Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Promise me, you’ll train the boy.

Obi-Wan sits at Master Jinn’s side. He clasps Master Jinn’s cool hand between two of his and then rests his forehead against the back of Master Jinn’s hand. The man himself breathes slowly and steadily, aided by machines and the healing trance Healer Che eased him into as soon as Master Jinn was back at the Temple.

Obi-Wan defeated Darth Maul after his master was wounded. He has been heralded as the Sith Slayer, not by his fellow Jedi but by the galaxy, who heard rumors about Naboo and have turned Obi-Wan into something greater than he is. He understands why they feel like they need a hero. The Sith are back, and they’re the monsters of nightmares. Obi-Wan has defeated one, which brings hope.

If only the Republic knew the truth. He may be a Sith Slayer, but before that his master tried to cast him aside for another, brighter and more powerful in the Force.

Obi-Wan breathes deeply and releases his bitterness to the Force. He won’t be allowed to stay if he disturbs Master Jinn’s healing. Obi-Wan takes another deep breath and allows himself to slip into a light meditation. He had been angry on the approach to Naboo, stung by Master Jinn’s words in front of the Council. Petty, he had avoided his master and, when he couldn’t, gave terse snappy answers.

And then he almost lost Master Jinn.

Obi-Wan had been trapped behind the ray shields as Master Jinn dueled Maul. He begged the Force to allow him into the fight, to allow him to help. He regretted the distance he had put between himself and his master. If Master Jinn had died…Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he would have recovered from the loss.

But that is now a nightmare, not reality. Master Jinn is injured, but he will heal. His death vow, that Obi-Wan would train Anakin Skywalker if Master Jinn could not, that is no longer needed. Master Jinn will heal and, when he does, he will take Anakin as a padawan.

Obi-Wan himself has been knighted for his actions on Naboo. He had wanted to wait until Master Jinn could witness the ceremony, but the Republic was eager for a glimpse of their Sith Slayer and a delay wasn’t possible. Obi-Wan left his padawan braid next to Master Jinn’s bed. It will be here for him when he wakes, even if Obi-Wan cannot be.

After Obi-Wan’s daily vigil, he exits the Halls of Healing. He isn’t surprised to see Master Windu outside the private room. Master Jinn and Master Windu are friends, and Obi-Wan is far from Master Jinn’s only visitor. Obi-Wan is, however, surprised when Master Windu stands and walks out of the halls with Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan isn’t a padawan any longer, but it’s still habit to walk slightly behind a revered master. He follows Master Windu to the man’s quarters. Master Windu prepares tea for both of them, and they sit at Master Windu’s table to drink it.

“Are you sending me on my first mission?” Obi-Wan asks. His physical wounds from Naboo have healed. He knows the mind healer wants to keep him here longer, but Obi-Wan needs to get off Coruscant. He can’t even go to Dex’s without attracting stares and whispers. He would happily spend the next three years in the Outer Rim to get away from the unwanted attention.

“Potentially.” Master Windu closes his eyes and sips his head. Rather than looking meditative, he looks pained. Aged. Tired.

“Is it shadow work?” Obi-Wan asks, because this is not how assignments are given.

“The Council wanted to assign you. I insisted on speaking with you first and giving you a choice.”

Obi-Wan sets his tea down. “This is serious.”

“The Sith have returned to the galaxy,” Master Windu says. “You and Master Jinn defeated one, but it means there is another. And it won’t take long before there are two again. With the return of an ancient enemy, there is concern over the return of an ancient alliance.”

“The Sith and the Mandalorians,” Obi-Wan says. “Do you truly believe…” he trails off, because of course Master Windu believes. Or else he wouldn’t have brought it up.

Mandalore is a closed system. They have spent centuries hating both the Republic and the Jedi. There has never been a resurgence of the once feared conquering Mandalorian Empire. There have been attempts, most recently it was a splinter group called Death Watch that tried to rally Mandalore to what it had once been. But it was Mand’alor Mereel, a reformist, who presented Mandalorians with a new way. He even made overtures to the Republic before he was killed on Korda VI.

There has been barely any news out of the system since Mand’alor Fett took power. The Mandalorian Empire keeps to itself but that could change. And if Mandalore and the Sith become allies again, the galaxy is in grave danger. The Republic doesn’t have a standing army to defend itself against Mandalorian supercommandos. And the Jedi will be needed to counter the Sith.

“Neither the Republic nor the Jedi are eager to see that old alliance resurrected,” Master Windu says. “But the solution we’ve been given is also one from days long since past. From a time when alliances between two planets or cultures were created first by an alliance between two individuals.”

“Marriage,” Obi-Wan says. He rubs his chin, the few days growth of hair he has there. “You’re talking about marriage.” And if Master Windu has taken Obi-Wan aside, it’s more than that. “You want me to marry into the Mandalorian Empire.”

“The Council wants to preempt an alliance between the Mandalorian Empire and the Sith with one of our own.” Master Windu’s face holds none of its usual warmth or occasional humor. “We want one our own to marry Mand’alor Fett.”

“Not just one of our own,” Obi-Wan says. “Me specifically. Why?” Because they see the same thing in him that Master Jinn did, whatever rotten part of him that makes people cast him aside? Do they think to ship him to the Mandalore system and then never have to think of him again?

“You killed Darth Maul,” Master Windu says, gently, as if he knows how much Obi-Wan dislikes hearing about it. “You are a powerful Jedi, and that is something the Mandalorians will respect. And, it’s a reminder to the Sith that the Jedi who killed one of their own is now married to their ancient ally.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says. It sounds inadequate. He knows there are other reasons. He’s recently knighted and doesn’t have a strong connection to his lineage. There won’t be many who miss him if he leaves. And—“Would this be a permanent assignment?”

“Mandalorians take their vows seriously,” Master Windu says. “And, as far as we can tell, they don’t believe in divorce. But their vows are a commitment to being one while together but also apart. You would be married to Mand’alor Fett for the rest of your life, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’d never step foot off Mandalore.”

But it would be a possibility. Something in Obi-Wan recoils at the thought of losing the Jedi, at never setting foot on Coruscant again. He reminds himself that the Jedi way is not the way of attachment. As long as he is connected to the Force, he is connected to his family. And if it isn’t him, who would it be? Obi-Wan is the best choice. No matter what might be whispered about him in the Temple, Obi-Wan has always known his duty.

“I accept,” Obi-Wan says. “You may summon me before the Council for the formal assignment.”

“You don’t have to accept,” Master Windu says. “You could spend the rest of your life in Mandalorian space, married to a martial ruler who despises the Jedi.”

“Or, I could spend the rest of my life in Mandalorian space and have influence in a region we never expected the Republic or the Jedi to be welcome again. Mand’alor Mereel wanted a unified Mandalore but also strong ties to the rest of the galaxy. Mandalore has closed its borders since Mand’alor Fett took power. This is a good opportunity to have a person on the inside.”

Master Windu sips his tea to buy himself a few moments of time. Whatever he’s considering, it furrows his brow. “There is another reason you are an ideal choice. You are Stewjoni.”

It takes a moment for the words, and their implication, to sink in. Obi-Wan is Stewjoni. He is biologically capable of carrying children. And this would be a marriage to a foreign leader. He…he would be expected to provide heirs.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says, hardly eloquent. He has been on birth control since he was old enough to take it. He has had sex on occasion, but he never thought he would be a parent. The Jedi family is grown through apprenticeships, not biology. “A true political match. If the expectation is that this is a long-term, intimate assignment, is there any concern over attachment?”

“If you accept, I know you will do your duty,” Master Windu says. “I witnessed your knight’s vows, and I know you will uphold them. But I also wouldn’t expect, or want, you to be miserable for the rest of your life. If there is happiness or, at the very least, peace to be found in the union, I would hope that you would have it.”

“Very well, then,” Obi-Wan says. Marriage. He’ll have to meditate on it later. “What do you require of me?”

#

Obi-Wan is prepared to take a small transport to Mandalore, but the Republic catches wind of what the Jedi are doing, and it becomes a much larger production. The new chancellor, Sheev Palpatine, insists that if they are going to create an alliance with the Mandalorian Empire, they ought to do it properly.

He also, not so subtly, suggests that Obi-Wan isn’t a desired partner, and tells the Council to produce ten candidates to present to Mand’alor Fett when the Mandalorian delegation arrives on Coruscant for a month of feasting and evaluation.

Honestly, Obi-Wan doesn’t expect the Mandalorians to agree to coming out to Coruscant, but they must want to make sure their Mand’alor marries the best, because a whole group of them travel to Corsucant. The Mand’alor himself is with them. The first time Obi-Wan sees him, the man is in his full beskar’gam, painted green for duty with sharp red accents to remind everyone that he is Jaster Mereel’s son.

Jango Fett, Obi-Wan thinks as Master Windu greets the Mandalorians first. Obi-Wan does his best not to feel stung that he wasn’t accepted as the Mand’alor’s spouse, that the Mandalorians insisted on meeting other Jedi so they could pick one they liked better. He covers his hurt feelings with a placid smile when it’s his turn to greet the Mandalorians.

Jango Fett introduces Myles Itera, Kal Skirata, Dysari Ordo, and Soxo Gedyc, and doesn’t introduce the rest of his party. Chancellor Palpatine simpers over the introductions and promises there will be more time to get to know each other later.

The Mandalorians aren’t staying at the Temple, they are officially guests of the Senate, which means Chancellor Palpatine and his aides usher them away.

Obi-Wan sees Jango Fett for the second time that evening at the opening feast. It’s a lavish affair, tables loaded with rich food and more of it than is needed. The sheer waste turns Obi-Wan’s stomach, not that he has the easiest relationship with food on a good day. He sits at the center table along with Mand’alor Fett’s closest commandos, the rest of the marriage candidates, and a few of the Chancellor’s hand-picked senators.

The Mandalorians are still in their armor, but they remove their helmets to eat. Even in Mand’alor Fett’s small group, there is a diversity in species. Dysari Ordo is a cathar and Soxo Gedyc is an Iridonian zabrak. Myles Itera and Kal Skirata are both humanoid, but Myles has blue skin, which means he may not be standard humanoid.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?” Master Windu asks. He is one of the ten marriage candidates. He spears a plump tomato on the tines of his fork and pops it into his mouth as if this is any state dinner and not an audition to marry the Mand’alor.

“We are used to space travel,” Mand’alor Fett says. His is older than Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan doesn’t think it’s by much. No more than ten years, he would guess. He has dark hair and light brown skin. His eyes are sharp, and they seem to take in everything, but his expression doesn’t show any hint of his reaction to what he sees.

“Mandalorian rulers aren’t much for sitting around talking,” Skirata says with a pointed look at the senators on either side of Chancellor Palpatine.

“They prefer direct action,” Chancellor Palpatine says. “I hope the Republic can offer you something you are interested in.”

Mand’alor Fett’s gaze skims over the ten Jedi at the table with him. He doesn’t linger on any of them. He grunts in response and then applies himself to his salad. Obi-Wan isn’t the only one who notes how Fett not only eats his entire salad but takes Gedyc’s as well.

“You are more of an herbivore than carnivore?” J’mir, one of Obi-Wan’s fellow knights asks. It’s a clumsy question but an attempt to get to know the Mand’alor better since one of them will be his spouse by the end of the visit.

For a moment, it seems as though Fett will ignore the question in favor of eating, but at a not so subtle nudge from Itera, he sets his fork down and answers. “Before I was Mand’alor, I was a farmer. I enjoy sampling a planet’s vegetation.”

“I’m afraid everything here is imported,” Master Windu says, “but if you visited the Temple, we could show you our gardens.”

“Mand’alor Fett is leading the restoration of Mandalore,” Skirata says. “Our planet is finally healing from the Dral’han.”

At the reference to the event, the table grows tense and quiet again. Obi-Wan pokes at his own salad. Mand’alor Fett doesn’t seem hostile. He’s certainly guarded, but Obi-Wan chooses to believe that he wouldn’t have come all this way if he didn’t intend to see a marriage through. Myles Itera also seems to be in favor of a union. Skirata clearly holds animosity for the crimes committed against Mandalore. Obi-Wan doesn’t even blame him, but he does worry that Fett’s spouse will be forced to suffer for a war that happened centuries before anyone at this table was alive.

Does that mean Obi-Wan should make more of an effort to gain the Mand’alor’s attention? This was supposed to be his mission. There has been a new complication, but does that mean he should allow someone else to be sent away in his stead? What could Obi-Wan do to get the Mand’alor’s attention anyway? No, this is in the Force’s hands now. Obi-Wan will be polite, courteous, but he won’t try and win the Mand’alor.

Their meal stretches into a truly ludicrous number of courses. When dessert is finally served, Obi-Wan sees something almost like a smile on Fett’s face. Does the Mand’alor have a sweet tooth? Dessert is a berry crumble, and the speed with which Fett’s disappears is not only a testament to how much he likes it but how much he didn’t care for the other courses.

Obi-Wan hides his grin as Fett assesses his companions as if trying to determine the weakest link. Ordo hisses at him and Gedyc curls an arm protectively around her bowl as if they’re used to their Mand’alor swiping dessert.

“Here.” Obi-Wan pushes his serving toward Fett.

Fett looks at him warily, as if he expects a trap.

“Ah, there’s that infamous Jedi selflessness,” Chancellor Palpatine says. “But we aren’t at the Jedi Temple. There is plenty extra here. What flavor would you prefer, Mand’alor?”

Obi-Wan’s ears burn as Palpatine makes it clear that Obi-Wan’s offering can be easily outdone by the Senate’s kitchens. He takes his plate back and then, as his stomach turns at the sweetness, he passes the plate to Dawn on his left.

“Ooh, wildeberry,” Dawn says. She’s about to dig in when she notices the silence at the table. She looks from her plate to Obi-Wan and then to Fett. “Did you want this one?” she asks. “I thought the kitchens…” She looks to Master Windu now, as if she’s still a padawan and not a knight of three years.

Fett studies Obi-Wan, as if Obi-Wan will start blurting out Jedi secrets if Fett is patient enough. It makes Obi-Wan’s skin crawl. The note of interest, the slight amusement, the way Fett regards Obi-Wan as something new feels too much like the attention he’s received since returning from Naboo. Obi-Wan doesn’t want a flashy life. He wants to serve the Order and serve the Force. He doesn’t need fame.

He clears his throat and stands up. “Pardon me,” he says and then leaves before anyone can tell him he can’t.

“Such a shame,” he hears Palpatine sigh as he leaves. “He was quite affected by the events on Naboo, wasn’t he?”

#

Obi-Wan treats this like a diplomatic negotiation, which, he supposes, it is. He wears his formal tunics and attends gallery showings and performances at the opera and, of course, the stupid feasts. He discusses art with Myles Itera and escorts Dysari Ordo out of the opera when the voices are the wrong pitch for her sensitive ears. He discusses the differences between Iridonian and Dathomiri zabraks with Soxo Gedyc and pretends it was intentional that he cut his saber through both Maul’s hearts.

The only Mandalorian he speaks to less than Fett is Skirata. Skirata has an unsettling habit of fingering a sharp knife in what he no doubt intends to be threatening behavior. Master Windu is the one who speaks to Fett the most, which isn’t a surprise given Master Windu’s duties at the Temple, but it’s those same duties which make Master Windu the worst candidate for the Mand’alor.

With this in mind, Obi-Wan decides to make more of an effort. Master Windu cannot be allowed to marry Fett. When their next outing is determined to be a trip to the lower levels to watch drag racing, Obi-Wan forgoes his Jedi tunics for civilian clothing. His pants are tight, but his shirt is loose. He wears a vest over it, and he keeps his credits in a pouch around his neck, tucked beneath his layers against his chest.

He meets Master Windu and the others in the Temple hangar, and Obi-Wan isn’t surprised when Anakin skids into the room in an uncoordinated flailing of limbs.

“Can I come?” Anakin asks, pleading with Obi-Wan, not Master Windu. “I love races and the Temple is boring.”

Obi-Wan looks over at Master Windu.

“If you agree to watch him, Initiate Skywalker may come with us,” Master Windu says.

“Yes!” Anakin pumps his fist in the air.

Dawn’s amusement is gentle in the Force. “Obi-Wan hasn’t agreed.”

“He will,” Anakin says confidently. He tugs on Obi-Wan’s shirt. “I can come, right?”

“You must stay by my side and listen,” Obi-Wan says. He aims for stern, but he isn’t sure he hits the right note. Anakin pumps his fist again and then hugs Obi-Wan tightly around the middle. Obi-Wan can only imagine how boring the Temple has been for him. He ignores the guilt that he should be doing something. Obi-Wan is not Anakin’s guardian, nor is he Anakin’s master.

Obi-Wan rests a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and guides him to one of the speeders which will take them to the racetrack.

The Mandalorians all perk up when they see Anakin. Obi-Wan recalls reading somewhere that Mandalorians hold children in high regard. Mistreating a child is grounds for being ejected from Mandalorian society.

“Who is this?” Fett asks, but there’s a warmth in his voice that has been missing in all their previous interactions.

“I’m Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin answers. “I’m a Jedi initiate. Who are you? How come the Jedi are doing fun stuff ‘cause of you?”

“I am Mand’alor Fett, the leader of the Mandalorian Empire,” Fett says.

Anakin scrunches up his nose, but he’s fearless as he plows ahead. “An empire like Zygerria?”

“No,” Fett answers, angry, but not with Anakin. “We are nothing like those—” he speaks in Mando’a now, harsh consonants, nothing kind.

“Cool,” Anakin says, taking him at his word. He tugs on Obi-Wan’s shirt. “Since they can hold our seats, we can get food. A race isn’t any good without a snack.”

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan asks. He smiles as he allows Anakin to guide him toward the vendors. Anakin chatters about the kind of food he ate on Tatooine, about how race days were special. Obi-Wan brought credits with him, but he takes a great deal of pleasure in giving the vendors Chancellor Palpatine’s account number instead, because the Chancellor had insisted in contributing even though he couldn’t make it today.

They return to their seats with a spread of snacks. There’s popcorn, chips with a viscous orange cheese on it, some kind of meat rolled in cornbread, deep fried chocolates and others. Obi-Wan hands a tray to Master Windu to distribute and then another tray to Myles to do the same for the Mandalorians.

Obi-Wan hands a plate of fried dough, dusted with powered sugar, to Fett personally. There is wildeberry syrup drizzled over it, part confection, part pastry, and Obi-Wan hopes Fett likes it.

“What?” Anakin whines, betrayed as Fett accepts the plate.

“Master Windu has your snacks,” Obi-Wan says.

Anakin looks over at Master Windu, four seats down, and then shakes his head. “I want to sit with you.”

There’s only one chair next to Fett. Obi-Wan considers asking everyone to stand up and shift down a seat, but it’s easier to sit and then tug Anakin onto his lap. Rather than protesting that he’s too old for this sort of thing, Anakin loops an arm around Obi-Wan’s neck and then starts pointing at the racetrack and talking a mile a minute.

He doesn’t pause for breath until a plate with a small portion of the various snacks is passed down. Even then, Anakin crams a few nachos into his mouth and continues talking, heedless of the mess of crumbs.

Obi-Wan glances at Fett, concerned for whatever report the Mand’alor will bring back to the Chancellor, but Fett smiles fondly as Anakin describes the different between good cheating and bad cheating because, as Anakin says, everyone cheats.

Anakin is so charming that Fett breaks off a piece of his fried dough and offers it to Anakin. Anakin doesn’t even look at Obi-Wan for permission. He snatches the offering and stuffs it in his mouth. And then he licks the powdered sugar off his fingers. If anything, Fett looks even more pleased. And as if he’s going to offer the rest of his snack to Anakin. Which, Obi-Wan appreciates the generosity, but Anakin has enough.

“Are you his, then?” Fett asks, motioning between Anakin and Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan winces, even as Anakin goes rigid on Obi-Wan’s lap. His Force signature, warm and bubbly before, is now cold, sharp where Obi-Wan tries to soothe it.

“I’m not anybody’s,” Anakin snaps.

Obi-Wan runs a hand through Anakin’s hair. “Anakin is a Temple initiate, but I suspect Mandalore doesn’t have a lot of information on Jedi ranks and statuses.” He smiles, projects calm to soothe both Anakin and the Mandalorians. “When children are brought to the Temple, they’re raised communally in the creche until they are old enough to live in the initiate dorms. Once they are selected by a Jedi for training, initiates become padawans. Anakin is not my padawan.”

“Master Jinn is going to train me,” Anakin says, stubbornly.

“You have no children, then?” Fett asks.

It isn’t a direct equivalent, but Obi-Wan figures nuance can come later. “I do not. Most of us you’re considering don’t. Master Windu has raised more than one padawan to knighthood, but he is currently without a padawan. But J’mir has a padawan. If he were to marry you, his padawan would have to be trained by another.”

The Mandalorians broadcast their distress loudly in the Force. “We would never separate a parent and their child,” Fett says.

“Marriage?” Anakin twists to look at Obi-Wan before he looks back at Fett. “Is this a date?” He looks horrified. “Are you going to kiss?”

“This is a group outing,” Obi-Wan answers with as much dignity as he can muster with his cheeks steadily turning red.

“You bought him food.” Anakin jabs Obi-Wan’s shoulder and then points at the plate that now only has a dusting of powered sugar on it.

“I bought everyone food,” Obi-Wan says.

“Yeah, but you got something special for him.” Anakin squints at Fett as if trying to figure out what makes him special. “If he’s the leader of an empire, how come you’re buying him things? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Obi-Wan can feel Master Windu’s laughter in the Force, even if the man himself no doubt has a straight face. Obi-Wan’s cheeks are hot enough to fry an egg on. He spares a look at Fett and the Mandalorians. Fortunately, Fett seems to be taking it in good humor.

“I can buy him something,” Fett says. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Anakin takes the question seriously. “Not food because we already have a lot. But sometimes you can find a vendor who makes stuff out of busted racers. Uh, the pods or sleds or whatnot, not the people.”

“Would you help me find one of these vendors?” Fett asks.

Obi-Wan thinks the joke has officially gone too far. He clears his throat, and Anakin swallows back his agreement. He tucks himself back against Obi-Wan’s chest, his enthusiasm dimming.

“I have to stay with Obi-Wan. Those are the rules.”

“He can come with us,” Fett says. The Mand’alor stands and tucks his helmet under his arm. “We should go soon or we’ll miss the start of the race.”

Anakin slides off Obi-Wan’s lap and then grabs his hand and tugs. Obi-Wan, once again, gets to his feet and awkwardly shuffles down the row. Anakin keeps a tight hold of Obi-Wan’s hand as if remembering his promise to stay close. He tells Fett about other races he’s been to, and Obi-Wan smiles at the genuine interest on Fett’s face.

For a moment, Obi-Wan allows himself to imagine that this is his life. Himself, a partner, and a child. The sharp bolt of want catches him off-guard and he stumbles. A firm hand at his elbow steadies him, and he looks over to see Fett at his side. He’s startingly close, close enough to touch, Obi-Wan thinks a touch hysterically.

“Oh, ew,” Anakin says. “I was kidding about the kissing.”

“Is that something Jedi do?” Fett releases his grip on Obi-Wan and they continue to walk through the crowd.

“Kiss?” Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. “The rumors of Jedi celibacy are quite persistent. As with any group of people, there are some who do, some who don’t, and those who do have varying degrees of interest.” Obi-Wan’s smile slips as he thinks about why Fett might be asking. “Is that something you’re looking for in your marriage?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t have the galaxy’s highest libido. His apprenticeship was more chaotic than most and it didn’t leave a lot of time for exploring his own body, let alone other people’s. He doesn’t have strong feelings either way about bedding Fett if he’s the chosen candidate. He would be fine without it, and he suspects he would enjoy himself if they did.

He sneaks a look at Fett, realizing too late how looking up through his lashes might come across. He blushes again as he realizes he’s quite clearly looking at Fett’s lips to decide whether or not they’d be kissable.

“I would not be opposed,” Fett says. He glances at Anakin as if he’s worried about speaking too much in front of a child.

“Wait,” Anakin says and both adults stop. “Jedi can get married?”

Obi-Wan sighs deeply.

“Wizard,” Anakin breathes. And then he tugs on Obi-Wan’s hand, urging him forward. “We need to find a present for Padme. I’m going to marry her when I’m older.”

Obi-Wan thinks about saying something and then decides this will be Master Jinn’s problem, not Obi-Wan’s. Anakin drags them to a vendor who sells jewelry made out of scraps from busted racing vehicles. Obi-Wan doesn’t care much for jewelry, and he doesn’t especially want to wear something that carries with it such violent memories, but he does ask the vendor for stories about the different pieces.

At some point, Fett wanders off, but Obi-Wan figures the Mand’alor can hold his own, so he stays with Anakin. They pick a bracelet made of colored glass for Anakin. He’s stunned at Obi-Wan buying something for him, and he hugs Obi-Wan tightly, unable to speak. He holds up the string of glass and watches the light play off of it until Fett returns to them.

Fett holds a datachip out to Obi-Wan. “This is a history of Coruscanti street racing,” Fett explains.

Because he noticed that Obi-Wan likes stories. It’s more personal a gift than Obi-Wan expected. He takes the datachip with a murmur of thanks. Their fingers brush. Obi-Wan considers what would happen if this was a traditional relationship. If this was actually a date, and Fett had bought Obi-Wan a gift. Would they kiss? Would Obi-Wan smile and squeeze his hand, promise to thank him again later once they were home?

“We should get back,” Obi-Wan says. His throat is dry, and he buys a bottle of water on their way to their seats. Anakin drinks half of it and then spills almost all the rest on the front of Obi-Wan’s shirt, but the datachip is safe in Obi-Wan’s credit pouch.

Chapter Text

After the Mandalorians learn that J’mir has a padawan, he is removed from the candidate pool. And then Master Windu is removed from consideration as well and things take a sharp turn. Because the Chancellor insists on the Mand’alor having his pick of Jedi and if he doesn’t like two of the candidates, then two new ones must be chosen in their place.

“I’ll kill him,” Quinlan says. He paces his room, easily skirting the overturned dresser and the spill of clothes, evidence of his earlier tantrum. “I have the training, I can do it. He wouldn’t even know I was coming until he was dead.”

“You can’t kill the Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan says.

Quinlan whirls on Obi-Wan. His fear, his fury, they turn on Obi-Wan, and they’re a thick press against Obi-Wan’s shields. “Master Windu was too powerful, so they’ve offered up my padawan.”

Obi-Wan heard the news as well, even though he didn’t believe it until he felt the roiling emotions from Quinlan’s rooms. The Mandalorians declined Master Windu due to his power and position in the Order. Obi-Wan still doesn’t understand how that led to Aayla Secura being offered in his place but…

“Mand’alor Fett won’t choose her,” Obi-Wan says, sure of it. He doesn’t know how to explain to Quinlan, because Quin wasn’t there at the race. He didn’t see how the Mandalorians cared for Anakin. Children are precious to them, and Aayla is still a child. Fett’s own commandos would kill him before Quinlan could if he took Aayla as his spouse.

“You don’t know that,” Quinlan says. “Obi—” Quinlan’s voice cracks and this, the way he sinks to his knees, is almost worse than the anger.

“I do know that,” Obi-Wan says. He drops down next to his friend and pulls him into a tight embrace. “I’m going to make sure of it. Do you hear me, Quin? Aayla is your padawan. Fett can’t have her.”

#

There is a formal feast tonight, no doubt to introduce the new marriage candidates. Obi-Wan wonders how the Senate and the Republic will react when Aayla is offered up as a sacrifice. Will they sneer at Mandalorian brutishness? Will they tsk at the Jedi’s lack of compassion for their own? Will it occur to them that the entire Temple is unsettled at what’s happening?

Obi-Wan is not the only one of the candidates to have a plan in place to keep Fett’s attention off Aayla. Dawn wears a gauzy dress from her home world, one that shows off the pale pink bra and panties she wears beneath it. Her hair is piled high on top of her head to show off the bare expanse of her shoulders and her neck.

Senator Chibi’s jaw drops when she enters the room, and he doesn’t manage to pick it up until halfway through the fourth course. Knight Elor memorized a list of questions earlier today, and he goes through each of them, one by one, to keep Fett looking at him instead of in the other direction where Aayla sits next to Shaak Ti.

Fett hasn’t looked at Dawn since she arrived, and he’s looking irritated with Knight Elor’s questions before they’re even halfway through the meal. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to risk pissing the Mand’alor off, because then he might decide to do something rash.

Obi-Wan sets his silverware down and clears his throat. “Mand’alor Fett, you have rejected Master Windu and Knight J’mir as potential suitors. Does that mean you are courting the other candidates?”

“Yes,” Fett answers.

Obi-Wan thinks about how Fett had looked when he said he would not be opposed to sex in his marriage. He thinks about Fett listening to Obi-Wan’s interests and then buying him a gift that reflected them. And then he carefully doesn’t think about how this will no doubt ruin any potential relationship they had been building. But there is no other way to make sure Obi-Wan is chosen.

“Mandalore is a diverse system of planets,” Obi-Wan says. “Mandalorian culture is about becoming a part of a greater whole, not being subsumed, correct?”

“Yes,” Fett answers again. There is none of the irritation he felt with Knight Elor, only curiosity.

“Do you respect the customs and cultures of others?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Knight Kenobi!” The Chancellor’s outrage sounds fake, performative, but Obi-Wan doesn’t look away from Fett.

“I am Stewjoni,” Obi-Wan says and he ignores the gasps and murmurs from the crowd. He ignores the sharp spike of interest from the Mandalorians. “If I am a candidate for marriage, because Mand’alor Fett has expressed interest, then I have the right to Challenge.” For those who don’t know about Stewjoni culture, Obi-Wan elaborates. “I have the right to challenge a suitor to a one-on-one fight.” It’s an ancient custom, but Obi-Wan trusts no one here knows enough about Stewjon to make an objection on those grounds. He keeps eye contact with Fett. “Do you accept my challenge?”

Fett stands. “What are the rules of this challenge?”

“It is a fight until one party yields,” Obi-Wan says. He also stands. “Given Stewjon’s feelings toward the Force and the Jedi, I will not use a lightsaber or the Force.”

Shock ripples through the room.

“Then I will not wear my beskar’gam,” Fett says. “What is the purpose of the challenge?”

“The winner receives what they want,” Obi-Wan answers. He doesn’t explain more. The truth is that if Obi-Wan wins, he will be free of being courted. And if Fett wins, Obi-Wan will marry him on the spot. If Fett knew the terms, he might try and do the chivalrous thing and back out. Obi-Wan can’t afford that. He needs to put up a good enough fight to convince everyone he tried and then lose so that Fett marries him. Only then will Aayla and the others be safe.

“Weapons?” Fett asks.

“If you like.” Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. “I’ve heard the challenge described as will against will before. Poetic, if inaccurate. Weapons, hand-to-hand, wrestling…you fight with what you have, and you fight to win.”

Obi-Wan steps away from the table and to where Quinlan lurks in the shadows of the room. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath before he unclips Master Jinn’s saber, the one Obi-Wan has carried since Naboo, and hands it to his friend for safekeeping.

“Obi-Wan,” Quinlan begins, but he can’t finish. Because as torn up as he is at what Obi-Wan is doing, he would rather send Obi-Wan to marry Darth Maul than see anything happen to Aayla.

“This was supposed to be my mission,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “I am simply ensuring it.” He presses a kiss to Quinlan’s forehead. “Is Madame Nu ready?”

“She is,” Quinlan answers. “May the Force be with you, Obi.”

“And with you as well, Quinlan Vos.”

Obi-Wan returns to the center of the room where the Mandalorian commandos and the Jedi marriage candidates have formed a loose circle to simulate a sparring ring. While Obi-Wan was giving Quinlan a lightsaber to look after, Fett was entrusting his armor to Myles.

Even without the armor, Fett isn’t soft. He is broad-shouldered, stocky, muscles hidden under his black flightsuit. He won’t be an easy opponent, which is good. Obi-Wan steps into the ring. Fett does as well. Senators and other onlookers crowd close for a better look. Obi-Wan bounces on the balls of his feet. He’s glad he and Quinlan practice brawling enough that he’s comfortable with this style of fighting.

Fett makes the first move. He charges, and he has enough momentum that when he slams into Obi-Wan’s stomach, he knocks Obi-Wan flat on his back. The crowd murmurs their disappointment that the fight is over so quickly. Fett too looks at Obi-Wan with something like disappointment, as if he’d expected more.

“I didn’t yield,” Obi-Wan reminds everyone and then he slams his forehead into Fett’s nose and the Mand’alor topples off of Obi-Wan with a curse. They both scramble to their feet and circle each other.

The next time Fett lunges, he grabs Obi-Wan’s wrist and twists Obi-Wan’s arm up behind his back. Obi-Wan drives his heel back, aiming for Fett’s knee. Another curse as Fett’s knee buckles, and he loses his grip on Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan turns and throws an elbow, aiming for Fett’s face again. Fett catches Obi-Wan’s elbow and drives his good knee into Obi-Wan’s gut.

They exchange punishing blows, and it’s a good fight. It’s a hard one, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’ll even need to throw it. Fett, sick of dodging Obi-Wan’s hits gets Obi-Wan on the ground where they grapple. It’s as much of a physical challenge without either of them taking as much damage.

Obi-Wan gets a leg between Fett’s, and he’s surprised to feel Fett’s erection. This…he likes this? Obi-Wan supposes that Fett doesn’t know the purpose behind Stewjoni Challenges, a last ditch attempt to get out of an unwanted match. For Mandalorians, maybe rolling around wrestling is a kind of foreplay.

Fett takes advantage of Obi-Wan’s distraction to roll them. He pins Obi-Wan’s wrists against the floor with his hands. His knees dig into Obi-Wan’s thighs to hold him down there. If this was a real fight, Obi-Wan would keep going. But he’s breathing hard, Fett has him pretty good, and so Obi-Wan tilts his chin up to expose his throat.

“I yield,” Obi-Wan says in the near silence of the room. And then, in Stewjoni, “I’m yours.”

Fett releases Obi-Wan’s wrists first. He touches his own nose, and then gets to his feet. He offers Obi-Wan a hand, which Obi-Wan accepts. He pulls Obi-wan to his feet, and Obi-Wan stumbles a little, falling against Fett’s chest. Fett is warm, his shirt damp with sweat, the same as Obi-Wan’s tunics. His heart beats strong and steady in his chest. If Obi-Wan shifted a little bit closer, he could feel Fett’s erection again.

“I think you broke my nose,” Fett says.

“That’s what you get for thinking I’d go down easy,” Obi-Wan says.

Fett’s emotions, which have been a low hum of intensity spike sharply toward desire and want.

Madame Nu clears her throat. “Would Mand’alor Fett and Knight Kenobi please step forward?”

“Can it wait for me to treat his wounds?” Mij Gilamar, Fett’s medic asks.

“It cannot,” Madame Nu answers. “Step forward.”

“Why?” Mij demands, even as Obi-Wan and Fett approach Madame Nu. She’s in her ceremonial robes, which are dramatic both in the color and the way they drape.  

“Did you, Knight Kenobi, issue a Stewjoni Challenge?” Madame Nu asks.

“I did,” Obi-Wan answers. He had told Madame Nu of his plan to make sure Madame Nu would be here to finish it.

“And did you, Mand’alor Fett, accept the Challenge?”

“I did,” Fett answers. He’s clearly aware something is going on, but Obi-Wan has him neatly cornered.

“The suitor accepted the Challenge and was the victor in the Challenge,” Madame Nu says, and her voice rings out clearly through the room. “By the laws and customs of Stewjon you are married.”

“What?” Myles Itera demands sharply.

Obi-Wan doesn’t sense the same anger from Fett. He doesn’t sense much from Fett at all. There is relief from the Jedi contingent, and Obi-Wan isn’t surprised when Dawn slips a thick cloak over her flimsy dress. Quinlan has gathered Aayla in his arms, and he looks as though he will never let her go again.

“This is an unexpected development,” Chancellor Palpatine says, oozing his way into the moment. “Mand’alor Fett, do you honor this marriage?”

Fett looks at Obi-Wan, his expression unreadable. Obi-Wan keeps his own face as blank as possible. After a moment, Fett nods. “We are married according to Republic custom. We will marry by Mandalorian custom when we return home.”

Home. It’s almost enough to jar emotion onto Obi-Wan’s face. His home is now Mandalore. It’s now wherever Fett decides to take him. The enormity of the situation threatens to overwhelm him. “I will begin my preparations, Mand’alor. When would you like to depart?”

Now, Fett seems unhappy, but it still doesn’t show on his face. “Two days. I will send the details to you at the Temple.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says.

And then the Mandalorians leave, and Obi-Wan is forced to accept the congratulations from the various senators here.

#

Two days pass quickly. Obi-Wan packs up his belongings, not much just a few clothes, some datapads. He leaves the river rock at Master Jinn’s beside to offer him comfort as he heals. He returns Master Jinn’s lightsaber to the man as well. Obi-Wan doesn’t bother requesting a training saber or a temporary saber from the battlemaster. He isn’t foolish enough to believe he’ll be allowed to bring a Jedi’s weapon with him to Mandalore.

Oddly, the Chancellor requests to meet with him before he meets the Mandalorians in the Senate hangar.

“I didn’t know you were Stewjoni,” Chancellor Palpatine says, which isn’t the best opening.

Obi-Wan smiles politely. “It isn’t something I advertise.”

“Understandable, of course. But an unexpected boon. You have heard, of course, how Mandalorians feel about children? They are prized above all else. The sooner you have the Mand’alor’s child, the sooner your position there will be secure.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll make sure to remove my implant once I arrive.”

“Is it in your arm? I have a med-droid who is qualified.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s surprised but he nods. “Thank you. That will hopefully give my system enough time to flush it out.”

“I was surprised when I heard the Jedi’s plans for an alliance with Mandalore,” Chancellor Palpatine says. He gestures for Obi-Wan to sit as a med-droid enters and starts fussing. “Mandalore has little love for the Jedi Order. Understandable, of course, given the history.”

“It’s an opportunity for something new,” Obi-Wan says. He winces as the med-droid jabs him with a numbing agent and then cuts his arm in order to reach the implant.

“Something new.” Chancellor Palpatine hums. “How fitting. Are you familiar with the Mandalorian concept of cin vhetin? It’s a fresh start, a clean slate if you will.”

“There’s so much we don’t know about Mandalorian society,” Obi-Wan says.

“But you will be in a unique position to learn.” Chancellor Palpatine moves Obi-Wan’s bags to one of the empty chairs. He places a set of white tunics on his desk. “Cin vhetin translates to white field.”

Obi-Wan touches the tunics and doesn’t have to ask for clarification. He’s becoming Mandalorian by becoming the Mand’alor’s spouse. If it is traditional to enter with nothing, to be a blank slate, then he will do so. He can’t help but think about the meaning of white in other cultures. Will he look like a sacrifice, wearing white tunics and carrying nothing with him but himself?

The med-droid patches up Obi-Wan’s arm and then smears a bit of bacta across the incision. It will heal before they reach Mandalore. Obi-Wan changes into the new tunics. They are stiff and a little itchy, but they are serviceable enough. He glances at his bag and wilts a little. There isn’t much in there that he cares about, but Fett had bought him that datachip on street racing.

Jedi don’t prize possessions, Obi-Wan reminds himself. He stands and flexes his toes in the open-toe sandals Chancellor Palpatine provided for him.

“One last thing,” the Chancellor says. “Your future spouse had this commissioned. It’s a beautiful piece, if you don’t mind my saying so.” The Chancellor holds up a thin metal chain. Danging from it a mythosaur skull pendant and it glows. Obi-Wan gasps as he recognizes the source of the light. There’s a small kyber crystal trapped in the twisted metal.

The chain feels odd, but Obi-Wan doesn’t register why until the necklace is secured around his neck, and he feels his awareness of the Force dim. He pulls at the chain, panicked, but the Chancellor shushes him and eases Obi-Wan’s hands away from his neck.

“It’s beskar, Knight Kenobi, you wouldn’t be able to break it. And only Mand’alor Fett can release you from it. I did tell you Mandalorians are still wary of Jedi, did I not?”

Obi-Wan tamps down the pitiful noise that builds in his throat. This isn’t a collar, it isn’t like Bandomeer, but it’s close. Obi-Wan’s access to the Force has been limited. His lightsaber was destroyed in the fight against Maul, and he doesn’t have a new one. He’ll leave his comm and his few possessions here in the Chancellor’s office. All Obi-Wan brings to Mandalore is himself and; well, Obi-Wan on his own has never been enough.

