afraid my Commander may be taken ill. Through no fault of your own,” he adds, undoubtedly in response to some tension Cody isn’t coherent enough to read. “Your hospitality has been most congenial. I suspect the purity of the air on-planet may be affecting him. We don’t often encounter such idyllic conditions in our men’s line of work.”

It's a lie wrapped in a series of true statements, to preserve Cody’s dignity and their hosts’ delicate sensibilities. Cody is not being affected by the air of this planet, and Obi-Wan seems as startled as he is, but he’s more than smart enough to know that much. Cody’s gut throbs, and he bites down the sound his throat wants to make about it. Obi-Wan’s hand still clutches his, and it takes monumental effort not to drag it between Cody’s legs and rut into the warm, familiar palm.

“I see,” the High Minister says tightly. Cody wants to tell him to kriff off, and wisely bites his tongue, his vision hazy past where Obi-Wan is framed as if in halo. “Most unfortunate.”

“If you would permit us to return to our ship, I’m sure he’ll make a full recovery, and when we return-“

“No, General Kenobi. If you leave, there will be no returning.”

Obi-Wan goes still. “I beg your pardon?”

“It would be unspeakably rude to interrupt these proceedings. I’m sure we can find a room for your Commander, to allow him to adjust to Viatov’s superior conditions.”

Obi-Wan is silent for a moment, and then murmurs, “Cody?”

The answer is immediate, even if it takes effort to find his tongue. “I’m…fine. I think. It’s not worth it. The mission-“

Is not as important as Cody’s health. Not in Obi-Wan’s eyes. Cody can see that in the pinch of his expression. But he merely inclines his chin and says to their host, “Would it be permissible for a shuttle to be sent down? I’d like one of our healers to take a look at him. I would hate to find out we’ve brought something with us, and spoiled your paradise.”

There’s a sudden shift around the room, a buzzing that Cody’s sure would be words if he could just focus. Obi-Wan’s wrist is brushing against the back of his arm, burning hot where the scent gland is touching him. Cody wants to bury his nose in it, to lick Obi-Wan’s skin, up his arm and maybe down between his legs. Obi-Wan always tastes so good, hints of that earthy honey-sweetness he’s bursting with now. Cody’s sure it would be heavenly straight from the source.

He's definitely burning these leggings later. There’s no way they’re going to survive whatever is happening right now. He wonders if it’s his imagination, the sound of thread creaking at the seams.

“Very well,” the minister says, his voice a little more urgent now. “Perhaps you should both be taken to a private room, until the healer arrives. Once they have ascertained your state, negotiations can commence.”

“You are all accommodating, Minister,” Obi-Wan says. He even sounds like he means it. He stands, and Cody startles, but Obi-Wan just meets his gaze comfortingly, and tugs on Cody’s hand. Cody can’t stand up. If he stands up, everyone in the room is going to know what’s wrong with him, and Cody’s had to march with a raging hard-on before. His gait will be obvious, even aside from the chaffing.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan murmurs, though Cody can hear worry in his voice. He tugs again. “Cody, come with me.”

That sounds like the best idea in the galaxy, and Cody’s standing before his brain processes that Obi-Wan doesn’t actually mean it that way. Still, it’s enough to have him stumbling after, tripping over his own feet as Obi-Wan directs him, presumably being led by someone else, down twisting hallways until they’re shown a door, Obi-Wan shepherding Cody into a room with a moderate amount of privacy. The drape of the tunics means that Cody’s furious erection is mostly cloaked from any onlookers, hidden in the folds of cloth, but his skin is burning and he wants it all off.

Vaguely, he hears Obi-Wan thank their guide, and close the door. Cody can’t help it; Obi-Wan makes a startled sound as Cody slams him into the surface, pinning the Jedi up against the hardwood as he whines, grinding their hips together as he buries his face in Obi-Wan’s throat. The scent glands in Obi-Wan’s neck aren’t quite as active as the ones in his wrist, but they still smell incredible, and Cody needs. The friction, through the rough layers of fabric, is barely enough to cool his swimming head.

 “Oh, dearest.” Obi-Wan sounds genuinely dismayed, and more than a little alarmed, but he lets Cody rut, one hand stroking soothingly over his back. With an armful of shaking, feverish Commander, Obi-Wan has to reach between them, prompting another keen from Cody, to fish his commlink out of a pouch on his belt. No vambraces, no wristcomms. Inconvenient.

Helix answers almost before the comm has even gone through. “What happened?” he asks, voice medic-practical and sharp.

“I’m not sure,” Obi-Wan admits, though he sounds less than calm about it. Substantially more worried than he had at the banquet table, at any rate. “Cody’s having something of a reaction.” An understatement, Cody thinks, but then, he’s not thinking much at the moment.

“A reaction?” Helix’s voice goes sharp. “To what?”

Obi-Wan hesitates for a long moment, and Cody tucks his nose deeper, eyes squeezing shut. Obi-Wan’s hand comes up, petting distractedly at the back of Cody’s head. “Well, I can’t be sure,” he allows awkwardly. “But I believe...me.”

Cody is almost positive he agrees. He wants to drink Obi-Wan down, to drown in his scent. He may be wearing Jedi robes, but in this state, he couldn’t look farther from a composed, placid master of the Force. He’s distantly aware he might be ruining something, but the longer he has access to Obi-Wan, the more everything else fades away.

There’s silence for a long moment. Then: “Come again, sir?”

“It would be best not explained over a channel. The Vitovans have been rather insistent that if we leave now, any further diplomatic talks will be suspended, but they’ve agreed to permit a shuttle be sent to the surface.”

“I’m coming myself,” Helix says, non-negotiable. Which is fine. Cody doesn’t want Helix here either, as a witness or as an interruption to whatever this is, but he definitely doesn’t want anyone other than his chief medic privy to it. It would not go over well with the rank and file to see their Commander brought this low. Especially not by their General, if Obi-Wan really is the cause.

Cody is more than happy to be brought low by Obi-Wan. Even if it feels like his blood is boiling.

“Bring a level three medkit,” Obi-Wan requests, as if catching a hint of that thought. “I think a full blood test may be in order.”

“Kriff,” Helix mutters. “Twenty minutes, General.” The commlink goes dead.

“There, darling,” Obi-Wan soothes, stroking Cody’s hair. Cody feels Obi-Wan wince when he whimpers in response, and he shifts up against him, presenting the burgeoning need in his leggings. Obi-Wan grasps his hip soothingly, tugging Cody in to let him grind another moment before releasing. “Twenty minutes,” he says, “and then Helix will look you over. Can you wait that long for me?”

“I don’t…Obi-Wan-“ Cody’s breathing is choppy. He can’t think, other than that burning need, centered in his groin. The only thing that helps is Obi-Wan’s scent, and the warm press of his body. “What’s going on?” he manages. Obi-Wan seems to know, or at least have a guess. Obi-Wan will help him. He always does.

“Helix will confirm,” Obi-Wan assures him, clearly trying to mask his own worry. He takes a half-step away, though he doesn’t force Cody off him. Cody can’t tell if it’s a victory. “I don’t want to risk making anything worse if I’m wrong.”

“And if you’re right?” Cody doesn’t need Obi-Wan’s theory. He trusts him. “Then what?”

“Then, in twenty minutes, I’ll take care of you, darling. I promise.”

***

“Well, this looks cozy,” Helix says when he bustles into the room. He’s made it in fifteen, for which Obi-Wan is grateful. They’ve been offered a guest bedroom suite, though Obi-Wan hasn’t dared contemplate the bed yet, instead managing to corral Cody onto the sofa, laying down. He’s curled with his head in Obi-Wan’s lap, looking absolutely miserable. It’s been something of a challenge to keep his hands from wandering, though Obi-Wan has soothed him with reassuring strokes along his back and sides.

He's been torn between doing more, on the off chance it may help Cody fight this, and not wanting to be wrong, to take advantage of his Commander in this state if it won’t do anything to help. His earlier thoughts, about how eager he was to get his hands on Cody after this mission, are coming back with a rather sour taste. At any rate, Helix’s professionality aside, it wouldn’t do for Obi-Wan to be caught with his hands down Cody’s pants, even as a purported medical aid. It’s embarrassing enough, for him at least and surely for Cody if he were in his right mind, the way Helix’s eyebrow jumps further when he gets close enough to see the kind of tent Cody is sporting in his borrowed leggings. Jedi attire is meant to be breathable, moveable, their robes meant to conceal much of their physical bodies – crude matter, where Jedi are luminous beings in the Force – but Cody is wearing perhaps a quarter of a Jedi ensemble, and the drape of the overtunic has splayed in a way to exhibit rather than conceal his Commander’s sizeable cock, which is making every effort to tear through the thin, if durable, fabric. Obi-Wan can actually see hints of dark skin through the straining seams, confirming his Commander isn’t even wearing briefs under the too-small clothing. He might feel a way about it, Cody hard and fit to bursting out of Obi-Wan clothes, if these were not the worst possible circumstances for it.

“I thought you were the heat risk on this mission, General,” Helix quips, and Obi-Wan sighs, grimacing.

“Yes, I rather think that’s what we’re dealing with,” he agrees, relieved and distressed by his medic’s likeminded second opinion. So much for all of their worries about Obi-Wan’s false heat; he feels fine, where Cody is visibly struggling. He nudges Cody gently, petting damp curls back into regulation order. “Dearest, let Helix take a blood sample. I’d like confirmation this isn’t a chemical agent we’re unaware of.”

“No sense spreading it further,” Helix agrees, and fishes out the requisite equipment. Cody snarls a little when the medic takes his arm, but lets his blood be taken. He’s almost sweated through the singular layer of the overtunic by now, clinging in dark, damp patches under his arms and along his spine. Odds are high he’ll have to go on a hydration drip as soon as they can return to the ship. “You want to explain why you don’t seem surprised that it’s Cody rutting, not you?” Helix asks. He squints at Obi-Wan. “You’re not in heat, are you?”

“Rest assured, you would know if I was.” Obi-Wan has seen what his heat pheromones can do to Human Standard. It doesn’t quite override consent, but he’s had more than a few partners in his wilder teenage years, through his early twenties, who had been almost comically unsatisfying, tripping over their own arousal to try and sate the breeding instinct Obi-Wan’s body was coaxing out of them, and unable to sate Obi-Wan’s actual libido in the process. Frankly, Obi-Wan thinks he might have gotten more done if he’d simply lined up a train of scent-drunk lovers behind him, and let them have at his cunt while he caught up on his mission reports – Qui-Gon was terrible at turning them in, and so much of Obi-Wan’s padawanship had him bent to the task. But the response was part of why he stopped the behavior, and started relegating his heats to the privacy of the Temple. If Obi-Wan were in heat right now, he doesn’t care how professional Helix is. At minimum, he ought to be sporting the same tenting in his clone medic whites as Cody is in his leggings.

Obi-Wan adds, “And I am surprised. By all accounts, Cody shouldn’t be capable of having this reaction. Even if I were in heat, it wouldn’t be this…severe.” Lust-drunk, certainly. But the sharp decrease in coherency, the shivering, the way Cody can only seem to be calm when Obi-Wan is stroking his hands over Cody’s skin? That is not a heat-pheromone reaction. At least, not in most humans.

“I thought Stewjoni were irresistible,” Helix snorts, and Obi-Wan gives him a wry smile he doesn’t fully feel.

“Oh, most species find us at least worth reacting to. But I’ve checked with both you and Cody several times, and I’ve been reassured quite thoroughly that Cody is fully Human Standard, which is not a species with a compatible reproductive cycle.” Obi-Wan glances at Cody, who is shivering and biting back whimpers. Against his better judgement, he rubs his scent gland along the curve of Cody’s temple, tracing the so-familiar scarring there. Cody inhales greedily, eyes scrunched shut, and the trembling subsides. “There are some species who can react to Stewjoni pheromones, who can be sent into heat or rut cycles in response, even if we’re not in heat,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “Humans are not one of them. I would have been much more upfront with Cody if that was the case.” If that’s what’s happening here, Obi-Wan has in fact dosed Cody with an aphrodisiac. It makes his fantasies of sharing a heat with his partner curdle in his gut. They’ve talked about so many things regarding their relative wants and needs. Obi-Wan should have done more, should have told Cody about this, even if he hadn’t thought it’d be pertinent to their couplings.

“You’ve been on suppressants since we’ve known you,” Helix allows, studying his datapad as he waits for the results. “Suppose it hasn’t been relevant until now.”