“It’s beautiful,” Chancellor Palpatine says. He thumbs the pendant. “Now, I believe your spouse is waiting for you. Remember, Mandalorians love children more than anything else.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says. His voice is barely more than a whisper. “Thank you, Chancellor. May the Force be with you.”

Chancellor Palpatine smiles as if Obi-Wan’s told a particularly clever joke. “Thank you, Knight Kenobi. I’m sure it will be.”

Obi-Wan leaves the Chancellor’s office with less than he entered it with. He walks through the halls of the Senate building until he reaches the private hangar. The Mandalorians are in their full armor, helmets included, so he can’t sense their emotions, but more than one of them tilt their helmets at the sight of him. He wonders if the Chancellor was right about what white means in Mandalorian culture or if he’s managed to grievously offend them all.

“What’s this?” Skirata demands, gesturing to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan risks a look at Fett, not that he has any way to tell what the man is thinking. “I believe it’s pronounced cin vhetin.”

“Where did you hear that?” It’s Myles who speaks this time. Curious, rather than angry or harsh.

“If I’m marrying the Mand’alor, I should know his culture,” Obi-Wan says. “If I’ve mis-stepped, please let me know. I—” Obi-Wan looks down at his empty hands. “As a Jedi, I didn’t have much, but it feels odd to come here with nothing.” Belatedly, he wonders if this is some kind of ploy to engender dependence. Nothing to be done for it now. “And I had to leave the history of Coruscanti street racing behind.”

Another look at Fett. Obi-Wan is met with painted beskar and a t-visor which gives nothing away. The silences stretches too long, awkward, but before Obi-Wan does something as embarrassing as shuffle his feet, Myles clears his throat.

“I’ll show you to your quarters, then, and we can lift off,” Myles says. He ushers Obi-Wan onto the ship, but he doesn’t touch him. It’s a large transport with the kind of military grade weapons Obi-Wan would expect from a Mandalorian vessel.

He knows enough about spacecraft to know this isn’t the kind of ship with private quarters for everyone on board. He’s uncomfortable when he realizes he has a room with a double bunk but no sign of a roommate.

“I’m not sharing with the Mand’alor?” Obi-Wan asks. There is an ache in his chest, one which started when he realized that he had succeeded in marrying Fett. When he realized that his method of winning might distance himself from his spouse. The ache worsened when reality set in, and he had to say farewell to his fellow Jedi. And then the Chancellor secured the beskar necklace, and Obi-Wan has lost even the comfort of the Force.

Sharing a room with another being might have helped him connect, not feel so adrift.

“No,” Myles says and there’s something weighted in the word, almost sad.

Obi-Wan nods to show his understanding and enters the room properly. Myles leaves and the door slides shut. Obi-Wan brought nothing with him so there is no distraction, nothing to occupy himself with. He pulls the pallet off the lower bunk so that it rests on the floor. He settles himself into a meditation pose.

The beskar necklace limits his access to the Force, but it doesn’t cut it off entirely. He knows what full suppression feels like, so he knows it could be worse, but this is also difficult. The Force is there, but when Obi-Wan reaches for it, it’s like being clothes-lined. It’s unexpected, it hurts, and it feels as if he’s being choked.

He breathes past his panic. This is his new normal. He must grow accustomed to it. Perhaps it’s a good thing Fett doesn’t want Obi-Wan sharing his quarters. If Fett is capable of this, a Force suppressor around his spouse’s neck, then Obi-Wan has misread him. He wonders if Fett is doubting Obi-Wan after the Challenge. Does he feel as though Obi-Wan forced his hand? Should Obi-Wan feel guilty if he did? No. Obi-Wan acted to protect others. He did the right thing. If there are consequences to that, then Obi-Wan will face them with the dignity of a Jedi.

Obi-Wan is left to his own devices through liftoff and quite a bit afterward. A few hours later, there is a knock at his door. For a moment, Obi-Wan wonders what would happen if he didn’t answer. Is he Fett’s spouse? Does that make him an equal? Or is he a prisoner?

Obi-Wan stands and opens the door. It slides open to reveal Myles on the other side. The Mandalorian wears his helmet clipped to his belt now that they’re in space. “Hungry?” Myles asks.

Truthfully, no, but Obi-Wan smiles and follows Myles through the halls to the galley. It’s a larger space than Obi-Wan is used to seeing, but Obi-Wan often travels on smaller ships. The Mandalorians are all without their helmets, some of them forgoing their armor entirely. Fett isn’t one of them. He tracks Obi-Wan’s movements as Obi-Wan enters the room and then sits in one of the two open seats.

“Wow,” Gedyc says. She makes a show of looking Obi-Wan up and down. “You weren’t kidding.”

“We’re all here now,” Skirata says and then he digs into his meal.

Obi-Wan looks at the bowl in front of him. It’s some kind of stew. There is meat and at least four different kinds of vegetables floating in the broth. The scent alone is enough to clear his sinuses so he is cautious with his first spoonful. It is spicy, certainly, but there’s an even richer flavor beneath the meat and the spice.

He looks over at Ordo. “This is very good,” he tells her, because her Force signature is woven through the stew, a quiet steadiness, an intrinsic warmth. She made this with care, and Obi-Wan can taste it. Normally, he dials his empathy and his senses down lower, but with the necklace it isn’t an option. He suspects he will have to meditate much more in the future.

But that is the future. And as Master Jinn would say, he should focus on the moment.

“How do you know I made it?” Ordo asks.

“I believe the official term is Force shit.” Obi-Wan smiles and scoops up a chunk of potato.

There are a few answering smiles, but Skirata’s fury flares hot in the Force. Fett, too, is displeased at the reference to the Force. Obi-Wan remembers the necklace, hidden by the high collar of his tunics and reminds himself not to speak too much of Jedi things.

“I look forward to sampling Mandalore’s cuisine,” Obi-Wan says to fill the silence.

“You’ll do more than sample,” Mij Gilamar says, but it comes out sounding more like a threat. “You’re underweight. I won’t know by how much until I do a full physical.” His smile is definitely threatening. “Now that you’re married to Jango, your health and wellbeing falls under my purview.”

“Not married by our customs,” Skirata says.

Ah. Maybe that’s why Obi-Wan has his own quarters. Do Mandalorians abstain from sex until marriage? Or perhaps spouses don’t share quarters. Obi-Wan would find that odd. What he’s heard from Mandalorians is that, above all else, they are passionate.

“Is there a primer or a cultural guide I could read?” Obi-Wan asks. “I know Mandalorians exchange wedding vows. I would like to say them in Mando’a if possible.”

“Are you going to exchange armor as well?” Skirata sneers.

“Is that a custom?” Obi-Wan asks. They all know he has nothing but what he’s wearing. It seems like cheating for Fett to provide Obi-Wan with the armor Obi-Wan would then present to him at their wedding.

“It isn’t required,” Fett says. “And our people know this is a political marriage. The vows will be enough.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan eats more of his stew and clings to the warm feelings infused in its broth. “You could cloak me. It’s an old Stewjoni tradition. I can make the cloak if you have the materials. It’s supposed to represent one spouse being brought into and sheltered by the house of the other.”

“We can work that into the ceremony,” Myles says. “What kind of materials do you need?”

“Fabric. A primer on dyes and the significance of color in Mandalorian society. Thread if I plan to embroider, some kind of stencil, I suppose if I’m not.”

“Do you keep to a lot of Stewjoni traditions?” Ordo asks.

Skirata scoffs before Obi-Wan can answer. “Clearly not.”

“Kal,” Myles warns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Obi-Wan asks. He doesn’t broadcast that he’s Stewjoni, he had enough trouble being a Jedi padawan, he didn’t need to broadcast his species on top of that, but he’s done his best to learn about his home planet. It’s his way to feel connected despite being found on Search and being brought into the Jedi Order.

“Kenobi,” Skirata says and Fett growls, low in his throat, but Skirata doesn’t heed the warning. “It means without family. It’s for those who are unwanted.”

The room explodes with too many feelings, all of them too loud for Obi-Wan to filter out given his limited connection to the Force. He’s slammed with Skirata’s glee at striking Obi-Wan where it hurts. He almost drowns in Myles’s pity. None of it compares to Fett’s anger.

“Get out,” Fett says, in that same low rumble.

Of course, Obi-Wan thinks as he shoves his chair back so he can stand. He’s unwanted. He has always been unwanted, from the very beginning. And now he has trapped the Mand’alor into a marriage with him.

“What are you doing?” Fett snaps.

It takes a moment for Obi-Wan to realize the question is directed at him. “You told me to get out,” Obi-Wan says. “So I’m.” He takes a step back. “Getting out.”

More anger, directed within and without, but it doesn’t matter, it still smacks against Obi-Wan’s fragile mental walls. “Not you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Obi-Wan laughs. He blames the lapse of control on his abhorrent emotional control. “I’m pretty sure parents don’t disown their children unless they’ve done something quite terrible, so I will have to disagree with you, Mand’alor.”

Now, Fett’s anger feels like a spike driving itself into Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan takes another step back and then another until he’s in the doorway.

“You haven’t finished eating,” Ordo says. Her smile does little to hide the wave of pity and concern which rolls off of her in the Force.

Obi-Wan thinks about the stew, how it’s filled with love and care, and his stomach roils. He makes a gagging sound and sprints down the hallway in hopes that he’ll make it to the fresher before he vomits.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan doesn’t see much of Kal Skirata after the incident at last meal. Mostly, it’s because Obi-Wan doesn’t leave his quarters. There is nothing for him to do in them except meditate or stare at the wall, but it isn’t as though there’s anything for him to do outside of them. Well, once Myles visits with the cloak supplies, Obi-Wan has plenty to keep him busy.

When Obi-Wan does leave his quarters, there are no signs of Skirata. It might be a purposeful gesture on Fett’s part, and Obi-Wan should probably be grateful or appreciative, but he can’t help but wonder what the plan is once they reach Mandalore. There will be far more than Skirata who object to Obi-Wan’s presence.

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and pushes the thought away. He cannot allow any negative thoughts while he works on his cloak. The wedding cloak, cape really, is supposed to represent the upcoming union. It’s supposed to be made with love and hope, the dreams of a shared future woven into the fabric.

This isn’t a traditional cloak, because Obi-Wan isn’t actually Stewjoni, and it isn’t being crafted entirely by hand, but the emotional resonance is still important. Perhaps, it is even more important since it’s the only part Obi-Wan can recreate.

On Obi-Wan’s second day of work, Myles joins him. So far, Myles has been the friendliest of the Mandalorians, and thanks to Obi-Wan’s difficulties blocking out the feelings of others, he knows it’s genuine. Myles enters, balancing a tray in one hand and three pads tucked into the crook of his other arm.

Obi-Wan’s hands are full with fabric and a needle, but he uses the Force to balance the tray so the contents don’t spill and shatter on the floor. Myles doesn’t seem to notice, at the very least, he doesn’t comment. He sets the tray down on the small table near where Obi-Wan works on the floor. The pads are set down next and then Myles sits. He looks over Obi-Wan’s work and whistles, impressed.

Obi-Wan dyed the fabric a rich, forest green. Green for duty, according to the reading he had done. He thought it was appropriate. It meant he struggled to decide on the color for the large mythosaur sigil. He had finally decided on orange. There were differing opinions on whether it was meant to symbolize lust for life or passion, but either way he thought it was fitting. Mandalorians are known for their passion and how better to represent the leader of their people?

Obi-Wan has the outline of the sigil embroidered, but he still has a long way to go until it’s thick enough to stand out. He hopes he’ll have enough time.

“Is there anything Jango needs to do?” Myles asks. He pours a cup of shig for each of them. He leaves Obi-Wan’s within reach before he sips his own. Myles gestures to the cloak.

“Traditionally, he would be the one to make it,” Obi-Wan says.

Myles strokes his chin, considering. “He should contribute in some way. I have an idea. When you’re done or ready for a break, let me know.”

“I will, thank you.” Obi-Wan adds a few more stitches before he pauses for a sip of shig. It’s good, the Mandalorian equivalent of tea. At the very least, it’s hot and Myles makes it himself. This morning, he was distracted as he made it.

“Speaking of culture,” Myles says, a clumsy segue, but his wry grin says he knows it. Obi-Wan offers him a small smile in return. “How much do you know about cin vhetin?”

This again. Obi-Wan wonders if perhaps the Chancellor doesn’t know as much about Mandalorian culture than he thought he did. “It’s a new beginning. The Chancellor suggested it would be appropriate.”

Myles’s lips twist down in a frown. “Did he? I suppose not much is known about us in the Republic. Maybe he thought it was a metaphoric new beginning.”

“It isn’t?” Obi-Wan sets his cloak down in his lap so he can give Myles his full attention.

“Its direct translation is white field. It is more than a metaphoric new beginning. It is when a being leaves behind everything from their past to become Mandalorian. It is not a requirement, but some choose to do it.”

Obi-Wan understands Myles’s frown now. He frowns as he looks down at the white tunic. “If I married the Mand’alor in this, I would be signaling that I had given up my past and my ties to the Jedi Order and the Republic. Which would defeat the purpose of this union.” He picks at the tunic. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for new clothes?”

“Do you have any preferences?”

 “Not white?” Obi-Wan’s smile is too close to a grimace. “Thank you for making me aware. I’m sure there will be other missteps along the way. If you could continue to help me, I would appreciate it.”

“Of course. You could start calling your intended by his name.” Myles is smiling, but there’s something serious behind it.

“Ah.” Obi-Wan feels a flush creep up his cheeks. “Jango.” He tests the name on his tongue.

“I mean, if you want to call him Mand’alor in bed, that’s your own thing, and I don’t need to know about it.” Myles is teasing, and Obi-Wan flushes even redder. He picks up his cloak again and allows his embarrassment but also his interest to flow through his hands. He wonders how Jango will react when Obi-Wan calls him by his name. And then he wonders if Jango would like being called by his title in bed. Heat stirs in his gut, and he allows that to become a part of his embroidery as well.

“I didn’t expect this from a Jedi,” Myles admits after they’ve passed some time quietly doing their own work. Myles gestures the cloak and the embroidery.

“Jedi don’t have many possessions,” Obi-Wan says. “I learned to mend my own clothes early on. The decorative stuff…” When had that started? Fairly early as well, he thinks, even if he can’t remember the exact time. “I struggled with meditation. Having something to occupy my hands helped me clear my mind. It sounds counterintuitive but…”

“No, I get it,” Myles says. “I get some of my best thinking done when I clean my blasters. Do something enough, and you can let your mind wander while your body works.”

“Exactly.”

“Are all your clothes so scratchy?”

Obi-Wan looks down at his white tunics. He didn’t think their quality was poor enough to deserve Myles’s tone, but it is true that Jedi don’t put a high value on aesthetics or creature comforts. They are vessels for the Force. What does a vessel need silks for?

“Jedi clothing is mass-produced,” Obi-Wan finally says. “Its function is utilitarian. And given how often our missions turn sour, our clothing is designed to be easily replaced. If you constantly crashed your speeder, you wouldn’t replace it with top-of-the-line models.”

“Are you the speeder in this metaphor?” Myles asks. “I can tell you, I don’t like the sound of you ending up in so much danger that you don’t bother with nice clothes.”

“Is that why Mandalorians wear armor? To protect your clothes?”

Myles laughs, which breaks the building tension. Obi-Wan is used to questions about the Jedi. He’s even used to confusion and mild criticism. It’s more difficult for him to deal with now, knowing he is separated from the Order and others like him. He is the Jedi representative the Mandalorians will judge his entire people on. It’s a daunting realization.

“I doubt your quartermaster has Jedi clothes,” Obi-Wan says, “but if I could have something that mimics the style for the wedding, it would help with the imagery. Jedi and Mandalorians being joined. After that…” Obi-Wan winces. “I brought nothing with me. I do not intend to be a burden. I can work.”

“I’m sure the Mand’alor can afford to outfit his spouse,” Myles says.

“Outfit, house, feed, support.” Obi-Wan sets his cloak aside, because he doesn’t want to poison it with his current thoughts.

“How is it different from being part of the Order or the Republic?” Myles asks.

It’s a genuine question and maybe that makes it worse. That Obi-Wan is used to having all his needs provided for by someone else. As if he doesn’t earn it. “I take missions on behalf of the Republic, and I contribute to the Jedi Order.”

Myles holds his hands up as if he realizes he’s given offense. “And you can do the same here. I wasn’t implying—wow. I thought Jedi were above such things as pride.”

“I am accustomed to a life of purpose,” Obi-Wan says.

“Here.” Myles hands Obi-Wan one of the datapads. “Now that the system is at peace, or as peaceful as it gets, Jango visits various planets. You can help pick the next one.”

“What’s the purpose of the visits?” Obi-Wan accepts the olive branch for what it is.

“To see, be seen, strengthen the connection with his people. If there’s a crisis, he’ll often go, but he also likes to visit in times a peace. If he only shows up on the heels or war or disaster, then that’s what our people will associate him with.”

Obi-Wan opens the datapad, eager to learn more about the Mandalorian system and its planets.

#

When Obi-Wan finishes his cloak, he folds it carefully and hands it to Myles. “Jango should keep it until the wedding when he cloaks me. And—” here, Obi-Wan hesitates, unsure what all to say. “The cloak is supposed to be crafted with care. It’s supposed to absorb the feelings of the betrothed and then, after the wedding, continue to absorb them as the spouses become closer.”

“He’ll be careful with it,” Myles promises.

It isn’t quite what Obi-Wan means, but he nods and tries not to fidget as Myles takes the cloak out of Obi-Wan’s quarters and out of sight. Obi-Wan doesn’t see what changes Jango has made until their wedding.

The wedding takes place the day after they land on Mandalore. Obi-Wan knows he’s in Keldabe, but he doesn’t see much of the city as he’s shown to his new quarters and then thrown into preparations for the ceremony.

Before he knows it, he’s in the courtyard of the Keldabe Great Hall for his wedding. He’s in tunics in the Jedi style, even if they aren’t quite the same as what he’s used to. The brown is dark, rich, like soil. The leggings are a lighter shade, but there are no creams or oatmeals to be seen.

Jango, on the other hand, isn’t wearing simple clothes. He’s in his full beskar’gam, and he cuts an intimidating figure. He is the symbol of Mandalore, he is the entirety of his people distilled into one person. Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat, and his feet stumble on his next step. In the Mandalorian tradition, both parties approach the center dais from opposite directions. They walk the same distance but different paths to meet each other.

Obi-Wan feels small and for a moment he worries he’s inadequate. What does he have to offer the ruler of an empire? Only himself. He holds his hands out the way he read in the datapad Myles brought him. Jango clasps Obi-Wan’s forearms and Obi-Wan clasps Jango’s in turn. They face each other, connected, and then they speak their vows.

We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.

After the vows, Jango makes a speech about unity, about joining with the Jedi through marriage. He ends it by declaring Obi-Wan part of Clan Fett, House Mereel. And then he shakes out the cloak Obi-Wan had embroidered. Obi-Wan catches a glimpse of red at the corners, the Jedi symbol at each of them. Jango’s contribution.

Obi-Wan’s throat is tight as Jango steps forward to settle the cloak around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. His fingers are nimble as they clasp the cloak to secure it.

“I have brought Obi-Wan into my clan and my house,” Jango says, his voice carrying over the assembly. “I have brought him to Mandalore. Tonight, we will drink to my spouse and to our newest Mandalorian.”

“Oya!” is the cry, fists raised in the air as the Mandalorians raise their voices.

Obi-Wan stares up at Jango’s visor and wishes he could see the man’s eyes. Wishes he could sense something through the beskar helmet and Obi-Wan’s own restrictions. Obi-Wan read up on as many wedding customs and traditions as he could, because it isn’t something Jedi normally partake in. There are things they have done to honor Mandalore. There are things they have done to honor Stewjon.

There is one final thing Obi-Wan wants, even if it isn’t traditionally done in either of their cultures.

“We have said our vows.” Obi-Wan speaks quietly, his words only for Jango. “And now we seal them in the old way.” Obi-Wan goes up on his toes so he can press his forehead to Jango’s. It is not the kind of kiss Obi-Wan is accustomed to, but he supposes he will learn.

The crowd quiets at the display. Jango wraps an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist to pull him closer. Obi-Wan’s breath fogs Jango’s armor, but Jango doesn’t move. He keeps his forehead against Obi-Wan’s until the crowd’s appreciation turns to heckling.

They move from the courtyard to the banquet plaza where the feast and celebration will occur. Jango takes his helmet off. He clips it to his belt, and Obi-Wan takes a long moment to look at his spouse. Jango’s dark hair is long enough to curl, and Obi-Wan wonders what it will feel like to run his fingers through it. Jango’s eyes, sharp and calculating, soften when he looks at Obi-Wan in turn.

Obi-Wan longs for a kiss on his mouth. He even sways forward, because he is married now and surely that is allowed, but Jango drops a hand to Obi-Wan’s hip and squeezes lightly. Obi-Wan takes the hint and remains still. He supposes if he’s supposed to represent the best of the Jedi, he shouldn’t throw himself at his spouse like some kind of creature in heat.

With a blush burning his cheeks, Obi-Wan looks away. He isn’t allowed to hide for long. Jango’s fingers grip Obi-Wan’s chin and turn his face back. “Later. If I kiss you now, I won’t stop until I’m thoroughly satisfied.”

Oh, Obi-Wan thinks and then oh as he considers about what it might take to thoroughly satisfy Jango Fett. Jango brushes his thumb over Obi-Wan’s pink cheek and then guides him to the table at the front of the room. It’s raised higher than the others so that the long rows of Mandalorians will have a line of sight to their Mand’alor. Obi-Wan feels displayed in a way that makes him uncomfortable.

It doesn’t help that Jango is far from the only one to remove their helmet now that they’re preparing to eat. The hall is filled with emotion, loud and riotous, and Obi-Wan’s head already aches. It will be a long evening.

There are people at the high table with them. Obi-Wan recognizes some of the commandos from the flight here and some he’s been introduced to over the past day. There are two children at the far end, one with black curls and another with springy blonde curls. They are both humanoid, and they jab at each other and then turn wide-innocent eyes on the woman minding them.

Duchess Satine, Obi-Wan remembers, from a briefing. She has an important role in the civil government, but many of the commandos scowl when her name is brought up. Obi-Wan will learn more about her later. For now, he looks at the food on the table and tries not to grow overwhelmed.

“How many courses are there?” Obi-Wan asks Jango quietly. “I want to be sure to pace myself.”

Because there are platters of meat and bowls of various types of bread. There are butter dishes and jam dishes and another kind of spread which smells nutty and delicious. There are fresh fruits and vegetables, whole in baskets and sliced on plates and combined in bowls. Obi-Wan isn’t sure where to begin, but he wants to make sure he knows when to end.

Jango laughs as he uses a pair of tongs to deposit a slab of meat on each of their plates. It’s seared to perfection, drips with a mix of spices that make Obi-Wan’s mouth water.

“We have our meal and then we have dessert,” Jango answers. “None of the Republic’s fuss.”

“Oh good,” Obi-Wan says. It doesn’t solve the issue of the sheer volume or variety on the table but at least he doesn’t have to worry about more. He looks at what Jango’s already given him and then feels brave enough to ask, “What should I pair the meat with?”

Jango apparently lets his guard down at his wedding, because his emotions aren’t as hidden as they usually are. His pleasure at Obi-Wan’s request radiates from him as he grabs various dishes and tells Obi-Wan what they are before adding them to his plate.

It’s more food than Obi-Wan can possibly eat in one sitting, but he does his best. It’s difficult, especially with Jango watching him for his reaction to each new thing. The potatoes are mashed and creamy, absolutely delicious on their own but even better when he uses them as a chaser to the meat. The green beans are crisp, and their butter-garlic glaze is almost too rich for his stomach.

“Here,” Jango says. He holds out a piece of fruit. He holds it between his fingers and Obi-Wan doesn’t think before he dips his head to capture it between his lips. Lust spikes in the Force, enough that Obi-Wan jerks his gaze up to Jango’s, his eyes wide, almost wild.

Jango’s gaze is heated but there’s no sign of his feelings beyond that. Looking at him, Obi-Wan wouldn’t guess that he wanted Obi-Wan so badly. Obi-Wan licks his lips unnecessarily, but Jango tracks the movement.

“How long do Mandalorian wedding feasts last?” Obi-Wan asks. He feels overwarm in his clothes. And then he remembers that they still have dessert. And Jango has a sweet tooth. “Never mind. I’m being—” greedy, selfish, a dozen other things a Jedi shouldn’t be.

“Utterly captivating,” Jango says. His palm is warm against Obi-Wan’s face as he cups Obi-Wan’s cheek. His thumb brushes Obi-Wan’s lips as if he wants to touch them, even if he doesn’t trust himself to kiss them. Obi-Wan has a hard time thinking about anything beyond how large Jango’s hand is.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Jango’s thumb slips between his lips and every thought Obi-Wan has stutters out of his head. There is the faint taste of fruit juice, from Jango’s earlier offering. When Obi-Wan presses his tongue against the pad of Jango’s thumb, he swears he can feel the ridges of his fingerprint. But maybe that’s Obi-Wan’s imagination.

“Alright you two,” Myles says gruffly. “Cool it long enough for cake and then you can duck out. Or maybe I’ll make you stay for the start of the dancing. You keep this up and no one will be able to claim this is a political marriage only.”

“Myles,” Jango says and his voice is a deep rumble that does nothing to help Obi-Wan’s self-control.

“Yes, alor?”

“Shut up.”

Myles laughs and Jango slides his thumb out of Obi-Wan’s mouth. He drops his hand to Obi-Wan’s thigh, and that isn’t much better. Because the heat of him seeps through Obi-Wan’s layers. It makes Obi-Wan want to spread his legs to encourage Jango to slide his hand higher.

Obi-Wan grabs his glass, and he’s glad for the ice cubes in his water, because the cold helps clear his head.

“Was that a concern?” Obi-Wan asks. He wonders if anyone will notice if he drops an ice cube down the back of his tunics. “That this was a political marriage?”

“Mandalorians don’t normally go for that sort of thing,” Myles says. “If you want to bring someone into your clan or your house, there are ways other than marriage. So marriage tends to be reserved for desire.”

“Passion,” Obi-Wan says, thinking about the blazing orange symbol on his cloak. Passion, yet serenity, he reminds himself. And then, “I don’t know any Mandalorian dances.” He is scattered. His teachers at the Temple would scold him. He’s supposed to be able to operate despite distraction, but this is a unique circumstance. He cuts himself some slack.

“Neither does Jango,” Dysari Ordo says and then laughs when Jango swats at her.

The commandos bicker until a large, layered cake is wheeled out. Jango’s interest is obvious in the Force, and Obi-Wan does his best to hold his smile back. Jango’s people clearly know him well, because the one in charge of the cake cuts a very generous slice for him. And then the plate is set between Jango and Obi-Wan.

This clearly isn’t normal behavior, because Jango’s irritation flares briefly in the Force.

“You’re supposed to share,” Myles says. “Think of it as setting a good precedent for your marriage.”

Jango sighs but there’s a curl of fondness beneath his exasperation. He uses his fork to get a bite with a good cake to frosting ratio. He closes his eyes and hums lowly as he savors his bite. When he opens his eyes, he nudges Obi-Wan.

Right. Sharing. Obi-Wan takes a bite for himself. The cake is good, moist, with a thick frosting between the layers. But sweets aren’t Obi-Wan’s weakness, and he’s quite full from their meal. He tries to take small bites since he and Jango are taking turns, but it doesn’t take long for a furrow to develop between Jango’s eyebrows.

Obi-Wan wiggles his fork through the cake and then, inspired, lifts the forkful to Jango’s mouth instead of his own. Jango accepts the bite. He doesn’t look away from Obi-Wan’s eyes as he does, which means a bit of frosting ends up at the corner of his mouth.

They finish their plate like that, Jango eating alternating bites from his own hand and then Obi-Wan’s. There is plenty of amusement and joy in the hall, but there’s an undercurrent of disgust. There are people who aren’t enthused about their Mand’alor marrying a Jedi. Obi-Wan will have to remain on his guard.

“Alright,” Jango says, and his voice is rough. He drops his fork on the empty plate. “We’ve provided enough entertainment for the evening. Walon, you’re in charge.”

“What?” Myles squawks, even as Dysari and Soxo laugh.

Jango stands. The noise in the room dims but doesn’t fall silent entirely. Jango holds his hand out to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan places his hand in Jango’s and stands as well. They leave the large room together, holding hands. They stay holding hands as they pass through the halls until they reach the Mand’alor’s quarters.

There is a living room but Obi-Wan barely pays it any attention, because he and Jango finally have privacy. Obi-Wan grips Jango’s hand tightly so he won’t get away this time and then surges forward for a kiss. Jango’s free hand cradles Obi-Wan’s face, holds him steady as Jango kisses back. There is heat in their kiss, intent, passion. Obi-Wan shudders and presses closer, but he’s stopped by Jango’s armor.

“Bed,” Jango says after he breaks their kiss. He gives Obi-Wan a push toward the bedroom. Obi-Wan goes, but he clings to Jango’s hand and pulls him along as well. They kiss again once they’re in the bedroom. Obi-Wan grows frustrated at only being able to touch metal so he slides his hands into Jango’s hair and sighs when it’s as soft as he imagined.

Too soon, Jango breaks their kiss again. It’s becoming a pattern Obi-Wan doesn’t like. But Jango just says, “Naked,” and then starts unbuckling his armor.

Obi-Wan is careful with his cloak as he unclasps it and then hangs it over a hook on one of the bedposts. He flushes at what impressions and memories the fabric will carry with it after tonight. And then he strips down. He’s done far sooner than Jango, but Jango doesn’t ask for help with his armor and Obi-Wan doesn’t offer. Instead, Obi-Wan pulls back the top blanket and then settles in the center of the bed.

He strokes his cock as Jango undresses. Jango’s shoulders are as broad as Obi-Wan imagined, thick with muscle no doubt gained from the practice yards and keeping his throne. Jango’s chest is scattered with hair. There are scars there as well, but Obi-Wan doesn’t linger on them. He knows his own body is marked with past battles, but he doesn’t want to talk about them. Especially not now.

He rubs his thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading the precome there around the head. Jango’s gaze hones in on the movement and he grins as he pushes the rest of his flightsuit down. He doesn’t wear anything beneath it. Obi-Wan swallows thickly as Jango’s cock is suddenly on display. It’s tan and thick like the rest of him. At the base is a thatch of dark hair. Obi-Wan wonders what he smells like there. Sweat? Musk? Desire?

“Do you want this?” Jango asks, a note of seriousness there.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers, because he doesn’t want any doubt here. He does want Jango, and because they’re married, Obi-Wan’s allowed to have him. More than once, even.

Jango pulls open the drawer next to the bed and tosses the bottle of lube next to Obi-Wan. He holds up a condom next, but Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Don’t need it,” Obi-Wan says.

Jango drops the condom back into the drawer and then shuts the drawer. He joins Obi-Wan on the bed. Like at their wedding feast, there is too much in front of Obi-Wan for him to even know where to begin. He curls a hand around the back of Jango’s neck to keep him close.

Jango touches the beskar necklace Obi-Wan wears but when Obi-Wan frowns, he takes the hint and slides his hand down Obi-Wan’s chest instead. “Are you sensitive here?” Jango asks as his fingers circle one of Obi-Wan’s nipples.

“Why don’t you find out?” Obi-Wan challenges.

Jango laughs, amused and pleased. He presses the bottle of lube into Obi-Wan’s hand. “Prep yourself as I explore.”

It means Obi-Wan has to stop touching, but Jango touches Obi-Wan enough to make up for it. He slides both his hands down Obi-Wan’s sides until his hands span as much of Obi-Wan’s ribcage as he can reach. He looks down, watches as Obi-Wan spreads his legs. He waits until Obi-Wan’s slicked his fingers and reached between his legs to lower his mouth to Obi-Wan’s left nipple.

He breathes over it first, a hot, damp breath of air. Obi-Wan wriggles at the sensation. He can’t say he’s ever had a partner do that before. Jango does it again and then, once Obi-Wan’s skin is damp, he licks over the hardened nub. Obi-Wan sighs and arches into Jango’s mouth. The first press of his finger is familiar, something he’s done before, and it’s even easier to relax as Jango mouths at his chest.

When Jango’s teeth close over the point of Obi-Wan’s nipple, he gasps. He’s glad for his finger, because he clenches around it as Jango doesn’t let up, his teeth a bright, enduring pulse of pain.

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan pants. He fumbles with the lube. “Hold up, I need two.” He’s too tight to fit a second finger in until Jango backs off. He’s back to licking again, his tongue soothing against the faint teeth marks. Obi-Wan slides a second finger in. “Please,” Obi-Wan asks. “Again.”

“So polite,” Jango croons, mocking and pleased at the same time. He flicks at Obi-Wan’s nipple with his tongue before he captures it between his teeth again. He goes slower, lets the pleasure build in Obi-Wan’s spine. Obi-Wan spreads his legs more, even as he clenches around his fingers.

Jango switches sides, and Obi-Wan slides his free hand around Jango’s cock. Jango drives his hips forward once, twice, and then he growls and grabs Obi-Wan’s wrist. He pins it above his head, and it leaves Obi-Wan open, exposed. Jango nips at Obi-Wan’s pectoral, up toward his armpit and then across to his collarbone. He grabs Obi-Wan’s second wrist and pins that one as well.

Obi-Wan’s breath comes in shallow pants. Jango’s grin is triumphant as he slides Obi-Wan’s legs apart and then pins his legs with Jango’s knees on Obi-Wan’s thighs. It’s a mirror of how Obi-Wan lost the Challenge, and he only has a moment to wonder if it’s a coincidence before Jango says, “Are you going to yield to me again? You could have kept fighting but you didn’t.”

“I don’t want to fight you,” Obi-Wan says.

“Good.” Jango nuzzles at Obi-Wan’s neck and it’s good but it’s better when Obi-Wan tips his chin back. He doesn’t say the words this time, but he doesn’t have to. Obi-Wan bares his throat and Jango sets his teeth against Obi-Wan’s skin and bites. Obi-Wan pulls on his wrists, he bucks his hips, but Jango has him firmly pinned and so Obi-Wan doesn’t go anywhere. He doesn’t want to go anywhere.

“Please,” Obi-Wan says, breathy and embarrassed at how little it takes to wind him up. “You have me. Fuck me, please. I want your cock inside of me.”

“So needy.” Jango is pleased and he nips at Obi-Wan’s neck again. “Has it been a while since you did this?”

“Yes.” Maybe, it would be polite for Obi-Wan to ask after Jango’s recent experience, but Obi-Wan doesn’t want to know. Jango is married to Obi-Wan now. What’s happened in the past isn’t relevant.

“Keep your hands there,” Jango says. He slides his hands down Obi-Wan’s wrists, his arms, reaches Obi-Wan’s shoulders and he keeps going. When he reaches Obi-Wan’s sides, he squeezes around his hold. It’s firm enough it doesn’t tickle. Jango slides between Obi-Wan’s legs and then pushes Obi-Wan’s thighs apart. When there’s no resistance, Jango makes a considering noise and pushes further.

“I’m very flexible,” Obi-Wan says. He reaches up so that he can grip the slats in the headboard.

“I can see that,” Jango says. He tilts Obi-Wan’s legs and then pushes more, until he can see more than Obi-Wan’s flexibility. Obi-Wan looks away as Jango stares intently at his ass. And then Jango drags a thumb through Obi-Wan’s crease, and Obi-Wan looks back.

Jango dips his thumb in and makes a considering sound. “It’s been a while and you only used two fingers. Give me one of your hands.”

Obi-Wan lowers one of his arms. His mouth goes dry as Jango brings Obi-Wan’s hand down to Jango’s cock. He straightens two of Obi-Wan’s fingers and guides them to rest against Jango’s length. The comparison is—well—Obi-Wan groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Open your eyes,” Jango commands. Obi-Wan’s eyes snap open. Jango’s smile is pleased with an edge of something that makes Obi-Wan want to bare his throat again. Jango uses his free hand to pet two of his own fingers over Obi-Wan’s hole. Jango’s hands aren’t that much larger than Obi-Wan’s, but Obi-Wan’s still aware of the difference. Hyperaware, actually, and he hitches his hips down, looking for more.

“Do you want to feel it?” Jango asks. His tone, his touch, they’re both maddening. He dips the tips of his fingers in and then pulls them out again without offering any real relief. “Do you want me to stretch you slowly on my cock, so you feel every inch tonight and you remember every inch in the morning?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan’s gasps. He tightens his grip on the headboard, so he doesn’t knock Jango’s hand away from his entrance. “Yes, please, fuck me. I want to feel it.”

“You didn’t even hear the second option.” Jango slides his fingers into Obi-Wan. He pushes them deep, scissors them to test how loose Obi-Wan is. “I could finger you sloppy and then fuck you hard.”

That sounds good too. But Obi-Wan knows what he wants. “The first one.” He doesn’t have the patience for thorough prep. He wants to be fucked, and he wants to come, and then he wants to sleep and maybe go for a second round in the morning.

Jango bares his teeth in another smile. He slides his fingers out of Obi-Wan and slicks up his cock. He grabs Obi-Wan’s left leg and hefts it up until it rests on Jango’s shoulder. It opens Obi-Wan up even more and takes away his leverage. Which means, when Jango pushes his hips forward to slide only the tip of his cock into Obi-Wan, there’s nothing Obi-Wan can do to speed him up.

He clenches his hand into a fist and Jango captures his wrist and guides his hand up to join his other. Obi-Wan tries to roll his hips down, take more, but Jango stops him with a hand on his thigh and a low growl. “You wanted it this way so I’m going slowly. If you try and rush me, I will keep the tip inside and stroke myself to completion.”

Obi-Wan clenches around the head of Jango’s cock before he can help himself. A moan slips past his lips at the thought of holding still, spread out and exposed and letting Jango use him like that.

“Oh?” Jango asks, a knowing smile on his lips. “Another time.” He slides forward, and it is stretch, so it’s probably best that he goes slow, but Obi-Wan still whines and wants more. Jango strokes Obi-Wan’s thigh, kisses the leg thrown over Jango’s shoulder. He rubs his fingers around Obi-Wan’s stretched hole, and that’s all good, but it isn’t a distraction. Obi-Wan’s still well aware of what he’s missing.

Inch by torturous inch, Jango slides his cock into Obi-Wan. It’s a stretch and, drawn out like this, it seems to go on forever. Obi-Wan’s chest is constricted, he can’t pull a full breath, and he gasps as Jango fills him and then somehow fills him even more. Towards the end, he can’t help but clench around the hard length. He rocks his hips in shallow motions, because he has to. Jango doesn’t scold him this time. He praises Obi-Wan instead for the initiative, encourages him with a hand on his right hip.

“Please,” Obi-Wan says. He tosses his head side to side, because he’s impossibly full and somehow it still isn’t enough. Jango has made him greedy, made him wild. He squeezes hard around Jango’s cock as if he can make Jango as desperate as he is.

Jango pulls back, and Obi-Wan whines, because that is the opposite of what he wants. Jango hushes him, tries to soothe him with touches and kisses, but Obi-Wan doesn’t settle until Jango pushes back in.

“There you go,” Jango says. He sets a steady rhythm, slow but predictable, and he never pulls out entirely. He teases sometimes, pulling out all the way to the tip before he slides back in. He says other things, calls Obi-Wan mesh’la and perfect, and Obi-Wan is so full, cock and words and feelings, that tears slip out of his eyes.

“I’m close,” Jango says and he pops the cap on the lube again. “There’s one more thing I want from you, mesh’la. I want you to come on my cock. Is that something you can do?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. He’s pretty sure he could manage it on will alone, but it’s easier once Jango wraps a slick hand around his cock. A few strokes and Obi-Wan comes with a cry, his body clenching hard. Jango grunts, rocks his hips through the aftershocks until he comes as well, spilling deep.

Obi-Wan collapses against the mattress. His hands slip from the headboard and fall limp against the pillows. Jango eases Obi-Wan’s leg down to the mattress. He’s breathing hard to match Obi-Wan, and his Force signature is fierce pride and a deeply rooted satisfaction.

I did that, Obi-Wan thinks, hazy but pleased.

He is less pleased when Jango slides out of him, leaving Obi-Wan a sticky mess and also empty. Jango laughs at the look on Obi-Wan’s face and then slides two fingers into him. They don’t seem like nearly enough after Jango’s cock, but they slide through the come Jango left behind, and that’s enough for Obi-Wan’s spent cock to twitch.

“More?” Jango asks and the question has a curl of a challenge in it.

“Can you come again?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Do I need to?” Jango spreads his fingers and thumbs at Obi-Wan’s stretched rim. He ducks his head to lap at Obi-Wan’s cock, sticky with his own come.

It should be too soon, it is too soon, but Obi-Wan writhes on the bed and doesn’t say no. Jango’s fingers, his mouth, they’re as soothing as they are painful and soon Obi-Wan tips over the edge of pain into something better. It’s purer, not pain, not pleasure, just feeling. Obi-Wan comes, his cock jerking in Jango’s firm grip.

This time, when Jango slides out of Obi-Wan’s hole, all Obi-Wan feels is relief. And then Jango touches his tongue to the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock, and Obi-Wan hisses.

“Mmm.” Jango’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “You like it. Being pushed past your limits. But we’ll talk about it before we push more.”

“Fresher?” Obi-Wan asks. He’s floating, on the cusp of sleep, but he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t clean up first.

“I’ll have to hold you,” Jango says. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to stand on your own.”

“You sound very smug,” Obi-Wan says as they maneuver themselves out of bed.

“I have every right to,” Jango says. He nips at the mark he left on Obi-Wan’s neck and then guides Obi-Wan to the fresher with a hand on each of Obi-Wan’s hips.

Obi-Wan doesn’t have anything to compare it to, but he thinks it was a successful wedding night.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan and Jango eat first meal together in Jango’s private study. Obi-Wan does his best not to squirm, because it reminds him of last night, but after he catches the heat in Jango’s eyes, he realizes he’s not the only one who enjoys the reminder. He allows himself to move a little more after that, even gasps a few times as if he catches himself off guard.

Before he can see if Jango is open to a second round, he’s called away by his advisors. Myles shows Obi-Wan the way back to his quarters, and then leaves Obi-Wan there to try and reorient himself. Obi-Wan has his own quarters. Separate from the Mand’alor’s quarters. He supposes that answers the question of if Mandalorian couples share rooms.

Is he disappointed?

Obi-Wan sits cross-legged on his floor and meditates. He is disappointed. He releases the emotion to the Force. Jango Fett is Mand’alor. He has duties to attend to, a people to lead and care for. Obi-Wan is supposed to assist him, not distract him or be a burden. If space is what Jango needs, then Obi-Wan will stay out of Jango’s quarters unless Jango asks for him.

Jango had mentioned a few things he wanted to try during a nebulous another time. Which implies that he wants to have sex with Obi-Wan again. Obi-Wan can be patient. And in the meantime, Obi-Wan can…Obi-Wan can what?

After a frustrating meditation, Obi-Wan looks through his room. There isn’t much to occupy him. His closet and dresser now have clothes, which he is grateful for as he’s wearing his wrinkled wedding tunics. There are far more outfits than he needs, especially since he has access to the laundering facilities, but he supposes he is the Mand’alor’s spouse. Maybe it’s a social marker to have so many clothes. His fresher is stocked with basic toiletries.

His living room is smaller than Jango’s, which makes sense. As far as Obi-Wan can tell, he has one of the diplomat suites. His living room doubles as a study, which means it has a couch, two armchairs, a desk, and a shelving unit. There are a few texts on the shelf, but they’re arranged artfully. The room wasn’t designed for him. Which, again, makes sense. No one here knows him. Perhaps, once he has duties, he’ll have a salary or a stipend and he can begin to personalize his quarters.

He didn’t have much at the Temple, but he knew his quarters were his. He would like these to feel like his as well.

After mid-meal, he’s summoned to the healer’s ward. Or, as they call it here, medical. Obi-Wan didn’t like visiting the healers at the Temple, and he’s even more wary here, in Keldabe. He doesn’t know Mij Gilamar, and Mij doesn’t know him. But he knows a medic’s summons isn’t optional and so he reports to Mij’s domain.

The medic ushers Obi-Wan into a private room. The door slides closed, and the noises from outside are muted, almost silenced entirely.

“Well, this is ominous,” Obi-Wan says.

“This is standard procedure.” Mij lacks the warm bedside manner that some in his profession have. “I want to talk to you about last night.”

Obi-Wan grimaces before he can control his reaction. “Nothing beyond the expected soreness. I’m fine.”

“Good to know but not what I was going to ask.” Mij waits to see if Obi-Wan is going to volunteer any more information, but Obi-Wan’s learned and keeps his mouth shut. “Were you uncomfortable with anything that happened last night?”

There is a careful undercurrent to Mij’s words that Obi-Wan recognizes. He bristles before he can help it. “What are you asking?”

“I’m asking if Jango used his position as Mand’alor or your spouse to pressure you into something you didn’t want.”

Well. That’s. Quite blunt. Obi-Wan’s touched by Mij’s concern and the implication that Obi-Wan isn’t a hostage here. He won’t be a mistreated prisoner. “Nothing happened that I didn’t want,” Obi-Wan says. “And I enjoyed everything that occurred.”

“If that changes and you feel as though you can’t tell Jango, you can always tell me,” Mij says. At Obi-Wan’s nod, Mij changes the subject. “Now, I received your records from the Temple, but I’d still like to do a physical of my own. According to your medics, your implant is good for another three years?”

If I still had it, Obi-Wan thinks. He nods, rather than speaking. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t tell Mij that the Chancellor helped him remove his implant. It isn’t as though he’ll be able to keep the pregnancy itself secret. But part of him is cautious. He wants to conceive, wants to know his child has grown enough to be safe before he tells anyone.

“Strip down to your underwear,” Mij says. “You have an alarming number of injuries and scars.”

“I’ve lived an active life,” Obi-Wan says. He drapes his layers over the med-bed, but he doesn’t sit back down.

Mij circles around Obi-Wan, and his disapproval is loud in the Force. Obi-Wan’s back has perhaps his most obvious scars. Long, raised lines. Some of them cross over the other ones. “These are from an electrowhip,” Mij says, his voice tightly controlled, but his emotions roil in the Force.

“You have my medical records but not my mission reports,” Obi-Wan says. “Which means there is some information the Council doesn’t want you to have. But yes, my back is scarred from an electrowhip.”

“The same incident as the electric burns on your neck?” Mij asks.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers tightly.

“Were you undercover?”

“No.” Obi-Wan tries to think about how he could get out of this room without having this conversation, but he doesn’t see a way. “I was targeted. Captured.” He gestures to his neck. “Enslaved.” Xanatos wanted him as bait for a trap. He didn’t mind if the overseers roughed Obi-Wan up a bit along the way.

“You’re a Jedi,” Mij says. Even if Mandalorians don’t like Jedi, they do respect the danger they present.

“I wasn’t then.” Obi-Wan shifts from one foot to the other. “Is this necessary?”

“You weren’t a Jedi?” Mij circles back around to Obi-Wan’s front. “How old were you?”

Fuck. Obi-Wan drags a hand down his face. “The tail end of twelve at the start. Thirteen by the time I was freed.”

Mij’s stylus skids across his pad before he recovers. He no doubt is adding notes to the files he already has. Obi-Wan wishes the Council had given the Mandalorians more, if only to spare Obi-Wan from having to repeat it.

“Did the Jedi free you?” Mij asks.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan doesn’t need to tell him that the Jedi also sent him away.

Mij points to a blaster scar on Obi-Wan’s upper arm.

“Blaster,” Obi-Wan says. He matches Mij’s scowl with one of his own and then sighs. “Thirteen, maybe fourteen. It’s where this is from as well.” He points to the rash-like scarring just under his ribs on the lower right-side of his back. “Explosion. We didn’t have a lot of medical supplies.”

“What about Jedi healing?”

This is one of the odder interrogations he has been subject to, but so far Mij has only asked relatively well-known information about the Jedi. “Jedi healing is why none of my wounds got infected and killed me. Also, I was too young to know much about the skill.”

“Where was the second Jedi? You travel in pairs.”

Obi-Wan’s flinch is minute, but he knows Mij saw it. It means Obi-Wan has to give him something. “We were separated.” A sanitized summary of Melida/Daan but all he’s willing to give.

Mij points to Obi-Wan’s chest next. There are several scars of note, but there is an obvious one, a stretched starburst burn right over his heart. Obi-Wan decides he’s allowed a moment of weakness and leans against the med-bed. “Lightsaber wound.”

“When and how?” Mij asks softly.

“Fifteen? Sixteen? Somewhere in there. The same being who did this to me,” Obi-Wan gestures to his neck, “found me again.”

“He held a lightsaber to your chest and didn’t kill you?”

“No.” Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He breathes out a deep sigh. “When I was twelve, he captured me as bait for another Jedi. When the other Jedi and I escaped he developed an obsession. He captured me again, intent on proving I wasn’t worthy of being a Jedi. I was suspended over his lightsaber. If my strength or concentration slipped, I would impale myself.” Obi-Wan rubs his fingers over the scar and how close he came to dying on Xanatos’s blade.

“That was his downfall,” Obi-Wan adds, continuing unprompted. “When my master arrived to help, our enemy didn’t have his saber.”

Qui-Gon had killed Xanatos that time. After countless run-ins, attempts at forgiveness and rehabilitation, Xanatos finally died. Qui-Gon gathered his former apprentice in his arms, and Obi-Wan seared his flesh on Xanatos’s blade before he cried out for help.

“You have another lightsaber wound,” Mij says. He points to Obi-Wan’s inner thigh.

“That’s a more recent injury,” Obi-Wan says. “Courtesy of the Sith I fought on Naboo.”

They continue, cataloguing all of Obi-Wan’s scars and then Mij makes Obi-Wan an appointment with a mind healer. If they were on Coruscant, Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind it. He knows there is a lot he needs to work through, but he doesn’t trust a Mandalorian mind healer. So far, this isn’t enemy territory, but he knows better than to tell others his weaknesses.

#

Obi-Wan is unsettled after his meeting with Mij. It doesn’t help that he returns to his room with nothing to do but reflect. A droid brings him late meal, and he eats alone in his living room, barely tasting what’s on his plate. Afterward, he waits for a summons to Jango’s quarters, but it never comes.

He changes into his nightclothes and then slips into his bed. It’s bigger than his bed at the Temple. It’s also lonely. He had gone from the initiate dorms to sharing quarters with Master Jinn. And then, as a knight, he joined the knight dorms where he would stay until he had a padawan of his own. He isn’t used to living alone.

It is unsurprising that with his conversation with Mij so fresh in his mind, he dreams of Xanatos and Bandomeer. He wakes himself up on a gasp, his fingers scratching at his throat. There’s a chain there, he can’t feel the Force and—

Obi-Wan digs his nails into his palms until the pain clears his head. He has a beskar necklace that limits the Force, but it isn’t a collar. He is in Keldabe, in the Mandalorian system, not Bandomeer. He is in bed, not a deep-sea mine.

He doesn’t tell himself he’s safe, because he isn’t sure if it’s true.

He gives up on sleep and showers away his night sweats. He changes into his clothes for the day and meditates. Rather than calming him, it reminds him of how limited his connection to the Force is. First meal is brought to him by a droid, and Obi-Wan is glad there’s no one to see him flinch as he picks up his fork.

His food may have been brought to him by a droid, but it was prepared by a sentient. A sentient who doesn’t like him. His stomach turns as he chokes down the unappetizing meal. When it’s done, he tries to meditate again and find his calm.

Only, now that he’s aware of it, he can feel the touch of someone else everywhere in his room. His clothes, hung up by someone who doesn’t like him. His bed, made by someone who doesn’t like him. Negative emotions cling to everything.

Normally, it wouldn’t be an issue. Obi-Wan would be able to shield himself against the intrusive emotions, but he doesn’t have enough access to the Force, thanks to the necklace. Resentment simmers under his skin, both his own and someone else’s. He needs out of his rooms. He cannot pass his entire day in here or he will fall apart.

He is hesitant to bother Jango, so he sends a comm to Myles. Myles doesn’t respond for an hour, but he responds in person, apologetic for the delay.

“Meetings,” Myles says, “You know how it is.”

“I did,” Obi-Wan says. But there’s now nothing to occupy his time.

“I have a free block, why don’t I give you a tour of the Great Hall? It can be confusing for first timers. I’ll get a floorplan for you for while you get used to it.”

“I can wander around on my own?” Obi-Wan asks, already slipping his boots on, eager to leave his quarters.

“What?” Myles’s distress is loud and scrapes against Obi-Wan’s vulnerable mind. “You—ah, fuck. Yes. You are allowed anywhere in the Great Hall, but respect locked doors and closed doors should be knocked on. I know Jango wants to show you Keldabe himself, but you’re also allowed out in the city.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says.

Myles still radiates discomfort as he leads Obi-Wan through the Great Hall. There is a library Obi-Wan intends to spend a lot of time in, as well as an extensive training facility that Myles makes sure to tell Obi-Wan he’s permitted to use. In fact, Myles stresses that Obi-Wan is welcome everywhere he shows him to, from the library to the training facility to the kitchens.

They end the tour back at Obi-Wan’s rooms. Myles already said he has another meeting to get to, but he hesitates. “Look, Jango is busy, especially after going off world for the courting. So you really can go into Keldabe without him. But you should bring a guide at the very least. And here.” Myles thrusts a pouch of currency at him.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll stick to the library today.”

He finds a place for his money in his quarters and then he sets off for the library again. He passes a pleasant afternoon curled up on a window seat, reading as he soaks up the sun through the painted window.

After an afternoon of inactivity, he goes to the training facility. There are people there, which means he attracts a fair number of stares. Once he proves to be boring, running laps and then going through a strength and core circuit, he’s mostly ignored. He’s hungry enough after his workout to eat his cold late meal. He meditates and then, when he can’t put it off any longer, he goes to bed.

He sleeps poorly again, but his days take on a pattern. He eats an unappetizing first meal, spends the morning in the library, spends the afternoon walking through the Great Hall until he trains, and then he eats late meal, showers, and sleeps.

It helps to spend time outside of his room, but the lack of sleep and lack of interest in food takes its toll on him. He’s glad for a break in his routine, by way of the promised Keldabe tour.

“I’m sorry I’ve been busy,” Jango apologizes as he and Obi-Wan leave the Great Hall together.

“You’re the Mand’alor,” Obi-Wan says. “I would expect you to have numerous duties.”

“I feel like I’ve been neglecting you. But I cleared my schedule today, and we have the entire day to explore Keldabe.”

“You—” Obi-Wan can’t imagine the kind of effort it would take to do that. No doubt, Myles is cursing Obi-Wan’s name somewhere in the big building they just left. “You don’t have to do that. We could—” share a meal together? No, Obi-Wan doesn’t want Jango to fuss. “After late meal, I could bring my book to your quarters. I wouldn’t disturb you.”

Jango’s emotions remind Obi-Wan’s of Myles on the day of Obi-Wan’s last tour. “You are welcome in my quarters whenever you wish to visit,” Jango finally says.

“Except if the door is locked,” Obi-Wan says, remembering. “And if it’s closed, knock first.”

“Those are general rules,” Jango says. “For my quarters, you can enter even if the doors are closed. If they’re locked, comm me.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan says.

Their first stop is a street vendor who clearly recognizes Jango’s armor. He’s delighted to see his Mand’alor, and he eagerly shows off a variety of baked goods. Jango selects something savory for Obi-Wan and something sweet for himself. The spiced meat bun is delicious, and Obi-Wan tries to eat it slowly, but he is ravenous. Jango seems surprised at first by Obi-Wan’s appetite and then pleased, and it merits another two stops.

They take their food down to the Kelita River. There’s an alleyway where water from the river sprays up, but Jango neatly guides Obi-Wan to a section where they can see the river without getting wet. Jango tells Obi-Wan about the history of the fort city while they eat. It’s like a picnic, Obi-Wan realizes. And then, as they continue their walk, he realizes this area attracts all kinds of couples. There are people kissing in shadows and alcoves all over the place, and Jango seems almost embarrassed that he brought Obi-Wan here.

They head to the MandalMotors Tower next. Being with Jango means Obi-Wan’s allowed to take the lift all the way to the top. The view is spectacular, the Kelita River, the surrounding forest, the stretches of prairie.

“Mandalore is healing,” Jango says, proud. “Did Myles show you the garden inside the Great Hall?”

“He mentioned it,” Obi-Wan says. There’s an indoor-outdoor garden that boasts wildlife from across the Mandalore system. Myles implied it was another thing Jango wanted to show Obi-Wan personally, so Obi-Wan hasn’t visited it yet.

Jango leans on the railing of the observation deck. He has a jetpack, so Obi-Wan isn’t worried that he’ll topple over the edge and to his death. “Mandalorians all have a warrior’s spirit, but they don’t have to be warriors. Duchess Kryze still seems to think my farm visits are propaganda. My hands were dirty with actual dirt long before blood.”

“She is part of the civil government,” Obi-Wan says, because he’s been doing as much reading on Mandalore’s present as he can. Satine Kryze, from the Kryzes of Kalevala, who led the New Mandalorian movement before Jango consolidated the system under his rule.

“It was Jaster who had a head for politics,” Jango says. He turns to look at Obi-Wan. “What does the Republic know about him?”

“Mand’alor Mereel?” Obi-Wan takes a moment to consider his thoughts, because he knows this is a fraught topic. “They called him a reformer. There was talk that he would unite Mandalore and then restore trade and diplomatic relations with the Republic. He was killed on Korda VI, succeeded by his son, Jango Fett, and that was the last reliable intel we received from the Mandalorian system.”

“My parents gave him shelter on Concord Dawn,” Jango says. He looks back out at the river. “Death Watch killed them for it. It was Jaster who taught me about the responsibility of leadership. He adopted me. He put together a platoon to rescue my sister Arla from the Death Watch operatives who had kidnapped her. She’s part of the navy, often off planet so I don’t know when you’ll meet her. Jaster was betrayed. He saved one of his commandos when their jetpack failed, and that same commando left Jaster to die at Tor Vizsla’s hands.

“The New Mandalorians tried to claim that I’m too caught up in vengeance to be a good leader. But after I killed Tor and took the darksaber, the only death I demanded was Montross’s. It was within my rights to end Clan Vizsla. I could have put every Death Watch operative to death. If I had wanted to, I could have used the New Mandalorian movement as an excuse to squash a rebellion. Duchess Kryze asked me if I was threatening her when I pointed it out. Her sister called her an idiot and then signed on to Arla’s squad.”

“Compassion and mercy are not failings,” Obi-Wan says. “Neither is justice. I have had to kill before. It isn’t easy. Knowing the price means I weigh my decision every time I have to make it. I make an informed choice. I suspect you do the same.”

“Yes.”

“You gave Duchess Kryze a position in the government.”

“She will never like me,” Jango says. “But she does love our people, and she will do her best to help them. By having her on Mandalore, I can make sure she only takes appropriate action.”

“Her father was killed by Death Watch,” Obi-Wan says. He carefully doesn’t look at Jango, even as the man’s attention snaps to Obi-Wan. “Adonai Krzye. He suspected his emerging leadership made him a target. He requested Republic and Jedi aid. There was a…loud argument in the Temple over it.”

“Why?”

“The Republic refused, of course. There were no alliances or even warm feelings between the Mandalorian Empire and the Republic. But the Jedi…we’re supposed to be peacekeepers, the galaxy’s defenders, above such things as politics. My master was one of the most vocal in favor of accepting Duke Kryze’s request. I suspect, if we hadn’t gotten word that he had been killed, my master would have taken us there, with or without Council approval. I regret Duke Kryze’s death and his children’s grief, but I’m glad we didn’t go.”

“Oh?”

“We would have tried to protect Duke Kryze and, failing that, protect his daughters. We would have succeeded.” Obi-Wan allows a hint of pride to slip into his voice. “But the Republic would have no doubt seen it as an opportunity to install a pro-Republic leader. I doubt two Jedi would have been enough once we drew the ire of the Mand’alor and his army. And the galaxy would be worse off for a resurgence of hostilities between the Mandalorian Empire and the Republic.”

“I’m glad I didn’t meet you in battle,” Jango says.

“Me too.” It would have been after Xanatos’s death, and his and Master Jinn’s relationship was especially fractured. Obi-Wan himself was a touch unstable. If he had been thrown into another warzone, especially one where the odds were so skewed in the other side’s favor…he isn’t sure what he would have done.

They leave MandalMotors Tower and heavy conversations behind to walk through the market again. Jango continues to expand Obi-Wan’s palate, sampling food from a variety of food stalls. By the time they return to the Great Hall, Obi-Wan is as glutted on food as he is on Jango’s attention.

Jango walks Obi-Wan to his door, which is old-fashioned enough to be charming. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he’s supposed to invite Jango in, but he recoils at the thought of having Jango in his quarters. He doesn’t want to poison his good day with the negative feelings inside.

Obi-Wan does step forward to kiss Jango’s cheek.

Jango smiles at him, fond, and Obi-Wan likes it, even if he feels bereft when Jango leaves without another touch or kiss.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan isn’t nervous as he takes his current reading to Jango’s quarters, but his stomach flutters. Anticipation, perhaps? Lingering memories? The last time he was in Jango’s quarters, the only time he’s been in Jango’s quarters, it was for their wedding night. Obi-Wan has lost the pleasant soreness from their coupling. He’s beginning to doubt there will be a repeat performance.

He tells himself it’s fine. He doesn’t need sexual companionship. It might be easier if he could achieve release on his own, but it’s difficult to jerk off in bed when he’s surrounded by feelings of anger and hate.

The door slides open for Obi-Wan. Jango is finishing up late meal, and his mouth is full of noodles, so he waves in greeting. Obi-Wan waves back with his book and then settles on the couch. He promised he wouldn’t be a nuisance or a distraction. Obi-Wan simply wants to be somewhere that isn’t his own rooms. He wants to spend time with his spouse.

The couch is three cushions long, so Obi-Wan leans on one armrest and takes up two cushions with his torso and legs. There’s space for Jango to join him if he wants.

Jango finishes eating. He sets the empty bowl on the tray and stretches his arms over his head. In his quarters, he only wears his black flight suit. It’s tight-fitting, and Obi-Wan sneaks a peek. He returns to his book, a history of Keldabe that is interesting but not as captivating as Jango’s voice when he told Obi-Wan about the city.

Jango circles around the couch and surprises Obi-Wan by touching Obi-Wan’s hair, still damp from his shower.

“I exercise in the afternoons,” Obi-Wan says.

“I know.” Jango smiles and then sits in one of the armchairs with a datapad and stylus. “Walon says your hand-to-hand is improving.”

Obi-Wan closes his book around his finger to mark his spot. He can’t hold back his snort. “Did he preface it or follow it up by saying I’m improving because I started as a dismal failure?”

Jango’s eyes glint with amusement, which means Obi-Wan was close to guessing what Walon Vau had reported. “He wasn’t that harsh. He said you’re slower with beskads than he expected, but you’re good with knives, and acceptable with a blaster.”

“Acceptable.” Obi-Wan laughs. “A high compliment indeed.” He trains every day, improving his skills because he can no longer count on the Force to aid him. It’s slow going, and he sometimes forgets and pulls on the Force, only to have to deal with a nasty kickback. But he is improving. It feels good to work his body. He’s even found a lap pool, so running is no longer his sole cardio. Swimming is low impact and better for his body than constantly pounding pavement.

“Beskads?” Jango prompts.

“You have the darksaber,” Obi-Wan says. “Have you used it?”

“Occasionally.”

“Is the weight different than a beskad?” Obi-Wan nods as Jango wrinkles his nose. “I was raised fighting with a weapon weighted like your darksaber. Switching to a beskad…it’s disorienting. I’m adapting, but it’s slow, frustrating progress.”

“You know, most Mandalorians ask for a jetpack as soon as they begin training.”

“No, thank you,” Obi-Wan says. “I am quite content to keep my feet on the ground.” Especially now that he can’t trust the Force to aid him if he falls from a great height.

Jango taps his stylus, seemingly at random, as if he’s preoccupied with something. “You don’t have to learn beskads. You could use your lightsaber.”

It’s shocking enough that Obi-Wan’s mouth actually falls open. He snaps it shut, but it’s too late. Jango saw his reaction. Saw his surprise, saw his want. But it doesn’t matter if this is a trick, a carrot dangled to lead Obi-Wan in a certain direction. He doesn’t have his lightsaber. He shrugs and opens his book again, but he doesn’t register a single word. “I don’t have it.”

“You…don’t have it?”

This was a mistake, Obi-Wan thinks. Why would he want to spend time with a spouse who has put him in chains and denied him access to his people, to the Force? Only through years of experience does Obi-Wan manage to keep his tone level as he answers. “I came with nothing. My ill-advised cin vhetin.” That isn’t why, of course. He was a Jedi, the ancient enemy of the Mandalorians. He wasn’t about to bring the weapon of his people with him.

“Is our intel wrong, then?” Jango asks. “It has been suggested that Jedi and their lightsabers are like Mandalorians and their armor. That it is painful to separate them.”

 “The Jedi are a monastic order, so there is a spiritual significance to our lightsabers. I—” Obi-Wan fights back the complicated tangle of emotions he feels whenever he thinks about Naboo. “My lightsaber was lost when I battled the Sith on Naboo. I used my master’s lightsaber to finish the fight, and then I held onto it for comfort until I left Coruscant for Mandalore.”

“Could you make a new one?” Jango asks.

“If I had the right materials, I suppose.” Obi-Wan touches the kyber pendant on his necklace without thinking. He wouldn’t make a new one, though. Not with his access to the Force so limited. Having a lightsaber would drive home how much he is lacking. No, Obi-Wan is Mandalorian now. He will learn the Mandalorians’ weapons. “There are plenty of weapons in the armory for me to learn. Walon thinks I should work on electro-weapons next. Staff, given my skillset. Whip, maybe.”

Obi-Wan studies Jango for a reaction, but he doesn’t give one. Which means Mij didn’t tell him about Obi-Wan’s back. Maybe there is such thing as doctor-patient confidentiality here. Jango’s focus is on Obi-Wan’s hand, which means he’s noticed the necklace. Obi-Wan drops his hand to his book.

“It’s beautiful,” Jango says.

Kyber crystal trapped within a mythosaur skull, a chain of beskar that holds Obi-Wan from his full potential. Obi-Wan’s smile is a shaky, tremulous thing. “You have good taste.”

“That is something I have never been accused of.” Jango laughs and then returns to his datapad.

Obi-Wan makes his excuses early to head back to his room to sleep.

#

Obi-Wan returns to Jango’s room the next night. He swam laps this morning in addition to his afternoon training. He’s tired, would be even if he had slept well the night before. Since Jango still hasn’t shown any interest in sharing the couch, Obi-Wan stretches out across the entire thing.

It doesn’t take long before the words on the page of his book blur. He rubs his knuckles over his eyes and tries to concentrate. And then he wonders why he’s bothering. He’s in Jango’s room. The couch is comfortable. The ambient emotions are all pleasant ones. Why not sleep?

Obi-Wan rests his head in the crook of his arm. Once he gives in, he falls asleep easily.

He’s woken up too soon, by a gentle hand on his shoulder and a low, soothing voice. He senses only peace, so Obi-Wan doesn’t bolt out of his sleep. It means he’s loathe to give it up. He groans and pushes at the hand on his shoulder.

“Obi-Wan.” A low chuckle. “Surely your bed is more comfortable than my couch.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says, but something pierces the hazy fog of his mind. Couch. Voice. Fuck. Obi-Wan sits up and cracks his jaw on a yawn. Jango backs up a step once he sees that Obi-Wan is awake. Obi-Wan fell asleep on Jango’s couch and Jango…doesn’t want him here.

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan says and then he takes his book and leaves.

#

Obi-Wan doesn’t go to Jango’s room for a few nights. More than two. Less than seven. Maybe?

Tonight, Obi-Wan’s eyes are gummy and ache with the headache he has, no doubt caused by a lack of sleep and proper nutrition. Walon sent him out of the training facility before he hurt himself and absolutely forbid him from getting into the pool.

Obi-Wan isn’t that tired.

He also wants to know what the rules about the pool are. Is it only until Obi-Wan sleeps again? Because he’s taken to swimming in the mornings before anyone else is there. Obi-Wan closes his book with a sigh. He won’t get any reading done tonight. He glares at his bedroom door, because he knows he won’t get any sleep either.

His bed is…problematic. Laundry was recently done, and his bed linens were handled by someone who is anti-Jedi. That’s unfair. They could simply be anti-Obi-Wan. Regardless, Obi-Wan’s bed is unpleasant to sleep in.

There’s a chime at Obi-Wan’s door. He can’t muster enough control over the Force to open it with a wave of his hand. Obi-Wan stumbles over to the door and manually opens it. Jango is on the other side. His mild concern spikes into something much stronger. It’s overbearing is what it is, and Obi-Wan groans before he can help himself. With his mental shields as flimsy as they are, any kind of emotion is too much. Which has led to Obi-Wan sticking to his rooms away from people, which has made his mental state worse and—

“You look like shit,” Jango says.

“The romance evaporated quicker than I expected,” Obi-Wan says.

“Come, we’re making a visit to medical,” Jango says. He takes Obi-Wan’s arm before he can protest and guides him down the hall. “I thought Walon was exaggerating when he commed me. I should have known better.”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan says.

“Are you sick? Is that why you fell asleep on my couch? We have medics here. You shouldn’t avoid them if you’re unwell.”

“I—” Obi-Wan doesn’t have a good argument. It’s easier to stumble along beside Jango than protest. And Obi-Wan isn’t feeling well. Maybe the medics have something that can help him. Of course, what would truly help him would be getting this Sith-damned collar off his neck. No, not collar. Necklace.

They reach medical, and Mij is on duty. He takes one look at Obi-Wan and purses his lips. “You look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

“Everyone is a critic today,” Obi-Wan mumbles. He allows Jango to herd him toward one of the med-beds. “I slept last night, but it doesn’t appear to have been very restful.”

Mij pinches the bridge of his nose. “I would say you’re suffering from more than one poor night of sleep. Any significant disruptions in routine?”

Obi-Wan gives Mij a withering look. “Such as a completely new environment?”

“Are you saying you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you arrived?” Mij radiates disapproval, and Obi-Wan can’t help but shy back, as if physical distance will protect him from a mental assault. “I have a non-addictive sleep aid, we can try. After a few nights of regular sleep, your body should remember and do it naturally again.”

Obi-Wan isn’t as sure, but he’s willing to try it. He thought about sleeping in the library last night, he’s that desperate. He holds still as Mij sticks him with a hypo. Jango insists on walking Obi-Wan back to his rooms.

“I’m not an invalid,” Obi-Wan snaps once they’re in his quarters and Jango walks Obi-Wan to his own damn bed.

“I’m your spouse, I’m allowed to fuss.”

Obi-Wan drops down onto his bed. He glares. “You aren’t allowed to call yourself my spouse when you kick me out of your rooms.”

“What?” Jango asks. But Obi-Wan doesn’t answer. He turns away from Jango and pulls his blankets up. But they’re itchy, painful, so he kicks them off. He tosses the pillows too. He’s trying to wrestle the sheet off the mattress when sleep claims him.

#

Obi-Wan dreams about Bandomeer. He dreams about the heavy collar, how it cut him off from the Force, taught him what true loneliness is. Not being teased by his agemates. Not being rejected by Master Jinn. Not being cast out from his home but this. No connection to anything.

He pulls at the collar, even though it’s hopeless. He isn’t strong enough to break it. He tugs at the collar and chokes. He tries clawing at it instead, tears at it with his fingers.

“No!”

That isn’t Xanatos’s voice. Someone grabs him, grabs his wrists. The overseer? Obi-Wan struggles against their hold. He slips a wrist free and slams his elbow into the overseer’s chest. They fall back, and Obi-Wan reaches for his collar again. He has to get it off before they shock him. He’s grabbed again before he succeeds.

“No,” Obi-Wan whimpers. He thrashes weakly. “I’ll be good, I promise.” He doesn’t want to be shocked. Or worse, put on an isolation shift. It’s hard enough being without the Force. He doesn’t want to lose his physical connections. “I’m sorry. Please.”

“Obi-Wan.”

Trick. It’s a trick but Obi-Wan knows this one. Slaves don’t have names. He isn’t Obi-Wan. There is no Obi-Wan here.

“What did you do to him?”

Anger lances across Obi-Wan’s mind, and he screams. There’s a second presence. Obi-Wan—no, he isn’t Obi-Wan, slaves don’t have names—tries to twist away, but he’s held tight. Something jabs into his neck.

“No,” he whimpers. Is it spice? Hallucinogens? Fire beetle venom?

Jenna Zan Arbor cackles in his ear and—

Obi-Wan wakes up with a gasp. He’s in a bed, not on a cot or a medical slab. There’s someone holding him down, but they’re familiar. They’re scared and beneath it, fiercely protective, but Obi-Wan can’t place them. “Master Jinn?” he asks weakly. He reaches for the comfort of their bond and—

Nothing.

There is nothing on the end of the bond. He tries harder, and the Force slaps him down, a sharp crack of pain that leaves him reeling, both mentally and physically.

“Your name is Obi-Wan, Clan Fett, House Mereel,” a steady voice says. “You are in the Keldabe Great Hall in the city of Keldabe on the planet Mandalore.”

“I—” Obi-Wan fights through the fog and the pain in his head. “My name is Obi-Wan.” That is right. He is on a bed, he is not on Bandomeer. He has a name, and it is Obi-Wan. “Clan Fett, House Mereel.” That is…new. It’s right, though. Awareness trickles back. Clan Fett, because he married Mand’alor Fett. Which means—

There is dim light in the bedroom, enough for Obi-Wan to recognize the person looming over him, holding him down in his bed. Jango Fett. And next to the bed, the speaker, Mij Gilamar. Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry. He struggles to get enough saliva to swallow.

“Bandomeer?” Mij asks. “Or have you been enslaved more than once?”

“Bandomeer,” Obi-Wan answers. “I apologize for the disruption.”

“Yeah, we’re not doing that,” Mij tells him. “You’re coming to the medical ward with me, and you’re spending the night in an observation room.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, far too late and far too stupid. “The sleeping aid trapped me in the nightmare.”

“Yes. Jango, get off him now. He’s no longer a danger to himself.”

“Danger to myself?” Obi-Wan repeats. He’s aware of sting on his neck, but before he can touch it, Jango captures his wrists in a firm hold. Obi-Wan looks down. In the dim lighting of the room, he can see the red under his fingernails. “It’s been a long time since I did that.”

“Medical,” Mij orders. “Now.”

It’s late enough that they don’t encounter anyone in the hallways. Of course, it only reminds Obi-Wan that he’s disturbed both Mij and Jango’s sleep. Before he can apologize, Mij bullies him into a medical gown and then cleans his hands and treats his neck.

The med-bed doesn’t have nearly the same cushioning as Obi-Wan’s mattress, but he sinks down onto it with a sigh of relief. Medical is sterile, uncannily clean, but it’s better than his room.

“Am I allowed to sleep?” Obi-Wan asks. He hopes the answer is yes, because he’s nearly there already.

“Yes,” Mij answers.

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan closes his eyes and then he’s asleep again.

#

Obi-Wan wakes up, lethargic in the way he only is after a long sleep. He is in medical, which explains the thin gown and even thinner mattress on his bed. He has a thick blanket, at least, quilted and warm and not med-bay standard. He runs a hand through his hair and ignores the droid chittering at him.

He sits up, which prompts more chittering. He remembers bits and pieces of last night. He touches his neck cautiously, afraid of what he’ll encounter, and droid’s alarm turns into beeping. The necklace is still there, which Obi-Wan knows, because his access to the Force is limited. He touches his skin, winces at the healing cuts there. He hopes they feel worse than they are. He looks at his hands, surprised when there’s no blood under his nails.

Obi-Wan’s in a private room, but the droid must be tapped into the communication array, because the door slides open and Mij and Jango both enter. Jango has a bowl of nutrient broth, and Obi-Wan’s traitorous stomach growls loudly.

“It’s mid-day,” Mij says brusquely, approaching to listen to the droid’s report on Obi-Wan as he does his own evaluation. Satisfied, he nods and Jango hands Obi-Wan the bowl and a spoon.

Obi-Wan eats the whole portion in record time and then blinks at the empty bowl, surprised.

“Once that has time to settle, I’ll get you more,” Mij says. “You missed two meals while you were sleeping.” Mij pulls up a chair and makes himself comfortable next to Obi-Wan’s bedside. “Are nightmares common for you?”

“Not like last night,” Obi-Wan says. “Only in extreme situations or if something happened to trigger one. I--" Obi-Wan is about to say he rarely has bad dreams, let alone nightmares, but he isn’t sure if that’s true. How many mornings has Master Jinn searched Obi-Wan’s gaze as if he’s waiting for Obi-Wan to talk? How often does he prepare Obi-Wan’s comfort tea, to the point that it’s become his regular morning drink?

“You?” Mij prompts.

“Jedi masters and their padawans have a mental connection,” Obi-Wan says, because this isn’t secret, either. Not many believe it or even truly understand it, but the knowledge is out there. “I’m now wondering if my master helped mitigate my nightmares.”

“Does the connection fade once you become a knight?” Mij asks.

“Part of the Knighting Ceremony is to dissolve the bond,” Obi-Wan answers. “But I was knighted under unique circumstances. Master Jinn is in a healing trance, similar to a medically induced coma. I haven’t been able to sense him since Naboo. It—” Obi-Wan swallows thickly. He’s grateful for the water Mij hands him. “In the Force, it feels as if he’s died.”

“Traumatic and abrupt loss of your mentor?” Mij grumbles to himself and taps away on his datapad. “When did this happen?”

“A month or so before your delegation arrived on Coruscant?”

Mij’s expression darkens further. “What were you sleeping arrangements at the Temple? Begin with when you arrived.”

“When I arrived?” Obi-Wan strokes the soft hair of his beard. “I was too young to have memories but based on what I've seen of other younglings, I stayed in the creche. Like a communal nursery.” At Mij’s nod, Obi-Wan moves on to his next stage. “Once I was old enough, I moved from the creche to the Initiates’ Dorms. Eight rows of bunks, four on one side of the room and four on the other. I slept on a bottom bunk. Once I became a padawan, I moved into Master Jinn’s quarters. We each had our own bedroom, but we had our training bond established, so I could sense him. After I was knighted, I moved into the Knights’ Dorms. There were two to a room, four to a suite there. I would have stayed there until I took a padawan of my own or, I suppose, moved into more private quarters.”

“Communal living,” Mij says. “You are used to sharing space with at least one other being.”

“You fell asleep on my couch,” Jango says. His expression is placid, but his emotions are stricken, guilt and self-recrimination.

“I felt safe in your rooms,” Obi-Wan says. It somehow makes Jango’s emotions worse.

“Then you’ll sleep in my quarters,” Jango says. “Would you like a second bed brought in?”

That seems like a lot of fuss. Obi-Wan realizes he must have spoken out loud when both Jango and Mij frown at him. Obi-Wan rubs his eyes and wills himself to wake up faster. “If you don’t want to share your bed, the couch is more than serviceable.”

Mij stands and then forcibly pushes Jango down into the chair he vacated. “You two, talk. I’ll prepare another meal tray.”

Jango waits until Mij is gone, the door sliding shut behind him, to speak. “You want to share quarters with me?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers. In the spirit of being honest, he adds, “but you are the Mand’alor, and I’m a Jedi. If you don’t want me in your space or you’re too busy to have someone constantly underfoot, I understand.”

There is a flash of anger, irritation, but Jango pushes it aside, not dissimilarly to the way Jedi set aside initial emotional reactions. When Jango smiles, a little crooked, it isn’t fake or to cover up his true feelings. He reaches out to clasp one of Obi-Wan’s hands. He cradles it between two of his and rubs his thumbs in small circles over Obi-Wan’s knuckles.