“He should still have been getting micro-doses, considering we’ve been physically intimate for the better part of a year,” Obi-Wan corrects. “The pheromone suppressants are good, not perfect. Regular sexual contact with a Stewjoni should have been enough to trigger this response by now, if Cody was capable of it at all.” Obi-Wan is not hoping that Cody has actually been poisoned, per se – it will certainly be less easy to treat if that is the case – but he can’t help the guilt welling up in his chest. He is aware his biology can be inconvenient. He has never wanted it to inconvenience Cody.

And this is far closer to a violation than an inconvenience. There is a reason he stopped sharing his heats casually.

“It’s possible it’s a response to the genetic augmentation,” Helix says, dutifully not looking at where Cody is fighting not to rut down into the sofa. He’s clinging to Obi-Wan’s arm, but he hasn’t dragged it between his legs in an attempt to coax Obi-Wan into offering relief. He’s been holding on very well, considering the circumstances. “Even if the Commander hasn’t been spliced with anything, which I guess is possible and they just didn’t think it worth telling us, the CCs got a little more genetic tampering than the rest of us. Could be mild enough that it doesn’t register in his basic medscans, and it wasn’t until he got a full dose that his body reacted.” He squints at the datapad, which chimes, then whistles low. “Well, I’d call that proof positive.”

“Oh?”

“No other foreign agents in his system. Can’t exactly say ‘no toxins,’ but the buildup is consistent with your pheromone markers, so I’d say your field diagnosis is correct, General. The scale’s impressive; I’m a little surprised he doesn’t have you in mount right now.”  His gaze flicks to Obi-Wan’s. “I’m assuming that’s the proper way to treat him?”

It’s delivered dryly, and Obi-Wan would blush, if he didn’t have bigger concerns right now. “It’s a fairly simple relief system, yes. Assuming, of course, that Cody reacts as a Zabrak or a Shistavanen. In a pinch, he could likely sweat it out himself; it’s hardly fatal, just spectacularly unpleasant.”

“I don’t expect you’ll let him suffer it alone.”

It’s Obi-Wan’s fault Cody is in this mess. He’ll certainly offer the option. “I’ll take the court martial afterwards, if it comes to it.”

Helix’s expression twitches. If Obi-Wan didn’t know better, he’d call that another snort. “Fair enough,” he says. “Anything you’ll need?”

“Bacta-grade lubricant wouldn’t go amiss. We shouldn’t need it, but I’m not sure how either of our bodies will react, and I’d rather be prepared. And a few hydration packs.” He hesitates, and then says quietly, “I’m a little concerned there may be…unexpected side effects.”

“Unexpected as in…?” Helix is already rummaging for supplies, lining them up on the table.

It seems silly to lower his voice with Cody literally in his lap, but Obi-Wan does it anyway. “Most species who have this sort of reaction…well, bluntly, they tend to knot as part of their cycles, in some shape or other. Which is an anatomical feature Cody most certainly hasn’t had in our previous liaisons. I’m not certain which I’d be more concerned about: if he has difficultly finishing without it, or if we can expect a similar development, in which case it may be very uncomfortable if I lock on him.”

Helix makes a sympathetic expression. As Obi-Wan’s chief medic, he’s been made aware of the peculiarities of Obi-Wan’s biology, as thoroughly as Cody had been. “Afraid there’s not much I can do for that, either way. A numbing agent might help ease the discomfort, if there is any…development, but it won’t feel very good for you.”

“I’m a little less worried about that. I’d rather see Cody through this.” Obi-Wan has only slept with a Shistavanen once, and while it was a rather spectacular occasion, he’s aware that his internal locking can be intense enough for most species to experience. Cody had actually blacked out crying the first time, and he’d had plenty of warning. For those with knots, it’s particularly overwhelming, and the last thing Obi-Wan wants to do is hurt Cody further, but Cody is highly proficient as a lover. It’s unlikely Obi-Wan can avoid locking on him, barring a position that doesn’t allow Cody deep enough to knot.

Not ideal, certainly. A numbing agent is a possibility, but brings them back to giving Cody difficulties finishing. Stewjoni pheromones don’t qualify as toxins, precisely, but Cody’s body will be attempting to flush the overdose out a very particular way; it’s what Obi-Wan’s biology is designed to do, a defense mechanism considering the difficulties his species can have reproducing amongst themselves. To say he’s turned on by the circumstances would be a stretch, but he can feel his body responding to Cody, damp between his legs in preparation to soothe his mate’s need.

“We don’t know for sure that he’ll knot,” he decides. “If there’s nothing you can do, then there’s nothing for it. We’ll simply cross that bridge if we come to it.” He gives Helix a wry, hopeless smile. “I don’t suppose any of your medical kits come with any sort of vibrator? Prostate stimulation may help, if he can’t finish otherwise.”

Helix snorts. “Trust me, if they did, I know plenty of brothers who would have borrowed them by now.”

“Pity.”

“I’ll leave you to it, General,” Helix says, packing up and taking a few steps back as he stands. “They’ve said I can wait with the shuttle while I analyze results, so just comm me if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Helix.”

He takes the dismissal gracefully, latching the door behind him. Obi-Wan uses the Force to lock it; he’s not going anywhere with Cody clinging to him. He looks dazed, enough that Obi-Wan isn’t sure how much of the conversation he actually caught, but he shifts when Obi-Wan budges him gently, pushing up into a seated position that has him sprawling back into the sofa cushions, knees spread wide, head lolling towards the ceiling.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan murmurs with a soft smile, directing Cody’s gaze to him. “How are you feeling?”

Cody snorts, thunking his head back harder. When his tongue seems to fail him, he gives a pointed, sweeping gesture towards his crotch. The angle of his knees, and the spread of the tunic, certainly frames him spectacularly. If Cody still wants him after this, Obi-Wan will have to find another opportunity to dress Cody up in his clothes.

“I know it’s difficult, but I need you to try to think clearly, darling,” Obi-Wan says. He sets a hand on Cody’s thigh, leaning in. It draws his full attention, even if Cody’s eyes are still glazed, his Force-presence needy. “Your body is reacting to my pheromones,” Obi-Wan explains gently. “I’m sure you’re feeling a great deal of pressure, and I can help you relieve it. I’ve done this before, and I know how to navigate the thresholds your body is attempting to cover. If you’re not comfortable with that, I can explain what to do, and then leave. Without continued exposure to me, you’ll be able to work this out of your system more gradually.”

Cody blinks at him, trying to focus and evidently failing. Obi-Wan sighs, smiling unhappily, and cups Cody’s cheek with one hand; Cody turns instinctively in, mouthing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s scent gland. Obi-Wan winces. “Cody.” He pulls back, and Cody keens, but visibly locks himself down, staring desperately as Obi-Wan says, “Would you like to take care of yourself, dearest? Or would you like to kriff me until you feel better?”

That, at least, seems to register, and Cody frowns, scrunching his face up as he shakes his head, trying to clear it. Finally, he manages, “You don’t…have to…”

Obi-Wan blinks, then probes with the Force, then blinks again. Oh. That’s…not what he anticipated. Wonderful, kind, generous Cody. He softens, and kisses Cody’s forehead, murmuring, “No need for gallant notions of self-sacrifice, Commander. You’re not at fault, and it would not be a hardship on my part. I only want to make sure you actually want it.”

Cody huffs, and though his eyes stay closed, his face is beautifully crinkled with the laughter. “Always…want you.”

Well then. Obi-Wan knows the feeling. “You should tell me, at any point, if you change your mind,” he tells Cody, but he settles in, smoothing his hands up Cody’s thighs. “Now. Let’s get these off you.”

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan laughs. Cody’s hands are mostly useless, fumbling when he tries to get at the ties of his tunic. Obi-Wan bats them away, doing it for him, peeling the damp fabric from Cody’s glistening skin as he pushes it back over his shoulders. Cody actually keens when Obi-Wan’s fingers curl in the taut waistband of his leggings, and moans when Obi-Wan gives them a sharp tug down, his stiff, dark cock smacking up against his stomach, the waistband snapping up tight behind his heavy balls. His hips buck up into the not-friction, and it makes the thick, turgid member bob helplessly, twitching in the air.

“Shh,” Obi-Wan soothes, petting Cody’s stomach as he pushes him back into the sofa. “Relax for me.”

“Obi-Wan-“

“Just a moment,” Obi-Wan assures him, and Cody gasps as Obi-Wan’s fingers circle his cock. Obi-Wan squeezes gently, encouraging Cody to kriff up into his fist when Cody’s hips jerk, subvocalizing softly in a reassuring, rhythmic purr. He moves his hand down towards the base, rubbing his thumb over the skin there. Cody jolts, eyes going wide and startled, and Obi-Wan pauses. “Is it more sensitive there?”

“Feels…kriff, Obi-Wan-“

“Tender?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan loosens his grip, cupping Cody’s dick for a better visual inspection, which has Cody keening in complaint. “You do look a little swollen.” That…Obi-Wan doesn’t want to say it bodes well, considering it means a substantial, nonconsensual change to Cody’s reproductive anatomy, but it at least bodes well for his potential of finishing. “You’ll tell me if it starts to hurt?” he asks. Can’t bear to make it a command.

“Already hurts,” Cody mumbles, sounding caught between need and shame. He curls one hand around Obi-Wan’s wrist, cupping the backs of his fingers as he closes Obi-Wan’s hand into a loose fist again. Obi-Wan lets him hump up into it, biting his lip, and cups Cody’s cheek, making Cody look at him.

“I mean it,” he insists. He glances between them, at the obscene sight of Cody’s flushed cock pressing up through the channel of his fingers, the head weeping and angry red, his sac throbbing where it’s been pushed up by the too-tight waistband, spilling out over the fabric. “I know it aches, darling, and we’ll fix that, but if it becomes genuinely painful, I need to know.”

“I’ll…try,” Cody pants. “I just…I need…”

“I know,” Obi-Wan soothes. “Do you think you can make it to the bed for me?”

The frantic, horror-filled look Cody gives him tells Obi-Wan plenty about that. “Alright, let me up-“ Another flare of panic, and Obi-Wan pulls free, cupping Cody’s face with both hands, kissing him with every ounce of reassurance he can manage. “I’m just getting undressed, dearest, and then you can have me.”

Releasing him looks physically painful for Cody, but Obi-Wan’s Commander has always been a master of himself. Obi-Wan strips out of his layers efficiently, then settles himself in Cody’s lap, gripping Cody’s cock and angling the head so it rubs through his folds. Slicking it is less a necessity and more to calm Cody down, a combination of his hindbrain realizing it will in fact get what his body is clamoring for, and Obi-Wan’s pheromones sinking in, easing some of the ache. It means Cody settles, though he’s still trembling, as Obi-Wan arranges himself carefully. In an ideal world, he’d have time to finger himself a little, to ensure he’s prepared. This is hardly an ideal world, however, and Cody looks like his sanity is hanging on a very thin thread. Obi-Wan’s body is built to accommodate quite a lot; he can handle one quick kriff from his desperate lover. He’s slick, at least, and even if he’s sore later, he likely won’t be as sore as Cody will be.

At least Cody’s erection is blessedly free of spines or barbs. Obi-Wan can accommodate those when he’s worked up enough, but trying to do so while guiding Cody through a deeply stressful situation doesn’t qualify.

Obi-Wan notches the head against his entrance, giving his hips the lightest circle to test to resistance. It will have to suffice.

***

Cody has only the vaguest sense of what’s happening. It’s not a state that inspires ease. Lack of intel is how brothers get killed, and that falls on Cody’s shoulders more often than not. He’s Marshal Commander. It’s his job to keep everyone safe.

Cody is aware he has control issues. Obi-Wan has been generous about it professionally, been kind about it in bed. In their private life, for the most part, Obi-Wan is mildly submissive because Cody needs to direct, and it had been awkward at first, when Cody hadn’t known how to ask for things he wanted, because clones weren’t supposed to want things, and he hadn’t wanted Obi-Wan to think Cody just wanted him because he was Stewjoni, supposed to be an incredible lay. Obi-Wan had been patient with him, teasing it out playfully until Cody had learned how to ask, and then how to demand, how to make Obi-Wan purr and roll over and spread his legs happily, eager to play the game at Cody’s command.

There have been very few instances where Obi-Wan has asked Cody to give him the reins. They’re usually on even footing, or Cody’s in charge, but every once in a while, Obi-Wan will ask to take care of him, usually after campaigns where the weight on Cody’s shoulders has nearly crushed him to dust. Cody craves control, and Obi-Wan is judicious about lifting it from him. He’ll hold Cody in place, sometimes with his body, sometimes with the Force, reminding him of safewords and safety systems but asking him to just sit back, to let Obi-Wan kiss him from temple to ankle, to feel feather-light hands tracing every scar on his biceps and thighs and stomach and ribcage, to allow a warm mouth to slide around his cock or Obi-Wan’s oiled fingers to ease into his tight hole, rubbing carefully until Cody combusts from the inside out. Sometimes he’ll ask Cody to stay still and patient, settling atop him and guiding Cody’s need inside his wet heat, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate circles until Cody’s orgasm is dragged from him in long, painfully relieving jolts.

Cody has only the vaguest sense of what’s happening right now, but he trusts Obi-Wan, and when he feels Obi-Wan slide into his lap, Cody relaxes almost instinctively, because everything hurts, but when the weight gets too much to bear, Obi-Wan is the one who siphons it away, drop by drop, until Cody can stand without breaking.

He knows Helix was here, understands that he confirmed for Obi-Wan that Cody is in…heat? Rut? Which means he understands, if nothing else, that his instincts are right, and the only thing that will make him feel better is getting inside his General to the hilt. It’s far from the first time they’ve kriffed, and not even the first time Cody’s felt a little embarrassingly desperate for it, but Cody doesn’t need to be a Jedi to sense that this is different for Obi-Wan, that he’s not happy with the circumstances. His scent is thick and potent, especially when he strips, and every inch of Cody’s skin screams until Obi-Wan settles back atop his thighs, touching and soothing as he lines Cody up at his entrance.

Cody has enough sense to process that Obi-Wan is wet, but he’s not…there’s a pinch of discomfort to his brow as he straddles Cody, and Cody can feel the resistance against his aching head as Obi-Wan bears down. They’ve been in mission mode, which means Obi-Wan is not allowed to pull Cody aside for a quick kark, no matter how tense Cody seems or how much Obi-Wan needs something in his mouth to keep him from grinding his teeth. They’re both professionals, and they’ve agreed this is for the best. They have jobs to do, and if they have to go a week or three without, they make up for it with enthusiasm in standdown. And Cody doesn’t have much ego about it, but Obi-Wan has informed him – reliably, Cody thinks, because he’s not Obi-Wan’s first and Obi-Wan’s charm plus his libido means he would know, would have had lovers lining up for a shot at him before Cody was even decanted, but Obi-Wan also doesn’t lie to Cody or say things purely to stroke his ego – that Cody is one of the largest partners he’s had. Cody kriffing loves foreplay with Obi-Wan; there’s something unbearably hot about watching Obi-Wan flat out on his back, kriff-happy and mewling as Cody works him from one to four fingers, sometimes even tucking his thumb in just to tease. It’s just…Obi-Wan’s body is so accommodating for Cody, opens up like a dream, and even if he doesn’t need it, strictly speaking, with his Stewjoni flexibility, it’s nice, that Obi-Wan will let Cody take his time. There’s not many things Cody is allowed to savor, to enjoy.

Cody doesn’t want to savor this, exactly – he needs it to be over, can’t think about anything about how badly he needs, the heat of Obi-Wan just at the head of his cock already straining his limits against seizing his partner by the hips, flipping him over, and stuffing himself as deep as he can – but something seizes in his chest, and he grabs Obi-Wan’s waist. “Wait.”

“We don’t have to wait,” Obi-Wan is murmuring, voice echoey and distant like he’s speaking through transparisteel at Cody. He mouths sweet kisses to Cody’s temple and cheekbone, beard scratching wonderfully. His hand is still clasped tight around Cody’s cock, is still rubbing him into those damp folds – damp but not slick, not wet enough – and Cody keens as Obi-Wan slides forward, tilting his hips back, and there’s no audible sound but a very visceral feeling, as the fat head of Cody’s cock pops inside, sinking in a full inch. “There you go,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and Cody wants to cry. “Isn’t that better?”

It's so much better. It feels so good, and Cody’s hips jump before he can stop them, forcing him in another inch. Obi-Wan makes a sound in his throat, Stewjoni subvocal, but Cody’s ears are ringing too much to make it out properly. It doesn’t sound like pain or stop or warning, though, isn’t a threat cue, so it has to be okay, this has to be alright, and he’s so kriffing tight Cody’s balls feel fit to burst with just this amount of pressure.

“Don’t,” he manages, the word ground out like shards of a shattered beskad. “Don’t want. To hurt you.”

Obi-Wan stills, and then Cody gets a very sweet kiss on his lips, Obi-Wan pressing his forehead into a keldabe as he breathes Cody’s air – and that, that is perfect, that is everything, and Cody pants, needing every honey-sweet exhale of his lover’s to be in his own lungs, needs to drink it in. “You’re being so good for me,” Obi-Wan breathes, and he sounds pained, but Cody has just enough wherewithal to think that it’s not a physical ache. “My sweet Commander. You’re not hurting me, dearest. I know it’s a little tight, but that should feel good for you, and it’s not hurting me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t lie to Cody, so Cody has to trust him. His fingers flex on Obi-Wan’s hips. “Can I- please-“

“Go ahead,” Obi-Wan coaxes, wrapping his arms around Cody’s neck. It puts the scent glands of his throat right at Cody’s level, rubs the ones in his wrists against the exposed skin of Cody’s nape. He tingles everywhere he can feel it, like it’s soaking into his skin, and Cody tilts his head back and gives in, tugging Obi-Wan hard onto his lap, choking out a long groan as it sheaths him to the hilt. Obi-Wan makes a soft chirping sound – surprise, followed by mate – a subvocal cue Cody knows really translates as this is okay, darling, you can have me. He flexes up just to feel it, to feel the grasp and clench of Obi-Wan’s channel, and the relief that hits him is almost palpable. It’s not enough to fully soothe the ache, but it’s enough that he feels less dizzy, less like his vision is spinning. Obi-Wan’s auburn hair falls delicately across his face, and Cody presses his nose into Obi-Wan’s neck and just breathes, twitching his hips up in little aborted thrusts just to get some friction while he tries to get enough wits to know what he wants, other than in. In is good, in is perfect, in is nowhere near enough.

He scoops up Obi-Wan under the thighs, and the thought of making it to a nebulous bed – Obi-Wan said there was a bed, but Cody can’t process where it is, much less how to get to it – is too much, so he just twists them, Obi-Wan’s back hitting the sofa cushions with a startled but not uncomfortable huff, immediately relaxing as Cody hoists himself over Obi-Wan, regaining the precious inches lost in the move. He grinds down, rutting in a circle without dragging back his hips, and Obi-Wan accepts the weight of him with ease.

There’s still fabric clinging to Cody, and that’s unacceptable. The tunic caught around his shoulders, he shoves off, letting it fall behind him somewhere. He whines as he fumbles for the leggings, the waistband snapping against him every time he loses his grip. It makes his cock jump inside Obi-Wan, which might be a more interesting sensation if Cody’s balls didn’t feel like they were going to shoot off, maybe literally, launching free from his body if the skin gets any tighter around what feels like rocks in his gut, smacking against Obi-Wan’s ass. Cody’s never been this hard-up in his life, which is certainly saying something.

Obi-Wan’s hands come to the rescue, tugging the tight fabric over the swell of Cody’s hips. It’s not perfect, trapped around his mid-thighs, but considering taking them off entirely means losing his place inside Obi-Wan, even just for a moment? Cody can kriffing live with it. He withdraws a scant, precious inch, and thrusts back in hard, burying his face in Obi-Wan’s chest as he moans. Obi-Wan clasps him to his pecs by the back of the neck, cradling him with heart-aching gentleness. Cody thinks he hears, “That’s it, go on,” but it could just as easily be a soft trill, because Cody knows the sounds Obi-Wan makes, and he knows what they all mean.

When he starts to thrust in earnest, it’s like his body is one with the Cosmic Force; Cody is everything, and Obi-Wan is everything, and they are one person, joined and burning together. His cunt is so warm and inviting, Cody feels cooled for the first time since he caught Obi-Wan’s scent, which gushes around him like honey, like flower buds bursting open from rainfall. Cody gives in to the urge to lick Obi-Wan’s skin, and there are no scent glands in reach but he’s still able to drag his tongue along the planes of Obi-Wan’s chest, through the smattering of copper hair there, Obi-Wan chirring in surprise when Cody’s teeth find a nipple, tongue curling as he sucks. Cody’s hips are making obscene sounds as they slap against Obi-Wan’s, and Obi-Wan gets slicker with each thrust, biting back what sound distinctly like moans as his body relaxes into taking Cody again and again and again.

He's so close already, has been halfway to orgasm since dinner. Cody can’t imagine being any harder than this, and the pressure in his gut is only building, burning and throbbing, actually cramping in his balls with the effort to force himself to finish. Each wet smack against Obi-Wan’s cunt edges him closer, and Cody screws his hips, panting, open-mouthed, to inhale everything he can; there’s a tingling in his groin not unlike the tingling everywhere Obi-Wan’s scent glands have touched, and his cock feels like it’s swelling – Obi-Wan said he was swollen, and Cody can only agree, somehow feels bigger, harder, like every inch of him is pressing outward to get as much friction from Obi-Wan’s slick walls as he can. He thinks he can feel every individual vein dragging in and out.

When he starts to feel resistance, like Obi-Wan, absurdly, is tightening again, he whines, biting into Obi-Wan’s chest. He hitches Obi-Wan’s thigh up higher, ruts in a little deeper, but it doesn’t help; every drag is getting him more friction, not less, the silky slide turning rough, so each pull takes more and more work. “Don’t-“ Cody tries, and his tongue is a mess. It’s not the only organ he feels he’s lost full control over. “Obi-Wan-“ Obi-Wan needs to relax, needs to let Cody take this. He’s getting tighter, not like he’s clenching to help but like he’s tensing, resisting, and Cody wants to cry; he’ll pull out, he thinks he can still pull out, if Obi-Wan needs him to, if this is hurting him, but he doesn’t think he can finish without at least Obi-Wan’s mouth on him. He needs somewhere to spend, somewhere to release everything building in his groin like an overcharged blaster rifle.

“Keep, oh, going,” Obi-Wan manages, and his fingers are tight in Cody’s hair, carding through his curls, scratching at the scalp. “Don’t stop. You’re nearly- oh, Cody-“

Cody doesn’t know what he’s nearly, as Obi-Wan breaks into a long, startled moan. His body clamps down, and this Cody at least recognizes as a response to something pleasurable. Cody humps forward into it, panting hard, and then tries to yank back so he can thrust back in, but he’s stuck, the resistance at Obi-Wan’s rim won’t let him go, and his cock is burning at the base, the skin so tight Cody thinks it might tear. He jerks back again, but he can’t- it won’t come out, which means he can’t kriff in hard, can’t jackhammer the way he frantically needs.

He rears back, blinking through hazy eyes, desperately trying to work out the problem, and then makes a startled sound, staring down at where he’s buried in Obi-Wan. He tugs his hips back again, and the pressure is enough to make him keen, whimpering in bewilderment as Obi-Wan’s entrance doesn’t give. Cody is used to Obi-Wan’s lock, but this is different. Obi-Wan’s lock is deep in his cunt, the ring of muscle at his cervix, which gives and latches tight around Cody’s glans and sucks on him like Obi-Wan is trying to blow him with his pussy, to get every drop of his load. This is shallow, feels like a solid band of iron at the base of his shaft or at Obi-Wan rim. It keeps him from pulling out, and Obi-Wan’s hands cup his head, his voice low and soothing, if a touch uneasy, as he says, “It’s alright, darling, just relax.”

“Obi-Wan-“

“Pull a little harder. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

Cody switches from the rolls of his hips to a rough tug; it takes two tries, the second harder than the first, and he groans as he pops free, panting as he stares at his cock. He’s throbbing so fiercely, every vein stands out along the shaft, so full of blood that Cody thinks he’s right, he doesn’t just feel bigger, he looks it, and he’s not even sure that’s a delusion of his hormone-addled mind. He could forge beskar with something that hot, flames in his balls with the horrible need. What is not an illusion is the thick swelling at the base, which lets out a painful throb of protest at being pulled free of Obi-Wan’s cunt. Reflexively, Cody wraps a hand around it, fingers clenching tight, and the ache eases, if only fractionally, pulsing hard in his grip.