“Mij was right. We do need to talk. This was a political marriage. It’s a concept Mandalorians aren’t familiar with, but I understand the purpose and necessity. The Chancellor asked for marriage candidates so there would be some kind of choice. I like you. I would have you at my side all the time if I could. I know Jedi aren’t used to marriage at all, let alone political marriages. I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“You like me?” Obi-Wan repeats. Because he’s the Sith Slayer. Because he’s Stewjoni. Because he’s a powerful Jedi with a chain of beskar around his neck.

“Yes.” It’s short answer but not a simple one.

Obi-Wan, needing to give something in return, says, “You know I threw the Challenge.”

“You yielded.” Jango’s smile turns up at the corners. “We chose each other.”

Obi-Wan nods. It’s close enough, and he did choose Jango. Jango was his mission from the beginning. He was prepared to do his duty to the Order and the Republic. He still is. But if there’s pleasure to be found in duty…if there is companionship, even the hope of happiness…Obi-Wan is allowed those.

“We’ll move your some of your things into my quarters,” Jango says. “We’ll keep your old quarters as they are, so you have a retreat if you need it. And if you ever want to convert my private study into a second bedroom, we can do that. We have a long future ahead of us, Ancestors willing. I want it to be a good one.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees.

Jango continues to rub his fingers over Obi-Wan’s hand, which is distracting as much as it is enjoyable. “Would you like to do more than sleep in the same bed?”

“You said another time,” Obi-Wan says, because he’s been turning Jango’s words over in his head since their wedding night. “You said another time and then there hasn’t been one.”

“I will be better at asking instead of assuming,” Jango says. “But only if you promise to agree only when you truly want to and to say no if you aren’t interested.”

“I can do that,” Obi-Wan says. He is moving into Jango’s rooms where he’ll be surrounded by Jango, by someone who wants him. He will be able to see his spouse and talk to him, spend time with him the way Obi-Wan had expected when he realized he would be getting married.

“And you can also ask,” Jango says, and he’s shy now, head bent, staring at Obi-Wan’s hand instead of his face.

He’s as uncertain as I am, Obi-Wan realizes. “Tonight?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Mij might say no,” Jango answers, but inside he’s a tangle of longing and want and yes-yes-yes.

Obi-Wan craves that closeness, that flood of positive feelings. He’s willing to brave the medic’s ire to get what he wants. He is, also, willing to compromise. “What if I eat whatever bland medic’s gruel he gives me and then nap in your bed for the afternoon?”

“Our bed,” Jango says. His desire grows, a steady swell, accompanied by images now, Obi-Wan curled up in the center of the large bed, content and safe in Jango’s territory. Obi-Wan waking slowly, blinking and looking up at Jango through his lashes. A soft smile and lips curled in invitation.

Obi-Wan pitches forward, and Jango throws his hands up to catch him, barely keeps Obi-Wan on the med-bed instead of sliding into Jango’s lap as Obi-Wan planned.

Mij returns with a tray laden with unappetizing food. He looks at Obi-Wan, flushed and almost panting, and then at Jango’s hands, firm on Obi-Wan’s hips. He sighs. “No. I’ll keep him here another night if you don’t behave.”

“What if I spent the rest of the afternoon eating whatever you bring me and sleeping?” Obi-Wan asks.

“You’re exhausted,” Mij says. “Walon says he kicked you out of training for your own safety.”

“Jango’s careful with me,” Obi-Wan says and Jango leans in to press a kiss to Obi-Wan’s jaw, as if to prove Obi-Wan’s point.

“You stay here under observation for the rest of the day,” Mij says. “And I’ll make a decision this evening. Now, our Mand’alor has his duties to attend to, and you have a meal to eat and then an important nap to take.”

At the reminder, Obi-Wan winces and tries to pull away from Jango. “I didn’t mean to be a burden. If you—” No. Obi-Wan can’t finish that thought. Even if he’s inadequate, he cannot allow the Mandalorians to return him and choose a different Jedi. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“Rest,” Jango says, interrupting him. “Recover. I have a check-in next week at one of the nearby farming communities, and I’d like you to come with me.”

It doesn’t seem like enough, but Obi-Wan nods. Once he’s recovered, he’ll start a proper campaign for being given something to do.  

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan is released from medical on good behavior. He doesn’t grumble when Jango elects himself escort again, because he wants to be out of medical and because Jango brings him a fresh change of clothes, which means Obi-Wan doesn’t have to wander the Great Hall in a medical gown.

They’re from Obi-Wan’s room, and they’re itchy after the weird nothing of the hospital gown, but Obi-Wan showers as soon as he’s back in Jango’s room. He wraps a towel around his waist and goes into the large closet that already has some of Obi-Wan’s things hanging in it. He ignores his own in favor of Jango’s.

If Obi-Wan’s clothes were handmade by someone who despised him, it would be more difficult to purge them of the negative feelings, but he hopes that in few days of hanging in Jango’s closet, his clothes will be wearable again. And maybe, hopefully, if his clothes are laundered with Jango’s they won’t be singled out.

Obi-Wan hangs his towel on the second hook in the fresher. He joins Jango in the living room, where Jango is in his armchair, reading, as if he wanted to give Obi-Wan privacy. Given that Jango has promised to have sex with him tonight, it seems odd, but Obi-Wan’s touched by the gesture all the same.

Jango looks up from his datapad, and his gaze hones in on Obi-Wan’s pants, tied tightly around the waist so they won’t slip off his hips. His shirt is loose too, baggy in the shoulders, because Obi-Wan doesn’t have nearly the breadth that Jango does.

“Those are my clothes,” Jango says. He sets his datapad aside with care.

“Is that a problem?” Obi-Wan doesn’t think it is, Jango moves with deliberate slowness that masks a deep need, but he figures it’s better to check.

“Only for my productivity.” Jango grins as he pushes himself out of his armchair. He crosses the room to where Obi-Wan is in several large strides. “But fortunately, I have an entire evening cleared for you.”

“An entire evening seems ambitious,” Obi-Wan says.

Jango’s smile is all liquid heat and full of promise. He slides a hand under Obi-Wan’s shirt to rest his palm against Obi-Wan’s skin. “Mij told me slow and careful.”

Talking about their medic should probably ruin the mood, but Obi-Wan isn’t sure anything could ruin the mood for him at this point. He wants, with a startling intensity, but he comforts himself by knowing he isn’t the only one. Jango strokes his flank, touching Obi-Wan, connecting them, as Jango stares at Obi-Wan’s face and imagines all the various things he wants to do.

Obi-Wan does his best not to look. He leans in and kisses Jango instead, as if more stimulation is the right answer. Jango squeezes Obi-Wan’s side and then kisses back, coaxing Obi-Wan closer, with both his hands and his mouth. Obi-Wan frames Jango’s face with his hands, holds the man where he is, because he doesn’t want to stop kissing.

It had never seemed that interesting before, a precursor to the main event, but Obi-Wan can’t get enough of it now. Jango’s mouth on his, Jango’s hands on him, their bodies close enough for heat to build between them. It’s a build-up to the main event, Obi-Wan thinks, not a box to check.

Obi-Wan isn’t a stranger to getting off. He knows how to use his hands, his mouth, how to sink down on someone’s cock or use his own to bring someone pleasure. But kissing isn’t about orgasm. It’s about being close, pleasure found in less explosive ways. Obi-Wan slides one of his arms around Jango’s neck, slides his hand down Jango’s back until they’re embracing as they kiss. If they were lying down, he would try and find a way to twine their legs together as well, but he doesn’t want to risk toppling them over.

Jango grips Obi-Wan’s thigh, pulls up, and a moment later, Obi-Wan’s lifted in the air, and he wraps his legs around Jango’s waist. It shouldn’t be hot, Obi-Wan knows Jango is strong, but being lifted so easily makes Obi-Wan gasp into their kiss. Jango laughs, a hot puff of air, and he walks them a few short steps until they’re moving again.

He sat down, Obi-Wan registers as he pushes Jango against the back of the couch and kisses him deeper. Obi-Wan’s legs are on either side of Jango’s hips, and he can hold him in place. Jango’s hands, no longer needed to support Obi-Wan, roam up and down his back. He makes no move to push Obi-Wan’s shirt up and out of the way, but he touches as much skin as he can.

Everything about Jango right now is warm, from his body to his hands to his thoughts. Obi-Wan wants to burrow as deeply into the feeling as he can. Obi-Wan finally ends the kiss to nuzzle Jango’s neck, where he’s the hottest, blood pumping so close to the surface. Obi-Wan kisses here too, lips and then nipping kisses with his teeth.

“Gonna mark me up, cyar’ika?” Jango groans and slides a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair as if to encourage him. “I’ll strut through the halls tomorrow with an open collar so everyone can see.”

“Yeah?” Obi-Wan lifts his head so he can look at Jango’s face. Jango’s eyes are dark and heated, his lips slick from their kissing. Obi-Wan wants to mark him up, so everyone will know that Jango is Obi-Wan’s spouse and that Obi-Wan pleases him.

Jango grins at him and then tilts his head back to give Obi-Wan more room to work with. “Yeah,” he answers and Obi-Wan dips his head down again. He finds a patch of skin and sucks, slow and careful, and Jango doesn’t rush him, even as Jango’s hips hitch up and Obi-Wan feels the hard line of his erection.

Obi-Wan uses his teeth, rolls a bit of skin between them, and Jango swears in Mando’a, loud enough that Obi-Wan stops, worried. But Jango growls, “Again,” and Obi-Wan’s teeth are sharper this time, and he only stops to soothe the patch of skin with his tongue.

“That’s it,” Jango says as Obi-Wan presses a sloppy kiss to the mark, not an apology so much as one last claim. He jostles them until he can pull his shirt off, revealing an entire canvas of skin. “That’s for them. Give me one for me.”

Obi-Wan picks a spot closer to Jango’s collarbone, where the skin is thinner and more sensitive. Jango hisses out through his teeth, but it’s a good noise so Obi-Wan doesn’t stop. He uses tongue and teeth and then Jango reaches into Obi-Wan’s pants to grip his cock. It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to hiss, surprised at the touch.

“You’re good,” Jango promises. He digs into the couch cushions and produces a tube of slick. Obi-Wan kisses Jango on the mouth again, but it’s more aggressive than their last kiss. Now that he knows he can push and that Jango likes it, he doesn’t hesitate to take control.

Jango moans his approval and wraps a slick hand around Obi-Wan’s cock. He strokes Obi-Wan with a firm hand, his blaster callouses catching and dragging in all the right spots. Soon, Obi-Wan can’t kiss anymore, just pant open mouthed against Jango’s skin. It’s Jango’s turn to bite, his teeth nipping at Obi-Wan’s bottom lip, at the curve of his jaw.

Obi-Wan curls his hands over Jango’s shoulders and holds on tightly as he comes, his cock jerking in Jango’s grip. Jango strokes him through it, until the touch becomes too much, and then Jango moves, tipping Obi-Wan back on the couch, so he’s sprawled out.

“Look at you,” Jango says, fire in his eyes as plants one foot on the floor and his other knee on the couch. He shoves his pants down enough to get at his own cock. “Fucking perfect.” Jango strokes himself with one hand and touches Obi-Wan with the other. He presses his thumb against Obi-Wan’s kiss swollen lips and traces the line of his jaw. He grins at the splatter of come on Obi-Wan’s shirt and his gaze is hungry as he stares at Obi-Wan’s soft, spent cock.

Obi-Wan must look obscene, wearing pants but his cock exposed, and his shirt messy with evidence of his own release. And his face…Jango already touched his lips, bruised from their kissing. Are his cheeks red, flushed with want? Are his pupils as wide as Jango’s? Does he look like he just had sex?

Obi-Wan grabs Jango’s wrist and guides his free hand back up until Obi-Wan can draw the tip Jango’s thumb into his mouth. If Jango wants to look…Obi-Wan flutters his lashes and curls his tongue, and Jango groans and comes all over Obi-Wan’s cock and his shirt.

“Shit.” Jango moves his hand to the armrest near Obi-Wan’s head to brace himself. He leans in and kisses Obi-Wan, almost sweet after everything they’ve done. He pulls back enough for Obi-Wan to see him smile. “You look really fucking good in my clothes.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze catches on the purple-red mark he left on Jango’s chest. He touches it before he can think it through, and Jango gasps, but presses into the touch, instead of away.

“And I look really good wearing your marks.” Jango’s grin turns even more pleased.

It’s possessive, claiming, and Obi-Wan should probably regret it. He should definitely stop rubbing his finger over the mark and thinking about leaving another but… “You’re my spouse,” Obi-Wan says. Jedi are discouraged from attachments, not only to people but also to things. He came to Mandalore with nothing, but he has a spouse. A spouse that the Jedi and the Republic told him to marry. They can’t censure him for this.

“Ner riduur,” Jango says.

“Ner riduur,” Obi-Wan echoes. My spouse. It sounds better in Mando’a, or maybe he’s biased, because Jango looks gut-punched when Obi-Wan says it in his language. “What are the other words you say? Mesh’la. And tonight, cyar’ika.”

“Mmm.” Jango leans in for another, lingering kiss. “Mesh’la is beautiful. Cyar’ika is sweetheart.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan blushes. He squirms a little, because he shouldn’t like that. He shouldn’t want it.

“Next time,” Jango pauses and his smile sharpens into a grin. “You can add this to your mental list, cyar’ika. Next time, I’m going to bury my cock in you, pin you to the bed that way and tell you how perfect you are until you come for me.”

“It, um,” Obi-Wan licks his lips as his cock stirs, showing renewed interest. “It might be really fast.”

Jango doesn’t look as though that’s a deterrent at all. “Then I’ll fuck you until you’re hard and do it again. And again. Until your pretty little cock doesn’t have anything left to give.”

Vaguely, Obi-Wan thinks he should be offended at his cock being called pretty or little. But with Jango’s cock right there for comparison, he doesn’t think he can muster up a complaint. He tugs on the waistband on Jango’s pants until Jango lowers his hips and Obi-Wan can look at their cocks next to each other. Obi-Wan’s is slimmer, shorter, a rosy pink at the tip.

“It isn’t pretty,” Obi-Wan manages to protest.

Jango laughs, deep and low, and it sends a shudder down Obi-Wan’s spine. “But it is little?”

“Shit,” Obi-Wan says. He’s hard again, and Jango can no doubt tell.

Jango gives Obi-Wan a moment of relief by moving so their cocks are no longer side by side. He shifts down, until his arms are on either side of Obi-Wan’s waist, until his mouth is about level with Obi-Wan’s cock.

“There are perks to being smaller,” Jango says, drawing his words out to savor the way Obi-Wan shivers and trembles as if he isn’t sure how to react. “Easier to swallow.”

It’s all the warning he has before Jango takes Obi-Wan’s cock into his mouth. Whether it’s truly size or if it’s practice, Jango has no difficultly sliding down to the hilt. He grips Obi-Wan’s hips to keep him from thrusting and then looks up at Obi-Wan. He looks like a predator, hunched over Obi-Wan’s cock, Obi-Wan’s sensitive flesh secured in his mouth. It should be alarming. It should maybe be humiliating. Obi-Wan tries to stuff his own fist in his mouth to muffle his groan.

Jango slides off with a pop. “None of that, cyar’ika. I want to hear you.”

“Why?” It’s more whine than question, but Jango answers anyway.

“I like knowing I’ve made you feel good.”

And that—that’s difficult for Obi-Wan to argue against. It’s a fight to lower his hands to his sides, but Jango rewards him with a smile and then a deep, hard suction, and Obi-Wan allows Jango to hear his pants and moans and, later, his pleas.

Once Obi-Wan has come a second time, Jango lifts him and carries him into the bedroom. Obi-Wan is too tired to move, so he’s grateful when Jango retrieves a damp cloth from the fresher and wipes them both down. Jango helps pull Obi-Wan’s shirt off, and then he joins Obi-Wan in bed.

And, well, Jango is shirtless as well and between the blanket and sharing a bed with another person, Obi-Wan doubts he’ll be cold. He curls around Jango and falls asleep with ease, despite the amount he’s already slept today.

#

In the morning light, the marks on Jango’s neck and chest look violent. Obi-Wan’s stomach twists at the sight of them, guilt and shame warring for dominance. Obi-Wan slides out of bed as quietly as he can and then moves into the living room to meditate.

His feelings toward Jango are…difficult. Inappropriate for a Jedi, but more than appropriate for a Mandalorian and for a riduur. He is a Jedi, but he married into Mandalore. He married the Mand’alor. What does that mean? Where is the line between who he was and who he could be?

True understanding remains just out of his grasp as he surfaces from his meditation. The armored being who delivers breakfast stares at Obi-Wan as he unfolds himself from his meditation pose. Their armor must not be beskar, because Obi-Wan can feel their dislike. It borders on hate, and they linger a moment longer before leaving, a stomp in their boots.

“Is that first meal?” Jango emerges from the bedroom, wearing only his sleep pants. He runs a hand through his hair, disheveled from sleeping. He offers Obi-Wan a smile and then he spots the tray of food, and his excitement grows. “The kitchens received my message. Come.”

Obi-Wan joins Jango at the table. Jango turns the tray so one of the plates of pastries is in front of Obi-Wan and the other is in front of Jango. Obi-Wan braces himself before he bites into one of the flaky pastries. It tastes like ash in his mouth, but he recognizes the egg and meat inside as being high in protein, so he chews and swallows. He has to talk himself into a second bite.

Jango’s excitement fades, a small frown on his face as he picks up his first pastry. This isn’t how Obi-Wan wants to start his day. He knows Jango’s people like Jango, even if they don’t like Obi-Wan. He finishes his first pastry and then takes one from Jango’s plate. He takes a bite before Jango can protest. The noise he makes belongs in the bedroom, not at the breakfast table, but it’s flavor, almost too much after only eating bland medical fare yesterday and his tasteless pastry.

The jam is sweeter than Obi-Wan likes, but there’s a sharp cheddar cheese to ground it, and Obi-Wan can’t help but eat the pastry in two bites and then eye Jango’s plate as if he’s thinking of taking another.

Jango frowns and plucks a pastry off Obi-Wan’s plate. He bites into it and chews it slowly, considering. He looks at the remaining pastry and then looks over at Obi-Wan. This one is meat and cheese, and Jango says, “It’s almost the same as the one from the food stall.”

Oh, Obi-Wan thinks, and he tries to keep his expression neutral, but he’s sure he fails. Because Jango asked the kitchens to make Obi-Wan’s preferred pastries. And Obi-Wan wishes he could appreciate the gesture, but he can’t. Or maybe…

Seized with another spur of the moment idea, Obi-Wan leans forward and plucks the rest of the pastry from Jango’s hand with his mouth. He makes sure to swipe his tongue over Jango’s fingers, to focus on Jango’s feelings, not the chef’s or the delivery person’s. Jango is warmth and interest, and Obi-Wan clings to that as he chews and swallows.

“Is that how it is?” Jango asks, amused.

They finish their breakfast that way, Jango feeding Obi-Wan from his fingers. Obi-Wan’s head is muddled with lust at the end of it, but it’s better than being sick. If Jango weren’t the Mand’alor, Obi-Wan might be tempted to try and keep Jango here with him this morning, to see where their desires would take them. But Jango is the Mand’alor, so Obi-Wan kisses Jango’s cheek and sends him to his day’s work, and then tries to figure out what to do with himself.

He hasn’t been cleared by Mij to return to training yet, so Obi-Wan spends a few hours working on his Mando’a, before he decides to take a walk in the city. Jango’s comment about the food stall reminded him that he has options for meals besides what’s provided for in the Great Hall. Obi-Wan doesn’t have a lot of credits, but if he spends them wisely, he may be given more.

With that in mind, he ventures out into Keldabe. It’s a nice day out, which means there is a large crowd in the Chortav Meshurkaane. Or maybe it’s because it’s a market day. Either way, the street is packed with those looking to buy trade goods. Obi-Wan easily melts into the crowd. He stands out a bit for not wearing armor, but there are enough who wear none or only a few pieces that he isn’t immediately recognized as the Jedi who married the Mand’alor.

He lingers at a few stalls to look at jewelry or leather goods. A few times, he manages to find an apprentice who is willing to talk about the craft while their teacher conducts sales. Obi-Wan’s Mando’a, stilted at the start of his trip, flows more smoothly by the time he makes it to the open square where the food and drink vendors conduct their business.

There is the Oyu’baat tapcaf on the far end of the square, but Obi-Wan isn’t interested in anything so formal as a cantina.

He does a circuit of the food stalls as he tries to decide what he wants to try.

“Here, Mister!” a small voice calls out and Obi-Wan turns, surprised when a little bothan waves at him. He looks around, but there’s no one else near him. He looks back at the bothan who waves at him again.

Obi-Wan approaches the stall cautiously.

“You look like you’re trying to decide,” the young one says. “Let me help!” They reach into the display case to pull out a strip of meat on a stick.

Obi-Wan’s stomach grumbles at the scent, the richness of the meat, the blend of spices, and he accepts the stick with his thanks. He takes his first bite and has to close his eyes so he can savor better.

“This is very good,” Obi-Wan says. He smiles at the bothan and receives a smile in response. “How much for this one and another?”

The bothan’s ears droop and they shift from one foot to the other. “Weeell, I’m not supposed to sell to customers yet. But I’m allowed to give samples.”

“That isn’t a sample.” A second bothan enters the stall from the back, where a draped cloth creates a divider. They give the young one a look and then pat their head.

“But he really likes it! And now he’ll come back again. Right?” The young one blinks wide, innocent eyes at Obi-Wan.

“I do enjoy it,” Obi-Wan says. “And I hope to be back again. Do you help cook the day’s offerings?”

“Yes!” The young one’s ears perk up. “I—” They look at the older bothan. “I can’t give away any secrets. But I help.”

The other bothan chuckles and pats the young one’s head again. “I am Eec Kroy’lim. This is my child, Badrusc.”

“I am Ben,” Obi-Wan says, because that is a name he has used on undercover missions before, and he doesn’t want to tell them his given name, afraid to ruin his pleasant outing. “I am new to Keldabe.”

“We’ve lived here forever,” Badrusc says. “We come in for market day. Did you come from Sundari?”

Obi-Wan sidesteps the question. He chats with Badrusc while their parent sells to other patrons. Obi-Wan manages to buy a second stick of meat and pay for both before he asks for recommendations for other stalls to visit. Badrusc recommends a stall selling sweets and Eec, after a fond look at their child, directs Obi-Wan toward a stall that makes fresh salad on the spot.

Obi-Wan makes a built-to-order salad and hums over the dressing, not one he’s had before, but quite good. He watches the ebb and flow of the crowd while he eats and then he stops by the sweets stall. They sell a variety of fruits dipped in chocolate and Obi-Wan orders a small selection and then tucks his purchase under his arm and heads for the river.

He takes a long walk along its banks. By the time he returns to the Great Hall, the afternoon is beginning to fade. Dysari Ordo meets him at the entrance, and she flashes sharp teeth at him, what he thinks is a smile, before she ushers him down the hall.

“Was I not supposed to leave?” Obi-Wan asks, confused and slightly alarmed. “Myles said I didn’t need permission.”

“You’re not in trouble with Jango,” Dysari promises, which isn’t as reassuring as Obi-Wan would have liked it to be. Especially when she deposits him in medical, pats his shoulder, and then leaves.

Obi-Wan turns to watch her go and then he looks at Mij, who approaches him with a tight expression which means Obi-Wan is in trouble. Mij points to an open med-bed, and Obi-Wan obediently shuffles over.

“What part of no training did you not understand?” Mij demands.

“I didn’t. I went for a walk.”

“You actually believe that.” Mij summons a droid with an imperious snap of his fingers. “Then let me be very clear. No strenuous physical activity until you’re cleared.”

“It was a walk,” Obi-Wan says. Mij points a threatening finger at him and then, with a medic’s sharp eye, spies the bag under Obi-Wan’s arm. He reaches for it, but Obi-Wan pulls back, ready to defend it. “They’re for Jango.”

“You’re staying here until he can walk you back to your quarters,” Mij says and then he leaves Obi-Wan alone with the droid.

Obi-Wan doesn’t have to wait for long. Jango arrives, wearing his armor as he does even for days filled with meetings. His helmet is clipped to his belt, and he looks Obi-Wan over, as if searching for any injuries Mij might have missed.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan says, exasperated after being subjected to Mij, a droid, and now Jango.

Relief wars with amusement as Jango offers Obi-Wan his arm. Obi-Wan resigns himself to continued coddling and rests his hand on the crook of Jango’s elbow. Neither of them speak on the walk back to Jango’s quarters. Obi-Wan is braced for a lecture or a scolding, but once they’re in the living room, Jango gestures to the set table and then heads into the bedroom to remove his armor.

Maybe…no lecture, then?

Obi-Wan sets his small bag on the third chair at the table, the one for a guest they haven’t had yet. Their meal is meant to be shared, a large bowl of noodles, smaller bowls of various sauces, meats, and vegetables so they can make their plate to their own tastes. Communal probably means the food is safe. Obi-Wan samples a noodle. It’s bland, because it’s meant to be combined with the various toppings, but bland is good. It isn’t ashy, isn’t corrupted with negative feelings.

Jango joins Obi-Wan at the table and spots the small bag on the chair right away. He reaches for it, but Obi-Wan snatches it before he can and sets it on the floor next to his chair. “It’s for after we eat,” Obi-Wan says.

Curiosity blooms, pleasant, and Jango nods before he serves himself. Obi-Wan mirrors what Jango does, in a much smaller portion, curious what combination Jango likes best. He’ll serve himself a second portion after with a different combination.

“You went into the city today?” Jango asks.

“I did.” Obi-Wan tells him about the bothans he met, about the crowd and the sheer variety of things being sold. Obi-Wan’s afternoon carries them through their entire meal, and Obi-Wan didn’t realize how much he had missed the stimulation until he sets his chopsticks down, giving into defeat. Having things to do is good, and then having something Jango wasn’t a part of to talk about over their meal is also good.

“I’d like to go again,” Obi-Wan says.

“Of course. The treasurer will provide you with any funds you need, within reason. And any one of my commandos would go with you if you didn’t want to go on your own.”

“It’s quite alright,” Obi-Wan says. “You’re all busy.”

Jango’s mood dims slightly, but he perks up again as he remembers the bag on the floor. His look is far from subtle, and Obi-Wan laughs before he picks it up off the ground. He hands it to Jango and explains, even as Jango looks inside and can see for himself. “They’re chocolate covered fruits. I thought you would like them. I think I ate half your sweet pastries this morning.”

Jango stops peering into the bag to look over at Obi-Wan. “This is like this morning? Then we should move to the couch.”

“We should what?” Obi-Wan asks, but when Jango holds out his hand, Obi-Wan grasps it and allows Jango to tug him over to the couch. Jango sits down first and then pulls Obi-Wan down onto his lap, facing him.

Jango holds the bag up to Obi-Wan. “Pick one.”

“I don’t know what they are,” Obi-Wan admits. “I hope you don’t have any allergies.”

“Not to fruit.” Jango laughs and shakes the bag. “Pick one. We’ll find out together.”

Together. A heat that has nothing to do with how Obi-Wan’s straddling Jango’s waist simmers in Obi-Wan’s chest. It’s something deeper than lust, though there is plenty of that. Obi-Wan picks one of the oblong chocolates. He holds it out, but Jango lightly grips Obi-Wan’s wrist and guides the chocolate to Obi-Wan’s mouth.

“You try it first,” Jango says.

Obi-Wan doesn’t bite the chocolate in half, more like a third. Chocolate covered fruit has always been a puzzle to him, sweet encased in sweet, but, somehow, different kinds of sweet. The fruit inside is soft, a pleasant contrast to the chocolate shell. He holds the rest of the chocolate out to Jango, who curls his tongue to swipe the treat from Obi-Wan’s fingers.

Obi-Wan’s face floods with heat as he remembers this morning, what it must have looked like, him eating from Jango’s fingers. And now Jango thinks Obi-Wan wants the same thing, but this time in the evening, when there’s nothing to keep them from their bed afterward.

Jango guides Obi-Wan’s hand back into the bag.

“This isn’t what I intended,” Obi-Wan says as he selects the next one. This one is a square, and if he knew more about Mandalorian fruit or chocolatiers, the shapes would probably tell him what flavor he would find inside.

“Is that a bad thing?” Jango asks. His touch on Obi-Wan’s wrist is barely a touch at all, as if all Obi-Wan has to say is that this is too much and he’ll stop.

And while Obi-Wan had intended this to be a nice gesture, a sign that he pays attention to what Jango likes and wants to please him, he isn’t upset that this has taken a decidedly sexual turn. He shakes his head. “It’s good.” He flushes and then ducks his head to try this next chocolate.

There’s some kind of fruit gel inside, and it pairs well with the dark chocolate. Obi-Wan hums in consideration. Better than the first one. He holds the rest of it out to Jango, who now holds Obi-Wan’s wrist in both his hands.

And—oh. Now that Jango has permission, he takes his time, his lips sliding over Obi-Wan’s fingers as the plucks the piece of chocolate from them. He retreats with his prize, his gaze never leaving Obi-Wan’s as he savors the chocolate.

Obi-Wan looks in the bag and isn’t sure if he’s glad there are so many pieces remaining or if he wishes there were fewer. Jango ramps up his efforts to make Obi-Wan blush as they continue. Soon, Obi-Wan doesn’t even bother trying the chocolate. He presses it against Jango’s lips or, when he feels daring, he holds it just out of reach, so Jango leans forward to chase it.

Once the bag is empty, Jango draws Obi-Wan’s fingers back to his mouth. He sucks two into his mouth and then, once they’re sensitive, he gently scrapes his teeth up their length. Obi-Wan grinds his hips against Jango’s. He’s hard and unable to ignore it anymore. Grinning around Obi-Wan’s fingers, Jango turns them so it’s Obi-Wan on the couch now. Jango spreads Obi-Wan’s knees and then kneels on the floor between his feet.

He guides Obi-Wan’s hands to his hair and says, “Don’t be afraid to pull,” and then buries his face in Obi-Wan’s groin.

“Oh, fuck,” Obi-Wan says.

Jango tries to suck him through his pants, mouthing at the bulge, soaking the fabric through with spit. It’s heat and warmth, and Obi-Wan hitches his hips, wanting more. When he spreads his legs, Jango ducks his head until he can press his nose against Obi-Wan’s balls, and that sends fissures of want down Obi-Wan’s spine.

Obi-Wan doesn’t mean to pull Jango’s hair, because that seems unfathomably rude, but when Jango shows no signs of backing off so Obi-Wan can tug his pants down, Obi-Wan doesn’t have any other choice. He pulls on Jango’s hair, and the man moans. Obi-Wan pulls his hair again, wanting to hear the same reaction. Jango gives it to him, looks up at Obi-Wan from his knees with blazing desire in his eyes.

Obi-Wan awkwardly pushes his pants down with one hand, because he doesn’t want to let Jango go entirely. Jango doesn’t help, still nuzzling Obi-Wan’s cock, regardless of there being fabric or Obi-Wan’s hand in his way. That kind of dedication, desperation even, is maddening, and Obi-Wan’s cock leaks profusely by the time Jango seals his lips over the tip of it.

Obi-Wan pulls on Jango’s hair again, but this time he tries to pull him closer. And Jango, his solid shoulders between Obi-Wan’s thighs, doesn’t budge. No matter where Obi-Wan tries to direct him, whether he uses pets or pulls or a palm on the back of Jango’s head, Jango does exactly what he intends to do.

Obi-Wan’s never had a blowjob like this, the kind that makes him dizzy as if all his blood has really rushed south. The first time Jango uses his teeth, the way he did on Obi-Wan’s fingers, Obi-Wan whimpers and tries to close his legs. But Jango is there, still solid, still unmovable, and Obi-Wan’s whimper turns into a throaty groan.

Jango radiates smug satisfaction as he takes Obi-Wan deep and does it again. His teeth feel too sharp, too much pressure even though Obi-Wan knows it’s barely anything at all. Obi-Wan throws his head back. He clenches and unclenches his hands in Jango’s hair. He feels so much and he wonders if this is how Mandalorians are all the time, overwhelmed with their own emotions.

Jango draws higher, and Obi-Wan’s brain scrambles to act, because he isn’t stopping, he’s approaching the head, and that will be worse or maybe better. Obi-Wan doesn’t move, afraid of jostling his cock. He doesn’t even breathe, which means there’s no breath in his lungs to expel when Jango catches the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock between his teeth.

One of Jango’s hands wraps around Obi-Wan’s cock and begins to pump it, encouraging Obi-Wan to spill with his cock caught between Jango’s teeth.

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan says, but it isn’t no so Jango doesn’t stop.

Jango’s second hand squeezes Obi-Wan’s balls, to remind him how full they are, how close Obi-Wan is to coming. He can’t. Except he can, he does, his cock spurting and filling Jango’s mouth with come.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Obi-Wan chants. Jango uses his lips again, softer, gentler, but it’s still a lot, especially as Jango sucks and swallows, as if he wants to wring every last drop out of Obi-Wan’s cock.

Obi-Wan’s hands slip out of Jango’s hair. He feels boneless, blissed out, and he’d happily ride the high if it weren’t the niggling sense of failure working its way into his consciousness. “You,” he says and then can’t manage anymore, his head too fuzzy.

“You look incredible,” Jango says and he kisses Obi-Wan until Obi-Wan can taste his own come on Jango’s tongue. Obi-Wan doesn’t kiss back, doesn’t do much more than sprawl against the couch and let Jango do what he wants. And that—

Obi-Wan manages to turn his face away. “I want you to come in my mouth,” Obi-Wan says.

“Oh, cyar’ika.” Jango thumbs at the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth. Obi-Wan’s lips part easily for him, no resistance in his body. “I’d choke you. I told you, you look incredible. I’m more than happy to stroke myself looking at you like this.”

“Dazed?” Obi-Wan grumbles.

“Satisfied,” Jango purrs.

But Obi-Wan is stubborn, and he isn’t a complete novice, so he wiggles until he’s lying on the couch, his head tipped over the armrest, until its upside down. “Come on,” he says.

Jango’s in front of him in an instant, his cock stretching the loose black pants Jango wears in their quarters. Jango strokes Obi-Wan’s throat, and then he curses and shoves his pants down. Like this, Obi-Wan has no control, but he doesn’t want it. He’s loose and easy, and Jango can slide right in. He can slide deep, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes and hums, pleased.

Jango strokes Obi-Wan’s throat again, as if he can feel his cock. Or maybe he just wants to touch.

“You’re so easy for me like this,” Jango says, echoing Obi-Wan’s earlier thoughts. Obi-Wan hums, agreeing, and Jango’s hips stutter, and he pushes just that much deeper. “You love it.” Jango traces Obi-Wan’s lips, where they’re stretched around Jango’s cock. “I bet you’d love if I could slide into your ass this easy. Another time,” Jango grins as Obi-Wan’s groans at his new favorite phrase, “I’ll finger you while I blow you. And once you’ve come, I’ll flip you over and fuck you while you’re too busy recovering to move.”

Obi-Wan can’t nod in this position, but he can moan, he can swallow around the thick press of Jango’s cock, so Jango knows Obi-Wan wants that too.

Jango thrusts a few more times before he pulls back and paints Obi-Wan’s face with his come. Jango eases Obi-Wan back into a sitting position so he doesn’t get lightheaded being upside down. And then he rubs his come into Obi-Wan’s skin and croons things at him like, “Mesh’la” and “perfect”.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan continues to venture into the city on market days. With Mij’s blessing, he resumes his training. He and Jango continue to have sex, and Obi-Wan’s never been in a relationship like this before, but he’s a little alarmed at the frequency and intensity. If he and Jango are married for life, should they pace themselves?

He considers bringing it up, but every time he’s going to, they end up having some pretty fantastic sex and he decides to put it off again.

Today, Obi-Wan isn’t thinking about sex or even another trip into Keldabe, because he’s getting to leave the city itself. Myles had told him about Jango’s ventures out of the capital, how he enjoys visiting settlements, both on Mandalore and other planets within the system. Jango checks on the state of things, offers assistance or aid if it’s needed, and Obi-Wan is being invited along.

As much as he enjoys his visits to Keldabe, this is his first real opportunity to leave the compound and see Mandalore. He can’t keep still during first meal, to the point that Jango openly laughs at him for his impatience.

“And I thought I got restless,” Jango says as he packs the rest of their breakfast to bring with them.

“At least you get to do things,” Obi-Wan says and then he winces and ducks his head. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jango stops fiddling with the lids on his containers. He looks over at Obi-Wan. “Are you bored?”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, decides his first three responses aren’t good ones, and closes it again. Is Jango joking? He scrutinizes the other man, both visually and in the Force. Jango is confused. A touch uncertain. And…nervous? It’s all genuine. This isn’t a question edged with cruelty. Obi-Wan shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve had this much downtime since I became a padawan. I had a full mission schedule when I was with Master Jinn.”

“Yes,” Jango translates. “You’re bored.”

Obi-Wan twists his hands and wishes he had voluminous sleeves to hide them in. “I am used to my life having purpose.” Obi-Wan winces at how that sounds. “What I mean is, I’m used to taking assignments for the Republic or the Order. It feels wrong to sit and do nothing. I understand as your riduur, there are limits to what I can do, but I don’t need to be in active warzones. I just need to do something. I’m sure there’s some department in your government that could use my skills.”

Jango stares at him, as if Obi-Wan is a particularly complicated puzzle.

“It doesn’t have to be the government,” Obi-Wan says, because he is still a Jedi, even if he’s also the Mand’alor’s spouse. “Or, I can do filing if you don’t trust me with anything more. I just need to do something.” Before he starts to feel like he’s earning his room and board by spreading his legs.

“You think I don’t trust you?” Jango asks.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure how this conversation got away from him. “You don’t talk about your day.” He’ll complain about his coworkers sometimes, the way everyone does, but he talks about his problems in generic terms. No details, nothing Obi-Wan might use if he was a Republic plant.

“Because it’s boring,” Jango says. His shock is genuine and radiates outward. “If I have to read another resource report, I might tear out my hair.”

“Then let me,” Obi-Wan suggests. “I like your hair.”

It works. Jango smiles, his shock receding, his emotions back under control. “I do as well. One of my few vanities. Tomorrow, we’ll look into something to occupy your time. But you don’t have to. I didn’t marry you to make you work.”

“You married me as the first step in bridging the gap between the Mandalorian Empire and the Galactic Republic,” Obi-Wan says.

Jango scowls. “Maybe if they didn’t call themselves The Galactic Republic, as if they’re the only ones in the galaxy, people would like them better. But yes, I see your point. Tomorrow. Today, we have plans.”

Speaking of those plans…Obi-Wan fiddles with his necklace. Maybe he shouldn’t push on two things in one morning, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t have his lightsaber, he doesn’t want to be without the Force as well in case something happens. Jango’s gaze is drawn to the necklace, and he doesn’t exude pride or satisfaction or anything else at the sight of Obi-Wan’s restraints.

“Um, could I have this off?” Obi-Wan asks, and he berates himself for being so timid. “I know we’ll have the commandos, but if anything happens…I think it would be better.”

“Of course,” Jango says.

That was easier than Obi-Wan expected. Except, Jango doesn’t come forward to take it off. He stares at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan stares back at him, both of them waiting. Obi-Wan tells himself it’s a silly power game, it’s only pride on the line, and then crosses over to where Jango is. He turns around so Jango can get at the clasp.

Jango doesn’t say anything, simply undoes the necklace. He lets the chain pool in his hand, but he stares at the mythosaur pendant and the kyber crystal tucked inside. “This is an expensive piece.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. He curls Jango’s hand over it, because if Obi-Wan had to keep it in his pocket, he would toss it and then get himself or the Order into big trouble. He turns away from Jango so he doesn’t see where Jango stores it. Best to avoid that temptation.

Instead, Obi-Wan breathes deeply as he connects to the Force fully for the first time since the Chancellor’s office on Coruscant. The Force is vibrant on Mandalore, fresh, almost new, and Obi-Wan wonders if the Force has been healing alongside the planet itself. He knows Mandalorians believe in the Ka’ra and that sometimes the Ka’ra manifests itself in powers, but there aren’t as many Force users that come out of the Mandalorian system. Had the Dral’han damaged the Force’s ability to connect with the Mandalorians?

Are the Republic’s and the Order’s crimes greater than Obi-Wan can comprehend?

“Come,” Jango says. “We don’t want to be late.”