“What?” he manages, panting, eyes tearing to Obi-Wan’s face for reassurance. This isn’t- Cody has never- he’s human, they don’t-

But Obi-Wan doesn’t look surprised. If anything, Obi-Wan looks guilty, biting his lip as he says, “It’s alright. It’s my fault. You can put it back in, darling, it won’t hurt me. You’ll need to kriff me really roughly as it swells, to keep pushing it in and out. Once it’s swollen all the way, you’ll want it on the inside; you won’t be able to move as well, but the added pressure should help.” He hesitates, “Is it sensitive? It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

It absolutely hurts. Sensitive doesn’t even begin to cover the thick knot of pressure Cody’s feeling, the desperate ache in his groin centered in the bulge distorting the base of his cock. He doesn’t think it hurts abnormally, though, any more than it’s abnormal that this morning he didn’t have a kriffing knot, and now apparently he does. Obi-Wan makes a soft sound, like a coo, and covers Cody’s hand with his own, squeezing until Cody pants at the pressure. Oh. Oh, this is what he needs. “It’ll feel better once it’s inside me,” Obi-Wan assures him, still sounding guilty. “I can take it. It may hurt a little, if I lock on you while you’re knotted, but once you’ve cum it should ease the tension.”

Tension is a laughable word for what this is, but Cody doesn’t want to point that out; Obi-Wan seems distressed enough as it is, and Cody is too hazy to reassure him, but he hates Obi-Wan’s self-loathing, hates the way Obi-Wan sees himself as an inconvenience so much of the time, when he’s everything to Cody. Cody still doesn’t really understand how this is Obi-Wan’s fault – if it is Obi-Wan’s fault, and not his General shouldering the blame for yet another thing he isn’t responsible for – but right now, he’s more invested in taking care of the problem. Resolve the issue, then deal with the fallout.

“Might…need help,” he manages. His hands are shaking badly, and he’s worried about getting back in, worried that if he can’t figure out the right pressure for his thrusts he’ll keep slipping out.

Obi-Wan curls his hands over Cody’s hips, his ankles locking around Cody’s thighs. “I’ll help, darling, we’ll get you there. Let’s just get you back inside me, alright? You’ll feel better once it’s in.”

It takes both of them to guide Cody back to Obi-Wan’s entrance, even gaping as it is, slick enough that Cody’s trembling fingers knock him out of position twice before Obi-Wan bats his hand away gently, using his thighs to tug Cody forward until the head catches and sinks back in again. Cody pants, pressing his forehead into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, into his scent, and Obi-Wan murmurs, “That’s it, darling. Don’t try to hold back, or wait for me. The faster we finish you, the sooner we’ll be past this.”

Cody doesn’t think he could hold back if he tried. His first thrust in is hard, and he groans in relief as his knot pops through Obi-Wan’s slick entrance, clutched by the ring of muscle. He pulls back again, and Obi-Wan’s legs catch him before he slips all the way out. The sound is obscene, not just slick slaps of skin on skin, but the aggressive pop like blasterfire every time Cody tugs himself out again, starting a rapid pace of humping into Obi-Wan as hard as he can, feeling his balls smack against Obi-Wan’s ass with each thrust, feeling each tug on Obi-Wan’s rim get tighter and tighter as the pressure in his groin winds painfully taut. He thinks he can feel it now, the way it’s swelling. Obi-Wan’s snug channel isn’t resisting him. If anything, it’s accommodating him remarkably.

He can practically taste the orgasm, the licks of heat skating up and down his spine as he hurtles to the edge. The knot pops in and out and in and then catches, and he can’t- he can’t keep pulling, feels sure it’ll tear Obi-Wan open if he does, and on pure instinct Cody hikes Obi-Wan’s leg up and flips him, Obi-Wan letting out a yelp of surprise as he lands on his hands and knees on the sofa, his face shoved into the cushion with an mph! that isn’t Stewjoni, just startled, and Cody would laugh if he wasn’t groaning in relief, seizing Obi-Wan by the hips and mounting him like Cody’s a kriffing animal, plastering himself against Obi-Wan’s back as he buries his nose in the sweat-soaked copper locks at Obi-Wan’s nape, honey and floral and earth and rain – he can’t thrust anymore but he rolls his hips, figures out how to roll the knot inside Obi-Wan’s stuffed channel, and oh, that, that’s it, he’s so close- Obi-Wan ripples around him with every circle, his mate keening into the pillows, and Cody can barely hear him, can only process the sounds Obi-Wan makes that are mate and receptive and breed-

Breed Obi-Wan. The thought slams into him and Cody sees kriffing stars. He humps once, twice, feels Obi-Wan’s cock bouncing beneath him with every jolt of his body, feels the smack of his aching, rock-hard sac against Obi-Wan’s dripping folds, and then Cody is gone, emptying everything that makes him a person – no, not a person, an animal, a mate, a stud – into Obi-Wan’s channel, the knot popping and locking him in hard- and then Cody feels Obi-Wan jolt, cry out, and clamp down, not only on Cody’s too-sensitive knot but on his equally oversensitive glans, twitching and screaming in fire as he pours himself out, and Cody’s vision goes white, and the world becomes static, becomes pleasure so intense it is agony, and then there is nothing left.

***

The orgasm takes Obi-Wan by surprise. Not Cody’s; Obi-Wan had been able to tell when his partner was getting close, had felt the knotting take and the sparking in the Force that meant Cody was reaching his peak. Normally, Obi-Wan prefers to stay closer to Cody in the Force when they bed each other, but in light of the circumstances, it had seemed better to keep his awareness a little apart, to keep tabs. It had felt good, certainly. Even in rut, even driven by frantic, consuming desire, Cody had been angled well, had almost instinctively adjusted to ensure Obi-Wan was also receiving pleasure – though, Obi-Wan will allow, it’s as possible it’s a coincidence as Cody’s being subconsciously attuned to Obi-Wan’s desires. Either way, it had felt wonderful, but Obi-Wan had been tense enough, navigating the complicated feelings of good versus guilt, that he hadn’t expected to cum from it.

And then Cody had popped a full knot, and had ground it just right into Obi-Wan’s sensitive cunt, and the moment he’d shot off, emptying his load, Obi-Wan had been startled as he had tipped over from mmm, that’s quite good to oh-oh-oh YES. He’s not in heat, but his hormones are still recovering from the scent-blocker flush, and Obi-Wan wants Cody, always. All it had taken was a receptive mate mounting him for Obi-Wan’s body to capitalize on the opportunity, locking Cody up nice and tight. As if he was going anywhere like this.

He's not. Cody is whimpering, collapsed on Obi-Wan’s back, and Obi-Wan can’t tell if the liquid hitting his skin is sweat or tears, if he’s made Cody cry again with how it feels to orgasm in Obi-Wan’s body. The weight of him means Obi-Wan has to turn his head and huff out panting breaths, trying not to be smothered into the rather wet throw pillow up against the sofa’s arm. He lets himself go pliant, aware his cunt is still rippling and sucking and doing his best not to exacerbate the feeling. Cody’s knot is still throbbing, and Obi-Wan can feel the last pulses of his orgasm being dragged out in weaker spurts.

They smell quite a bit like sex, and Obi-Wan is grateful the Vitovans have such a limited sense of smell. As it is, the room could probably use an airing. Obi-Wan’s lock should only last a few minutes, ten or fifteen at most, but he hopes whatever has trigged Cody’s biological shift, it favors a species with a similar refractory period. Some can be knotted for several hours, and Obi-Wan doubts their hosts will leave them to it that long. After all, keeping them waiting would undoubtedly be rude.

The amusing thought tapers off as Obi-Wan hears Cody groan, shifting slightly atop him. His forearm is planted near Obi-Wan’s, bracketing him in, and Obi-Wan takes the opportunity to thread their fingers together, squeezing lightly. “Cody?” he tries.

“Ow,” Cody mutters plaintively, managing to make the sound a petulant whine and a pained chuckle all at once. Obi-Wan huffs his own laugh, letting the amusement purr out from his throat. Cody has always been very attuned to his subvocals. Obi-Wan hadn’t used them much before him, had repressed them as he represses much of his heritage – easier, for so many reasons – but Cody has always known how to read Obi-Wan, and as they had opened up to each other, this part had come so naturally Obi-Wan almost doesn’t remember how it felt before he’d started communicating this way. He squeezes Cody’s fingers again, and chances wiggling his hips back. Cody’s other hand immediately seizes him, stopping the motion. “Please don’t,” he groans.

“You’re sounding a little more coherent, at least,” Obi-Wan teases, though his gut coils uncomfortably. Lust-drunk Cody, he can attend to. Coherent Cody…Obi-Wan still isn’t sure how much of his cooperation is because his body had demanded it. He doesn’t want Cody to feel betrayed.

“I feel like I got hit by a speeder,” Cody mumbles, lips pressed into the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck. If he bit down, he’d be able to scruff Obi-Wan with his teeth like a recalcitrant kit. “One of the big ones,” he adds. “Flown by Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan winces, though amusement spikes too. “Please don’t bring up my padawan while we’re in bed together.”

“Not in bed,” Cody rebuts, but Obi-Wan can feel the smile against his skin. “Couldn’t make it that far.”

“Have I mentioned I’m sorry?”

It is not the apology he wants to make. It’s still too teasing, even if Obi-Wan can hear the undercurrents of trepidation in it. The sounds rumbling up in his throat are more sincere: regret and guilt and soothe, repent. A sub-verbal showing of his belly, so to speak. And Cody must catch it, because his voice softens. “ I think you did,” he says. “Pretty sure I remember that much. It’s a bit of a blur.”

“Does it hurt less now, at least?”

Cody takes a deep breath, or starts to, cutting off abruptly halfway through. He pulls back carefully, so his face isn’t buried in Obi-Wan’s neck – in his scent glands – and this breath is steadier, pulling deep and exhaling before he says, “Well, I feel a lot less like I’m going to die if I don’t kriff you, which is an improvement.” He shifts a little, and Obi-Wan can hear the grimace in his voice as he allows, “Feels a little like someone grabbed my decee with both hands and wrung it dry. And my balls still kriffing ache.”

“May I?”

“Go for it.”

Obi-Wan moves carefully, not able to sit up fully, but able now to at least get his knees under him. He snakes a hand between his legs carefully, reaching until he feels Cody’s thick thighs, then pressing up until he can grasp at Cody’s sac, resting heavy in the juncture between Obi-Wan’s legs, against his own spent cock. Considering how taut Obi-Wan’s abdomen feels, an imprecise but reliable measure of how much Cody has cum, they’re still far too heavy for Obi-Wan’s comfort, the skin still stretched tight. It’s something of a side effect, the pheromone buildup in Cody’s system coagulating here, waiting for the triggering conditions to release. Namely, Obi-Wan soaking him with the more intense pheromone combination leaking out in his slick.

Cody makes a low sound of complaint, even at the gentle touch, and Obi-Wan hums uneasily, pulling back. “I think you may need another round, darling. You don’t feel quite finished.”

“You can tell that by touch?”

“I am guessing,” Obi-Wan admits. “It’s been a long time since I’ve dealt with a scenario like this.” The last person he shared a heat with was Quinlan, easily five or six years ago now. Kiffar do knot, though Quin’s is average for his species and therefore much smaller than Cody’s, and their cycles tend to be mild, akin to Stewjoni. It takes actual heat pheromones, not just Obi-Wan’s standard ones, to trigger the mating response, and even then, there had never been the same desperation. It helped that Obi-Wan has always found Quinlan a bit of a masochist; Quin had always enjoyed a second – and often a third or fourth – round per wave of heat, regardless of if he was still feeling a biological need, and he loved knotting when Obi-Wan locked, loved the intensity tipping from pleasure into pain.

“I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and he knows he’s doing a terrible job keeping the distress from his voice. “We’ll have to do a full workup when the mission is over, I think, to make sure there aren’t any other side-effects.” Cody dislikes the medics almost as much as Obi-Wan does, for many of the same reasons. Bodily autonomy is complicated for both of them, even amongst those they trust. Cody is being so understanding, but Obi-Wan isn’t sure he can forgive himself for this breach.

“You said this is you?” Cody shifts his hips a little, flinching as it tugs his knot against Obi-Wan’s rim. “The pheromones, I get. I mean, not really, I didn’t think I could- but I’m not sure how you can blame yourself for a knot on my cock. Stewjoni don’t knot.”

“They don’t,” Obi-Wan allows. “But I certainly triggered it, however it happened.”