Obi-Wan follows Jango to the private ‘port. There isn’t space for anything but smaller vehicles and transports, but they aren’t going far so a simple shuttle suits their needs. The rest of the team is already there, and Obi-Wan notes he’s the only one without armor. It isn’t a new situation, but Jango frowns as he comes to the same realization.

“We need to get you outfitted,” he says as they buckle in for liftoff. “Not beskar, but something sturdy.”

“Not beskar?” Soxo asks with a curl of mischief.

“Beskar is earned,” Obi-Wan says, trying to recall what he’s read in recent days. “But other armor isn’t?”

“Yes,” Jango answers and then, at Myles’s cough, he expands on his answer. “Every Mandalorian has the right to wear armor. But beskar’gam is different. For one, it’s rare and expensive for its rarity. It’s a status symbol as much as a cultural one. Only those who prove themselves worthy of it are allowed to wear it. You cannot gift it.”

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan tries to fit that in with what he knows of Mandalorians and also within his own experiences. “When Jedi are ready to build their lightsabers, they go on a mission to retrieve the kyber crystal that will power it. The mission is different for everyone, but it is always some kind of trial. A similar concept, I think, to earning your beskar’gam.”

“What was your trial like?” Dysari asks.

Her curiosity is innocent, but Obi-Wan still shies away from the question. “Ah, apologies. It’s a spiritual experience. The details aren’t shared with outsiders. They aren’t often shared within the Order, either. As a padawan, I meditated with my master on my trial, but I’ve never spoken to anyone of it.”

“You went on a spiritual journey to get your kyber crystal?” Myles asks. Obi-Wan nods because that’s safe to say. “And then you put it into your lightsaber? And then you left your lightsaber behind?”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says again. “I left a lightsaber behind. I’m afraid mine was destroyed in my fight against the Sith. It did not survive its fall into a plasma power plant. Under normal circumstances, I would have made the pilgrimage to an appropriate planet to find my next crystal, but…” Obi-Wan gestures around him.

“I thought a Jedi’s lightsaber was their life,” Dysari says, and she’s deeply unsettled, enough that Obi-Wan can sense it even though her beskar helmet.

“A common misconception,” Obi-Wan says. “Because of the spiritual emphasis on kyber crystals and the manner in which we construct our sabers, they are an important part of us. But, as you can all see, I am here and alive, despite having lost my weapon. And, at the end of the day, it is a weapon. One with significance and yes, it is our primary defense, but it isn’t our life.”

“Do you hurt without it?” Dysari asks.

Obi-Wan doesn’t have a helmet to hide behind. He looks away instead.

“Ow!” Dysari hisses. And then, “Sorry.”

“It served its purpose,” Obi-Wan finally says. He’s glad they’re having this conversation when he has full access to the Force and can filter his emotions properly. He had gone through his trials to find his crystal and then his saber protected him through a tumultuous apprenticeship. It had hurt when he handed his lightsaber to Master Jinn on Melida/Daan, but that pain doesn’t compare to when Maul kicked his saber over the edge of the platform.

“How did you defeat a Sith without your lightsaber?” Soxo asks.

“I used my master’s.”

“Even though it’s attuned to his soul and not yours?”

“He was my teacher for twelve years,” Obi-Wan says softly. “He rescued me from slavery and gave me a second chance when I didn’t deserve one. He was my guardian and my mentor, and we didn’t always have an easy relationship, but our connection was strong.” He wouldn’t have been able to wield Master Jinn’s lightsaber if it wasn’t. He wouldn’t have been able to reach into the Force and stabilize him if it wasn’t.

For all their stumbles and Obi-Wan’s doubts, when it mattered, their relationship was strong.

“Did we meet him on Coruscant?” Dysari asks

Jango makes a hand sign, one that probably means to stop asking questions, but Obi-Wan doesn’t need to be shielded. He gives his pain and his regrets to the Force and feels steady enough to answer. “You didn’t. He’s been in a healing trance since the fight on Naboo. He’ll make a full recovery, but the timeline is uncertain.”

“So he doesn’t know you’re here?” Soxo swears softly. “Is someone going to warn us before an angry Jedi drops in on us?”

“I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan says.

“If my parent came out of medical to find out I’d gotten married and moved away from home…” Soxo trails off with a meaningful tilt of her helmet.

“It isn’t like that. Master Jinn was my guardian, but he wasn’t my parent. And he had recommended me for knighthood before Naboo.” It was an attempt to get rid of him, but that’s no matter. It won’t surprise Master Jinn to wake up and find Obi-Wan gone. Well, he might be surprised at where Obi-Wan has gone, but Master Windu will explain the situation. “When a padawan achieves knighthood, they formally dissolve the training bond with their master and then embark on a period of independence. Sometimes, they will work with other knights or masters. And then, when they’re ready, they’ll take a padawan of their own.”

Obi-Wan falls quiet as he realizes he will likely never have the opportunity to train a padawan. He doubts any Mandalorians blessed by the Ka’ra would allow a Jedi to train them. Obi-Wan and Jango might have children and perhaps one of them would be Force sensitive, but raising a child is different than training a padawan.

“You will not be able to do this?” Soxo guesses.

Obi-Wan forces a smile onto his face. It’s his diplomat’s smile, and he hopes it’s enough to fool this group. “No, I will not raise a padawan of my own. But few Jedi are able to raise children, so I will simply have a different set of experiences from my peers.”

“That’s true, then?” Myles asks. “Jedi aren’t allowed families?”

“Given the rumors the spread throughout the galaxy and the Mandalorian Empire’s view of Jedi, I’m going to say no, what you’ve heard isn’t true. Or rather, how you’ve interpreted what you’ve heard isn’t true. Jedi have…families, have connections, but they aren’t the same as other cultures and it is often a point of confusion and even contention. We have lineages, lines of Jedi connected by master-padawan pairs with branches the way that many sentients would compare to families.”

“But your master leaves you after knighting you,” Myles says.

“And this is where the confusion lies.” Obi-Wan smiles to stake the sting out of his correction. “Jedi don’t have families the way other cultures do, because we’re taught from a young age that we cannot prioritize one life over another. Many marriage vows are a dedication to a spouse and often biologically producing a child creates bonds that are difficult to overcome. Jedi have lineages. A master trains a padawan and then, yes, when a padawan is knighted, there is a ceremony that dissolves the training bond. The new knight makes their vows to the Order, becomes a part of the group and in that way, they are still connected to their master, but not more or less than they’re connected to any other Jedi.”

Obi-Wan can sense the disbelief and even a few twinges of horror. He gentles his smile. “I have a history with Master Jinn that I don’t have with other Jedi. I am not expected to reject or ignore that history. And, if I had remained with the Order, we would have been paired on missions once I was older to take advantage of that shared history. We cultivate our connections but carefully and in way that, to outsiders, looks cold or even detached.”

“Because it is,” Dysari says.

Obi-Wan searches for an example, because he often finds examples easier to understand than theoretical. “There was a Jedi master who loved another Jedi. He went to a planet to rescue her from a hostage situation. While he was rescuing her, he learned she had been captured because the planet was at war and desperately needed help. When he was faced with the choice to return his love to the Temple to receive medical attention or to remain and help the inhabitants of the planet, he chose his love.”

“Well, that’s selfish,” Soxo says. “And terrible cost-benefit analysis.”

“Love is selfish,” Obi-Wan says. If his parents had loved him, they would have kept him, and he wouldn’t have been a Jedi. Master Jinn loved Tahl more than Obi-Wan and left Obi-Wan on Melida/Daan. He loved Anakin more than Obi-Wan and tried to set Obi-Wan aside. Even Quinlan, he loved Aayla more than Obi-Wan and so Obi-Wan is here on Mandalore. It isn’t wrong. Obi-Wan should be here, and Anakin needed to be trained. But Obi-Wan made his choices based on duty, not love.

“But the Republic is also partially at fault,” Obi-Wan says. “The Jedi Order believes in life, in maintaining the balance of the Force. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few in our texts and philosophies. But the Republic often sends us on missions which contradict our core beliefs. Anything involving the Trade Federation—” Obi-Wan cuts himself off before he can badmouth the Republic further. “Apologies. That was highly inappropriate.”

“That story,” Jango says and his voice is rough, but Obi-Wan can’t sense the source of it, his emotions tucked carefully behind his beskar. “Is that a story passed through Jedi lineages or is it something that happened?”

“It isn’t a fable,” Obi-Wan says, “if that’s what you mean. We have plenty of cautionary tales and examples from history. But that particular example was more recent history. We are meant to put others before ourselves. We have a branch called the Service Corps, but in reality, all Jedi are meant to dedicate their lives to the service of others. Those who use their connection to the Force for personal gain…they often fall prey to the darkside. And they are very dangerous.”

“Like the Sith you fought,” Soxo says.

“Yes. Darksiders, Sith, they lean heavily into selfishness and possession. They put their wants before the needs of others. They are not the only ones to do so, of course, plenty of sentients without access to the Force do the same. But having access to the Force means one can cause much more damage, much quicker.”

“So any Force user can become a Sith?” Dysari asks.

“The possibility exists, yes.” Obi-Wan wishes Master Windu or another more qualified Jedi was here to answer these questions. He can only hope he answers well enough. “It is much more common to Fall. Becoming a Sith requires deliberate intent. Our ancient texts reference the Sith sacrifice, an action that proves their commitment to their path. Killing one that had been important to them is a common sacrifice. Slaughter of innocents is another. Things that, fortunately, are not done accidentally or on a whim.”

“So Jedi aren’t supposed to love, because they’re afraid it will turn them into monsters?” Myles asks.

Obi-Wan breathes through his frustration. Maybe it’s a good thing he won’t train a padawan, since these are questions often asked by younglings. “Jedi do not act out of fear. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the darkside.”

“Hate, not love,” Myles says.

“Love is complicated,” Obi-Wan answers. “Because love often clouds the mind. But love is also intrinsic and part of what forms the connections which tether us to the galaxy and its inhabitants. But it is far too easy to put love over duty or the Will of the Force. And so, love is…not quite discouraged. Monitored, perhaps? Carefully examined.” Obi-Wan offers a half-shrug and a smile. “As I said, it’s complicated.”

“What about you personally?”

“Hmm?”

Myles doesn’t let Obi-Wan get away with the deflection. “You’ve talked a lot about the Order’s beliefs. What about you? Do you believe love is a gateway to the darkside?”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to answer and then realizes that practically everyone is sitting on the edge of their seat, waiting for his response. Everyone except Jango, who is so non-existent in the Force, that if Obi-Wan couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t believe he was here. Awkward. He is in a political marriage, but perhaps that doesn’t mean it’s appropriate for him to say he doesn’t believe he’s capable of loving his spouse.

“It isn’t something I have reflected on at length,” Obi-Wan says and he can hear the grumblings as the commandos think he’s dodging. “I never had any need to. It wasn’t relevant. If I had a padawan, it would be. Our crechemasters love the younglings and then release them to the care of a master when they become padawans. And masters often love their padawans and then release them to the care of the broader Order when they become knights. If you’re asking me if I’ve ever been in love, the answer is no.”

“Masters don’t always love their padawans?” Jango asks, and even though he wears his helmet, Obi-Wan swears he can feel Jango’s gaze on him.

Obi-Wan knows the question Jango is really asking. He hates that he invited this conversation and wishes he could get out of it without giving anything away. “I was an overly emotional child,” Obi-Wan finally says. “There was enough concern about my ability to be a Jedi that I almost didn’t become one.”

“But you did become one,” Myles says, looking for reassurance, as if somehow Obi-Wan has tricked them this whole time.

“I proved I was willing to put others before self,” Obi-Wan says. He touches his neck, a subconscious gesture. He proved himself to Master Jinn on Bandomeer and then he lost that faith on Melida/Daan. Ever since then, Obi-Wan has sought to prove himself the perfect Jedi. He supposes this mission is proof he accomplished it. They never would have sent a Jedi they thought would fall in love with the Mand’alor. Obi-Wan is supposed to remain neutral, despite being married.

He has done a good job remaining neutral, he thinks. He has not done as well keeping his emotions at bay. But there is nothing wrong with liking his spouse. Surely, the Jedi didn’t expect him to live out the rest of his life unhappily? He and Jango coexist. They have sex. They have conversation and companionship. They don’t need love. Love only complicates things.

Obi-Wan pulls his legs up so he can sit cross-legged. He sinks into a meditation for the rest of their flight and sorts through the tangle of emotions the Mandalorians have introduced.

#

The farm community Jango brings them to is far larger than Obi-Wan expected it to be. It’s almost an entire settlement of its own with multiple families, multiple houses and buildings, and even multiple types of farms. There is the family who tends to the large animals, another that tends to the small animals. There are fields full of golden grains, another with purple tubers buried deep underground.

Jango asks for a tour and a progress report, but Obi-Wan finds a spot between four different fields and sits to meditate. Here, the Living Force swells and even Obi-Wan, a poor student of the Living Force, can feel it.

The Living Force is a contradiction. It both urges Obi-Wan to move, fills him with energy and motivation, and at the same time it’s calming, a steady reassurance that everything is and will continue to be. It makes him wish he’d paid more attention to Master Jinn when he talked about his favored discipline. If only he had tried harder to understand, he could have experienced this harmony earlier.

The Living Force is; well, it’s life. In this moment, everything around him is alive. And he knows that even as the crops grow and wilt and sink back underground during the winter, that isn’t death. The Force’s current shifts, it moves through everything. The Force is a constant and even if its vessels are created and destroyed, the Force remains.

Obi-Wan feels on the cusp of something both incredible and basic. He longs to call the Temple and tell his teachers what he’s learned. Instead, he sinks deeper into his meditation. He doesn’t come out of it until he senses Jango’s amusement at Obi-Wan contentedly sitting in the dirt.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan pulls his awareness back to himself. His body seems far too small to contain everything he’s learned, the way this entire community is connected through the threads of the Force, through cycles of life that have gone on for generations.

Obi-Wan doesn’t realize he’s trembling until Jango’s amusement turns to concern. Jango is at his side in a moment, an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist.

“This is incredible,” Obi-Wan says, because he can’t share with his fellow Jedi, but he can tell the Mandalorians. “This farm exists in near perfect harmony.”

“What?” Soxo asks flatly, even as the few farmers who have gathered to see the spectacle puff up with pride. “Have you been communing with dirt?”

“Not with dirt,” Obi-Wan says. He’s glad for Jango’s steadying arm, because Obi-Wan almost trips over his feet four times as they make their way to the large meeting house. “With the farm. With its history. It—” Obi-Wan’s excitement dwindles as amusement and disbelief turn to wariness as he talks about his Jedi skills. He ducks his head. “Apologies. How was the walking tour?”

“The Shevlins have developed a kind of fertilizer that I want others to try,” Jango says, smoothly picking up the conversation. He talks to Obi-Wan about fertilizer and crop enhancement in more detail than some might appreciate, but Obi-Wan is grateful for the distraction. Besides, the more Jango praises the farmers and shows off that he truly understands their craft, the more settled everyone else becomes.

The meeting house is arranged for a large communal meal. Jango is leading Obi-Wan toward the center of the table when a teenage humanoid with violet skin clears their throat. Jango pauses and looks at them.

“Hello, Alor,” the teenager greets. “I am Gorad Shevlin. Will your riduur honor us with their presence?” They speak in Basic, for Obi-Wan’s benefit most likely, but use the Mando’a word for spouse.

Obi-Wan can sense Jango’s hesitation, but it seems to be grounded in a selfish desire to keep Obi-Wan at his side and not out of any real concern. After a moment, Jango gives a curt nod. “If Obi-Wan would like to dine with you and the other children, he may.”

“You don’t mind?” Obi-Wan asks. “I realize I have not been good company the past few hours.” Obi-Wan’s pretty sure there’s still some dirt on the seat of his pants.

“You eat first and last meal with me nearly every day, I can spare you for those less fortunate.” Jango smiles and it seems like the most natural thing in the world for Obi-Wan to lean in and press a kiss to his lips. It’s chaste, due to their audience, but Obi-Wan can feel the warm curl of Jango’s pleasure as Obi-Wan pulls back.

“So, Gorad,” Obi-Wan says, turning toward the teenager, “I’m invited to the kids’ table?”

“We’re not ik’aade.” Gorad sounds aggrieved, as if ik’aad is some horrible kind of insult. They bring Obi-Wan to the far end of the table which is rowdier than where the adults are settling into their seats.

Obi-Wan is introduced to ten individuals, including a zabrak who introduces themselves as Reaver Shevlin and then crosses their arms over their chest as if daring Obi-Wan to ask why they don’t look like Gorad.

“I am Obi-Wan,” Obi-Wan tells them, in case any of them don’t know.

“Duh.” Tri’nat, a twilek with skin the same violet as Gorad, rolls her eyes. “We didn’t get to go to the ceremony, but we watched it. You married the Mand’alor.”

“I did.”

“You’re a jetii.” Tri’nat also speaks in a mix of Basic and Mando’a. She looks Obi-Wan up and down with a critical gaze. “I thought they were fearsome warriors.”

“Like Mandalorians, we’re trained in the martial arts, but we also take on other duties whether it be farming, politics, craftmanship, or something else. I can fight but it isn’t the sum total of my being.”

“You talk weird,” Shek, a bothan, says.

“Are you a jetii farmer, then?” Tri’nat asks. “Is that why you were sitting in the dirt?”

Gorad takes advantage of Obi-Wan’s pause to think to load Obi-Wan’s plate up with a variety of food from the communal dishes. By the time Gorad is done, Obi-Wan can’t see his plate anymore. He hopes they don’t expect him to actually eat all of this.

“I am not,” Obi-Wan answers. “There was a time, I was on that path, but the Force guided me in a different direction.”

“What’s that mean?” Shek asks. “Normal words.”

“When I was twelve, I was assigned to the AgriCorps outpost on Bandomeer,” Obi-Wan says. He can sense Jango’s alertness at the mention of Bandomeer and resigns himself to more questions about his past later. For now, he gives his full attention to the children. “The AgriCorps is the Jedi’s agricultural division. Those Jedi specialize in uses of the Force that aid farming and other associated things. AgriCorps teams are often sent to assist planets following natural or sentient-made disasters.”

“How do you use the—” Tri’nat makes a face—“The Ka’ra to help with plants?”

“Perhaps, I should begin with what I was doing this morning,” Obi-Wan says. “I was meditating. The Force or, the Ka’ra, as you call it, connects everything in the galaxy. It is invisible to the eye, but through meditation or Force vision, sometimes sentients can catch glimpses of it. This morning, I meditated, and it allowed me to feel the way your farm is connected, not only to itself but to its past, and I could see tendrils of its connection to the future.”

“That’s osik,” Shek says.

Obi-Wan shrugs.

“But how does that help anything?” Tri’nat asks.

Obi-Wan looks at her hands, notes the callouses and the discoloration as if she is often wrist or even elbow deep in dye. “Have you ever smoothed your hands over a piece of fabric and understood the small bumps or imperfections? Things that perhaps your friends who are bakers or cobblers or farmers don’t notice?”

Tri’nat nods.

“Those who can connect to the Ka’ra can do something similar, but we use our minds, not our hands. I’ve met Jedi who can cast their awareness over a mine and know where the minerals are most concentrated, where the air is most dangerous, where the supports are weakest. And if you know where to direct your attention, all you need is the knowledge and skill to address whatever issue you have identified.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Tri’nat asks.

“Uh, no.” Obi-Wan ducks his head, embarrassed. “I was simply feeling. You see, whoever has been working this land, for generations now, they have understood the balance of the entire process. From crop rotations to fertilizer, they have created a cycle of harmony that is quite peaceful. Not to mention, when crops begin to bloom, the Force is full of the promise of life. It’s quite pleasant.”

“You’re weird,” Shek says.

Obi-Wan waves off the other children’s protests. “I’ve been called worse.”

“If you know all this, why aren’t you a farmer?” Tri’nat asks.

Obi-Wan loses some of his smile. “Because at twelve, I wanted a lightsaber, not a rake.”

“So, you abandoned your post?” Gorad asks.

“I never made it to my post,” Obi-Wan answers. He isn’t sure how much to tell the children, because while Gorad is a teenager, some of them are much younger. “My transport was intercepted, and I ended up having to fight. When another Jedi came to my aid, he determined that my skills were better suited toward combat. I returned to the Temple with him, and I was put on the diplomat’s track, rather than an agriculturalist’s.”

“Where’s your lightsaber now?” Shek asks. He peers around the table as if he can spot the weapon.

“It was destroyed, and I didn’t have a chance to replace it before coming here.” Obi-Wan looks down at his plate and isn’t sure where to start. He leaves his fork resting on the table. “But I’ve been working with Trainer Vau, and he has introduced all new manner of weapons to me.”

As Obi-Wan expected, the children jump at this new topic. They talk over each other to tell him about their favorite weapons and to demand to know which his are. They loudly tell him he’s wrong whenever he picks a weapon and then, in the same breath, demand a demonstration or a spar.

Obi-Wan is aware of Jango making his way over, but he doesn’t think much of it until Jango takes Obi-Wan’s plate and replaces it with the one Jango brought over. Jango’s plate is neatly organized and not nearly as overwhelming in scope or amount.

“Eat,” Jango says. He rests a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “You’ll especially like the pasta salad.”

Obi-Wan stabs a curling piece of pasta as well as a cucumber and bit of tomato. He pops the whole bite into his mouth. The vegetables are fresh, crisp, and the pasta is slick with some kind of oil and herb drizzle that makes Obi-Wan sigh happily. He leans back against Jango, who is exuding smugness at having selected correctly.

Venari, watches them with longing. “I want a riduur like that one day.”

“Not for another twenty years!” one of the adults calls from their end of the table.

“But that’s so long to wait.” Venari pouts and then looks at Obi-Wan through the fringe of her bangs. “Did you have to wait until you were thirty-three standard to marry?”

“I did not,” Obi-Wan answers.

Venari perks up, even as Tri’nat squints between Obi-Wan and Jango. “How old are you, then?”

“Manners, Tri’nat,” an adult says mildly.

“I’m just a commando,” Soxo says, full of mischief. “So, I can be as rude as I want. Tell us, Obi-Wan, how much younger than our Mand’alor are you?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan answers truthfully. “I don’t know how old Jango is.” He knows there is a gap between their ages. It isn’t anything illegal, they’re both adults, but it might fall into scandalous territory. Still, there are enough things to pick at in their relationship, he doesn’t want to introduce another. He meets Soxo’s gaze evenly. “I don’t have any complaints.”

Soxo snorts and a few of the other adults outright laugh. Jango squeezes Obi-Wan’s shoulder and leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Good to know, riduur,” he says, and then he returns to his seat. Obi-Wan can hear Jango’s commandos and the other adults tease Jango now, but Obi-Wan ignores it and eats some more of his pasta salad.

#

It’s a good day, and Obi-Wan is pleasantly tired by the time they return to the Great Hall. Jango’s been shooting him looks since they got to their quarters, and Obi-Wan thinks he could muster up enough energy for a bit of fun before they sleep.

Jango removes his armor and places it on the rack next to their bed. He pauses when he reaches his belt, and he opens one of the beltpacks to pull out the beskar chain.

Right, Obi-Wan thinks as dread pools in his stomach.

“Would you like it back?” Jango asks. The chain dangles from his fingers and the pedant turns in a slow circle, the kyber crystal pulsing faint white light through the mythosaur skull.

Obi-Wan smiles, but it shifts to a grimace as he turns around, giving his back to Jango. He can’t say yes, can’t make himself ask for it back, and thankfully, Jango doesn’t push. Obi-Wan breathes steadily so he doesn’t flinch as Jango’s fingers touch his neck and then fasten the chain back in place.

Obi-Wan’s mind, which had been open to the Force, basking in its presence, shrinks back until it’s contained. Obi-Wan moves away from Jango and then heads for the fresher. He’s still dirty from their time outdoors.

He doesn’t ask Jango to join him in the shower, and Jango doesn’t offer.

Chapter Text

True to Jango’s word, they find work for Obi-Wan to do following the trip to the farm. It’s mostly administrative, but Obi-Wan knows that this kind of work is the best way to learn a system and then, once he learns more, he’ll be able to assist in other ways. For now, it’s enough that he has something to occupy his mornings.

But the trip to the farm has other effects. Jango’s commandos are stilted around him, sometimes teasing, sometimes friendly, and sometimes regarding him with cool distance as if they think he isn’t good enough for Jango or will hurt him. Obi-Wan knows it’s because of his poor attempts at explaining the Jedi approach to feelings and relationships. But what they want, for Obi-Wan to promise to fall in love with their Mand’alor, he can’t give.

Physical companionship isn’t a problem. Obi-Wan and Jango return to having regular sex once Obi-Wan is used to the beskar necklace again. They mostly keep their coupling to nighttime, but there are a few memorable mornings where Jango feeding Obi-Wan first meal leads to blowjobs under the table or a second shower where they jerk each other off before redressing for the day.

Obi-Wan has never had this much sex in his life. It’s more than enjoyable, but he can’t help but worry that it’s too much of a good thing. If he and Jango have sex whenever they want it, will they grow tired of it? And if they burn out the physical side of their relationship, what else is left?

Obi-Wan doesn’t realize his worry is obvious until one evening, in the middle of some thorough kissing on the couch, Jango pulls back. He rests a hand on Obi-Wan’s chest to keep Obi-Wan from chasing the kiss. Obi-Wan looks down at the hand on his chest and then looks at Jango, confused. “You don’t want this?” Obi-Wan asks. Kissing has become one of his new favorite things. It’s often a lead-in to more vigorous activity, but he doesn’t mind it when it isn’t.

“Do you?” Jango asks. His mind is almost aggressively blank, as if he’s had training on how to interact with Force sensitives. Obi-Wan knows Jango is hiding something, but he can’t tell what it is.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers. Because he does want this, even if there is doubt in Jango’s eyes that Obi-Wan is telling the truth. And, if Obi-Wan can sense that Jango’s conflicted but not why, isn’t that how Jango must feel all the time when he’s with Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan must give the truth, then, even if it’s uncomfortable or makes him feel vulnerable.

Jango starts to pull back, but Obi-Wan grabs his wrist and keeps it against Obi-Wan’s chest. Even if they’re not kissing, he wants some kind of contact between them.

“I wasn’t celibate before I met you,” Obi-Wan says, and he speaks to Jango’s hand, because it’s easier than looking at his face. “I have had partners where we shared several intense nights together, and I’ve had one or two partners that I’ve seen over the course of years, but we were only able to see each other a handful of times. This kind of frequency and intensity is new to me.”

“Too much?” Jango asks.

“No,” Obi-Wan says. “But it’s a lot and what if you get bored?”

Jango’s hand relaxes against Obi-Wan’s chest, as if Obi-Wan’s soothed the worst of his worries. “You think I will get tired of you in my bed?”

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan says. “I don’t know. We’re married, together for the rest of our lives and—” No one has ever wanted me for that long. How do I make sure you’re different?

“Hmm.” Jango slides his hand down to Obi-Wan’s hip and encourages Obi-Wan to shift forward until he’s on Jango’s lap. This is a lot of contact, Obi-Wan’s ass resting on Jango’s thighs, Obi-Wan’s own thighs pressed against Jango’s flank. “If, for fun, you want to experiment with holding off on sex, we can do that. But if you’re hesitant to kiss me or join me in our bed, because you think I could ever grow tired of you, I’d rather prove you wrong.”

“Prove me wrong?”

“Let me kiss you every morning.” Jango kisses Obi-Wan now, a brief press of lips to Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Every evening. Whenever you hold still long enough for me to draw you to my side. I could fuck you every night and still look forward to the way you sigh so sweetly for me when I first slide my cock into you.”

“J-Jango.” Obi-Wan flushes, unsure how they went from discussing Obi-Wan’s worries to what is definitely foreplay.

“Will you let me start proving you wrong tonight?” Jango asks. “I’ll make you come until you can’t, and I’ll enjoy each release.”

Obi-Wan wants to ask how Jango can make a promise like that, that he’ll always want Obi-Wan around, but that’s too honest. So Obi-Wan nods and wraps his arms around Jango’s neck as Jango stands and carries him into their bedroom.

“I imagine, between your youth and the Force, you have a short recovery time,” Jango says. He lays Obi-Wan gently on the bed. “I want you comfortable.”

“What about you?” Obi-Wan asks. He lifts his hips when Jango drags his pants down. “This isn’t just for me, right?”

“Oh, cyar’ika.” Jango brushes Obi-Wan’s hair off his forehead and presses a kiss there. “I am going to enjoy every moment of this, I promise. Take off your shirt, I need to get something.”

Obi-Wan sits up enough to pull his shirt off. He tosses it in the direction of the laundry hamper. Jango returns with a small chest, but he sets it to the side and then climbs into the cradle between Obi-Wan’s legs. He leans in to continue what they had been doing before on the couch. He kisses Obi-Wan gently at first, coaxing Obi-Wan to respond.

As soon as Obi-Wan kisses back, Jango kisses him deeper. Heat and Jango’s emotions, less guarded now, muddle Obi-Wan’s head. It almost catches Obi-Wan off-guard when Jango closes a hand around Obi-Wan’s cock. His hand is slick, which means Obi-Wan missed a lot while he was focused on kissing.

Jango strokes slowly, a long pull from root to tip, almost as if he intends to massage Obi-Wan’s first release out of him. Obi-Wan isn’t sure how many times he can come in one evening. He and Quinlan were determined to try once, but they fell asleep before they had completely wrung out their cocks.

When Obi-Wan’s close, Jango rests his head against Obi-Wan’s and looks down to watch Obi-Wan’s release spill over his fist.

“Mesh’la,” Jango says. He kisses Obi-Wan’s lips and then raises his fist to his mouth to lick at Obi-Wan’s come. He doesn’t look coquettish or flirtatious as he does it. He looks hungry, and Obi-Wan’s cock gives a weak twitch, as if it’s already considering getting hard again.

“I’m not bored yet,” Jango says. “Are you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan whispers.

Jango grins and slides down the bed until he’s on his elbows between Obi-Wan’s legs. He grabs the bottle of lube and squeezes a bit onto his fingers. He waits for it to warm up and then presses his first finger against Obi-Wan’s entrance. Obi-Wan’s cock is still a little sensitive, but his hole opens easily around Jango’s fingers.

It doesn’t take long before Jango has three fingers inside him, tucked close but still wide enough for Obi-Wan to feel them. Jango presses his fingers deep and then dips his head to suck Obi-Wan’s cock. Obi-Wan’s hard again, and Jango doesn’t push him too hard. He licks at Obi-Wan’s length, slides his mouth down as far as he can, but it’s his fingers Jango uses to push Obi-Wan back toward the edge.

Jango swallows Obi-Wan’s come and then moves back up Obi-Wan’s body until he can share it with a kiss. It’s…Obi-Wan’s never done something like this before, and it makes him squirm as Jango feeds him his own come. Obi-Wan can’t say it’s wrong, dirty maybe, but not wrong, because Jango is such a steady, warm presence in the Force. He does enjoy what they’re doing, and it’s the only reason Obi-Wan doesn’t reach out to touch Jango’s cock when all his instincts scream at him to give something back.

“That’s two,” Jango says. He nuzzles Obi-Wan’s neck, licks a wet stripe up the side. “I still want more. Do you?”

Obi-Wan’s cock is soft, spent, but if Jango thinks he could come again…

“I’ll go slowly,” Jango promises, a sweet promise in Obi-Wan’s ear. “I won’t even touch your cock until the end, I promise. It must be getting sensitive.”

Obi-Wan nods. He thinks it would hurt if Jango stroked him again.

“There are plenty of other places to touch you,” Jango says. He slides his hands up Obi-Wan’s sides as if to prove his point. “Would you like to help this time?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, eager, and Jango’s answering chuckle is as warm and soft as his touch. He guides Obi-Wan’s hands to his chest. Obi-Wan rubs his thumbs in a circle around his nipples at first, teasing himself or maybe Jango.

Jango leaves Obi-Wan to it and lifts Obi-Wan’s left leg. He rests Obi-Wan’s ankle on his shoulder and then turns his head to kiss Obi-Wan’s calf. Obi-Wan jerks at the touch, and then frowns.

“Not what you expected?” Jango asks. He kisses up Obi-Wan’s calf until he reaches the underside of Obi-Wan’s knee. Obi-Wan is sensitive here. He gasps when Jango flicks his tongue out to taste the skin there. It’s a maddening touch, not enough, and Jango grins as if he knows it.

Obi-Wan pinches his nipples, the harsh burst of pain a good counterpoint to what Jango is doing. Jango spends what seems like forever tonguing behind Obi-Wan’s knee until he continues to work his way up Obi-Wan’s leg. Obi-Wan’s inner thigh receives as much attention, Jango finding every spot that makes Obi-Wan twitch or gasp or exhale shakily.

By the time Jango reaches the crease of Obi-Wan’s thigh, Obi-Wan knows what’s going to happen. Jango drags his tongue through the crease, wet and filthy, and Obi-Wan’s hands fall to his sides, because he can’t concentrate on anything except feeling. Jango hums and then nips at the thin skin.

“Tired?” Jango asks. He hushes Obi-Wan before he can apologize. “That’s alright, you just enjoy this. I have other helpers.” He opens the box and produces two small nipple clamps. He sets one against the tip of Obi-Wan’s finger so he can feel how tight is. At Obi-Wan’s nod, Jango fits one around each of Obi-Wan’s nipples.

It’s a steady, unending pressure, not harsh enough to bite, but enough that Obi-Wan wiggles a little, trying to get the sensation deeper. His cock swells with interest. Jango notices and smiles, but he ignores Obi-Wan’s cock as he lifts Obi-Wan’s right leg onto his shoulder.

“Ohhh,” Obi-Wan moans as Jango kisses his calf, intending to map the same path on Obi-Wan’s right leg as he had on the left.

If anyone had asked him before today, Obi-Wan would not have said that his calf was a particularly erotic zone, but between Jango’s mouth and the clamps on his nipples, Obi-Wan finds himself getting hard again. When Jango flicks his tongue against the underside of his knee, Obi-Wan clenches his fingers in the sheets and groans. And when Jango drags his tongue along the crease of his thigh like he’s done before with the crease of Obi-Wan’s ass, Obi-Wan feels tears spring into his eyes.

His nipples pulse in time with his heart, desire and blood pumping down, filling his cock until he’s hard. He’s still pretty sure it’ll hurt to feel Jango’s hand or even his mouth against his sensitive flesh. But when Jango holds up the lube in question, Obi-Wan nods. Jango slicks up his hand and wraps it loosely around Obi-Wan’s cock. It’s too much, and Obi-Wan jerks, but all he does is slide his cock through Jango’s fist and that’s better and worse and—

“Look at you,” Jango says, hushed, almost reverent. He rubs his thumb over the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock as if he’s trying to coax the come out of it. “I wish you could see yourself like this. You wouldn’t question how I could want you. I’m going to stroke you, now. When you’re ready to come, pluck those clamps off your nipples. I promise, it’ll be enough.”

Obi-Wan intends to say yes, but the word turns into a long moan as Jango strokes him again. Jango’s touch is maddening, at turns too much and then not enough. Obi-Wan wants to come, begs Jango to let him, but Jango doesn’t change his pace. He slides his hand up and down, slow enough for Obi-Wan to feel every drag of his callouses.

“Please,” Obi-Wan begs.

Jango’s free hand moves one of Obi-Wan’s to a nipple clamp, and Obi-Wan remembers the instructions. When Obi-Wan’s ready to come, he’s supposed to take them off. But he’s used clamps before. They feel good while they’re on, and they hurt once they’re off. He doesn’t want to hurt. His cock feels like it should be leaking, but it isn’t. Obi-Wan thrashes once, hoping Jango will do something. He doesn’t. Because it’s up to Obi-Wan to make the next move.

With trembling fingers, Obi-Wan pinches both clamps open. He tosses them aside as sensation floods back into his nipples, too much all at once. He isn’t even sure it’s painful, but it’s something, and Obi-Wan’s cock spurts and dribbles in Jango’s hand.

“Look at that,” Jango says. “Barely anything left. I bet you’ll come dry on the next one.”

Next one? Obi-Wan whimpers.  

“Do you have one more in you?” Jango asks. He isn’t touching Obi-Wan’s cock anymore. He touches Obi-Wan’s face, strokes his cheek with slick fingers. He thumbs under Obi-Wan’s eye and catches the bit of moisture that had gathered. “Your cock will be dry, but your eyes won’t be. Do you want to cry for me, mesh’la?”

“You’d like that?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Yes,” Jango says and his truth rings in the Force.

“One more,” Obi-Wan says.

Jango grins. “For tonight.” He laughs at Obi-Wan’s moan and then goes back into his box. He produces a thin wand that Obi-Wan stares at blankly until Jango flips a switch and it hums on a low vibration.

Obi-Wan can’t help but whimper and cover his cock with his hands.

“It’s alright,” Jango promises. “I won’t touch your cock with it.”

He touches everywhere else though, starting with the arch of Obi-Wan’s foot. He slides it up one leg and down the other, until the buzzing works its way deep into Obi-Wan’s muscles. When Jango skips over Obi-Wan’s cock and dips the tip of the vibrator into Obi-Wan’s bellybutton, Obi-Wan jerks and bites his lip.

It—it doesn’t hurt, but he isn’t sure it feels good either. It’s stimulation, more than he can process, buffeting him over and over. He writhes as Jango traces patterns on his stomach. Jango talks to him as he does it. He spells out his own name and then Obi-Wan’s. Mesh’la. Cyar’ika. Obi-Wan is begging by the time Jango finally slides the wand up.

Jango circles a nipple, teasing as he slowly closes the circle until he reaches his destination. Obi-Wan arches his back and cries out as Jango teases a nipple with the tip of the vibrator and then pulls it away.

There are tears gathered in Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he would have spilled them if Jango hadn’t let up. Jango teases the other nipple and then slides the wand higher. When he touches it to Obi-Wan’s lips, it leaves not only Obi-Wan’s lips buzzing but his head too, as if Jango’s managed to climb inside him.

“Oh, cyar’ika,” Jango croons. He cradles Obi-Wan’s face in one of his large hands. He looks into Obi-Wan’s eyes, but he’s blurry, unfocused, no matter how much Obi-Wan tries to concentrate. “You’re going to love this.”

Jango continues to hold Obi-Wan’s face and look into his eyes as he lowers his other hand, the one with the wand. Obi-Wan’s too scattered to track where it’s going. When the wand presses against his balls, Obi-Wan screams, his voice rising and breaking. He entire body jerks and shudders as if he’s coming, but he can’t feel his cock. He can’t feel anything, except the pressure of Jango’s hand on his face and the intensity of Jango’s stare.

“Jango,” Obi-Wan says, and it turns into a chant. “Jango. Jango. Jango.”

“I’m right here,” Jango says. He slides his thumb over Obi-Wan’s cheek to collect the tears running down. “You’re so good for me mesh’la. I could do this forever.”

Obi-Wan vaguely thinks those words should be important, but he can’t keep a thought in his head. He turns to nuzzle Jango’s hand, because that feels real. The rest of him feels as though it’s floating away, but Jango’s hand is real and it holds Obi-Wan here in their bed.

There’s something else, something important.

“Do you remember our first night?” Jango asks. He’s moving, but he keeps his hand on Obi-Wan’s face so Obi-Wan doesn’t care very much.

“Mmhmm,” Obi-Wan answers.

Jango’s fingers feel huge between Obi-Wan’s legs, and if he could summon the energy to move, Obi-Wan would twist away. Instead, his legs sprawl open more as Jango parts his ass cheeks with one hand. He isn’t as sensitive there as other places. And then Jango fits the head of his cock at Obi-Wan’s entrance, and fresh tears spring up.

“Just the tip,” Jango says. He kisses these tears, licks up the excess as if he can’t get enough of Obi-Wan. “Do you still want it? Just the tip, and I’ll stroke myself until I come.”

The noise Obi-Wan makes isn’t a word, but it’s enthusiastic, and Jango chuckles as he settles his cock comfortably inside Obi-Wan’s ass.

“All you have to do is lie there,” Jango says. He strokes himself as slowly as he stroked Obi-Wan, as if he wants to savor this. “Lie there and look at me like you don’t need anything except for my cock and my come.” Jango slides his thumb into Obi-Wan’s open mouth. “The Republic is stupid, if they all saw you and none of them kept you.”