“You didn’t know,” Cody says, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes, pained, as he feels a loving kiss pressed between his shoulder blades, Cody’s hands wrapping soothingly around his waist. “You would have told me if you knew.”

“I would have,” Obi-Wan promises. “You deserved to be informed if sleeping with me was going to alter your biochemistry this severely.” Cody’s consent is more complicated to Obi-Wan than he thinks Cody appreciates. Obi-Wan is Cody’s superior officer, and there’s certainly a degree of idolization going on, aside from that fact that the Jedi do, in technicality, own the clones, and Cody has had experiences before, being punished for not following natborn expectations, even if the context was very different. But Cody is clearly attracted to Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan doesn’t like denying Cody things that make his life better, particularly when they’re things that Obi-Wan wants too. He doesn’t intend to be condescending by suggesting Cody doesn’t know his own mind.

“You think I’m angry,” Cody says, all too knowingly. He kisses the back of Obi-Wan’s neck again, teeth scraping over the pressure points he uses to scruff Obi-Wan when they play that way. “You think you’re taking advantage of me.”

“I think you’d have every right to be upset,” Obi-Wan hedges, “considering I’ve dosed you with an aphrodisiac.”

“You didn’t know it would be.”

He didn’t, but that’s hardly the point. “Your consent was still questionable at best when I offered my assistance.”

“I would have said yes anyway,” Cody says confidently. He groans softly, as Obi-Wan feels his lock give way. The knot doesn’t, but it must be a relief for Cody, easing some of the stimulation. “I think you’re right, and I’m still a little bit in this now, because you still smell kriffing incredible, but I’m feeling better, and I promise, if you ask me again afterwards, I’ll still be grateful you trusted me to want this. I might not have much frame of reference, but it would have been hell trying to sweat this out alone. It was hard enough with you under me.” He sounds amused, and Obi-Wan can feel him in the Force, projecting reassurance and a touch of flushed heat.

It doesn’t reassure him totally, but he does trust Cody, and it’s not productive, self-flagellating over something Cody doesn’t mean to hold against him. Obi-Wan exhales, releasing the lingering traces of shame into the Force. He will meditate on this later, and hopefully find peace with it. He’s a little sensitive himself – Cody is quite large, and his knot is possibly the largest thing Obi-Wan has ever taken – so he can’t help chuffing a little in relief when he feels it slacken a bit, Cody making a low, mirroring sound in his throat when he feels the deflation, easing himself backwards to collapse onto the couch. Obi-Wan manages to flip onto his back, and they both pant a little, calves and thighs tangled up together, sweat cooling on heated skin. Cody is still wearing the leggings around his knees, and he groans theatrically, grinning at Obi-Wan as he kicks them dramatically off, leaving them both naked. His cock is still half-hard, bobbing at his groin, and Obi-Wan’s chest is smeared with the little burst of his own seed. He doesn’t cum much through his penis, since he’s taken up with Cody. His body understands that insemination will be on his partner’s part, and has reacted accordingly. It catches in the trail of hair at his navel, drying and sticky, and Obi-Wan grimaces a little, fumbling for the nearest scrap of clothing – one of his tunics, he thinks – to wipe it away.

Cody cups himself, propped back on one elbow as he inspects his length, hissing between his teeth as his thumb rubs over his base. Deflated, the knot is barely visible, just a few folds of skin nearly all the way at the root of the shaft. “Think it’ll go away when this is over?” he asks mildly. “Or am I just living with this now?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says. “I suspect it depends on why your DNA has decided forming a knot is appropriate. Some species only have them at all during heat or rut, and some always have them but only harden that way in response to the hormones. And some species knot regardless of hormonal cycles; it’s not really possible to determine while you’re still feeling the effects.”

“Hey.” Cody nudges Obi-Wan’s thigh with his toe. “This is hardly the worst thing that’s happened to me. Don’t have enough data points yet to say if it’s a contender for the best, but it’s definitely at least a net neutral.” He gives himself another squeeze, his eyes falling shut as he bites his lip, exhaling hard as he pulses his fist. “You think I need another round?”

“At a guess.”

“I think I agree.” Cody twists his grip, and heat lances through Obi-Wan’s body at that visual, Cody playing with his knot, his cock rising fully again. His eyes open to half-lidded, and he stares hungrily at Obi-Wan. “Hurts pretty bad, mesh’la. Gonna let me soothe it someplace safe?”

Oh. Oh. That’s…Obi-Wan’s cunt gives a sensitive but highly interested throb, and he presses his thighs together reflexively, swallowing hard. “I, ah, think that’s for the best. I’d hate to leave you wanting, dearest.”

“Mmm,” Cody hums, pushing himself upright. He’s all fluid, predatory lines as he plants one hand behind Obi-Wan’s shoulder, boxing him in. “That’s right. You did this, and you’re gonna take care of it. Not because I’m angry, not because it’s bad, but because you’re good, sweetheart, and you always give me such nice things.”

Obi-Wan’s body flushes rapidly, and he puts a hand on Cody’s chest. Cody pauses, and though Obi-Wan can see the dilation of his pupils, the hints that this rut hasn’t been totally flushed from Cody’s system, he waits, frowning, and starts to pull back.

Obi-Wan sits up with him, using his palm on Cody’s firm chest to reel him back in. He nudges their noses together, and against Cody’s mouth breathes, “What do you think our odds are on making it to the bed this time?”

A laugh barks out of Cody, and Obi-Wan grins. “I think we can manage,” Cody says, and he stands first, nearly losing his balance on shaking knees. Obi-Wan darts up to catch him, and they support each other, Obi-Wan bowlegged from the deep ache between his thighs, leaking slick thoroughly, Cody struggling to remain fully upright as he tucks his face in Obi-Wan’s neck again and breathes deep. “Smell so good,” he rumbles, and Obi-Wan bites viciously on a keen as Cody’s tongue swipes out, licking him like a claiming. “I thought you smelled good before, but without the blockers? ‘s amazing.”

In their clumsy shuffling, Obi-Wan’s knees hit the mattress, miraculously, and he goes spilling back onto it with a bounce. It’s about what he’d expected from a culture like the Vitovans: the mattress is sturdy with only a little plush give, and the sheets are homespun cotton, beige, soft but not silky. Good. Obi-Wan has had sex on silk sheets before, and it’s far too slippery for how rough Cody’s liable to need be. Obi-Wan spreads his legs enticingly, but rather than hoist himself up onto the mattress following, Cody sinks to his knees, throwing one of Obi-Wan’s thighs over his broad shoulder as he presses his nose into the crease, kissing and nipping his way up towards where Obi-Wan’s cock is stirring, still soft – his penile refractory period is much slower than his vaginal one, especially in these circumstances – but making a valiant effort to rise all the same. Obi-Wan’s mouth drops open, head falling back on a long moan as Cody takes the shaft between his lips, suckling gently.

“That’s- oh, Cody,” Obi-Wan breathes, a hand threading through Cody’s tight curls, gripping the springy locks. He huffs out a laugh as Cody toys at the slit with his tongue, lapping up dribbles of precum and trying to tease more out of him. “Dearest, I appreciate the effort, but you’re not going to relieve yourself that way.” Obi-Wan has had several lovers, and some of them have even been quite good, but none have really appreciated his cock the way Cody does. For many people, a Stewjoni cock might as well have been vestigial – even Quinlan had always followed Obi-Wan’s lead, and since they’d been kriffing in Obi-Wan’s heat, Obi-Wan had never encouraged him to touch. But Cody has always been dedicated to making Obi-Wan feel every kind of pleasure Cody could offer him, like he was aware of how much Obi-Wan wanted to give him, and meant to offer it in kind, and Cody likes sucking Obi-Wan’s cock, likes playing with it, jerking him off, even letting Obi-Wan kriff him occasionally, when the mood strikes. Obi-Wan has always considered his cock something of a secondary erogenous zone, but with Cody? None of his erogenous zones are secondary.

Around the softness of his length, he feels Cody smile. Obi-Wan has not met enough Stewjoni to do a survey, so he’s not sure how he measures up, but compared to Human Standard, he’s perfectly average, which means that soft, he’s a perfect mouthful for Cody, nestled on his tongue as Cody grins up at him, eyes dark, eyebrows quirked. He lets his lips part, releasing him, so that Obi-Wan’s cock falls back against his stomach, then licks a stripe up the shaft, which is quickly going from soft to at least half-mast, twitching and thankfully not overly sensitive, as it got very little friction the first time around. “No?” Cody says, his voice rough and teasing. “You don’t think I can knot this way?” His arm is moving, jacking his cock, and though Obi-Wan isn’t at an angle to see it, he can hear the obscene shlick-shlick of Cody’s fist, sending another pulse of heat through his body.

He groans, tugging affectionately at Cody’s hair. “Afraid not, though not for lack of trying. You’d get closer eating me out, although I don’t think that will suffice either.”

“Oh?” Cody grins, and then his tongue flattens, licking a broad path up Obi-Wan’s cunt, parting the sensitive lips. He groans, the sensation vibrating through Obi-Wan’s core, and goes back for a second stroke, dipping the tip into Obi-Wan’s sopping entrance, licking him up. “Oh, that’s- taste like kriffing honey, mesh’la, I-“ He cuts himself off with a mph, burying his nose back in Obi-Wan’s groin, lapping more enthusiastically, gripping one of Obi-Wan’s thighs to tug him closer. Obi-Wan goes a little cross-eyed at the enthusiasm; Cody’s eyes are closed, and he's panting harshly through his nose, his fingers toying with Obi-Wan’s cock to keep it up out of the way, his knuckles grinding down into Obi-Wan’s clit at the base. It’s so much, all at once, and Obi-Wan is caught between moaning with pleasure and hissing sharply as his cunt ripples, clamping against the intrusion, throbbing in light protest as Cody’s tongue tugs at his rim.

“Cody, Cody, Cody,” Obi-Wan pants, less a benediction of his lover’s name and more a plea; he tightens his grip in Cody’s hair, tugging him away. “Wait, please.”

He can see the effort in the way Cody’s shoulders tense, how hard it is for Cody to pull back. When he does, his amber eyes are fully black, panting, his chin slick. “I’m a little sensitive, dearest,” Obi-Wan tells him. “Your knot’s quite big, and you were a little rough with it.” At the flash of pain that crosses Cody’s face, Obi-Wan hurries, “I’m not unhappy about that. You needed it, and it felt rather good. I just need you to be gentle for a moment.”

“I don’t…I don’t know if I can,” Cody admits, and his face is drawn, his breathing shallow. His strokes are speeding up a little, and Obi-Wan can see the way his knuckles are whitening with how tight he’s gripping himself.

“Here.” With pleasure-trembling fingers, Obi-Wan reaches out, feeling around in the Force until he grasps at one of the tubes Helix left; it soars into his hand, and he reaches for Cody’s. Cody releases his cock to reach back, and Obi-Wan takes it palm-up, thumbing open the cap of the lubricant to coat Cody’s fingers. “Try this.”

“You’re already wet.”

“It’s bacta-grade,” Obi-Wan tells him. “It’ll ease some of the ache, so you can get back inside me without pain.”

Cody rubs his fingers together and sniffs, making a face at the scent. He really is scent-drunk, and Obi-Wan marvels at that, but he still obeys, easing two fingers into Obi-Wan’s abused hole. Obi-Wan hisses, then relaxes as Cody keeps his strokes gentle, spreading the lubricant generously around his rim, inside and out, probing deeper and massaging it into the walls. Obi-Wan groans, letting his head fall back and his legs fall wide, tilting his hips up for easier access. His cock flops against his stomach, mostly hard and pleasantly warm, and Obi-Wan teases it with a loose hand, enjoying the ripples of his cunt around Cody’s ministrations. “You’ll need to be inside me anyway,” he tells Cody, letting the words out as a contented sigh. “I’m afraid the buildup can’t be alleviated any other way.”

“Really?”

“Well, time. You’d still experience orgasm, if you kriffed your fist. But you wouldn’t spend, at least until my pheromones worked out of your system naturally. It can lead to some unpleasant chaffing, and some tenderness in the groin.”

Cody snorts. “Understatement.”

Obi-Wan laughs. “We’re very effectively evolved, darling. I’m afraid that while you’re…hmm…intoxicated, every drop of your spend is in fact reserved for a Stewjoni womb. Even kriffing my mouth, or that delightful thing you were doing with your tongue, likely wouldn’t satisfy.” He arches, letting his hips roll down into the way Cody is fingering him more deeply now, enjoying the loose play of Obi-Wan’s kriffed-open hole around the digits. “Those pheromones you’re so enamored with are more concentrated in my slick, and it while you can absorb them other ways, the fastest would be through your bare cock. The faster they hit a certain threshold in your system, the sooner you can kriff all that tight, unpleasant ache out into a warm, waiting hole.”

Cody groans, though amusement sparks through the lust in the Force. “Only you can turn a biology lesson into dirty talk.”

“I’m pleased you appreciate it.” Obi-Wan squirms back, and Cody takes the hint, releasing him, watching with hungry eyes as Obi-Wan slides himself farther up the bed. “Come here, dearest.”

Cody doesn’t need telling twice.

***

It’s easier, this time around. Obi-Wan still smells like perfection – Cody was right, he tastes even better straight from the source, the slick coating his tongue floral and earthier than even Obi-Wan’s usual musk – and it still soothes him to breathe it in, but Cody’s head is no longer spinning when he doesn’t have his face buried in Obi-Wan’s scent glands. His cock still aches, but Cody’s dealt with blue balls before, and could probably weather these just fine, now that the worst is past. He could, but why would he, when Obi-Wan is here, sweet and pliant and spreading his legs to sate Cody’s need?

When he climbs atop Obi-Wan on the bed, the Jedi is grinning at him, eyes hooded and pleased. Cody is stiff as a spear, cock bobbing down to thwack wetly against Obi-Wan’s stomach, dragging under its own weight, and Cody gives a light thrust, teasing himself against Obi-Wan’s softer length as it rises to meet him, waving hello with its cute red head. Probably, Obi-Wan is not in the percentage of natborn males who would get offended by Cody calling his decee cute; probably, but Cody hasn’t quite managed that bit of dirty talk yet, and so doesn’t know for sure. He makes up for it by showing it the same amount of enthusiasm he shows Obi-Wan’s holes.

Said hole is currently red and puffy, slick bubbling between the folds, shining with the bacta lubricant. Cody covers the inside of Obi-Wan’s thigh with a broad palm, teasing his thumb against the lips, stroking through them. “You sure you’re ready for me?”

“I’m feeling much better,” Obi-Wan promises. “But why don’t you slick yourself up too, just to be safe?”

It takes a moment of fumbling to find the tube, and another to work the cap open, recoating his hand. Cody rears back on his heels, grinning at the hungry expression on Obi-Wan’s face as he watches Cody grip his own cock, stroking in long pulls to slick himself. It makes waiting worth it, even as the heat starts to build again in his gut.

He pays extra attention to the knot. It’s starting to plump again, just enough that he can feel the difference when he slides it through his fist, just that tiny bit thicker than the rest of the shaft. Under Obi-Wan’s hungry, if restrained eyes, Cody upends the lube bottle over it, letting the clear liquid dribble out to coat the swelling at his base even better. It earns him a needy chuff, and a click of hurt reprimand, and Cody grins wider, tossing the bottle to the side.

He arranges himself on his elbows above Obi-Wan, leaning down to tap his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan keens softly, and Cody huffs a laugh. “This position okay?” he asks. “I don’t want your thighs to cramp.”

“I’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan returns. “Though you might enjoy yourself more in mount.”

Cody might. Finishing that way had been amazing, and Cody privately reserves the right to flip Obi-Wan back if need be. Now, he hums noncommittally. “Just want to be in you,” he admits, the banked flame growing hotter, turning the words into something gritted between his teeth. “Just want…want to breed.”

Cody doesn’t think he imagines the shudder that ripples through Obi-Wan’s body, the way his legs drop farther open in response. “Well,” Obi-Wan swallows, and his voice is tight. “You can certainly try.”

“Budge up,” Cody says, and Obi-Wan lifts his hips obediently. Cody slides a pillow beneath, relishing the tilt it puts Obi-Wan at. Mostly it’s to make it easier on his hips, but keeping them elevated would better ensure breeding – as if they could do any better than Obi-Wan’s lock, perfectly evolved for the purpose. It’s not really an option, though. They’re both on standard-issue birth control, and Cody privately isn’t sure he’s virile anyway. He knows there was some effort from the Kaminoans to ensure their product wouldn’t replicate. He’s not sure how well it took, since most of his brothers aren’t in a position to impregnate anyone, and the ones who do indulge on shore leave have gotten sharp, embarrassing lectures from the medics on how to be safe. He and Obi-Wan don’t use plastis, much to Helix’s dismay – they’ve deemed it safe enough, and they both enjoy the feeling of Cody cumming deep – and they couldn’t here anyway with the stupid rules imposed by their irritating hosts. Cody hopes the Vitovans, with their purportedly advanced, pure civilization, actually have a form of birth control that works, since the galactic standard for barrier and hormonal methods both seem to be out – and aren’t they lucky their hosts don’t know Obi-Wan’s on that as well, or this situation might be especially worrying.

He pushes the thought away for now. There’s something much better to focus on, in the form of Obi-Wan ready and waiting. Cody takes himself in hand, forcing himself to breath steady. His knot is still a little sensitive from the first round, but the bacta is helping there too, and when he teases the head at Obi-Wan’s entrance, it slips in easily. Kriff, Obi-Wan’s so soft, and Cody understands, he really does, why Stewjoni lovers are coveted throughout the galaxy. He rolls his hips, biting his lip and tilting his head back on a groan as it sinks him in halfway.

Obi-Wan exhales, making all his pretty little chirping sounds that mean a receptive mate, ready for breeding. Under other circumstances, he might be bratty, wiggling his hips to entice, but he’s obviously still feeling the weight of Cody, of what this would mean if they trusted each other with anything short of everything. They’ll have to make time to talk later. Cody doesn’t want Obi-Wan to stew in this, because it was never a question of forgiving him. Cody knows Obi-Wan would have told him if he knew. The only casualty is the mission, and that might very well still be saved. Cody has faith.

“Feels good, mesh’la,” he murmurs, just to hear Obi-Wan coo. He draws back, thrusts in again, still not letting himself deep enough to feel friction on his knot. “Gonna let me take what I need?”

“Anything,” Obi-Wan promises, sounding a little drunk himself with need. “Anything, darling, you can have anything.”

“Ner jetii,” Cody purrs, and Obi-Wan keens, cunt tightening as he clenches eagerly. Cody lets his thrusts pick up strength, hilting himself deep, pulling out again in long drags, rocking his hips to feel every throbbing inch sheathe and unsheathe. Rubbing the lightly swelling knot around Obi-Wan’s rim makes stars dance behind his eyes, so Cody indulges himself a moment, circling in a grind, panting, “Gonna let me cum deep? You said every drop belongs here.” He places a palm flat on Obi-Wan’s belly, feels it jump under his palm, and cradles his own balls with his other hand. It forces his hips to a crawl to keep his balance, tightening his abs, but kriff does it feel good, rolling the heavy sac between his fingers, teasing, “If you’re gonna put a claim on my balls, I think you owe me a place to empty them, don’t you think?”

They’ve been kriffing long enough, the dirty talk doesn’t feel awkward to Cody. Or maybe that’s just the heat hormones still making him dizzy. Either way, Obi-Wan arches beautifully, his thighs clamping around Cody’s hips to keep him from leaving. “Gar dalab,” he breathes, and Cody nearly swears, hips jerking; Obi-Wan talking Mando’a to him always has that effect. “Tra’cya ad’viin, cyare, gedet’ye.”

Holy kriffing Force. Cody goes from mostly in control to pure burning need so fast, he doesn’t even register until he’s done it that he’s got his arms under Obi-Wan’s knees, folding him in half on the sheets. His pace turns frantic, rabbiting in, and his knot is swelling, already catching at Obi-Wan’s rim with each drive in, each tug free. It’s so good, and Cody needs it so badly, and he presses Obi-Wan down into the mattress, digging in with his knees to get the leverage to go harder, deeper, sinking in and circling. It’s even better to keep the knot deep, he realizes; the friction in and out is good, but rolling it inside Obi-Wan’s body as he clenches and whines means that Cody is treated to every ripple of Obi-Wan’s cunt as he grinds against the sensitive nerve endings. Stewjoni have trouble interbreeding. They’ve evolved to be extremely receptive to penetration from other species, which means that Obi-Wan doesn’t just feel good having Cody inside him; if he wants his own orgasm, it’s practically a necessity.

He screws his hips a little more, knowing he’s found the right place to stimulate by the way Obi-Wan nearly screams. They’re both sweating, Cody’s skin slick and glistening, Obi-Wan’s coppery hair near metallic with the sheen. Obi-Wan’s fingers scrabble desperately at Cody, and Cody releases one of Obi-Wan’s thighs to reach around his shoulders. It’s awkward, but it lets him seize the back of Obi-Wan’s neck with strong, demanding fingers, and Obi-Wan’s mouth falls open on a silent keen, going limp as he’s scruffed properly. It slackens him into a perfect kriffsleeve, walls jumping as Cody plows in at perfect angles, his knees pressed all the way to his chest with no apparent difficulty.

It takes Cody a minute to realize Obi-Wan’s trying to speak, lips forming around his name. “Cody.”

“Cum for me, mesh’la,” Cody demands. Little gods, he needs it, is so close he could scream. Obi-Wan shakes his head, fighting the scruff weakly, and Cody grips the pressure points deeper, digging in hard enough to bruise. Obi-Wan’s jaw works a few times, but his eyes are closed, expression screwed up with bliss.

“You. First,” he grits out, and Cody resists. Obi-Wan must have enough wherewithal left in the Force to sense that, because he gives another tiny shake. “My lock. You need- first, darling. Knot first. Might hurt, if I-“ He breaks off, whining, pure subvocal pleasepleasepleasematebreedreceptiveneed, and Cody understands, even if distantly his pride still hurts a little. Obi-Wan can have a half-dozen orgasms for every one of Cody’s – could have a full dozen, probably, except clone stamina is really something – and Cody always likes to take advantage of that, to make Obi-Wan cum first a time or three. Cumming first two rounds in a row isn’t something he takes lightly.

Later. This is a problem for later, and Cody concedes, giving in to the clenching heat, the rippling around his cock, the way his knot keeps catching. It’s swollen, aching, and Cody tugs just enough to assure himself it’s too big to pull free, then ruts forward hard, humping eagerly, chasing the stars behind his eyes as the pressure in his balls screws tight and hot and higher, higher, open-mouthed as his hand on Obi-Wan’s neck goes slack, but Obi-Wan doesn’t break out of the scruffing, and when Cody cums, it’s with his knot wedged and popped tight in his lover’s pussy, gritting his teeth at the white flashes sparking in his vision, giving himself a last little twist through the oversensitivity and grinning ferally as he hears like an echo Obi-Wan caterwaul, hips jerking against Cody’s, cunt locking. It’s a little easier than the first time, and Cody has his head enough to ride it out like electricity, like every nerve-ending in his body is singing.

He comes down a little faster, too, fast enough to feel himself still twitching, dribbling the last bits of his spend into the slowly sucking mouth at his head. Obi-Wan is panting, still slack the way he always tries to be when he cums after locking, boneless with pleasure. Cody exhales hard, and he doesn’t need Obi-Wan’s fingers this time to think he’s beat this thing; his balls still hurt like hell, but it’s the kind of ache that tells him he’s empty. If he can knock Obi-Wan up, there’s no way it’s not happening.

Helix is going to kill them, he thinks deliriously. Birth control is a miraculous thing.

Knotting at this angle was maybe not the wisest thing. Mount had felt good for instinctive reasons, but now Cody is realizing that it also made it easier, in the aftermath, to settle comfortably. Pulling back even just to an upright position tugs his knot painfully against Obi-Wan’s rim, and when he shifts forward Obi-Wan whines, turning his face into the mattress as it puts pressure on his hips. “Kriff,” Cody swears, and grins in spite of himself at the pinch of agreement on Obi-Wan’s face. He still has one hand behind Obi-Wan’s neck, and he uses that to cradle his partner, surveying the bed with a tactical eye, assessing trajectory and distance.

“This is going to feel intense,” he says, “but it’ll be better after. Ready?”