Jango switches to Mando’a, and Obi-Wan’s too exhausted to follow it. All he knows is Jango’s tone, low and pleased. His Force presence as a whole is pleased, triumphant as he spills inside Obi-Wan. When he pulls out, some of his come trickles onto the sheets, and Obi-Wan whines, embarrassed and a small part of him upset at wasting it.

“Alright,” Jango soothes. He presses his thumb against Obi-Wan’s hole as if to seal it.

Obi-Wan is exhausted and yet his body feels like a live wire. Jango doesn’t rush him, just stays with him in their bed, until Obi-Wan settles enough for Jango to leave and fetch damp washcloths. A proper shower will have to wait for the morning.

While Jango is in the fresher, Obi-Wan feels something, a faint spark, almost like life. For a moment, Obi-Wan panics, wonders if he truly felt himself conceiving, and then he dismisses it as post-orgasm wishful thinking. Jango returns to wipe Obi-Wan down and then they settle in to sleep together.

#

The next morning, Obi-Wan takes a long shower, a hand pressed to his stomach for nearly the entire thing. Is he? Could he be? The beskar necklace makes it difficult for him to search his own body. The easy solution, of course, would be to visit medical and ask Mij, but Obi-Wan hesitates.

If he talks to Mij, Mij will no doubt tell Jango, and Obi-Wan isn’t ready for that, especially if it’s a false alarm. He’ll wait until he’s more certain. Mij can confirm what Obi-Wan already knows and then Obi-Wan can tell Jango.

Decided, Obi-Wan finishes his shower quickly and meets Jango in the living room for first meal. The table is already set up, but Obi-Wan slides his chair next to Jango’s. Something in his chest loosened at seeing Jango. Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized he was feeling off, until his thigh rests against Jango’s and he feels right.

“Ah,” Jango says, as if Obi-Wan’s answered a question that wasn’t even asked. “You should review your reports in my office today.” He presses a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple, and Obi-Wan practically melts against his side. “What we did last has a physical and mental recovery. Being near me will help.”

Obi-Wan isn’t about to protest spending more time with Jango. Though, given how sensitive his cock still is and an apparent mental recovery to wrestle with, he feels the need to say, “Last night was good, but I can’t do that all time.”

“I know.” Jango kisses him again, no disappointment to be felt in the gesture or the Force. “Special occasions. We could try the opposite, this time.”

“Not coming?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Mmm.” Jango seems content to ignore their food in favor of kissing Obi-Wan’s neck. “And me.”

“What?” Obi-Wan has to push Jango’s head away so he can focus. “You want to…not come? Like, not have sex for a few nights?” Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind, his cock definitely needs to recover, and he isn’t about to ask Mij for anything that might help speed it along. There are things his medic doesn’t need to know about him.

“Not quite. I want to have sex. You can come. You can even fuck me, if that’s something you like. But I won’t come.”

“You like that?”

“I do.” Jango isn’t ashamed, he doesn’t flush the way Obi-Wan sometimes does when he talks about his desires. “I like edging and outright denial. The build-up makes the final release even better. I think you’ll like it too. I’ll leave bruises on your hips and my come will be dripping out of you when I’m finally done.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan squirms a little and wonders how much time they have before they need to start working. “How does it work? Is it a challenge? Am I supposed to tease you?”

“Would you like that?” Jango asks. “Another time, I’ll wear a cock ring for you, and you can grind on my lap until you can’t come anymore. But for this first time, I’ll wear a cage.”

Obi-Wan is friends with Quinlan Vos, which means he has frequented all manner of sex shops. He knows what a cock cage is. He never would have thought that Jango Fett would own one. Or would want to wear one.

Jango chuckles at the expression on Obi-Wan’s face. “Yeah, I’m going to lock my cock up until we’re both desperate for it. I wonder who will crack first? I think it’s you. I think you’re spoiled for my cock now, and you’re going beg me to take off my cage and fuck you. What do you think?”

“I think that it’s far too early for you to be talking like this,” Obi-Wan says, mustering what dignity he can manage to find.

Jango only laughs again. They eat breakfast quickly, because they are running out of time, but Jango doesn’t lead them to the door when they’re done. He guides Obi-Wan into their bedroom instead. The small box makes a reappearance, and Jango takes a cock cage out of it.

“You’re going to put it on now?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I am.” Jango pets over the cage before he draws his hand back. “And I have a choice for you. You can grab your datapad and head to my office, and I’ll take care of this. Or.” He tips Obi-Wan’s chin up, even though he already has Obi-Wan’s full attention. “I have to be soft to put it on. Do you want to suck me off before I’m locked away?”

Obi-Wan’s on his knees before he even realizes he’s dropping. Jango’s laughter is throaty, a touch mocking, but the way he cups Obi-Wan’s face soothes away any potential sting. Obi-Wan wants to draw it out, because he doesn’t know how long he’ll have to wait until he can have it again, but he knows they both have duties to attend to. Jango rocks his hips to encourage him, and Obi-Wan sucks until he’s rewarded with Jango’s come.

When he’s done, he stays on his knees as Jango wipes himself down and then fits his cage on. It’s…odd, Obi-Wan decides. It seems uncomfortable, but Jango moves with ease as he pulls his pants back up and then ushers Obi-Wan to the fresher to brush his teeth again. He stands at Obi-Wan’s back, which seems somewhat invasive until he realizes that Jango’s hips are right behind him. That Jango’s cock is locked away, right there, and suddenly Obi-Wan has a harder time brushing his teeth than he has before in his life.

They pass the day quietly, doing work in Jango’s office, sharing mid meal with the other commandos and government officials who have the early mid meal break, and then Jango returns to his office and Obi-Wan goes to the training grounds.

Obi-Wan manages to forget about the cage until after late meal when Jango strips out of his clothes and struts around the bedroom. His muscles always draw Obi-Wan’s gaze, but today, it’s the metal cage that captures and holds Obi-Wan’s attention.

Jango grins and spreads his legs to give Obi-Wan a better look. “On your stomach on the bed. I can fill you even without my cock.”

“Oh, gods,” Obi-Wan says faintly. But he tosses his clothes aside and then settles in the middle of the bed. Jango parts his legs, palms running up Obi-Wan’s legs until he reaches Obi-Wan’s ass. He parts Obi-Wan’s ass cheeks next. And then he doesn’t do anything, as if he’s content just to stare, and Obi-Wan wiggles, unsure whether that’s hot or uncomfortable.

“How does that feel?” Jango asks. He pushes on Obi-Wan’s ass, encouraging him to rock against the bed again. “Too sore?”

The sheets are nice, cool, almost slippery against his cock. They’re also not the sheets they had on the bed this morning. “Did you plan this?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Yes.” Jango is unrepentant. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” Obi-Wan says.

“Reach up for the headboard, now,” Jango says. “How does that feel?”

“A bit of a stretch,” Obi-Wan says.

Jango slides him forward, until it doesn’t strain Obi-Wan’s arms to grip the headboard. Jango slaps Obi-Wan’s ass a few times, nothing painful. The possibility is there, and maybe that’s what Jango wanted, to plant a seed in Obi-Wan’s mind. But after a few smacks, Jango spreads Obi-Wan again and then buries his face in Obi-Wan’s ass.

He rims Obi-Wan until Obi-Wan rubs one out all over their new sheets and then he flips Obi-Wan over so Obi-Wan’s in the wet spot and Jango can look him over with a greedy stare.

“Do you,” Obi-Wan starts and then he doesn’t know how to finish, because Jango is caged and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what to offer.

“Not tonight,” Jango says. He bends down to lick Obi-Wan’s cock clean and then he tells Obi-Wan to shower while he changes their sheets.

Chapter Text

If anyone had asked Obi-Wan before this if he had any preconceived notions about people who wear cock cages, he would have said that they’re the partner who likes to give up control. Only, over the next few days, it becomes very obvious that Jango is still firmly in control.

It becomes common for Jango to ambush Obi-Wan during the day, call him into Jango’s office or pull him into an empty room and get him off. They’re quick things, Jango jerking Obi-Wan off with one hand and covering Obi-Wan’s mouth with his other or Jango going to his knees and giving a blowjob that makes Obi-Wan forget how to walk.

At night, Jango is slower but no less devasting in what he does to Obi-Wan. The first time Obi-Wan points out that they’re now having more sex than they were when Jango’s cock wasn’t locked up, Jango simply tells him that Obi-Wan has to come for the both of them and then gets him off again.

That’s the night that Jango fingers himself while Obi-Wan watches and then pushes Obi-Wan down on the armchair and rides Obi-Wan’s cock until he’s come three times and is begging Jango to stop. Equally hot is the night Jango watches as Obi-Wan strokes himself to completion, something envious in Jango’s gaze, as if he wishes he could stroke his own cock. But every night, when Obi-Wan asks if Jango wants to be unlocked, Jango smiles and tells him, “not tonight.”

And the thing is, Obi-Wan’s pretty sure now that Jango was right and Obi-Wan is going to be the one who breaks first. As enthusiastic as Jango is about rimming him and as talented as his fingers are, Obi-Wan misses Jango’s cock. It seems ridiculous, it is ridiculous, that Obi-Wan becomes more preoccupied with Jango’s cock than Jango is.

The first time Jango catches Obi-Wan staring longingly at Jango’s caged cock, he laughs and then has Obi-Wan sit on his face. Only, he angles Obi-Wan so that Obi-Wan could suck Jango’s cock from this position, if only it weren’t caged. Obi-Wan whines and then he’s so mortified, he tries to suffocate himself using Jango’s thigh.

It isn’t all sex all the time, of course. Obi-Wan has his work in the mornings and his training in the afternoons. The commandos are all buzzing, because Duchess Kryze will be arriving for a long stay in Keldabe soon. She was at the wedding, but Obi-Wan didn’t officially meet her. That will change, apparently. He will meet her, and he catches half-whispers about two people she’s bringing with her, but everyone stops talking once they realize Obi-Wan’s in hearing range.

It's a mystery and one that Obi-Wan puzzles over when he has the time. Who would Duchess Kryze bring with her which would cause such a fuss? Bo-Katan Kryze serves with Arla Fett in the navy. Maybe they’re going to be planetside? No, Jango would tell Obi-Wan if that was the case.

The afternoon before Duchess Krzye is due to arrive, Jango is still wearing the cock cage. Either it leaves him pent up in more than one way, or he wants to work out all his aggression before Mandalore’s most infamous pacificist arrives, because he makes a rare appearance in the training facility.

From what Obi-Wan can gather, Jango mostly trains in private or at off-hours. But today, he arrives in full armor and steps into the sparring ring in the center of the room. There’s a hush before it’s a mad scramble to get in line, as if it’s an honor to spar with the Mand’alor.

Or, in most cases, to have the floor wiped with you by the Mand’alor.

Obi-Wan had been doing beskad drills, but the first time he gets distracted by Jango, Walon plucks the weapon from Obi-Wan’s hands and tells him to sit and spectate before he hurts himself.

Obi-Wan sits where some other spectators have gathered and tries to keep his expression neutral, even if his emotions are roiling. He has never seen Jango fight before. He and Jango fought in the Challenge, but Obi-Wan was a participant, not an observer. He wishes Jango was fighting in his flight suit so Obi-Wan could see the play of his muscles, but it would probably be hard to explain the cock cage.

This is good too, though, the sheer physicality it takes to not only throw another being in full armor across a sparring circle but to do it while you’re in full armor too. This is a friendly fight, so Jango isn’t looking to hurt his opponents, but he doesn’t go easy on them either.

Jango flips his current opponent and slams them face-first into the ground. He plants a knee on their backplate to keep them down, and then he lifts his helmet until he’s looking right at Obi-Wan.

Oh, Obi-Wan thinks, mouth going dry. If Jango can throw these fully armored beings around with ease, what could he do with Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan’s mind is filled with helpful images of being pinned in the same way, except in bed, with Jango’s bare knee on Obi-Wan’s back. Would Jango ever want to wrestle in bed? Would Obi-Wan throw the fight even quicker than he threw the Challenge? Or would he make Jango work for it? He thinks Jango would like that, both of them sweating and breathing hard by the time he got Obi-Wan pinned. And if Obi-Wan slicked himself up before hand, Jango could slide right in while Obi-Wan was too tired to do anything but take it. Or maybe Obi-Wan wouldn’t prep himself and Jango would be too impatient to wait and fuck Obi-Wan’s thighs instead.

“Well.” Soxo’s amused voice interrupts Obi-Wan’s fantasies. “I suppose you’re Mandalorian after all.” She sits down next to Obi-Wan and laughs as Jango easily defeats his next opponent. “He’s showing off for you.”

“You should put them all out of their misery and get in the ring yourself,” Dysari says as she joins them as well.

“He doesn’t have any armor,” Soxo says. “Jango wouldn’t want to bruise him.”

“Oh?” Dysari asks, as if this is news to her. “Even with Krzye showing up tomorrow?”

“Ha!” Soxo grins at Obi-Wan. “Well? Are you getting in the ring?”

Obi-Wan has no desire to fight with Jango when they’re so mismatched. He returns Soxo’s smile as he remembers what Jango promised him once the cock cage came off. “There are more pleasant ways to get bruises.”

Soxo’s laughter is loud as Obi-Wan stands. “We’ll block the door, give you a head start, so he can feel like he’s chasing you.”

Obi-Wan makes a show of brushing invisible dirt off his clothes. “Thank you but there’s no need for that.” Jango stalks over to them, intent written into every line of his body. Before he can grab Obi-Wan in a primal display of power, Obi-Wan extends his arm. “Shall we?”

They walk to their quarters, arm-in-arm. Tension simmers between them, the good kind, and Obi-Wan might speed up their pace for the last stretch. He knows what he wants, to be fucked until he’s a limp, blissed out mess. And he knows what Jango wants, which is for Obi-Wan to be the one to break first, to ask Jango to take off his cage.

It’s easy to set pride aside when there are better prizes to be had. As soon as they’re inside their quarters, Obi-Wan drops Jango’s arm and heads for their bedroom. Obi-Wan doesn’t have nearly as many clothes as Jango does. He hangs his outer robe on a hook on the left bedpost. Jango removes his helmet, but he doesn’t reach for any of his other armor.

“I want your cock,” Obi-Wan says, because direct is good.

Jango’s lips curve up in a smile. “And the rest of it?” He closes the gap between them and presses his face against Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan feels the sting of teeth, sudden with no build-up, and he tries to grind his growing erection against Jango’s armor. “Do you want my bruises?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan breathes.

Jango steps back, which is the opposite of what Obi-Wan wants. He whines a little, and it makes Jango smirk. “I’m going to remove my armor. I’m going to remove my cage. And then, I’m going to fuck you. Prep yourself because once I’m ready, I don’t intend to wait anymore.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers fumble with the rest of his clothes, but Jango doesn’t laugh. He stares, hungry, wanting, and Obi-Wan moves to the center of the bed to give him a show. He doesn’t know how Jango keeps even a shred of self-control after all this time, but Obi-Wan’s riduur waits until Obi-Wan’s slid one finger into himself to start removing his armor.

It’s a slow strip tease, made even slower by the knowledge that as soon as it’s gone, Jango will fuck Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan groans and pushes a second finger in before he’s ready. The stretch is good, and he adjusts to it quickly. On a different night, he might stop at two fingers, because he likes feeling his body stretch around Jango’s cock. But Jango’s promised him intensity, promised him bruises. Obi-Wan doesn’t need that stretch when he’ll feel this fucking next morning anyways.

When Jango’s left only in his cage, he pauses, and looks over at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, three fingers deep, and at the end of his patience, whines deep in his throat. “Please.” That has no effect and so Obi-Wan glares and fits a fourth finger into himself. If Jango doesn’t intend to fuck him, then Obi-Wan will bring himself his own pleasure.

Jango laughs as he finally, finally removes the cage. He sets it on the dresser and then says, “Turn over, cyar’ika. Hands and knees.”

“I want to see you,” Obi-Wan grumbles, even as he slides his fingers out of his hole and turns over as Jango asked.

“You’re going to feel me,” Jango promises. The bed dips as he climbs into it. He settles himself behind Obi-Wan. “Ready?”

“Jango!”

Jango laughs again and then fucks into Obi-Wan on one long stroke. He grips Obi-Wan’s hips, hard enough to bruise, the way he had promised, and he sets a punishing rhythm. It’s all Obi-Wan can do to stay on all fours, rather than let Jango push him flat to the mattress. It’s over a week of pent up desire, of wanting, of waiting, all condensed into this one moment, and Obi-Wan snarls and rocks back on Jango’s next thrust.

“Yes,” Jango says, encouraging him.

They move together, almost violent in the way their bring their bodies together. Jango sets his teeth against Obi-Wan’s shoulders, his neck, marks Obi-Wan with his hands and his mouth until he’s able to mark him with his come. The thought makes Obi-Wan’s wild. He rears back, needing more.

Jango slides a hand up Obi-Wan’s stomach, until it’s planted solidly on his chest. Jango pulls him up, pulls him back, until Obi-Wan is kneeling, pulled back on Jango’s cock. This angle is deeper, better, even if the only leverage Obi-Wan has is to writhe on Jango’s cock.

“Good,” Jango says, deep and pleased. He slides his hand up higher until it’s curled around Obi-Wan’s throat. There’s barely any pressure, but Obi-Wan gasps loudly anyway. Jango bites at Obi-Wan’s ear, scratches his nails up Obi-Wan’s thighs, and then slaps Obi-Wan’s hand away when Obi-Wan tries to grip his own cock.

“You’ve had enough attention,” Jango says, his voice right by Obi-Wan’s ear. His voice is a whisper, a rasp, and it makes Obi-Wan shudder and clench around Jango’s cock. “You can come, but only if you can do it without a hand or mouth to help you along.”

Obi-Wan’s only response is a moan, the sound cut off as Jango increases the pressure on Obi-Wan’s throat. It’s only a hint, but it’s enough for Obi-Wan’s breath for stutter, for his body to convulse, and he almost comes from that alone.

“You’re going to,” Jango promises. He bites at Obi-Wan’s ear again and then uses the hand on Obi-Wan’s throat to tilt his head and give Jango access to Obi-Wan’s jawline. “A week without my cock and you’re so desperate for it, you’re going to come all over yourself just from having it again.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees. Whatever Jango wants. “Please.”

Jango squeezes Obi-Wan’s throat one final time, before he palms the back of Obi-Wan’s head and pushes him back down to his hands and knees. They fuck harder now, rougher, and Obi-Wan’s half-certain he’ll have rugburn from their sheets.

Jango spreads Obi-Wan’s ass cheeks to look at where they’re joined, and Obi-Wan shudders, his entire body flaring into over-awareness. Every inch of skin is sensitized. Every movement, every breath, every touch sends him higher and higher. Jango’s talking, and the words drip on his skin like candlewax, fresh sparks of pain, of heat, that only add to the cacophony.

Jango slams into him, hard enough to jostle Obi-Wan’s entire body. Obi-Wan comes in messy spurts over the sheets, and Jango stays buried deep, groaning as Obi-Wan’s body clenches around him. Jango’s pleasure twines around Obi-Wan’s, and it knocks Obi-Wan flat. His stomach’s in the wet spot, but Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to care as Jango stays inside him, rides him down and covers Obi-Wan’s body with his own.

“Fuck,” Jango says, panting.

“Never moving again,” Obi-Wan mumbles.

Jango kisses Obi-Wan’s shoulder, one of the spots which stings, as if there’s an imprint of teeth left behind.

Obi-Wan feels vulnerable but at the same time, with Jango at his back, it’s easier to speak. “Worth the wait?” Obi-Wan asks.

Jango pushes Obi-Wan’s sweaty hair out of the way so he can kiss the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. “Yes.”

Obi-Wan grins, pleased, and wiggles a little to find a more comfortable position.

“Not yet,” Jango says. He strokes Obi-Wan’s flank as if he doesn’t have any intention of moving either. “Shower first.”

“Enjoy,” Obi-Wan says.

Jango laughs, and with his chest against Obi-Wan’s back, Obi-Wan can feel it as much as he can hear it. Reluctantly, Jango gets out of bed and, even more reluctantly, Obi-Wan allows himself to be pulled out of bed as well.

Their shower is half-hearted at best. Obi-Wan summons up enough energy to pull on a pair of sleep pants and strip the sheets off their bed. He doesn’t bother with a new set, just falls face first onto the mattress and refuses to budge.

As he’s drifting off to sleep, Obi-Wan thinks he feels a spark of life. It can’t be right, his mind tries to latch onto it, but Jango pulls the blanket over the both of them and Obi-Wan’s asleep before he can give it more thought.

#

In the morning, Obi-Wan is more clear-headed, which means he dedicates his morning shower to quietly panicking. That’s twice now he thinks he felt conception. Does it mean the first time had been a false positive? Are they both false positives? Is he losing his damn mind?

Obi-Wan tugs at the beskar necklace and sighs when it doesn’t do anything but bite against his skin. He should talk to Mij. Find out what the hell is going on with his body. Obi-Wan finishes his shower quickly after that and then towels himself dry before he leaves the fresher.

Jango is only starting to stir, but he wakes quickly once he realizes he’s alone in their bed. “How do you feel?” Jango asks, and it’s partially concern, but from the intensity of his scrutiny, Obi-Wan suspects this could also be a lead-in to a morning round of sex.

“Good.” Obi-Wan blushes at the satisfaction radiating from Jango. He touches one of the marks on his shoulders, purple and stark against his pale skin. For all Jango’s talk of bruising and claiming, none of Obi-Wan’s marks will be visible once his clothes are on. Which means, they’re all for Obi-Wan and Jango to enjoy.

“No,” Obi-Wan says, gently, smiling, as he grabs a pair of pants. “We have a busy day today.”

“I could be very quick,” Jango says, but there’s no real persuasion in his voice. He rolls out of bed and grabs a pair of pants for himself. When Obi-Wan reaches for a shirt, Jango plucks it out of his hands. “After first meal. Let me look at you, at least.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Obi-Wan says.

Jango only laughs and steals a kiss. He tosses Obi-Wan’s shirt onto their bed. He loses his playful attitude when the door to their quarters slides open. “MK is early.” He grabs a blaster off the wall near their bedroom door and then enters the living room. Obi-Wan considers grabbing one of the others, but then he hears Jango say, “You’re not the serving droid, Duchess.”

Obi-Wan senses more than one person in the living room, and Jango’s irritation is nearly a physical thing. Obi-Wan pulls his shirt on and then hurries into the living room before any kind of violence breaks out.

He pauses at the sight of Duchess Kryze and two young children. He’s seen them before. They sat together at the wedding feast. One has curly black hair and a proud, slanted nose. The other is blonde, and they stay close to Duchess Kryze as they look around the living room with wide eyes.

Jango’s expression is mildly irritated, but he’s pushing out pulses of fury and guilt into the Force. Obi-Wan glances at the children and feels something uncomfortable lodge itself in his stomach. But he wasn’t on the diplomat’s track for nothing.

Obi-Wan approaches the three newcomers and bows deeply. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure yet. I am Obi-Wan, Clan Fett, House Mereel.”

“The Mand’alor’s riduur.” Duchess Kryze’s smile is kind as she directs it toward Obi-Wan. She sets the meal tray on the table so that she can curtsy to him. “Duchess Satine Kryze.”

Obi-Wan turns toward the children next. At Satine’s nudge, the blonde steps forward. His bow is charmingly practiced. “Korkie Kryze.”

Everyone looks to the other child now. He glares mulishly, at Obi-Wan, at Satine, at Korkie. His expression only softens minutely for Jango.

“That’s Boba Fett,” Korkie says, and Obi-Wan’s entire body seizes up. “He’s my brother.”

“Well.” Obi-Wan keeps his smile pleasant so he doesn’t give anything away. “We should eat before our food gets cold. I believe we have more chairs in the closet.”

Jango has children, Obi-Wan thinks as he fetches another two chairs. Their table isn’t built for five, but with two children they make it work. Jango’s children. Obi-Wan considers what he knows about Satine Kryze and then tries to puzzle out why Jango would have children with her. And if he has children, why aren’t they married?

The meal is awkward, because Jango glowers at Satine, who pretends she doesn’t notice. Korkie notices, and he’s practically vibrating with discomfort while Boba scowls at his food. It leaves Obi-Wan to listen with polite interest as Satine talks about her recent work and what she intends to get done during her visit to Keldabe.

When the meal is finally over, the kids are sent off to their classes, and Satine insists on walking with Jango to the government offices since they’re headed in the same direction. Jango clearly doesn’t want to, but Obi-Wan doesn’t offer him an excuse to refuse.

Obi-Wan takes the back way to his own office, the one he shares with Myles. Myles calls out a distracted welcome when Obi-Wan arrives. Obi-Wan considers being polite, he considers being professional, and then he plants his hands on Myles’s desk and stares the man down until he looks up from his datapad.

“Is that the big secret?” Obi-Wan asks. A lot of whispers make a lot more sense all of a sudden. “Or is there something else I should be prepared for?” Myles looks confused, so Obi-Wan elaborates. “Duchess Kryze joined the Mand’alor and me for first meal. She brought Korkie and Boba with her.”

“Shit,” Myles says. “You weren’t supposed to meet them until mid meal. Jango was going to explain.”

“Explain,” Obi-Wan repeats. “He has children with a leader of a rival faction of Mandalorians. Why didn’t he marry her? There is no way you could have known the Republic would reach out.”

“Jango—”

“Isn’t here,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He’s had weeks to tell me, and he didn’t. I was under the impression that the New Mandalorians folded into the Mandalorian Empire without fuss in exchange for Duchess Kryze’s appointment to a position of importance in the government.”

“It’s true.” Myles sighs and rubs his forehead as if he knows he’s not getting out of this. “But more reassurances were wanted. Rather than a political marriage, they had political childbirth. They’re both too Mandalorian to harm either of the children or each other now that they’re parents. Marriage was unnecessary and unwanted.”

“The children are part of different clans,” Obi-Wan says. He didn’t think that was how Mandalorians operated.

“It was quite the scandal, but neither Jango nor Kryze would back down. They try to keep the children together as much as possible, so Boba doesn’t see Jango as his only parent and so Korkie doesn’t see Kryze as his only parent, but—” Myles shrugs. “It’s an awkward situation.”

“And now it’s more awkward,” Obi-Wan says. “Boba is Jango’s successor? Is Korkie next in line or did he marry me so that our children would supplant Korkie and therefore Satine’s potential influence?”

Does Jango even want children with Obi-Wan? The Chancellor told him to get pregnant and get pregnant quickly, but if Jango already has two children…Obi-Wan touches his stomach and then rips his hand away with a growl.

“This was handled poorly,” Myles says. “But you should give Jango a chance to explain. We didn’t have to answer the Republic when they reached out suggesting a union between our empire and the Republic.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says. What other choice does he have? The marriage won’t be dissolved because Jango has children with Satine. The Republic can’t afford to make an enemy of the Mandalorian Empire. Obi-Wan breathes out slowly. “I should take the morning to process.”

“Take all the time you need,” Myles says.

Right, because Obi-Wan’s work isn’t crucial or even important. He’s a highly trained diplomat who is organizing reports from decades past. He’s a Stewjoni, capable of carrying children who is married to a man who already has two. Obi-Wan is redundant, unnecessary and—

Obi-Wan forces himself to take a deep breath. It’s hard to release his emotions when the beskar necklace seeks to trap them inside him, but he does it. Once he’s feeling more calm, he bows to Myles and then leaves.

He goes to the MandalMotors Tower and stands at the very top of it. He can see for miles in every direction. It reminds him that his life, his position, it’s far greater than himself. He’s able to reach a meditative state easier than he has since he arrived, and he sinks gratefully into his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan set an alarm so he’s pulled out of his meditation in time to attend mid meal. More than one person watches his entrance and studies him for any sign of weakness. Obi-Wan sits next to Jango, smiles at Boba who sits across from them, and then asks Jango how his morning was as if this is a perfectly normal day.

Satine and Korkie sit at the far end of the table, away from Jango and Boba. It makes Obi-Wan grit his teeth, angry in a way he can’t quite express. After mid meal, Obi-Wan goes to the training facility. Walon Vau isn’t surprised to see him.

“Beskad today,” Walon says.

Obi-Wan is grateful for a weapon that he has become proficient in. He isn’t up to anything new or tricky. He doesn’t complain as Walon puts him through a series of dull beginner’s exercises. It’s like katas, and Obi-Wan can turn it into a type of meditation.

By the time Obi-Wan is finished, he’s sweating, but he isn’t tired. He twirls his blade in his hand as if it’s a lightsaber.

“Hmph,” Walon says and then he retrieves a beskad of his own. “Spar with me.”

Obi-Wan is grateful for the offer. He can’t disconnect during a spar, but his attention is focused on Walon and his blade rather than the maelstrom of Obi-Wan’s thoughts. He uses what he’s learned from Walon, combines it with what he learned from the Temple, and he wins three of their five bouts.

“Not bad,” Walon says. He tosses Obi-Wan a sweat towel and then uses a different one to clean his own face. Walon held back, but Obi-Wan did as well. It makes Obi-Wan long for armor, for a proper fight, but then he remembers his last proper fight, remembers Maul’s fury and his hatred and—

“Force damn it,” Obi-Wan mutters. He pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the memories.

“Did you strain something?” Walon asks.

“No, just memories.” Obi-Wan sighs and rubs his towel over the back of his neck. He cleans his beskad and then puts it away in its proper place. “Thank you for the spar. I needed it.”

“You’re a good opponent,” Walon says. “There’s still time before late meal if you want to visit the bathhouse.”

A long, hot soak sounds like bliss, but Obi-Wan shakes his head. The bathhouse is public, and while he doesn’t have a problem normally stripping down around others, today is different. His body is covered in marks, claims made by Jango’s fingers and teeth, ones that mean nothing after this morning’s revelations.

All Obi-Wan’s tension returns to him. He drags the towel over his sweaty skin once more before he tosses it into the laundry receptacle. A hot shower will work as well. Or maybe a soak in the Mand’alor’s private tub. Does Obi-Wan even want to return to their rooms? No, not their rooms. Fett’s. The Mand’alor’s suite.

Obi-Wan isn’t a coward, and he doesn’t have another place to call his own at the moment, so he does return to Fett’s rooms. He showers, quickly and efficiently, because he isn’t up to the vulnerability that would come from being caught in the bath. If things had gone differently today, then maybe. Obi-Wan could have soaked in the bath to soothe any soreness from last night, no bubbles or oils so the water was clear and Jango could see the evidence of last night’s coupling on Obi-Wan’s skin.

But things didn’t go differently. Obi-Wan found out this morning that Jango already has a consort and two children and that Obi-Wan is…what is Obi-Wan? A fool is what he is. All it took was some pretty words and clever hands, and Obi-Wan allowed himself to believe this was something more than an assignment. He married the Mand’alor for duty, not for personal pleasure.

Obi-Wan dries himself off and pulls on a pair of briefs before he pulls his leggings on. He needs the extra fortification of underwear today. He and Fett are the symbol of Republic and Mandalorian unity. Obi-Wan can’t throw a public fit, but he can distance himself. It worked perfectly fine for Fett and Satine, after all. Obi-Wan will secure himself a minor position to occupy his time and provide him currency for his pursuits, and he and Jango will live their separate lives.

And if…Obi-Wan touches his flat stomach before he grabs the first shirt he sees and pulls it over his head. It’s loose in the shoulders, one of Jango’s then, but Obi-Wan will sort out their clothes later.

Obi-Wan settles on the couch with a text on current Mandalorian politics and wonders how none of his research had even hinted that Fett already had children. Had the texts been censored before being downloaded onto Obi-Wan’s pad? How long had Fett planned to wait before introducing Obi-Wan to Boba and Korkie? Had he…had he thought Obi-Wan would be a threat to them?

Obi-Wan stares at his pad, but he doesn’t read a single word. It’s a relief when the doors to their quarters slide open, even if it means Jango enters the room. Obi-Wan checks the time on his pad. “You’re early.”

“Boba normally eats late meal with me, and I wanted to talk first.”

“Just Boba?” Obi-Wan asks.

Jango takes his helmet off, and his awkwardness is plain on his face as he goes to the bedroom to put it on the armor rack. “You as well, of course.”

“I’m not asking about me.” Obi-Wan stands up and follows Jango into the bedroom. He leans against the wall as Jango strips out of the rest of his armor. “What about Korkie?”

“I don’t see him as often,” Jango answers. His shoulders are tense, uncomfortable, but Obi-Wan isn’t going to back away from an important topic.

“I thought Mandalorians valued children over anything.”

“Yes.” Jango’s tone is clipped, angry, but not with Obi-Wan. “Which is why our advisors pushed for this. My love for Korkie will outweigh my hatred of her, or so they think. But the arrangement,” Jango practically spits the word, “is that she is the primary parent for Korkie and I am the primary parent for Boba.”

“Is that how you intend it to work for us as well?” Obi-Wan asks. His initial horror is replaced with something more serene. He could make this work. “The first child is yours to raise, the second is mine, and you’ll find another city to ship me off to? I suppose, if the first child is Force sensitive, we might have to rework that but—”

“No,” Jango interrupts.

But Obi-Wan can see his future. A little girl, maybe, with long red hair that she likes Obi-Wan to braid, who has Jango’s eyes, and Obi-Wan’s Force sensitivity. Someone who understands Obi-Wan, who doesn’t hate or fear him for the powers he has. His own small little family to keep him sane as he lives out his days in the Mandalorian Empire.

“You are my riduur,” Jango says. He steps into Obi-Wan’s space but doesn’t touch him as if he isn’t sure it would be welcome.

“And she’s the mother of your children!” Obi-Wan steps back and takes a deep breath. He cannot afford to lose his temper, especially with his control of the Force so tenuous.

“She is an unfortunate compromise,” Jango says. “If I had my way, she’d be on Kalevala.”

“And then Korkie would never see his brother or his father. Gods.” Obi-Wan drags a hand down his face. “You two despise each other, and the kids have picked up on it.”

“What do you want me to do? I won’t pretend to like her.”

“Not even you’re that good of an actor. No, I thought about this this morning. Korkie and Boba should each eat one meal with you and one with Satine every day. Let them spend time not only together but with their parents.”

“Mid meal with Satine,” Jango says. “With the rest of the government officials. Late meal with me. And you.” Jango glances at Obi-Wan, either expecting protest for not giving Satine privacy or for asking for Obi-Wan’s presence at well.

Obi-Wan does think it’s unfair that Jango can have the boys alone, while Satine has to make do with a public meal, but Jango is the Mand’alor. It’s not the worst abuse of power Obi-Wan’s seen from a ruler.

“I would be glad to eat with the boys,” Obi-Wan says. “And I wouldn’t mind spending time with them outside of meals if it’s permitted. My understanding of Mandalorian culture is that they are not my children until I offer to adopt them, and they accept, but they are still part of our family. And Jedi also place a high value on children.”

“Yes, of course.” Jango relaxes somewhat when Obi-Wan references their joined family, as if he expected worse.

“We’re married,” Obi-Wan reminds him. “We are joined by both our cultures. That has not changed.”

“What has changed?” Jango asks.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan admits. At Jango’s scowl, Obi-Wan feels his own temper flare. “I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to think this through. I married you because there was a need for a Jedi to marry the Mand’alor. I assumed you married me and not another candidate, because I can carry children, but you already have two. I—you called me riduur, but I don’t think that’s what we are. You’re the one who told me Mandalorians don’t typically go for political marriages. So, we’re spouses. It’s a political arrangement. It isn’t—” Obi-Wan gestures in an attempt to encompass everything they had done before.

“I don’t want it to be political,” Jango says. “You’re here. You’re my riduur, that means something.”

“What does it mean?” Obi-Wan challenges.

“It means,” Jango says, his voice a low rumble, “that we are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.” He steps closer and this time, he allows himself to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek. “I would gladly have a dozen children with you. And no, I would not send you off to another city. You belong here, with me. I was going to tell you about Boba and Korkie this morning and then have you meet them this afternoon. Kryze disrupted my plans.”

Obi-Wan turns his face into Jango’s hand, weak for needing the contact. Isn’t that why he moved into Jango’s rooms in the first place? Jango wants him. That has never been in doubt. Unlike other Mandalorians, Jango doesn’t hate Obi-Wan or fear him. Is it because of the necklace? Does he know that he’s limited Obi-Wan’s power? Is that why he’s so comfortable in Obi-Wan’s presence?

Does it matter?

If Obi-Wan is to spend the rest of his life as the spouse of the Mand’alor, shouldn’t it be a good thing that Fett doesn’t fear him?

“I’m so tired,” Obi-Wan admits. Even if Jango’s emotions tend to be positive, he’s still loud. Obi-Wan’s mental shields are under constant assault on Mandalore, and it’s slowly draining him. He’s afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t find a way to replenish himself.

“Then rest.” Jango guides Obi-Wan toward the bed and then pauses. “Would you—I can send a crew to clean your old quarters.”

“I don’t want to go back there,” Obi-Wan says. But he isn’t looking forward to sharing space with Jango, either.

“No sex,” Jango promises. His hand is still on Obi-Wan’s face, warm and comforting. “Not unless you’re comfortable with it. And if sharing a bed with me is still too much, we can come up with something else. And—” Jango hesitates. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve said that yet.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and tries to articulate why this bothers him as much as he does. “Everyone else knew. I could tell there was something I wasn’t being told, but I wasn’t sure what. I don’t know if it’s a Mandalorian secret or if you weren’t sure how a new spouse would react to established children and heirs or what your reasoning was, but—it was a reminder. That I married the Mand’alor, but I’m not Mandalorian.”

“You are.” Jango leans in until he can rest his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. Distress and guilt pour off of him in waves. “You are. Don’t let my mistakes make you doubt.”

“We should comm the boys,” Obi-Wan says, because it’s easier than addressing what Jango’s just said. “Invite them here for late meal.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I can’t sleep yet.” If he does, he’ll wake up too early and be unable to fall back asleep. “Besides, I wouldn’t put it past Mij to have me under surveillance for skipped meals.”

“It’s how he shows he cares.” Jango comms Korkie and Boba to tell them to stop by the kitchens and then come by the room. Obi-Wan takes the opportunity to go into the fresher and splash some cool water on his face.

Not for the first time, he wishes there was another Jedi to talk to. Someone to ground him, remind him who he is. Or, if he couldn’t have another Jedi, if he could have the Force. Help me, he pleads, and the Force brushes his cheek gently. It isn’t enough, but it will have to do.

#

Satine Kryze frowns at Obi-Wan as he sits across from her for mid meal. Boba is next to Obi-Wan, at the very end of the table, and Korkie is across from him. They are in Jango’s line of sight, but they aren’t close enough for their conversation to reach the Mand’alor’s ears. Of course, given the people between their little group and Jango, Obi-Wan is sure Jango will know if anything important is said during the meal.

“I’m told I have you to thank for this?” Satine asks. She seems displeased with the level of privacy. Given that Jango has arranged for long, private meals in his quarters and Satine gets a short government meal break, Obi-Wan can’t blame her. What he can blame her for, is where she directs her ire.

“I merely pointed out that the boys shouldn’t be punished for their parents’ decisions,” Obi-Wan says. He ate with the boys and Jango last night, the first of many late meals they’ll share. Jango explained the new eating arrangement and also told them Obi-Wan would amuse them after classes if they wanted to hang out with him.

“I’m surprised the Jedi made an overture to Mandalore,” Satine says. “I thought they ignored our sector of the galaxy.”

So, she knew about her father’s request, then. “I was invited here by Mandalore’s ruler,” Obi-Wan says.

“You married my buir,” Boba says. “He doesn’t like Jedi, but he came back from Coruscant with you. Did you use your magic on him?”

“No,” Obi-Wan says. “Even if your buir was weak-willed enough that I could affect him, I would never override another sentient’s free will in such a way.”

“Then why would he marry you?”

A few nearby officials and commandos laugh, but they sober quickly at the glower Boba directs at them.

“Well.” Obi-Wan doesn’t tell Boba that he had asked Jango this same question only last night. He holds up the bottle of wine that had been served to him and Satine. It’s a light wine, the kind that’s fine to drink at midday with crisp salad and finely seared strips of fish. “This is Alderaanian wine. It’s one of the many new trade routes established since the Mandalorian Empire and the Republic began talks.”

Boba sniffs the wine and then makes a face.

Obi-Wan finds himself laughing, and it only makes Boba scowl harder. He looks almost exactly like Jango when he does that. Obi-Wan’s laughter trails off into a smile. “Not a fan of wine, then. Too young. Perhaps, you prefer the Nubian fruits? Or Nubian fabrics? Have the elaborate headpieces become fashionable in Sundari, yet?”

“We already have stuff.” Boba’s irritation shades into something deeper, and Obi-Wan stops teasing.

“Then perhaps he married me to cement your ba’buir’s legacy.” The Mando’a is unfamiliar on Obi-Wan’s tongue, but he knows he has it right when the table falls silent. Jango can no doubt hear Obi-Wan in the quiet of the room. Obi-Wan chooses his next words carefully. “The Supercommando Codex has become a cultural text. Mandalorians have been united when before they were splintering. But Jaster Mereel didn’t only focus his attention inward. He also had plans for how the Mandalorian Empire would interact with the rest of the galaxy. He didn’t have the opportunity to forge those connections. The wine is a nice bonus.”

The table is still silent, but the emotions are chaotic as multiple Mandalorians process what Obi-Wan’s said. There is old resentment toward the Republic and the Jedi. There is grief over Jaster Mereel and pride over seeing his vision realized. And then there is Jango, who looks at Obi-Wan with a blank face but with dozens of emotions buffeting Obi-Wan’s shields. He looks at Obi-Wan with longing, with guilt, with frustration and a hint of despair. He looks at Obi-Wan and flares so brightly in the Force that Obi-Wan can’t hold his gaze for long.

Jango still wants him, but he promised Obi-Wan space.

“We don’t need the Republic,” Boba says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “And we definitely don’t need the Jedi.”

“Need?” Obi-Wan hums, speaking before anyone can scold Boba or join him in his accusations. “Most likely not. But the galaxy grows darker. It isn’t only the Sith. The Trade Federation felt empowered to invade a peaceful planet, and they had a formidable force at their disposal. Is there a larger army lurking? Will the galaxy be pulled into war again? Mandalorians are a proud people, and I do not doubt your skills in battle, but I would rather have an ally than an enemy.”

“Because you’re afraid to fight?” Boba challenges.

More than one adult grows tense. There are several who silently cheer Boba on, as if they believe Obi-Wan is a coward. Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I’m not afraid. Reluctant, yes. If there is any opportunity to have peace, I will pursue it. Not because I fear battle, but because I have had my fill of it. Even when the cause you fight for is just, innocents lose their lives. Even when your side is stronger or more prepared, there is great loss.” Obi-Wan feels far older than twenty-five. He rubs at his arm, where his sleeve hides one of his scars from Melida/Daan.

“How old were you?” Boba asks. His tone is softer now, as if he can see the pain and the loss in Obi-Wan’s eyes. It doesn’t stop his curiosity, but he’s less aggressive with his questions now.

“Thirteen,” Obi-Wan answers. “I was thirteen when I learned that a rescue doesn’t mean saving everyone.” How many died on Bandomeer? Not as many as would have without Master Jinn’s intervention but still, too many. “Thirteen when I killed someone for the first time.” He used his hands, because he didn’t have a lightsaber. He trained with blasters after that. “Thirteen when my orders sent my squad into battle, and they didn’t all return.” The Young were small, sneaky, and they had surprise on their side, but it didn’t prevent them from dying in attacks.

“That’s—” Horror and sympathy war on Satine’s face. “That’s barbaric.”

“Yes.” That’s Obi-Wan’s point. “There is little civility in war. Good people die, bad people live, and everyone suffers. I don’t think anyone here needs a reminder of what happens when the Republic and the Mandalorian Empire are on opposite sides of a war. If my marriage to Jango Fett is enough to keep another war from breaking out, then I will consider my life one well-spent.”

As soon as he says the words, he realizes he means them. A sense of peace that has been out of reach for so long settles over him. Obi-Wan has been restless, hunting for work, for purpose, but this is his purpose. To live here on Mandalore, to hold up the Republic’s promise for peace and possibly even more, an alliance between the two galactic powers. If Obi-Wan succeeds, then he will help prevent a war that would devastate the galaxy.

“Where did you fight?”

“Melida/Daan,” Obi-Wan answers. “It’s on the other side of the galaxy from you, but—”

“We’ve heard of it,” Satine says, her voice clipped. There’s something cold in her gaze. “The planet of eternal war.”

“Not anymore.” If there is the harsh edge of pride in his voice, Obi-Wan is entitled to it. He went through hell on Melida/Daan, and the only comfort he has is that it was at least worth it.

“Eternal war is a bit of an exaggeration,” Kal Skirata says. He still doesn’t like Obi-Wan, but it isn’t a threatening dislike, simply a state of being. “But it did take the Republic long enough to get off its ass and do something. What prompted Jedi intervention?”

“An impassioned plea,” Obi-Wan answers. His plea, in fact. His cheeks streaked with tears from Cerasi’s death, his hands shaking from days without sleep, his skin sallow and pale from lack of proper supplies. But his voice was steady as he contacted the Jedi Order to formally request aid.

The Council sent Master Jinn. Bitter at first, Obi-Wan thought it was a reminder of what he had given up for a people who now hated him because he hadn’t done enough. But Master Jinn negotiated a longer lasting peace than Obi-Wan had been able to and then he offered Obi-Wan an opportunity to return with him. To become a Jedi again, because they were stronger together than they were on their own.

Ironic, then, that Obi-Wan is now on his own. There will be no Jedi to build a community with here on Mandalore. Not unless…Obi-Wan doesn’t dare touch his stomach with all this attention on him, but he allows himself to once again hope that there is life growing inside of him.

“You were thirteen and in a warzone?” Soxo sounds grudgingly impressed. “I thought only Mandalorians raised their children that tough.”

Obi-Wan almost argues that it wasn’t his choice, except it had been his choice. He chose to stay and fight alongside the Young. He shrugs and suddenly wishes that there was something more alcoholic than wine.

“Thirteen and leading others,” Satine says. “Are Jedi truly that arrogant?”

“I didn’t want command,” Obi-Wan tells her. He feels a flare of anger that he douses with a long swallow of his wine. He doesn’t even bother to taste it. “I certainly wasn’t ready for it, but none of us were.”

“A planet of eternal war and there was no chain of command?”

Obi-Wan regrets bringing this up. He drains his glass and refills it. “As I said, Melida/Daan is far from your empire. Not even the Republic realized there were more than two factions, so it’s understandable that you wouldn’t either. The Melida and the Daan had an understanding of military tactics. They had ranks and training. My faction,” Obi-Wan’s words twist coming out of his mouth, something angry and bitter trying to escape. “We were the ones truly fighting to end the war, rather than continue it.”

“Violence only begets more violence,” Satine says.

“Not always,” Obi-Wan says. “We ended the war, and we all had scars deep enough that we didn’t want to have to raise arms again.” He shakes his head at the judgement on her face. “Do you think I wanted to teach them a deadly game of hide and seek? That I wanted to switch their weapons to kill and send them into the streets? That I wanted to cradle their bodies and wonder if perhaps it was a blessing that they were dead?”

Cerasi. Who had been bright in the Force, who had seen the wrongness of her world and decided to do something to change it. A daughter of one faction who found the son of another and made the choice together to be better than their parents. Obi-Wan had wept over her body. She was hardly the only one who died, but she was the one who affected him the most.

“I have blood on my hands,” Obi-Wan says. He doesn’t look away from Satine, even when she flinches. “It isn’t a badge of honor. But you won’t twist me into a monster.” Obi-Wan swirls his glass of wine and then drinks the whole thing. It’s his second glass in a short period of time, and he isn’t entirely surprised when the bottle is moved out of his reach. He could use the Force to levitate it back, but that seems like too much effort.  

“I am in charge of the Empire’s relief efforts,” Satine finally says. Her voice is low, with a hint of apology. “We could send aid to Melida/Daan.”

“The new charter named it Melidaan in a show of unity and peace. It’s been over ten years, but I’m sure they wouldn’t turn down supplies. You might want to keep my name out of it, though. I’m pretty sure there’s a shoot-on-sight order for me there.”

“But you saved them,” Korkie says. He wilts at Satine’s frown, but he sneaks a look back at Obi-Wan.

“I helped arrange a cease fire. But at the peace summit, one of the Young’s leaders was assassinated. Nield never forgave me for it. He thought I should have sensed the danger, that I should have been able to protect her.”

“Where was the second Jedi?” Soxo asks. “Aren’t there always two?”

That’s the Sith, Obi-Wan thinks, privately amused. But he understands what she’s asking. He also needs the wine back if he’s supposed to talk about Master Jinn. “I was on my own for most of the mission. And, now that I have thoroughly ruined everyone’s appetites, I am going to the training facility to swim.”

“Swim?” Boba asks.

“I’m certainly not wielding any weapons in this state,” Obi-Wan says. “So yes, I’m going to swim until the lifeguard has to fish me out with one of their big nets.”

“I like swimming,” Korkie says shyly.

“You both have class,” Satine reminds the boys.

“We’ll go when you don’t have class,” Obi-Wan promises. “Maybe we’ll even swim in the river instead of the pool, make a whole afternoon out of it.” He offers Korkie and Boba each a smile before he stands up, too restless to stay in his seat any longer. He doesn’t quite run out of the room, but it’s a close thing.

He intends to swim until he can’t think and then nap and maybe, by the time he wakes, he’ll be settled enough to share late meal with Jango and his sons.

Chapter Text

Part of the reason Obi-Wan didn’t meet Boba or Korkie earlier was because Jango sent them to stay with Satine in Sundari, but now that they’re here, Obi-Wan learns that Mandalorians raise their children in a communal manner similar to Jedi. The Great Hall houses several members of various clans.

In the case of Jango Fett, who works and also lives here, his children live in the children’s dorms. It’s a separate wing of the building, and children are grouped by age and then later, given some preference over their roommates. There are curfews to obey and classes to attend, but there is a measure of free time every day.

On this particular day, Obi-Wan meets Boba and Korkie outside their Political Rallies and Speeches class and walks with them to the children’s wing. Korkie sprints ahead to drop his bag off and grab what he needs for their adventure. Boba doesn’t change his pace as if he doesn’t want to appear overeager.

It means Korkie is the one who drags Obi-Wan over to the dorm buir on duty, so Obi-Wan can check both Boba and Korkie out for the afternoon.

“A trip to the Kelita River?” The dorm buir smiles at Korkie. “It sounds like a fun afternoon. And the Mand’alor made a note that you and Boba will be taking late meal with him until further notice. I’ll see you both for bedtime. You don’t want to be late. I believe the story last night ended on a cliffhanger.”

“Can Obi-Wan be added to the storyteller rotation?” Korkie asks.

The dorm buir looks at Obi-Wan, surprised, as if she didn’t expect someone to speak up in his favor.

“I bet he knows new stories, because he’s from a different planet,” Korkie says. He reaches out and shyly tugs on Obi-Wan’s tunic. “What planet are you from?”

“A more complicated question than I think you anticipated,” Obi-Wan says. “I was raised on Coruscant, and it’s the planet I am most familiar with, but it isn’t the planet of my birth.”

“You were born on Stewjon,” the dorm buir says.

Obi-Wan startles and then rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yes, I was,” he says. He isn’t used to that being common knowledge.

“Where’s Stewjon?” Korkie asks.

“Not too far from here, actually,” Obi-Wan answers. “There have been times in its history that it was part of the Mandalorian Empire.” He always wondered if that had anything to do with their…distrust of Force users.

“Then why did you grow up on Coruscant?” Korkie asks.

“Because the Jedi steal children,” Boba answers. He has a small bag slung over his shoulder as he joins them. “If Stewjon was still part of the Empire, we would protect the kids there.”

“How old are you?” Obi-Wan asks, looking between Korkie and Boba.

“Twelve,” Boba answers, at the same time Korkie says, “Nine.”

The dorm buir snorts. “Nice try, Boba. And to answer your true question, Alor’riduur, they are old enough for the truth.”

“We’re not babies,” Korkie says with stung pride.

“Come, we’re stopping by the kitchens before we leave,” Obi-Wan says. He gestures for the two children to lead the way, but they fall in on either side of him. He waits until they’ve passed out of the children’s dorm and to one of the main hallways before he tells them about his birth planet. “Stewjoni see Force abilities as a sign of demon possession. I was fortunate that there was a Jedi team on search. They fished me out of the river. Demons are creatures of fire and ash, you see. The river is meant to douse them.”

“Your buire tried to drown you?” Boba’s voice is sharp, judgmental, as Korkie looks on in horror.

“Yes.”

“They’re dar’buire, then,” Korkie says. He slips his small hand into Obi-Wan’s and holds it tightly.

“My story has a happy ending. I was found by the Jedi, raised in the Temple, and now I’ve married your buir.”

“And you’re happy here?” Korkie asks.

“I am,” Obi-Wan answers.

Boba scoffs but doesn’t call him out on the maybe-truth. They make it to the kitchens, and they’re greeted by a few serving staff and a droid that waves their arms either in greeting or to frighten them away from the pantry.

“I want you each to pick a fruit, a sweet, and a snack,” Obi-Wan says. “Three of each, enough to share. I’m in charge of drinks.”

The boys duck under the droid’s arms, and Obi-Wan opens one of the cold storage units to select three bottles of water and three lemon fizzy waters. He doesn’t have to wait much longer for the boys, and he opens his bag so they can add their treats and then they set out for the river.

Obi-Wan can sense that they’re being tailed, but given that he’s certain it’s Jango’s security and that they’re given enough space to pretend they have privacy, he doesn’t do anything about it. He brings the boys outside the city and then they follow the river until they find a large flat rock that is a perfect place to leave their things.

“Are you sure?” Korkie asks. He’s down to his swim trunks, his clothes in a pile next to Boba’s clothes and armor. He looks from the river and then to Obi-Wan.

“I know how to swim,” Obi-Wan says. “We had plenty of places to learn at the Temple, and one of my closest friends growing up is Mon Calamari.” Under Obi-Wan’s tunics is a tight shirt and swim trunks. He’s the first to jump off the rock into the water. As always, his body tenses at the first touch of water against his skin.

It’s a reaction he’s never grown out of. It’s some deeply buried instinct, a sense memory from when he was too young to create true memories. He will always fear water, but after a deep breath, he can push the fear away. He knows how to swim. He already checked to make sure there were no creatures which lurked in the river that would try and drag him down into its depths.

He treads water and laughs as Boba cannonballs into the water to try and make as big a splash as possible. Korkie follows suit and then they playfully argue over who made the bigger splash. They rope Obi-Wan into being the judge. When they get tired of splashes, they start doing somersaults into the water.

Obi-Wan can’t resist showing off. He hauls himself out of the water in order to show off his impressive collection of backflips and frontflips and twists.

Korkie’s lips turn blue first, but Boba is the first to shiver. Both boys deny being cold, but Obi-Wan coaxes them onto the rock with promises of a snack. They both wrap up in the spare cloaks Obi-Wan brought and descend on their snacks.

By the time they’ve finished eating, neither of them are interested in getting back in the water, but they drag Obi-Wan to a nearby patch of grass and demand gymnastics lessons and so they cartwheel, tumble, and do handstands until Obi-Wan’s a little nauseous.

Obi-Wan’s chrono beeps at him to remind him they need to head back to the Great Hall. Korkie drags his feet as he redresses. It’s Boba who asks if they can do this again.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan answers. “When the weather is warm enough, we can come to the river. Maybe we can walk through the vendor stalls on market days.”

“Can we ask buir to come too?” Boba asks. “Not all the time. I know he’s busy. But he likes to swim.”

“We’ll have to pack extra sweets,” Obi-Wan says. “But your buir is welcome anytime he wants to come.”

“What about mine?” Korkie asks.

“Satine may come as well,” Obi-Wan says. He pretends he doesn’t see Boba’s scowl or the way he kicks the dirt angrily.

They return to the Great Hall, and they part ways for showers and clean clothes. Obi-Wan is toweling his hair dry when both boys burst into his quarters. They clearly didn’t spend as much time in the shower, but Obi-Wan figures he should be grateful that they at least stepped under the spray. His time at the Temple had shown him that most adolescents didn’t care for personal hygiene.

Obi-Wan emerges from the bedroom in thick leggings and an over-sized sweater. Given that Korkie’s poncho looks like a blanket with a hole for his head, he has no room to judge. Boba, of course, is in his armor. If it’s anything like Jango’s, it’s temperature regulated.

Jango himself shows up not that much later, trailed by a droid with quite the dinner spread. Obi-Wan helps set it on the table, and then they all sit to eat. Boba and Korkie take turns shoveling food into their mouths and talking about their afternoon. Jango looks suitably impressed by their acrobatic feats, smiles and remains neutral when they demand to know who he thinks did better, and every so often he turns his fond smile on Obi-Wan.

The boys are hiding their yawns when Boba sits up straighter, looking uncommonly serious. “We need to discuss an important diplomatic issue.”

“Oh?” Jango raises his eyebrows and his lips twitch as if he’s fighting a smile. “What is it, Boba?”

“If Stewjon petitions for a place in the Empire again, you must deny it. It is a planet of child killers.”

“Child killers?” Jango repeats. He looks to Obi-Wan for confirmation.

“They have a tradition of drowning Force sensitive children,” Obi-Wan says.

“Your family?” Jango demands.

“Didn’t succeed. I was found by two Jedi on search.”

“That is not how family should act,” Jango says. He looks ready to demand a Mandalorian invasion of Obi-Wan’s birth planet, which is both unnecessary and unneeded. Their meal wraps up quickly after that. Jango walks Korkie and Boba back to the dorms to spend a little extra time with them.

Obi-Wan changes into his pajamas. He isn’t ready to sleep, so he takes his datapad and makes himself comfortable on the couch. He’s catching up on the latest resource reports from around the Empire when Jango returns.

Jango is solemn, and he locks their quarters before he joins Obi-Wan on the couch. “Your family was wrong. They did not love you the way parents should love their children.”

Not this again. Obi-Wan shifts as if he’s going to get off the couch, but Jango rests a hand on Obi-Wan’s ankle, a silent request to stay. Obi-Wan forces himself to relax.

“The Jedi didn’t either,” Jango says. “If you are wary of love, it’s because you’re unfamiliar with it. It is not selfish.” Jango rubs his thumb over the knob of Obi-Wan’s ankle, as if he craves the connection as much as Obi-Wan does. “It’s the opposite. Love is…patient. It is kind. It isn’t envious or self-seeking. What you spoke of on the trip to the farm, about possession, that is what happens when love is corrupted. True love, pure love, it protects. It is hopeful, it is built on trust and, above all, it perseveres.”

“Jedi don’t reject emotion,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s about understanding and, to some degree, control, not suppression. As Jedi, we embrace and encourage love for everyone in the universe. I know Mandalorians have other types, but if you love others in different ways, then you treat them differently.”

“You’ve read about Mandalorian definitions of love?” Jango asks.

After the trip to the farm. Obi-Wan shrugs, even though he’s already admitted that yes, he has.

“Agape is the most similar to the Jedi’s view,” Jango says. “But it doesn’t mean the other types are wrong. Philia, for friends or verde; storge, for families; ludus, which is something lighter and more playful, compared to pragma, which is more serious and steadfast.”

Eros, Obi-Wan thinks, for lovers and then philautia for self. It’s enough to make his head spin, and he supposes he understands why Mandalorians seek to divide it into so many definitions. One does not love their spouse the same way they love their child or a friend. But for a Jedi, there is not supposed to be any distinction. Love is love.

“You are good with the boys,” Jango says, and Obi-Wan is grateful for the change in subject. “I know you said you thought I chose you because you’re Stewjoni. Is that why you volunteered to marry me? You wanted children and the Jedi would not have allowed it otherwise?”

“I didn’t let myself consider it,” Obi-Wan admits. He touches his stomach, and notes the way Jango tracks the movement, an almost frightening intensity in his eyes. “I have since. And yes. I am…agreeable to the idea. More than agreeable. But that isn’t why I’m the one who married you. There were never supposed to be candidates, you know.”

Jango sits up straighter as if he didn’t know. Obi-Wan powers down his datapad and sets it on the small table next to the couch.

“After Naboo, the Jedi made plans to reach out to the Mandalorian Empire directly. I suppose you could say that my first mission as a knight was to marry you. I was chosen for the mission, because I had defeated the Sith, and the Council thought the Mand’alor would appreciate a warrior-spouse.”

“I do,” Jango says. He resumes stroking Obi-Wan’s ankle.

“I was also in the unique position of being recently knighted. My master was in a healing trance, and he already had his next padawan selected. My grandmaster is distant and my great-grandmaster is Yoda, who is some ways is grandmaster to the whole Order. There were few who would feel the loss when I left the Temple.”

“You make it sound like you were a sacrifice,” Jango says. “Is that why no one has commed you?”

“Are they allowed to?” Obi-Wan asks. He senses the dark shift in Jango’s mood and pulls his knees up to his chest. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Of course, you can contact your Temple,” Jango says. “Have you thought you were a prisoner this whole time? Were you a sacrifice?” He doesn’t move to touch Obi-Wan again, but whether it’s because Obi-Wan doesn’t want him to or because Jango doesn’t want to is uncertain.

Obi-Wan ignores his building fear. He needs to tell Jango everything about the build-up to their marriage. Maybe there are other misunderstandings. If Obi-Wan can contact the Temple…if he can talk to Quinlan again…

“It was supposed to be my mission.” Obi-Wan clears this throat. “And then the Senate heard what the Jedi planned, and the Chancellor insisted the Republic be involved. Which is when you received the formal invitation. It was the Senate who told us we had to present a selection of marriage candidates so that you would have a choice.”

Jango clenches his jaw. “You make it sound sordid.”

“It was,” Obi-Wan says. “I thought maybe it was the Force telling me this would not be my path. That there was someone better suited to be your spouse and to live in the Empire.”

“The race.” Jango frowns. “You were pretending?”

“No!” Obi-Wan forces himself to be calm again. “No, I wasn’t pretending. You were kind. You were interesting. I thought that maybe you would choose me, and I would be your spouse after all.”

“The Challenge,” Jango says. “You chose me.”

Obi-Wan breathes deeply. He knows this is where Jango’s temper might flare again. “We had ten candidates for you to choose from. You declined two of them. Master Windu was one of them. You said he was the Head of the Order, a powerful Jedi, and so the Senate told us we had to put forward someone who was not as powerful. Aayla. Quin’s padawan. A—a child.”

Jango’s revulsion is clear in the Force.

“I couldn’t let it happen,” Obi-Wan says. “I know you were supposed to choose, but that wasn’t an option anymore. I don’t think you even noticed that Dawn wore a revealing dress, hoping to capture your attention. I had a better plan. An ancient Stewjoni tradition. If I won, I would no longer be a candidate. And if you won, I would have to marry you. Or, in this case, you would have to marry me.”

“That—” Jango’s emotions are a dark storm, hovering above their heads, waiting to strike. “I rejected Councilor Windu, because he was the Head of the Order and couldn’t be expected to leave Coruscant behind to live in Keldabe with me. It had nothing to do with power. I never asked for a child bride. I—you said this came from the Senate? From the Chancellor?”

Obi-Wan considers the sum of the Chancellor’s interference and frowns. “The Jedi reached out to the Mandalorian Empire in good faith. But perhaps the Republic is not as willing to have an alliance. That would be deeply concerning.”

“You said the Chancellor was the one who gave you the white robes.” Jango’s emotions collapse inward, leaving nothing but a steely determination on the surface of his mind. “If you had succeeded in leaving behind the Jedi, there would be no alliance.”

“It could have been a mistake,” Obi-Wan says. “The Republic doesn’t know much about Mandalorian culture. But if it was purposeful, he sought to prevent an alliance between the Jedi and the Mandalorian Empire. Why? Because he wanted to keep you from having a potential ally or the Jedi from gaining independence from the Republic? No.” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “This is treason. The Chancellor of the Republic—”

Helped Obi-Wan remove his implant. He was wrong about the cin vhetin, but he has tried to help Obi-Wan succeed in his new role. Yes, he put the beskar necklace around Obi-Wan’s neck, but it had been at Jango’s request. Still, there are too many things here that don’t add up. Something is wrong. Obi-Wan would have an easier time determining what if he could connect fully to the Force.

Jango Fett married Obi-Wan and brought him to Mandalore. Obi-Wan’s cut off from the Force, cut off from his people, surrounded by Mandalorians. He’s been encouraged to assimilate, rather than keep his Jedi traditions and philosophies. Perhaps, turning Obi-Wan against the Chancellor is part of that.

If Jango is, indeed, the enemy, Obi-Wan has given him significant leverage just now by telling him the truth about the Challenge. No, there is no leverage. Jango can’t lose face by sending Obi-Wan back and demanding a different spouse. His people are already unsettled by the concept of a political marriage. They won’t stand for a spouse swap. Obi-Wan will remain here. His quality of life will be affected depending on Jango’s motivations, but—

Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose. This kind of spiral thinking isn’t helpful. How often has Master Jinn told him not to center on his anxieties? If only Master Jinn was here to help.

“You said I could contact the Temple?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Yes. Would you like me to make the arrangements now? My office has long-range comm capabilities.”

“Please,” Obi-Wan says. He’ll meditate on the Chancellor and Jango later. There is something amiss, but if he rushes into the situation, he will help no one. If it is the Mandalorians who are plotting, Obi-Wan needs to become a spy. And if it is the Republic plotting, Obi-Wan isn’t sure how he’ll handle that yet.

Jango brings Obi-Wan into his private study. It’s a matter of minutes to set up the call. Jango makes it a video call without Obi-Wan having to ask. Is it an act of kindness or a manipulation? Obi-Wan tugs at the beskar necklace and wishes he had more clarity.

His call to the Temple connects. A solemn young boy who introduces himself as Padawan Tuukov greets Obi-Wan with a bow. “Welcome to the Coruscant Temple directory. Who may I connect you with?”

“Is Knight Vos in residence?” Obi-Wan asks. Probably, he should speak to a Councilor first, but he is selfish, and he wants a friend.

Tuukov looks down for a moment and then shakes his head. “He is not.”

“Master Windu?”

Tuukov doesn’t have to look down for this one. “The Council is currently in session. Is this an emergency?”

“No. Initiate Skywalker?”

“We have no Initiate Skywalker at the Temple,” Tuukov answers. Before Obi-Wan can panic, he adds, “But there is a Padawan Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan gasps and braces his hands on Jango’s desk. He leans forward. “Master Jinn is awake? Can I—will you connect me to him? Please.”

“Just a moment. May I tell him who is looking to speak with him?”

“His former padawan,” Obi-Wan answers. He is Knight Fett now, he supposes, but he isn’t sure Master Jinn would know that. And he can’t call himself Knight Kenobi with Jango standing just out of view of the comm-camera.

Obi-Wan holds his breath as he’s treated to the pleasant chimes of the Temple waiting music. After what seems like far too much time, the call connects. It’s a video call, and Obi-Wan wants to weep at the sight of Master Jinn.

“Master,” Obi-Wan breathes. He reaches out as if he can touch him. “They—you—I—” Obi-Wan clears his throat and ends his own stumbling. “It’s good to see you awake and well.”

“Knight Fett.” Master Jinn inclines his head in greeting.

Something cold lodges in Obi-Wan’s chest. He wishes he could say it was unfamiliar, but Master Jinn has a way of catching him off balance, making him feel as though he’s done something terribly wrong. So far, nothing has been unforgivable, not being underfoot on Bandomeer or choosing the Young over Master Tahl or any other number of missteps.

Obi-Wan wonders if this is the unforgivable moment. And whether it’s his marriage to Jango Fett or not interceding quickly enough against the Sith.

“Padawan Tuukov told me Anakin is now a padawan. Congratulations, Master Jinn.”

“You promised me you would train him,” Master Jinn says. “Instead, I woke in the Halls of Healing to hear that Anakin had been neglected during my convalescence and that you were permanently off world.”

“I—” How has Obi-Wan still not learned to expect disappointment from his master? “It was your dying wish, but you didn’t die. I thought—” wrong, clearly. Obi-Wan clasps his hands behind his back and bows his head. “I apologize, Master Jinn. Did you take Anakin as your padawan?”

“I did. He is a bright boy, full of initiative.”

Obi-Wan nods and tries not to feel every compliment in Anakin’s favor as a criticism against himself.

“Though, thanks to you, he believes his future hold a marriage between himself and Queen Amidala. We spend most mornings meditating on the nature and pitfalls of attachment. At least it is something I am well-suited to teach.”

After all the practice you had with me. The cold feeling in Obi-Wan’s chest grows, until each breath he takes is more painful than the last. “I am glad to see you well. I will let you return to your duties.”

“Knight Fett, I was told that you volunteered for this mission.”

“I am well-suited to it,” Obi-Wan says. “May the Force be with you.”

“And you as well.”

The call ends and Obi-Wan hangs his head between his arms. Whatever boost he had hoped to get out of contacting the Temple, he didn’t get it. He sends a message to the Council to inform them that through a misunderstanding on Obi-Wan’s part, he didn’t realize he could contact them. He promises a longer report once he has the time to compose it. He shows the message to Jango for approval before he sends it.

“Master Jinn was your trainer?” Jango asks.

“He was. Now, he is Anakin’s.” Mandalorians love others so much and so easily that they have over seven definitions to clarify the kind of love they feel. Once again, Obi-Wan wonders if he was chosen for this mission as a mercy or as a test.

If it’s a test, then Obi-Wan will fail tonight. He holds his hand out to Jango. “Bed?”

Jango clasps Obi-Wan’s hand, they walk to their bedroom together. Obi-Wan considers, for half a moment, kissing Jango, but he knows he won’t be able to handle the probable rejection. It’s worse for them to sleep together in the truest sense of the word than for them to have sex, but Obi-Wan has already committed himself to failure. He needs comfort, and Jango is offering it.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan quickly has regular check-ins with the Council. He doesn’t talk to Master Jinn again, but he’s able to speak with Quinlan when he’s between missions and at the Temple. The conversations are mostly one-sided, no one giving Obi-Wan too many details of life at the Temple or Jedi business.

Still, it’s good to be in contact with his people. He even speaks briefly with the Chancellor once, who expresses his relief at Obi-Wan being allowed to say hello, because the entire Republic had been worried on his behalf.

Worried for what, Obi-Wan wonders but doesn’t ask.

Jango presents Obi-Wan with a full set of armor and makes him do everything but sleep and shower in it for two weeks, until he’s used to the weight and change in mobility. And then they go to Concordia on a Mand’alor Visit.

Obi-Wan had been worried that with the armor, Jango would insist that Obi-Wan keep the beskar necklace, but he removes it the same way he has every time they’ve left the Great Hall on official business.

Concordia had once been the stronghold of the Death Watch movement. Boba sits next to Obi-Wan on the flight to the moon and shows Obi-Wan a map of all the bases and hideouts that Jaster and Jango had destroyed between them. Concordia’s primary export is ore from the various mines, but there are small communities who are attempting various agricultural pursuits, because the mines won’t remain full forever.

Korkie is the one who tugs on Obi-Wan’s sleeve to tell him about Concordia’s other exports, blaster resistant fabrics from the animals raised on the moon. There is even blaster resistant leathers, made from animal hide and apparently more sought after by pirates than the colorful fabrics preferred by some.

It’s a sign of Jango’s trust, both in Concordia and Obi-Wan that he allows Obi-Wan to escort the boys once they’ve landed. Boba and Korkie both want to see the animals, so Obi-Wan takes them toward the large barn and fenced-in fields.

There is a darkness on Concordia, lingering remnants of Death Watch’s crimes, perhaps. Obi-Wan’s only been to a few places where terrible history has sunk into the place itself. Melida/Daan was one. He shudders the memory, and he’s glad when there are animals to distract both him and the boys.

Korkie stands at the fence of one enclosure to stare at the sheep, each with beautifully colored wool. Boba climbs up onto the fence of a different enclosure to see the griz-snouts better. Obi-Wan is content to let the barn cats mill about his ankles, hopeful for a pet or other kind of attention. Obi-Wan scritches their ears and keeps a close eye on Boba to make sure he doesn’t try to ride one of the griz-snouts.

After a morning with the animals and mid meal with the families in the compound, Boba and Korkie are invited to play in the nearby ruins of a former Death Watch base.

“We can play bounty hunter!” one of the other children says. They lower their voice to try and sound intimidating. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

“Only if Obi-Wan comes with us,” Korkie says. He looks to Obi-Wan to say yes. Boba looks to Jango for permission.

“They aren’t allowed without supervision,” one of the adults says. “There’s still plenty of danger left in the old bases.”

“I’ll go with them,” Soxo says. “I’m very good at bounty hunter.”

Jango looks a little disappointed that he can’t come play, but he waves his hand to give them permission and then goes to get an update on a possible breakthrough in protective fabrics.

Obi-Wan’s sense of unease grows as they approach the base. Soxo notices his discomfort and switches on their helmet comms. “Something’s troubling you.”

“A bad feeling,” Obi-Wan admits. “It could simply be leftover impressions from Death Watch’s rule, or it could be a warning of something in the present.”

“Should we turn back?” Soxo asks.

“The children regularly play here,” Obi-Wan says, but he does check to make sure his beskad is in easy reach and that his blaster has a full charge pack.

The old watchpost has seen better days. The walls that are still standing are covered in scorch marks and carbon scoring. Still, Obi-Wan can see why it’s a good place to play. There are rooms and hideouts and plenty of things to climb.

Soxo is the bounty hunter first, which means the rest of them find places to hide. It’s Soxo’s job to find them and “subdue them”. The last captive brought in gets to be the bounty hunter next. It’s similar enough to games Obi-Wan played in the creche, even if there’s a bit more violence encouraged in the Mandalorian version.

Boba wins the first round and then ruthlessly hunts Korkie down first to kick off the second.

They’re on their fourth round when Obi-Wan’s bad feeling solidifies into a definitive warning. “Find the kids,” Obi-Wan tells Soxo through their helmets.

She doesn’t question him. She bellows out an order, and Obi-Wan meets her outside the watchpost. He does a headcount. They’re missing one. The twi-lek girl.

“Looking for this?” A woman with short-spiked white-blond hair steps onto one of the platforms. She holds the twi-lek by the scruff of her neck. The woman wears tightfitting clothes, but Obi-Wan is drawn not to the curve of her breasts or the shape of her backside but the two lightsabers at her waist.

Shit, Obi-Wan thinks. He speaks to Soxo again through their comms only. “At my signal, take the kids and get back to the compound.”

“I won’t leave you here on your own,” Soxo says. “Boba can take the kids back.”

“Is your armor beskar?”

Soxo swears.

“Who are you?” Obi-Wan asks the intruder.

“You don’t recognize me?” The woman pouts. “That hurts, Obi-Wan. We’re family.”

Obi-Wan ignores her taunting and focuses on the child. The twi-lek is terrified. Obi-Wan, with the Force at his fingertips, takes a deep breath and then shoves the woman back and pulls the twi-lek forward in the same motion. The woman stumbles back and goes over the edge of the platform. Obi-Wan catches the twi-lek and then sets her on her feet.

“Go!” he shouts.

Soxo grabs the twi-lek and the youngest of the kids and powers up her jetpack. Boba grabs Korkie and takes off. The rest of the kids all have jetpacks, and they head for the compound without protest.

“Obi-Wan?” Jango’s voice is loud in Obi-Wan’s head. “Boba activated his distress signal. Did something happen?”

Obi-Wan opens the return channel, but before he can reply, the woman from before vaults out of the watchpost. She does three flips in the air and lands with both her sabers ignited. They’re twin pillars of red.

“Are you Sith or just Fallen?” Obi-Wan asks. He draws his beskad and wishes he had a lightsaber.

“You are my test. Whoever kills you and brings your heart to Sidious is the next apprentice. I’m going to make sure it’s me.”

Obi-Wan hears Jango swear, but he can’t linger on Jango, because he’s going to need his full focus for the upcoming battle. “Do I get to know the name of my possible killer?”

“Komari Vosa.” The woman bares her teeth in a smile as Obi-Wan reacts to her name. “I told you we’re family. Or, we were, until I was tossed out of the Order.”

She was Master Dooku’s last padawan. Obi-Wan never met her, barely even heard her mentioned. He didn’t realize she’d been cast out of the Order. All he had heard was that she was no longer a Jedi and not to mention it to Master Dooku, because it was upsetting to him.

“They’re hypocrites.” Komari advances, both her sabers raised, ready to spring forward and attack. “Do you know why they cast me out, nephew?” She leaps and crosses her blades as she bears down on Obi-Wan’s position.

Obi-Wan brings his beskad up to block the attack. The strength of it jars all the way up to his shoulders.

“Attachment,” she hisses. Her eyes glow, yellow and unnatural. She presses down on his beskad. Her sabers hum, too close to his neck for his comfort. “I loved my master, and they told me it was wrong. That I was wrong.”

Obi-Wan shoves his beskad against her blades and adds a touch of the Force to separate them. He brings his blade up again to guard. Komari stalks a slow circle around him.

“What’s so special about you?” she demands. “Why did the Council send you to spread your legs for the Mand’alor? They let you marry him.”

She cannot be reasoned with, Obi-Wan thinks, as she attacks again, with a flurry of blades and emotions. She has given herself over to the darkside, strong in her fury and her jealousy, weakened by the despair and grief that underlines her every action.

“I am doing my duty to the Jedi and the Republic,” Obi-Wan says as he pushes her back once more.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” She sneers at him. “My new master knows all about how you do your duty. They called you the perfect padawan at the Temple. You killed one of the Jedi’s enemies on Naboo and now you sleep with one on Mandalore. It’s quite the reputation you have, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan drives forward, his beskad slides through her guard. She brings her sabers up just in time to protect herself, and Obi-Wan lands a heavy kick to her stomach. She stumbles back and hisses at him.

“It’s Obi-Wan Fett,” he tells her.

She screeches and comes at him again. It takes everything he has to hold her at bay. This is nothing like his fight with Maul. Maul had been a superior opponent. He had truly been a Sith apprentice, trained by the master that apparently wants Obi-Wan dead. Komari doesn’t have the same training, but her emotions make her strong.

They are also her weakness.

“I’m sorry we never met,” Obi-Wan says as he dodges another attack. “I would have liked to have someone closer to my age in our lineage.”

“You weren’t even supposed to be part of our lineage! Qui-Gon didn’t want you. He told my master he would never take another padawan after Xanatos. I was there in the Temple when you threw yourself at him. It was pathetic.”

Obi-Wan smiles at her next line of attack. If she thinks she can use his emotions against him, then it’s proof of how little she knows him.

“Yoda had to trick him into taking you,” Komari says. She brings one blade down and whips the other up, hoping to hit him with one of them.

Obi-Wan blocks the first swing and then jumps over the second. He hadn’t known that Yoda was involved with the start of his apprenticeship, but he doesn’t let it rattle him. “We have much in common, then. We were both unwanted.”

“No! I was chosen.”

“And yet, I am a Jedi knight, and you are not. You’re a Fallen Jedi trying desperately to prove herself to a Sith lord.”

Komari’s attacks are stronger now, but they’re erratic. Obi-Wan can see the gaps in her defenses as she loses focus. He disarms her, one of her lightsabers flying out of reach. The blade powers down and the hilt rolls until it hits a beskar boot.

“Crush it!” Obi-Wan shouts at Jango.

Jango slams the heel of his boot onto the hilt and destroys it. Komari keeps her one-handed grip and uses her free hand to toss Jango aside. Or, she tries to. She throws her hand out and Jango barely budges.

Beskar, Obi-Wan thinks and almost cries out in relief. He slams his shoulder into Komari’s chest instead. She grabs his wrist and squeezes until he feels his bones break. He shouts and channels his pain into the Force as he drops his beskad. With his good hand, he thumbs the power switch on her remaining saber.

“No,” she says. “I’m better than you!”

Her blade hums again and it scorches his left shoulder pauldron. She throws her hand out and pins Obi-Wan against the wall of the outpost. There’s an invisible hand against his throat, but it doesn’t choke him, as if she wants to kill him with her saber, not the Force. Or maybe she wants to taunt him some more.

He can feel the hum of her saber, can hear the pain of her crystal. He—he has a very bad idea. He finds her crystal, already near overload, and he gives it a nudge. It doesn’t want to die, but it doesn’t want to suffer for eternity, either.