Obi-Wan makes a subvocal sound they use in the field, one which means assent and prepared. He stays pliant in Cody’s grip, which allows Cody to roll them so Obi-Wan’s on top, both hissing as the angle shifts Cody inside Obi-Wan, tugging in all sorts of sensitive ways. Cody encourages Obi-Wan to stretch his legs back, to let Cody support his weight, so they’re laying flush, chest to chest, and Obi-Wan only has minimal pressure on the spread of his thighs, no longer stretching his hips uncomfortably. “Better?” Cody grunts, feeling a couple twitches from his decee, dry and complaining. His knot is boiling, not with the previous need, but like an overshot rifle battery in cooldown. He wraps an arm around the small of Obi-Wan’s back, anchoring him. They’re both going to be uncomfortably sticky once the afterglow fades.

Obi-Wan hmms softly, tucking his forehead against Cody’s throat, his beard scratching into Cody’s collarbone. “Thank you, darling. And thank you for listening to me. You’re going to be sore enough, without trying to knot me after I’ve locked you.”

Sore is one word for it. Cody grimaces, though with more amusement than heat. “Have much experience with that, do you?”

“I have it on good authority,” Obi-Wan says loftily, which means Quinlan Vos is the answer. Cody might be jealous, except he’s met Vos once, and hears Fox complain about the man constantly, which with Fox is code for I need to kriff him to get this frustration out of my system, though Fox would probably bite him if Cody said so to his face. Vos had slapped Cody on the back and congratulated him for “keeping up with Obi,” along with a playful wink and a, “I’m not really the dominant type, so it would never have worked out between us anyway.” Cody had stared stoically at him, eyes wide, so very glad that his dark skin rarely gave a blush away. He’s aware Obi-Wan had a life before Cody was even a half-baked strand of DNA. Cody has him now, so resenting before seems like a waste.

“How karked are we on the mission?” he asks, trying to swim blearily through the fog of post-orgasm haze. He rubs his nose into Obi-Wan’s hair, inhaling the sweet scent of him, but the floral-honey scent, while still appealing, is no longer intoxicating. Maybe this is what Helix meant by Obi-Wan’s hormones settling. Or maybe Obi-Wan’s biology has just realized it’s gotten as much out of Cody as it can today.

Obi-Wan makes a considering noise, bracing himself up so he can study Cody’s face. His lips twitch with wry amusement, though he looks away, and a moment later, two hydration packs have soared neatly into his outstretched hand. He hands one to Cody. “Oh, I believe I can salvage it well enough. Once we’ve unlocked, I’ll need to clean up, but I think we can assure High Lord Denrac that you’re feeling much better, now that you’d had a chance to adjust to Viatov’s superior ways.” There’s a drawl in his voice Cody loves, accompanied by an eye roll he’s too professional to allow anywhere outside of a private space. “Do you think you’ll be up for attending me at the meetings, or would you rather go back to Helix, and send someone else in your place?”

Cody thinks it over, sipping at his hydration pack. He hadn’t realized he was so thirsty, and it takes effort to drain it slowly, the safe way. “I’d like to stay,” he says. He glances back at the haphazard pile of tunics and leggings by the sofa, and makes a face. “Assuming my clothes are in any condition to wear.”

“They did seem quite tight,” Obi-Wan agrees, and Cody can see the press of his lips, holding back a smile. “We’ll have to see if they’re salvageable; I am quite concerned about the state of some of the seams.”

“You enjoyed it,” Cody accuses, eyes narrowing. Obi-Wan flushes, then hesitates.

“I was…worried, about your emotional state,” he says. “But I won’t deny it was…alluring. If you haven’t been put off by this experience, I had considered suggesting it under better circumstances.”

Cody considers that, and, well. Bursting out of Obi-Wan’s leggings isn’t really more uncomfortable than Obi-Wan teasing him while he’s still wearing his bodyglove, and it’s a sight better than when Obi-Wan teases him in his codpiece. “Okay,” he says. “Some other time.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan looks startled. “You seemed…”

“I was upset,” Cody allows. “Or…I guess distressed might be the better word.” He props himself up on one elbow, so he can tap his forehead against Obi-Wan’s in a keldabe. “But only until I knew I had you, cyare. Once I knew that, I knew it would be okay.”

Obi-Wan’s blue eyes are shining, and he watches his partner swallow hard. “I told you I would take care of you,” Obi-Wan says, “and I will always keep that promise, darling. In any way I can.” He looks like he might say more, but then his face screws up, and he exhales hard. Cody agrees with him, grunting in relief as Obi-Wan’s lock starts to recede. He twitches, testing the knot, which gives a throb of protest that has them both grimacing. “Soon,” Obi-Wan says reassuringly. “It went down fairly quickly the first time, and the first knot is usually longest for most species.”

Cody strokes his back, feeling the strong curves of muscles, the scarring of Obi-Wan’s skin. “I can wait,” he says. “Do we need a plan of attack?”

“I think there’s an attached ‘fresher behind us, though I beleive a full shower is out of the question. I say we wipe down, survey the state of our clothes, and once we’re satisfactorily dressed, I’ll do the talking.”

“Same play as before, then.”

“Quite.” Obi-Wan chuffs hard as Cody’s knot gives one last pulse and then abruptly starts to deflate, slipping free of Obi-Wan’s body almost the moment Obi-Wan shifts atop him. Cody lets go so Obi-Wan can roll off onto his back, the Jedi looking for just a moment like he’s still savoring the post-orgasmic haze. Then he sighs, pushing himself upright. He casts a critical eye over Cody. “Your Force-presence feels stabilized, but if you start to feel off again, don’t wait until it’s unmanageable. I’ll find an excuse and finish the mission alone if need be.”

Yeah, Cody’s not letting that happen. “You’ll finish the mission with someone else in my place,” he orders, turning onto his side as Obi-Wan gets up, striding naked towards a little room set off the suite. Obi-Wan gives him an unimpressed look over his shoulder, but doesn’t say anything either way.

The room is in fact a ‘fresher, and they both wipe themselves clean. Cody’s entire groin is tender, and doesn’t take well to the handling, and Obi-Wan’s gait is a little bowlegged, though his prim expression will probably draw attention away. Cody smirks, then makes a face as they sort through their clothes together, revealing that, while what Obi-Wan had been wearing is perfectly alright, Cody’s version is in a slightly worse state.

“Not a word,” he says threateningly, as Obi-Wan’s eyes light when he examines Cody’s leggings, twisting the fabric and curling his fingers into the seams, to reveal several places where the stitching has burst. The overtunic, at least, is merely sweat-stained. Mostly sweat-stained. There’s a patch that Cody is pretty sure is Obi-Wan’s cum, hidable by the folds but already starting to stiffen uncomfortably.

“I wouldn’t dream of saying anything.” Obi-Wan’s sparkling grin belies that statement. “At any rate, I think it will suffice. Just be careful not to bend too swiftly, dearest, or you may be treating the entire minster’s council to a view of your spectacular rear.”

There are three million others just like it in the army, but Cody is pretty proud of his version, all the same. He snorts, shaking his head as he tugs the leggings back on, as carefully as he can manage, while Obi-Wan speaks quietly to someone at the door, presumably summoned to let the council know they’re ready. Obi-Wan returns in time to help Cody back into his tunic, lacing the stays with nimble fingers. He’s combed his hair back into place, and looks once again like a High Jedi General, not someone who got karked six ways from Taungsday. If he looks half that presentable, Cody will call it a win.

“Once more into the fray?” Obi-Wan offers, once he’s got Cody’s tunic sorted, straightening the front.

Cody checks his belt one more time, ensuring the knife is still there, and his comm device, and the rest of the supplies he’d managed to squirrel away. “Take point. I’ll be right behind you.”

Obi-Wan nods in satisfaction, and leads the way.

***

The Minister’s Council is not impressed with Obi-Wan and Cody’s state. Obi-Wan doesn’t think they’ve truly grasped the nature of what happened, but there’s an air of general distaste in the Force, a murmuring amongst them about the interruption. They seem to have swallowed the lie, at least, that Cody’s response was to Viatov IV’s pure atmosphere, and only cast him a few suspicious side-eyes as he re-presents himself at Obi-Wan’s five o’clock. They keep edging a little away, as if worried the condition might be contagious, but Obi-Wan assures them everything is well, that their healer has given Cody a clean bill of health, and isn’t he glowing now, that exposure to Viatov seems to agree with him? From what he can feel of Cody in the Force, Cody barely withholds his snort at that suggestion. Obi-Wan is an empath, not a mind-reader, but he suspects Cody is thinking that Obi-Wan agrees with him. Viatov IV can go hang.

Obi-Wan would be of a similar sentiment, but they are beholden to the Senate, which means the mission comes before Obi-Wan’s feelings, which are primarily to get Cody back to the ship, through a full medical assessment with Helix, and into Obi-Wan’s quarters, where he can pamper his stalwart Commander thoroughly. He reminds himself of humility; certainly, there are many cultures that find the Jedi unbearably pretentious and haughty, and Obi-Wan himself can come off as condescending even at the best of times. It is a failing he is still attempting to work on, and one Cody has grown comfortable informing him when he’s being. They do make each other better, Obi-Wan thinks, and has to hold in the purr that threatens to rumble up from his chest.

Quietly, he chirps in his throat, so only Cody can hear, and sees the twitch of Cody’s fingers that means message received, a smile twitching at the corner of Cody’s lips, even as he keeps his gaze lowered respectfully. They are led back to the council chambers, and Obi-Wan folds back onto his knees when the ministers indicate he is to kowtow before them. Obeisance is one of Obi-Wan’s specialties, and he makes sure to layer many flattering words in with the Senate’s instructions.

They do not get all the concessions the Senate was hoping for, but the Senate has unrealistic expectations – Obi-Wan is sure he’ll catch hell for it in the form of smarmy disappointment from Chancellor Palpatine, and worry from the other Council members, less about Obi-Wan’s failure or abilities, but about the Order taking a further dive in Senate approval ratings. It does seem, for all the Jedi have been forced into military service, and considered traitors of the Republic if they choose to leave, they are in something of a no-win situation. When they are successful, they are scrutinized as warmongers, and when they fail, they are lambasted in the press for their shortcomings, never mind that Obi-Wan is one of the best-prepared Jedi to serve as a war general – he was thirteen the first time, and he’s hardly been spared battlefronts in the intervening years – and he’s still not actually trained for it. Cody would make a better General than Obi-Wan, which is one of many reasons Obi-Wan will always listen to his advice when they plan their campaigns.

If Obi-Wan were given more than a few days between missions, he might be able to meditate on a solution, or at least why the Senate is so insistent on caging the Jedi this way. Unfortunately, he doesn’t much have the time; any free hours he has, he puts towards ensuring his men’s comfort and safety. And, perhaps selfishly, indulging himself and Cody. They have so little to take comfort in. Taking comfort in each other doesn’t seem so very harsh a vow to break.

It takes two rotations to hammer out the mining agreement satisfactorily – the Vitovans are happy, certainly, and Obi-Wan thinks that he’s done the best he can, even if the Senate won’t agree. When they break for the first evening, Cody and Obi-Wan are led again to the suite. By mutual agreement, they do not share the bed. Obi-Wan is very cuddly in his sleep, and Cody had flinched with sensitivity when Obi-Wan had merely run a hand down his chest. If it were up to Cody, Obi-Wan would have taken the bed, and Cody would have kipped on the sofa, if he didn’t insist on staying up the whole night at watch. Fortunately, it is not up to Cody, and Obi-Wan rarely likes pulling rank, but if he has to do it to ensure Cody sleeps in a bed…

It’s not even a very nice bed. His Commander wouldn’t like them, but he does deserve the luxury of silk sheets. Obi-Wan fantasizes about getting Cody tucked away in his quarters at the Temple; Obi-Wan’s bed is wonderfully cozy, a nest of carefully chosen soft cottons and linens, not showy or hedonistic, but indulgent in their own way. He still feels a little uneasy at the fantasy, even if it is mostly tame. Cody seems to be holding true to his words, but Obi-Wan will not feel entirely at ease until Helix has done his analysis and debrief. One evening of unexpectedly novel sex is one thing; this is Cody’s biology at stake.

They sleep separately. The sofa is hardly uncomfortable, and to Obi-Wan’s keen senses smells heavily of Cody. Obi-Wan keeps an eye on his Commander, but now that his pheromones have settled and Cody’s rut has been sated, it doesn’t appear to be retriggering anything. Hopefully that will remain the case: Obi-Wan has limited experience, but in most species, once a cycle runs its course, the body does need time to rejuvenate. He should be back on suppressants before it becomes an issue.

They don’t have to sleep a second night, thank the Force. The Minister’s Council seems eager to send them away. Obi-Wan is happy to leave; they really don’t have even half-way decent tea on this planet, and he hadn’t dared risk offending their hosts by asking for so much as a sweetener for the mild herbal water they have as an equivalent. He’s sure Cody is looking forward to caf rations again. They perform the appropriate bow-curtsey to the ministers before they leave, and when Tink picks them up in the shuttle, Cody mutters, “I hate this place.”

Obi-Wan laughs. “I’m sure we won’t be sent again,” he says. He has faith in that, at least. The Senate will send someone else in his place, if they’re unsatisfied, and Obi-Wan intends to fully brief the Council on what problems might occur, sending a Stewjoni to Viatov IV.

Although… “Would you be alright with me including a full debriefing in the report?” he asks Cody, their knees brushing where they’re seated next to each other in the shuttle’s passenger bay. “I can work around it, if you’re not comfortable.”

Cody blinks. “I’m not asking you to falsify an official report.”

“Not falsify,” Obi-Wan corrects. “Preserve your privacy. This is medical business, and Helix would be within his rights to keep the details ‘need to know.’” Unfortunately, the men don’t quite have doctor-patient confidentiality – not with Kamino considering their very bodies proprietary. But they’ve come up with some workarounds, and Obi-Wan has no problem taking advantage.

Cody considers it, then puts his hand, palm up, on his knee. Obi-Wan takes it immediately, and Cody rubs his thumb over Obi-Wan’s scent gland, the calloused pad of it making Obi-Wan shiver as it scratches roughly at the skin of his inner wrist. Cody smells quite a bit like him, so there hasn’t been any itchiness since the first day. He’s eager to get back on his suppressants, though. Odds are high that being on the Negotiator will trigger the response again, ensuring his men are all marked with his claim.

“I didn’t plan to hold anything back,” Cody says. Decides, maybe. “I might be the only CC with a Stewjoni General, but I’d rather my brothers know if there’s been any genetic tampering. There could be other side effects, and I wouldn’t want them to be left without knowing.”

“Understood.” Obi-Wan squeezes Cody’s hand. “We’ll write them together, and you can tell me if you change your mind.”

“It’s your body too,” Cody points out. “Are you really planning on telling the Council that you karked your Commander as a medical aid?” There’s a twist to his lips, eyes sparkling, that has Obi-Wan nudging into his shoulder playfully.

“Not just as a medical aid, darling.” He grows somber again, and starts, “Are you sure-“

“You’re being condescending again,” Cody says patiently. “You’ve already asked me, I’ve already told you. And, if you’re comfortable, maybe we’ll do it again sometime. After the war.”

Cody wants to share a heat with him. Obi-Wan’s heart stops beating. He cradles that tender feeling close, letting wisps of it warm him like steam off a cup of perfectly-steeped tea, so it doesn’t overwhelm him. “I’d like that,” he admits. “Someday.”

Helix meets them in the shuttle bay when they dock, which Obi-Wan expected. They’d sent him a comm, once Cody had stabilized, and Helix had promised he’d get started on the blood workup while he waited for Cody to get back for a full physical. “Both of you, medbay,” he says, no nonsense, the moment their boots land on the durasteel deck plating. “We’re going to get you,” he points at Obi-Wan, “back on suppressants right away, and I have to give the Commander a once-over I’m sure he won’t enjoy.”

“Are the results of the bloodwork that incriminating?” Obi-Wan asks, falling into step behind the medic, beside Cody, as he leads the way to the medbay. Helix gives a shrug and a so-so gesture with one hand.

“I compared the Commander’s blood to a CT sample base, and was able to isolate some key differences in Cody’s DNA,” he says. “Prime was Taung-descended, obviously distantly. Most Mandalorians don’t show much of that in their genetic code, but it looks like some of Cody’s markers were turned back on, which is probably what led to his hormonal response. Given how long the Taung have been extinct, I can’t say for sure, but I was able to dig up a few references that make it sound like they may have had breeding cycles. I’ve reached out to some of the other battalions, quietly, but my best guess without access to another CC for comparison is that they, and probably the Alphas, had some of those genes activated or switched to dominant from recessive. We already know there was more genetic tampering with those batches,” he adds, “and it would explain why we’ve always been told that the whole army is Human Standard. Most Taung-descended species are considered base human, since they’ve evolved pretty consistently.”

“And with those genes activated, Cody would be susceptible to my pheromones.” Obi-Wan sighs. “Well, it’s an explanation, at any rate.”

Helix gives a soft hmph. “Getting you back on suppressants is still safest, just in case. You said you’ve been ‘dosing’ Cody for a year without it activating, and odds are none of the other men aboard are at risk, but better safe than sorry. We don’t need a whole boatload of brothers rutting at once. It’d be hell to explain.”

“A shame,” Cody teases, and Obi-Wan flushes, gaping at him. Cody grins. “You smell nice like this.”

“No flirting in my medbay,” Helix says, just in time for them to round the corner and actually reach said medbay. Cody still winks behind the medic’s back, and Obi-Wan feels his cheeks darken further.

He clears his throat, as Helix busies himself with getting one of the beds set up, looking towards Cody. “Do you want me to go or to stay?”

“You should stay,” Cody says. “You’ll need to hear the results anyway.”

“If you wanted privacy-“

“You’ve been up close and personal with everything, cyare. I wasn’t planning on being coy about it now.”

Reasonable, Obi-Wan thinks. He accepts Helix’s ministrations to him first, resupplying his pheromone suppressor implant. It will take a day or two for it to fully work its way through his bloodstream, and Obi-Wan rubs his wrist reflexively. Helix gives him a once over, squinting, and then says, “Do you want me to check your bloodwork too, just in case?”

“In case of what?” Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t in heat, and my biology hasn’t changed.”

“Pregnancy,” Helix says bluntly. “Birth control is good, not perfect, and war is not a good time for surprise tubies.”

Obi-Wan feels the blood leave his face. He swallows hard, glancing at Cody, whose shields have locked in place, and whose face is carefully neutral. “Yes, well,” Obi-Wan says, as lightly as he can manage. “In that case, I think you ought to. Just in case.”

Helix lets the analysis run while he has Cody strip off his leggings, stirruped on the bed and looking about as serious as a man can while his doctor holds his genitals in his hands. He keeps gritting his teeth and glancing at Obi-Wan, who does his best to keep his expression sympathetic and send soothing energy through the Force. The knot has decidedly not gone away, though it remains soft under Helix’s examination.

When Helix steps away, he asks, “Any lingering discomfort?”

“No more so than any time we get carried away. And the leggings aren’t helping with the chaffing.”

Helix makes a face that says he’s sorry he went into his field, where that degree of honesty is necessary. “You can put your pants back on, though I highly recommend not wearing anything body-tight for a day or so, if you can. I want you to let me know if there starts to be any pain, and,” he casts a side-eye at Obi-Wan before continuing professionally, “as your doctor, I am going to ask that you inform me whenever you determine if it will keep happening, outside of the General’s or your heat.”

“Understood,” Cody says stoically, tugging his pants back up with a pinched expression. He glances at Obi-Wan. “No offense, sir, but that’s going to wait at least a couple days.”

Obi-Wan has been blushing for most of this visit, but he thinks he manages to find new space for blood in his cheeks, the way they heat up. “More than reasonable, Commander.” He’s still feeling it a little himself, although his gait had mercifully returned to normal within an hour or so that first day.

Helix rolls his eyes, checks the blood analysis spinning in the machine, and then says, “And we can safely say you’re in the clear, General, though I should take another sample in a week, just to be sure.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary-“

“General,” Helix says, meeting his expression with a flat, unimpressed one and a gleam in his eyes. “I have a dozen medical assistants who are more scared of me than they are of you. You’ll report in a week, or we’ll find out how long it takes for you to exhaust your hiding places.”

“Understood.” Cody is grinning at him, and Obi-Wan makes a face. He draws himself up to full height. “Are we released, then?”

Helix waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Out of my medbay. I swear, this mission has given me grays.”

Helix’s hair looks as rich and dark as any of the men’s, but Obi-Wan says sagely, “If it has, it will certainly distinguish you amongst the others. Perhaps we’ve done you a favor.”

The glare Helix gives him has Obi-Wan laughing, and he gratefully escapes the medbay with his Commander in tow.

It’s not until they’ve turned down the corridor towards Obi-Wan’s quarters that Cody says, “I should probably stop by my bunk to change.”

“You heard Helix,” Obi-Wan says loftily, sliding his door open and shepherding his Commander in, latching it behind them. “No pants for a few days, Commander, on your medic’s order.”

“My medic said nothing skin-tight,” Cody retorts, but he sounds amused, and to Obi-Wan’s delight, he starts shucking off first his leggings, then the tunic too, leaving him naked. He spreads his arms. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Almost,” Obi-Wan says with relish. He places both palms on Cody’s chest and nudges gently, walking him backward until his knees hit Obi-Wan’s berth, and he sits down on the mattress. It’s harder than the Vitovan’s, but not by much. Obi-Wan pulls a hand back, the other in the valley between Cody’s pecs, pushing lightly until his Commander takes the hint and lays back, stretching up one arm behind his head, the other resting lightly against his stomach. “There,” Obi-Wan says, purring. “Perfect.”

Cody smirks up at him, one eyebrow arched as he lays his palm flat against his abs, unabashed in his nakedness. There are lines biting into his skin, where the seams of the leggings dug into him. His cock, even soft, is marvelously thick, resting between his legs. Obi-Wan can just make out the folds of skin at the root, marking the deflated knot. “I told you,” Cody says, tapping his index finger lightly towards his groin, “you’re not getting this for a few days, mesh’la. Not sure what having me here will accomplish.”

“Plenty,” Obi-Wan purrs, and he really can’t stop the subvocals now, rumbling up in his throat. His mate is here and happy, pliant on Obi-Wan’s bed. He sits down by Cody’s side and bends to kiss him, feeling the subvocal vibrate between their lips as Cody returns it, slow and lazy, sucking on his tongue. When they break, Obi-Wan murmurs, “We’ll have to write our reports in a bit, and I’m sure there’s flimsiwork to catch up on.”

“Flimsiwork in bed,” Cody muses. “I could get behind that.”

“And maybe later I’ll give you a massage?” Obi-Wan offers. At Cody’s look, he adds, “A real one. You deserve it.”

“Hmm.” Cody wraps an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, tugging him into his side. “Reports can wait a minute.” Obi-Wan fakes a gasp, and gets a swat in response. “We’re in standdown. We can take an hour to ourselves.”

“Only an hour,” Obi-Wan says, mock-seriously. He knows his eyes are sparkling, and he leans down for another kiss. “My Commander is very serious about punctuality.”

“You take orders from your Commander?” Cody teases.

“Only when he asks nicely. Or harshly, as the case may be.”

“Brat,” Cody laughs. “In that case, your Commander thinks he shouldn’t be the only one naked for cuddling.”

“Mmm, yes sir,” Obi-Wan agrees easily. He shimmies out of his own tunics and leggings, and settles himself happily into Cody’s side. Cody wraps an arm around him, and Obi-Wan just breathes. Cody may find his scent alluring, but Cody has always smelled of armor polish and blasterfire, of military regulation soap and caf when he has the rations, black tea when Obi-Wan offers it, and some undernote that is Cody, that Obi-Wan’s enhanced senses have always read as warm more than anything. It is a scent that Obi-Wan has long begun associating with home.

“I love you,” he says softly, and feels Cody stir beside him. It’s not the first time they’ve said the words, though Obi-Wan holds them in his chest most days. Jedi are allowed to love, but Cody is a precious thing, and as much as Obi-Wan wants to sing it from the rooftops every day, there are very real risks to their relationship, only some of which have to do with the fallout of a clone being loved by a Jedi. He will not trap Cody with his feelings.

“I love you too,” Cody says, and his voice is just as full of the unsaid things. He presses his nose into Obi-Wan’s hair, lips at his temple, inhaling softly. Obi-Wan hopes, irrationally, that he smells like home to Cody too.

Or perhaps not irrationally, as Cody teases his thumb against Obi-Wan’s wrist. Cody had said any of the men would be happy to wear Obi-Wan’s marking. It’s almost enough to make him regret going back on suppressants, though it is of course reasonable and rational. Obi-Wan is happy to be on them, most of the time.

One day, though, he will go off them again. Long enough for Cody to share his heat, at least, to claim Obi-Wan as thoroughly as his instincts clamor to be claimed. Obi-Wan can be patient until that day. The war takes so much from them, and he will steal every second he can.