The humming grows louder, until Komari looks at her blade in confusion. She loses her grip on the Force, and Obi-Wan slides to the ground. She tosses her saber into the air just in time to save her life. When it explodes, it’s several feet in the air, rather than in her hand.

She charges him, but before she can reach him, a wire wraps around her waist and halts her in her path. She twists to see Jango at the other end of the wire. “Well,” she says, her voice downright venomous now. “Sidious did ask for your heart. Which should I deliver to him? Yours or your husband’s?” She grips the wire in both hands and sends a current of electricity through it.

Jango cuts it before he can be shocked. Obi-Wan charges Komari from behind and tackles her to the ground. His broken wrist screams at him, but he keeps pushing the pain into the Force. The last time he battled a darksider, his partner ended up in a healing trance. He won’t let Jango be harmed like Master Jinn had been.

Komari rips the helmet off Obi-Wan’s armor. She tosses it aside and then tries to shove her fingers through his eyes. He grabs her wrists, and it hurts-hurts-hurts but he keeps her from her goal. She pins him on the ground and then rips a chunk of his neck out with her teeth.

“Fuck!” Obi-Wan manages to get his legs up so he can kick her off of him. He doesn’t touch his neck, but he can feel the blood oozing down his skin. The air stings against the fresh wound.

Komari laughs at him, his blood between her teeth. “You will die, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I will become a Sith apprentice, and then after I kill Sidious I’ll be the master. I’ll take Yan as my padawan, and he’ll love me. He’ll serve me.”

“That’s wrong,” Obi-Wan says. It hurts to talk.

Komari leaps on him, pins him to the ground again. With her hands and the Force, she peels the chestplate from him, ripping it in two and opening it up, a preview of what she intends to do with his ribs. She plants a hand over his kute, where his heart beats beneath his skin. “I love him,” Komari says. “Have you ever loved like this, Obi-Wan? Consuming, until you can think of nothing else? It’s the purest thing in the galaxy. How much love is there in your heart? If I feed it to Yan, will he understand, then?”

Obi-Wan feels a tug, as if she’s trying to pull his heart through his body. “No,” he says. He grips her wrist with his good hand. He focuses on the Force and tries to push her malicious intent away. “You can’t make him love you. Love isn’t forced. It can’t be.”

“What do you know about it?” she demands.

“Because you were right,” Obi-Wan says. “I was Kenobi, one without clan, rejected by my birth parents. I was an unwanted initiate that should never have become a padawan. If it was possible to convince someone to love you, then Master Jinn would never have set me aside for Anakin.”

There is fear in Komari’s eyes, fear that Obi-Wan is right, fear that she will never be loved as much as she loves. It eats at the yellow of her irises, tears at Obi-Wan’s psyche the way her kyber crystal had. Red bleeds into her eyes, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure this is better. He wants her to stop hurting. He—

A black-haloed blade punches through Komari’s chest. She gasps and looks down to see herself impaled on the darksaber. It’s yanked out, and Komari collapses on top of Obi-Wan. Her hair tickles his nose. A moment later, her body is shoved aside, and then it’s Jango towering over Obi-Wan.

The darksaber hums until Jango retracts the blade. He drops to his knees next to Obi-Wan. He clasps Obi-Wan’s good hand between his and presses his forehead to it. Next to them, Komari’s spirit wails and mourns.

“Be at peace,” Obi-Wan whispers. He waves his hand and scatters her spirit into the Force.

“Medic,” Jango demands, his comm crackling as it connects. “Get me a full damn squad here right away.”

Obi-Wan looks at his chestplate, warped beyond fixing. And then he thumps his head lightly on the ground. “Fuck.”

“Don’t talk,” Jango tells him. “Your throat…”

Obi-Wan raises his other hand and then whimpers at the pulse of pain. With the fight over and his adrenaline ebbing, Obi-Wan is aware of how much he hurts. He doesn’t protest Jango’s vigil. He doesn’t protest when Mij arrives and starts swearing at him. He allows Mij to fuss. He remembers to ask Jango to preserve Komari’s body and then he slips into a healing trance.

#

Obi-Wan wakes up in medical in the Keldabe Great Hall. Korkie is next to his med-bed with a datapad in his lap. He lets it clatter to the floor when he sees Obi-Wan open his eyes. He taps the comm unit on his shirt. “He’s awake!”

Korkie’s relief washes over Obi-Wan like a cool balm. He grips Obi-Wan’s hand as Mij and a med-droid enter the room. “Buir and Boba will be here soon, but it was my turn to take watch.”

“How—” Obi-Wan’s voice is raspy. “How long?”

“Half a day here,” Mij says. He holds a straw up to Obi-Wan’s lips and nods when Obi-Wan starts sipping. “Your throat has healed, but you’ll have some new scars there. Your wrist is in a cast. It’s healing faster than I expected, but you stay in the cast until I take it off.”

Obi-Wan nods. He lets the straw slip out of his mouth. “The kids?”

“All unharmed.”

“Jango?”

“Also unharmed.” Jango himself is the one who answers. When Korkie tries to give up his place next to Obi-Wan, Jango rests a hand on Korkie’s shoulder to keep him there and then offers Obi-Wan a tired smile. “You took the worst of it.”

“It’s what I’ve trained for.” Obi-Wan ignores Korkie’s protest and Mij’s muttering and eases himself into a sitting position. “Has anyone reached out to the Jedi Order?”

“Not yet,” Jango says.

“It’s best that this comes from me,” Obi-Wan agrees.

“Was she a Jedi?” Korkie asks.

“Once,” Obi-Wan answers. “She fell to the darkside.” He accepts the long-range comm Jango hands him and then gently tells Korkie that he needs privacy for the call.

Mij escorts Korkie out of the room. Jango stays at Obi-Wan’s side as he calls the Temple. Once again, it is Padawan Tuukov who answers.

“I need to speak with a Councilor,” Obi-Wan says. “And yes, padawan, it is an emergency.”

“You have fortuitous timing, Knight Fett,” Master Windu says when he answers. “The Council is currently in session. How may we be of assistance?”

Obi-Wan is glad there’s no video for this call. It means he can lean against Jango’s side and draw strength from his riduur. “I was on Concordia when I was attacked by Komari Vosa. I regret to inform the Council that since leaving the Order, Komari Vosa had Fallen. She informed me she had sought me out at the behest of the Sith lord, a Darth Sidious. Killing me would have made her the next apprentice.”

There are exclamations of surprise from the various councilors, but Mace’s voice rises above them. “Are you alright, Obi-Wan?”

“Minor injuries,” Obi-Wan answers. “Komari was troubled, but she had once been a Jedi. With your permission, I will hold a pyre for her.”

“Dead, my grandpadawan is?” Master Yoda asks.

“She is.” Obi-Wan touches his neck and feels a bandage instead of skin. Jango gently eases Obi-Wan’s hand down to his lap. “Councilors, Komari Vosa said she was ejected from the Order for inappropriate feelings for Master Dooku.”

There is a telling silence.

“If someone could tell Master Dooku of his former padawan’s death, I would appreciate it. I do not have his comm number,” Obi-Wan says.

“It will be done,” Mace says.

“There was something else she said. Was I sent to Bandomeer so my path would cross with Master Jinn’s?”

Another telling silence.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. “I will oversee Komari Vosa’s pyre. And I will remain alert, as there are a number of darksiders who received the same promise she did. My death in exchange for an apprenticeship.”

“You should make a new lightsaber,” Mace says.

“Perhaps. I am sorry I did not have better tidings for you, Councilors. I’m sure I have given you much to meditate on. I will take my leave, now. May the Force be with you.”

“And also with you, Obi-Wan.”

The call cuts out.

Obi-Wan is spared having to answer any of Jango’s no doubt numerous questions by Boba’s visit. It’s a short visit, but it’s long enough for Obi-Wan to reassure Boba that he’s fine after what must have looked like a scary fight to the boy.

Mij tosses everyone out after that visit, including Jango, so that Obi-Wan can sleep. The next time Obi-Wan’s awake, he’s given a tray of bland food and told he can leave once he eats it all. Mij sticks around to make sure Obi-Wan actually eats and then he helps Obi-Wan into real clothes.

Mij escorts Obi-Wan to the Mand’alor’s meeting room. Jango’s advisors are already all there, seated around a large, circular table. Jango motions to the empty seat to his left. Obi-Wan sits and then Mij sits to the left of Obi-Wan. Jango presses a button and a still shot of Komari Vosa is projected in the middle of the table.

Ah, a report. Obi-Wan can handle this. “Komari Vosa was the padawan of Jedi Master Yan Dooku. Before Komari Vosa, Master Dooku had a padawan named Qui-Gon Jinn. Master Jinn took me as a padawan, which makes—made—Komari part of my lineage. After parting ways with the Jedi Order, she fell to the darkside. She was not, however, a Sith.”

“She was powerful,” Jango says.

“Easier than Maul. Two Jedi almost weren’t enough to defeat Darth Maul, but you and I were able to defeat Komari with limited injuries.”

Jango presses a button and the still shot switches to a looped video clip of Komari tossing her saber hilt in the air and then the resulting explosion.

“I can’t teach you how to do that,” Obi-Wan says. “It requires the Force. I convinced the kyber crystal to shatter.”

“The piece of her soul?” Dysari asks.

Obi-Wan winces. “Yes. She had strained it. Put a burden on it that the crystal never should have had to bear.”

Jango tips the contents of a bag onto the table. It’s the saber he crushed under his boot. Obi-Wan picks through the casing and mangled pieces until he finds the kyber crystal. It pulses dimly, red like a faint heartbeat. Obi-Wan lifts it between two fingers and tears well up in his eyes.

“Darksiders have red blades, because their crystals bleed,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ve heard that a crystal can be mended. With your permission, I’ll try.”

Jango wipes the tears from Obi-Wan’s cheek. “It hurts you.”

“It doesn’t know any better. Her grief, her rage, her hatred, she channeled it all through her crystals, but they can heal. She could have too.”

“She didn’t want to.”

Obi-Wan sets the crystal down. The holoprojector now shows Obi-Wan on his back, his chestplate peeled open. There’s more than one gasp at the sight.

“She did this to you but not me,” Jango says.

“You have beskar’gam.” It’s the only explanation Obi-Wan can think of. “She tried to throw you, but she couldn’t.”

“I knew beskar could stop a lightsaber, but I didn’t realize it protected against the Ka’ra,” Jango says.

“Yes you did,” Obi-Wan says, before he can think better of it.

“Are you calling the Mand’alor a liar?” Kal Skirata demands.

Obi-Wan calls the Force to him, to guard him, to comfort him, to prepare him in case he needs to fight. He slides his chair back, and half the room’s occupants reach for a weapon. Obi-Wan’s heart thunders in his chest as Jango draws the necklace out of his beltpack.

“Please,” Obi-Wan whispers. He can’t take his eyes off the swinging mythosaur pendant or the kyber crystal trapped inside it. He doesn’t care if the Mandalorians think he’s weak. “Sidious has a target on my back. Don’t make me wear it again.”

“This is a beskar chain,” Jango says. He speaks slowly, and he studies Obi-Wan for his every reaction. “Does it limit your access to the Ka’ra?”

“You know it does,” Obi-Wan says. He doesn’t know what game Jango is playing. “You commissioned it!”

“What?” Myles demands, his voice low, but his glare is directed at Jango, not Obi-Wan.

“I did no such thing,” Jango says.

Obi-Wan can feel the truth, the conviction in Jango’s words, but he shakes his head. “The pendant is a kyber crystal trapped within a mythosaur skull. A little heavy-handed, sure, but effective.”

“I didn’t give this to you,” Jango says. He drops the necklace on the table as if it burns him. “You were wearing it when you came on the transport.”

“You commissioned it,” Obi-Wan repeats. “The Chancellor presented it to me in his office.”

“The Chancellor?” Jango’s fury spikes, but Obi-Wan’s able to shield his mind against its assault. “In the same meeting he took everything you owned and replaced it with a set of white robes?”

Obi-Wan nods.

“Did he do anything else in this meeting?” Jango asks.

Obi-Wan hesitates. Jango isn’t the only one who notices. The entire room pays attention to him, waiting for his answer. Obi-Wan twists his fingers once and then answers. “He told me that Mandalorians prize children more than anything and to ensure my safety and protection, I should aim to be pregnant as quickly as possible.”

Jango isn’t the only one who tries to look at Obi-Wan’s stomach.

“You have an implant,” Mij says but his voice lacks confidence.

“I did,” Obi-Wan answers, and the tension in the room skyrockets again. “The Chancellor—” Jango shoves his chair back and stalks to the edge of the room. Obi-Wan swallows thickly. “The Chancellor has a personal med-droid.”

Obi-Wan expects more anger. He doesn’t expect the wave of panic that crests over the room.

“Mij.” Jango’s voice cracks and he doesn’t finish the rest of his thought.

“There’s a reason you’re not supposed to fuck with your birth control without consulting a medic,” Mij snaps at Obi-Wan. “You’re coming back to medical with me. If we’re very lucky, you aren’t pregnant.”

Obi-Wan is pretty sure that isn’t the case. Something must show on his face, but Mij curses.

“Do you not know anything about your own biology?” Mij demands. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say the Chancellor was trying to kill you.”

“What do you mean?” Obi-Wan asks. “I’m Stewjoni, it means I can carry children.”

Mij stares at him, as if he’s waiting for more. When Obi-Wan doesn’t have anything more to say, Mij groans. “Yes, you can carry children. And since you’re Stewjoni, when you first conceive, it throws your body into a state of hyperfertility. If you aren’t careful, you end up with so many fertilized eggs that your body can’t support them all, and you die.”

“Shit,” Obi-Wan says. That never came up in his biology lessons. “I’m pretty sure there’s only two. I was confused, but I thought it was the beskar necklace interfering with my Force senses. I didn’t realize I could conceive more than once.”

“I am going to confirm this for myself,” Mij says. “And then I’m possibly going to confine you to medical for the rest of your Force-damned life!”

Obi-Wan can’t help it. He panics. He’s in a small room, surrounded by Mandalorians, and even though he can protect against their emotions now, he can still feel them. They want to pin him, trap him, bring him somewhere and restrain him.

He stands and backs away from the table. Kal Skirata draws a knife from his belt. Obi-Wan’s heart stutters. Behind him is a large window. If he can reach it, he can escape. But what, then? He can’t return to the Republic. He can’t live as an outlaw in Mandalorian space for the rest of his life. He is the Mand’alor’s riduur.

He’s already worn a beskar collar. Will he truly refuse other restraints? Obi-Wan presses his wrists together and then extends them toward Mij.

“None of that,” Mij says, but his tone is gentler than Obi-Wan is used to. “We’re going to medical. I’m going to confirm the pregnancy and see how far along you are. And then you can return to your quarters.”

Obi-Wan looks at the beskar necklace and then at the red kyber crystal. The red casts a glow, and it turns the necklace pink, as if it can corrupt the crystal at the heart of the pendant. Obi-Wan moves. He sweeps the red crystal off the table, as far away from him as possible. It hits the far wall and falls to the floor.

He grabs the pendant as if he can bend the beskar back and rescue the crystal inside. Metal bites into his fingers, but he doesn’t care. His wrist twinges, the one in the brace, but he doesn’t care about that either.

Jango places a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, and Obi-Wan goes still. “You’re hurting yourself,” Jango says. He eases the necklace from Obi-Wan’s grasp. There are spots of blood on Obi-Wan’s fingers from where the metal punctured his skin. “I will free the crystal and bring it to our quarters. Go with Mij, now.”

Obi-Wan nods. His head is fuzzy. He needs a long meditation session in order to center himself. For now, though, he follows Mij out of the meeting room and back to medical. His wrist aches by the time they reach Mij’s domain. Mij sighs and injects something into Obi-Wan’s wrist.

Cool relief eases the pain. Obi-Wan sits on the indicated bed. Mij lifts a handheld scanner and fiddles with it until he settles it a few inches above Obi-Wan’s stomach. They both look at the monitor next to the bed. A black-and-white picture appears. It isn’t the clearest, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to interpret the white splotches, but Mij does. He freezes the image on the screen and then sets the scanner down on the side table.

“You were right,” Mij says. He uses a stylus to draw a circle around two of the white splotches. “Congratulations.”

Obi-Wan sits up. He reaches for the monitor so he can touch his fingers to the circled splotches. And then, realizing how silly he’s being, he touches his stomach instead. He closes his eyes and reaches out with the Force. Now that he knows, now that he doesn’t have to worry at what he might or might not find, he looks inward. Very faint, because he hasn’t been pregnant long, he feels the presence of something him-but-not.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan whispers. He’s pregnant. Twice over. He opens his eyes to look at Mij. “Are they still considered twins?”

“They’ll be birthed at the same time,” Mij answers. “Twins, siblings, however you prefer to call them. Are you intending to keep them, then?”

Obi-Wan blinks slowly, not understanding.

“You don’t need children to earn yourself protection,” Mij says. “If we have been unclear, let me be clear now. You are the Mand’alor’s riduur. You are Mandalorian, and you are safe here.”

Obi-Wan curls his arm over his stomach. “I’m keeping them.”

Mij nods. “In that case, I’m going to put together a pregnancy packet for you. Your diet and exercise will have to change as you progress. You will also have to come here for regular check-ups. But that can all wait for later. You need to rest. Would you like me to bring you to your original quarters?”

Obi-Wan could probably filter out the lingering emotions there, but he doesn’t want to bring his children anywhere where they’ll be surrounded by hate. He shakes his head. “Jango’s. Unless—”

“He wants you,” Mij assures him. He helps Obi-Wan to his feet, even though Obi-Wan doesn’t need it. “That has never been in doubt.”

“No, it hasn’t. It makes it easy to be around him.”

“Oh?” Mij asks. Together, they leave medical and head for Jango’s quarters. The hallways are deserted, odd for this time of day.

“The beskar necklace fucked with my emotional filtering,” Obi-Wan says. “There were people and places I had to avoid, but Jango was never one of them.”

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Mij warns. For now, though, he guides Obi-Wan into Jango’s quarters. Obi-Wan trails his fingers over the couch. It’s saturated with him and Jango; quiet conversations, eager kisses, a lecture and exploration of Mandalorian types of love.

Mij lingers next to the bed as Obi-Wan climbs in. “He wants you, but do you want him?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answers.

“Then I’ll go track him down.” Mij sets Obi-Wan’s comm on the bedside table. “If you need anything, contact medical. Everyone is going to hover now. You best get used to it.”

“I don’t need coddling,” Obi-Wan says.

“Debatable,” Mij says. “But the fetuses definitely do.”

“Very underhanded,” Obi-Wan says. He pulls the blankets up to his chin. He’ll come up with a protest later.

“They teach it in medical school. We’re going to make this right, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan thinks he makes a noise of agreement before he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan wakes during the night cycle, because the lights in the room are dimmed. There is enough light for Obi-Wan to make out shapes, to navigate the room if he wants, or he could close his eyes and return to sleep. His bed is too empty for him to relax again. He is alone in it, which is wrong, an itch under his skin. It’s made worse by the fact that he can feel Jango in their quarters.

Obi-Wan casts his senses outward, reveling in the fact that he can. He has full access to the Force returned to him. He is tempted to see how far his range is, to sink into the quiet hum of Keldabe at night, but he reins himself in before he becomes overwhelmed or distracted.

Jango is in the living room and so that is where Obi-Wan goes.

Jango is asleep, stretched out on the couch. He stirs when Obi-Wan sits on the edge of the cushion, but he doesn’t startle or reach for a weapon. He blinks, blearily, barely visible in the dim light.

“Come to bed,” Obi-Wan says softly.

Jango shakes his head. He settles more comfortably on his back and almost pushes Obi-Wan off the couch. “Not until we talk.”

Right, didn’t Mij hint at this? That Jango would feel upset and conflicted? If Jango won’t come to bed, then bed will have to come to him. Obi-Wan pulls up the blanket Jango is using and then, before Jango can do more than whine at the cool air, Obi-Wan settles on top of him.

Jango grunts, but he doesn’t shove Obi-Wan off the couch.

“I didn’t understand,” Obi-Wan says, a whisper in deference to the surrounding quiet and the time of night. “You were always so warm toward me. Careful and attentive and indulgent. It didn’t make sense with the necklace. But it’s because you didn’t know. You weren’t purposefully hurting me. You wouldn’t purposefully hurt me.”

Jango makes a low, pained sound. Obi-Wan tucks his face against Jango’s neck. He wraps his arms around Jango’s sides and wiggles until he’s comfortable. Jango isn’t as soft as the mattress on their bed, but he’s warm, and he holds Obi-Wan in return.

“You must have thought I was a monster,” Jango says.

“I thought you were afraid of me,” Obi-Wan says. “I thought you were doing your best to protect yourself and your people. And there were times where I was confused. I thought you were trying to isolate me or make me dependent on you. But you weren’t.”

Jango makes another noise, this one deeper, almost a protest.

“Don’t send me away.” Obi-Wan burrows closer, clings as if he can keep Jango from kicking him off the couch. “I was confused, because the two sides of you didn’t match, but there was only ever one side. I liked that side. I still do. I want to be your riduur. I want us to raise children—warriors. Don’t push me away because you feel guilty.”

“I hurt you.”

“You kept me sane.” Obi-Wan breathes deeply, inhaling the warm sleep-smell of Jango’s neck, the undercurrent of soap and sweat and a hint of salt as if he had cried earlier this evening. “You have liked me from the beginning. When everything was overwhelming, you were a steady point. You still are. I know I tricked you into choosing me. And if you’re angry or upset about that, you have grounds to dissolve the marriage. But when I tricked you, I chose you. I threw the fight so you would marry me. Choose me back, and I’ll stay.”

“Obi-Wan—”

But Obi-Wan isn’t finished. He’s telling the truth now, and it spills out of him. “This was supposed to be a mission, and it is a mission. I am here to establish and encourage peace between the Jedi Order and the Mandalorian Empire. But I’ve found pleasure in my duty. I’ve found companionship.”

“I’m not going to send you away,” Jango says. “As long as you want to stay, you have a home here.”

Obi-Wan almost weeps with relief. But on the heels of his relief is guilt, enough shame that he could rear back if Jango didn’t hold him in his strong arms. “Your people are in danger as long as I’m here.”

“Our people,” Jango gently corrects. “And, as I understand it, the entire galaxy is in danger from the Sith.” Jango shifts them so they’re on their sides, Obi-Wan tucked safely between Jango’s body and the back of the couch.

“I’m a magnet for darksiders,” Obi-Wan says. “Xanatos, Maul, Komari, whoever Sidious sends after me next.”

“You’ve defeated them all.” Jango runs a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair. “If more hunt you, we’ll kill them as well, until there are none left. The entire Mandalorian Empire will protect you, now.”

“The Chancellor was right, then? All I needed was a babe in my belly, and I would be safe here?” Obi-Wan feels the surge of Jango’s emotions, pride and protectiveness, a deep well of gratitude. It doesn’t surprise him when Jango pulls Obi-Wan closer.

“You are my riduur. You were safe here the moment we said our vows.” Jango continues to run his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, lulling him into something close to sleep. “You need to rest. You’ve come off a difficult fight, and you have our children growing inside of you.”

Another wave of emotion. Obi-Wan finds Jango’s other hand and wedges it between their bodies so Jango’s palm is against Obi-Wan’s stomach. It can’t be comfortable, the angle and everything, but Jango doesn’t pull away.

“I am the Mand’alor,” Jango says, his voice low, his words a promise. “I have an entire empire at my command and, through you, I have an alliance with the Jedi Order. Give this worry to me. Let me protect us.”

Obi-Wan thinks back to the weight of a bomb collar around his neck and the weight of dozens of lives on his shoulders. He thinks about Master Jinn taking him as a padawan and the first morning, when Obi-Wan brewed tea and made toast. By the end of the first month, he had learned how to scramble or fry eggs to go with toast, how to make porridge. Padawans were supposed to attend to their masters. But Obi-Wan thinks that masters were supposed to do something in turn for their padawans.

“I don’t know how,” Obi-Wan admits.

“I’ll help you.” Jango presses a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead.

Obi-Wan, settled enough now to sleep, closes his eyes and tucks himself closer to Jango. The couch isn’t particularly comfortable with both of them on it like this, but Obi-Wan falls asleep quickly.

#

The door to their quarters opens, and Obi-Wan wakes up as Jango falls off the couch and then rolls to his feet. He pulls a blaster out of a drawer in the coffee table. Obi-Wan raises a hand, and the Force floods to him, ready to defend.

“It’s us!” Korkie squeaks.

Jango curses and points to the table. Korkie and Boba both hang their heads but neither looks particularly repentant as they trudge over to the table. Korkie elbows Boba and hisses, “I told you we should have commed.”

“I know how to override the locks,” Boba hisses back.

“Are you trying to give Obi-Wan a heart attack?” Jango demands. He clicks the safety back on the blaster and then places it back in its drawer. He tugs on his hair and then looks over at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sits up. His eyes are sticky from sleep, but it’s nothing a shower or a cool compress won’t fix.

“Is it true?” Boba asks, recovering more quickly than Korkie from the scolding. “Is Obi-Wan pregnant?” He peers around Jango and then, as if to make up for his enthusiasm, aims for a nonchalant shrug. “Korkie wants to be an older brother.”

“I already am!” Korkie shoves Boba. “You’re the baby. Buir said so.”

“Your buir is liar. I’m the oldest.”

Jango growls and both boys immediately stop fighting. Obi-Wan laughs and shakes his head. “Yes, it’s true.” He isn’t entirely surprised when both boys rush him. Boba lifts Obi-Wan’s shirt and frowns at Obi-Wan’s stomach. “You don’t look like you have a baby in there.”

“I have two,” Obi-Wan says. Jango is still growling, but Obi-Wan makes the decision here and now to be amused by the two boys because elsewise he will be in a temper for the rest of his life. He laughs and ruffles their hair. “They’re too small to feel or see normally, but Mij has a special machine. Your buir and I were able to see them yesterday.”

“Can we see them?” Korkie asks. He glances at Jango and gulps. “If we’re on our very best behavior?”

“What does best behavior mean?” Jango asks.

Obi-Wan laughs again and draws the two boys onto the couch with him. They sit on either side of Obi-Wan and pet his stomach as if the babies will grow fast enough for them to tell they’re there. “Don’t tease them, Jango. They weren’t able to see yesterday, and the twins will be their family too.”

Jango’s happiness is bright, almost blinding, and it’s accompanied by flares of similar emotion from both Boba and Korkie. Obi-Wan filters most of it into the Force, but he allows a few rays to linger and warm him. He has a family. And they want him.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan says, because there are tears gathering in his eyes, and it’s too early for him to blame pregnancy hormones. “I want to shower and then we can go to medical before your classes today.”

“You have to eat first,” Jango says.

“We’ll get it!” Korkie pops up to his feet and grabs Boba’s hand. “Come on, hurry!”

The two boys sprint back out of the room. The door closes behind them, and Jango sighs before he offers Obi-Wan a hand and helps him to his feet. “This is what I get for teaching them how to splice.”

“They’re excited,” Obi-Wan says. “And, given my own feelings, I can’t entirely blame them. Still, boundaries would not go amiss. I don’t mind you or the boys hovering, but no one else.”

“I can’t stop Mij,” Jango says, only partially apologetic, as they head into the bedroom. Jango starts the shower and is back before Obi-Wan can do more than hook his fingers through his shirt.

Obi-Wan huffs as Jango eases Obi-Wan’s sleep-shirt over his head. “It’s too early for this. I am capable of walking and undressing.”

“I’m practicing,” Jango says, without an ounce of shame. He goes to his knees as he tugs down Obi-Wan’s pants. He presses a kiss to Obi-Wan’s flat stomach.

Obi-Wan’s going to chide him again when he realizes he doesn’t know what Satine’s pregnancy was like. He has a few guesses. He doubts Jango was able to indulge in any of his parental instincts. He feels an un-Jedi-like spark of pleasure knowing he can give Jango something no one else has before. Something that, quite possibly, no one will be able to give him again.

“Oh?” Jango asks as Obi-Wan’s cock chubs up, impossible for Jango to miss from where he is. He grins at the blush which spreads across Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “I told you you were Mandalorian.” He wraps his hand around Obi-Wan’s cock. “If you aren’t careful, I’m going to keep you pregnant for the rest of our fertility window.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes against the image of spending the rest of his life in bed, surrounded by as many children as Jango could fuck into him in thirty years. “That would be a lot of kids.”

“I’m the Mand’alor. I can support them.”

Before Obi-Wan can tell Jango that this is firmly a fantasy and not one he should think has any shred of reality to it, Jango flicks his tongue over the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock. All coherent thoughts fly out of Obi-Wan’s head. He grips Jango’s curls in both his hands and tugs.

Jango brings Obi-Wan off quickly and then ushers Obi-Wan into the shower, where he brings Obi-Wan off again, stroking their cocks together until they make a mess that the water washes away.

“What about our hyperfertility window?” Obi-Wan asks as they towel off and get dressed. Jango’s hands wander, as if he thinks he’ll be able to coax a third orgasm out of Obi-Wan. He probably could, but Obi-Wan would be useless for the rest of the day, so he bats Jango’s hands away when they get too excited.

Jango’s hands stop wandering. He grips Obi-Wan’s hips and pulls Obi-Wan back against his chest. “I’m not putting another baby in you this pregnancy.”

“No, definitely not. Two is enough for my first time. Does that mean there are things we have to avoid?”

“Ah.” Jango slides his hands down to Obi-Wan’s thighs. “You want to know when you can get my cock in you again.” Jango tucks his face against Obi-Wan’s neck and smirks. “Should we comm Mij and ask?”

Obi-Wan’s half-tempted to swallow his embarrassment and do it, but then he feels Boba and Korkie enter the living room. Obi-Wan doesn’t even have to tell Jango that they’re here because Boba yells loudly, “Stop being gross, we have food!”

Jango laughs, amused more than irritated. He straightens Obi-Wan’s clothes and then takes Obi-Wan’s hand and leads him into the living room. “We’re not being gross,” Jango says. “How do you think babies are made, Bob’ika?”

“He’s already pregnant,” Boba says. “You don’t have to keep trying.”

“You did it differently with my buir,” Korkie says. “Mij helped, so it wasn’t a surprise.”

Jango’s amusement fades to the background. He ushers Obi-Wan to the table and they all sit to eat together. “That’s right. Duchess Kryze and I relied on the medics to help us have you two.”

Boba loads up a plate for Obi-Wan with enough sausage to turn his stomach. Or maybe it’s the thick pancakes piled on top of the sausage with a layer of eggs to top it off. It’s more food than Obi-Wan would eat over the course of the day, let alone at one meal.

Jango takes one look at Obi-Wan’s face and sets the plate between Boba and Korkie and tells them to share. And then he makes a much more reasonable plate of food for Obi-Wan. He sets the plate in front of Obi-Wan and then drapes an arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “You two worry about yourselves,” Jango tells Boba and Korkie. “It’s my job to take care of Obi-Wan.”

“What if you need help?” Boba asks. He sullenly spears a sausage and chews morosely.

“Then I’ll ask Mij.”

Obi-Wan can’t stand the sight of Boba and Korkie’s faces, both of them drawn and unhappy. “I used to volunteer at the Temple creche. When we had really little ones, we were encouraged to sit and read to them or sing to them. You can help in that way, if you’d like. When my stomach starts to show, you can read to the babies.”

“Will they be able to hear?” Boba asks.

“Of course. I have the Force.”

Boba squints suspiciously. “That isn’t how the Force works.”

“Are you sure?” Obi-Wan smiles as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Speaking of butter, he slathers the cinnamon butter over the much more reasonable stack of two pancakes Jango got for him.

As promised, they take the boys to medical after first meal so they can see the babies on the monitor, and then Jango sends them both off to class. Jango steps out to have a quiet conversation with Mij. Obi-Wan could extend a bit of effort and eavesdrop, but he leaves them to it.

Obi-Wan is fidgeting with his tunics when a new thought occurs to him. He looks down at his flat chest, his flat stomach, and he wonders in how many ways his body is going to change.

“Do you have any texts or articles on Stewjoni biology?” Obi-Wan asks the med-droid. There are clearly things the Temple didn’t know or left out of Obi-Wan’s initiate-level sexual education class. He tried to block his memories of Master Jinn giving him the padawan-level class. He thinks Quin might have mentioned something about a senior padawan class, but Obi-Wan didn’t receive that one, from the Temple or his master.

The droid beeps and then spits a datachip out at him.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says.

“What’s this?” Jango asks. His fingers curl and then straighten out again as if he’s holding himself back from touching Obi-Wan.

“Education.” Obi-Wan smiles and slides off the bed. He clasps Jango’s hand and squeezes it lightly to settle him.

“Is there anything specific you want to know?” Mij asks.

“Oh.” Right, Mij is a medic. Obi-Wan could ask. He looks at the datachip and slips it into his pocket. He can still do research later, but it doesn’t hurt to have more than once source of information. “Will I be able to feed my children? Ah, naturally, I mean.”

“Yes,” Mij answers. He even smiles a little. Apparently, babies put everyone in a good mood. “As you approach your delivery date, you’ll begin to lactate.”

Obi-Wan smiles as well, thinking of lazy afternoons propped up against his and Jango’s bed, a babe in either arm as they suckle themselves to sleep. And then he frowns. “At what age do Mandalorian younglings join the communal living?”

Mij holds up a hand before Jango can do more than open his mouth. “You have duties, Mand’alor.” He stresses Jango’s title as if he needs the reminder. “Obi-Wan and I will have a chat on what to expect now that he’s expecting.”

There’s truth to medics outranking everyone, because Jango kisses Obi-Wan soundly and then leaves without protest.

Mij ushers Obi-Wan into his office and makes them each a cup of shig. There are chairs in Mij’s office, and Obi-Wan’s far more comfortable in one of them than he was on the med-bed. He cups his hands around his mug to absorb the heat. He’s pregnant with twins. His body is going to grow round to carry them, and his chest will produce milk to support them once they’re born. He has heard people talk about the miracle of life, but this is proof that Jedi are more than crude matter. He’s more than a vessel for the Force.

“Mandalorians are warriors,” Obi-Wan says. He sips his tea, and Mij gives him time to finish his thought. “I won’t be expected to be locked in the Great Hall until I deliver.”

“No.” Mij smiles again. “Jango might wish it, but there isn’t a single Mandalorian who wouldn’t help you escape if he tried. There are certain activities which I’ll recommend against and eventually forbid as your due date approaches, but you won’t be expected to be idle.”

“If I’m found by darksiders, I won’t run. I will fight.”

“Within reason,” Mij agrees. “I’ve noticed that you don’t always take particular care for yourself. That will have to change now.”

“Luminous beings are we,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “Not this crude matter.”

“Bantha-shit,” Mij says. “That crude matter is what houses your luminous spirit. You’re shit out of luck without it, and you only get one.”

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan rests his hands on his stomach. “But, back to my original question. How long will the children live with me and Jango?”

“As long as you like. In traditional clan compounds, children are raised communally, yes, but there are plenty of families who don’t have that traditional structure. Your family, Obi-Wan, is how you make it. They can live with you until they’re weaned, they can live with you until they’re school age, they can live with you until they’re ready for the verd’goten. There’s no right way to do it. You don’t have to make the decision now, but I would recommend visiting the nursery so you can meet the caretakers. You might find that you want the children to spend the occasional night so you can sleep.”

“They would never keep me awake so rudely,” Obi-Wan says. He laughs, knowing it won’t be true. They will wake him at all hours, while he’s pregnant and then after, once they’re born. He wonders if Jango will set up a shift schedule to make sure they both sleep enough each night.

Obi-Wan finds the breath stolen from his lungs as he realizes he’s planning a family. A future.

Mij is immediately at his side, a stabilizing hand on Obi-Wan’s arm.

“I’m pregnant,” Obi-Wan says, dazed. “I’m married to the Mand’alor, and I’m pregnant with his children.”

Mij grunts as Obi-Wan pitches forward, but he catches Obi-Wan easily enough. “Alright, breathe deeply now.”

Obi-Wan sags in Mij’s grip and tries to breathe through his impending panic attack.

#

“You should have a lightsaber,” Jango announces when he returns to their rooms.

Obi-Wan, who had been reading the first of many pregnancy texts Mij sent to his datapad, looks up from remedies on combatting morning sickness.

“That cleansing thing. How quickly can do you do?”

“I don’t even know if it’ll be possible,” Obi-Wan says.

“What about this one?” Jango hesitates a moment before he pulls a small white crystal out of his beltpack.

It hums a familiar melody. Obi-Wan is off the couch in and in front of Jango before he’s even realized he’s moved. The crystal is white. His fingers hover over Jango’s palm. “Was this…”

“From the pendant,” Jango says. “I can remove it. You never have to see it again if you don’t want to.”

“It…” Obi-Wan frowns. He touches the pad of two fingers to the crystal. And then he jerks back as if he’s been burned. He knows that crystal. He knows that crystal. “That’s my crystal.”

“What?” Jango looks baffled, Obi-Wan doesn’t blame him.

“That’s—” Obi-Wan steps forward again and grabs the crystal. It’s white, not blue, as if someone tried to purge it. They did purge it, but not completely. Because even like this, almost wiped clean, the crystal reaches for Obi-Wan. It knows him. “Oh, gods.” Obi-Wan drops to his knees. He can hear Jango’s concern but it’s muted, far away.

“I lost my saber on Naboo,” Obi-Wan says. “This can’t be possible.”

Through the Force, all things are possible.

“What are you saying?” Jango asks. He’s kneeling on the floor next to Obi-Wan, holding his shoulders as if he thinks Obi-Wan needs the contact to ground him.

“I lost my saber on Naboo,” Obi-Wan repeats. “It was gone. I thought it fell into the melting pit, but it didn’t. Because this is the crystal from my saber. Different, of course. Someone, they tried to purge it. It’s white instead of blue. Cin vhetin,” he breathes.

“The crystal that’s part of your soul?” Jango asks, his voice low and dangerous. “Someone found that and tried to scrub you away?”

“And then they wrapped it in beskar and hung it from a chain around my neck. I couldn’t sense it. I didn’t know. It was here with me this whole time, and I didn’t know.” Obi-Wan cups his kyber crystal in his hands and bows his head over it. Who only knows what Jango thinks of him? Obi-Wan doesn’t care.

“The Chancellor?” Jango asks. “He’s from Naboo, and he gave you the necklace.”

“But how would he—why would he--?”

“Shh,” Jango interrupts. He pulls Obi-Wan into a hug. “I’m sorry. This should be a joyous occasion, yes? The missing piece of your soul has been returned to you.”

“It’s not quite like that,” Obi-Wan starts but Jango hushes him again.

“What else do you need to build your weapon? I want you as protected as you can be.”

“I’ll make a list,” Obi-Wan says. “But first, I want to meditate with my crystal. Help it remember our missions and what we’ve been through. I don’t—I’m not someone new. I am Obi-Wan, Clan Fett, House Mereel, but it’s growth, change, not a rebirth.”

“What do you need to do to meditate?”

“Sit. Commune with the Force.”

“Can I sit with you?” Jango asks.

“If you want.” Obi-Wan frowns, unsure why Jango would want to. “It might be boring.”

“Tell me about your missions when you tell your crystal. I want to learn more about you.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan feels a blush creep up his cheeks. “Okay, then. We should move somewhere more comfortable.”

They move to the bed. Jango sits against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. At Jango’s coaxing, Obi-Wan sits between the spread of his legs. He leans back against Jango’s chest, and Jango loosely wraps his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist. Jango looks over Obi-Wan’s shoulder at the shining crystal still in Obi-Wan’s hands.

“This has been my only crystal,” Obi-Wan begins. He closes his eyes and settles more against Jango. He doesn’t need to see his crystal to feel its hum. “I found it on Ilum, when I traveled there with the rest of my clan. It’s a spiritual and physical journey. It’s a trial of strength, of faith and endurance. The crystal called to me, and I found my way to it.”

“Like a verd’goten.”

“Just so. We were all buzzing on the transport home. Everyone wanted to show off their crystal or start building their saber, but our crechemaster said we had to spend two hours every day meditating with it for a whole week before we were allowed to start construction. I don’t think we ever showed that much enthusiasm for sitting quietly.” Obi-Wan laughs. “And when we were allowed into Master Novidun’s domain, it was almost overwhelming. Boxes of parts and pieces, and we were allowed to take anything that spoke to us in the Force. That saber and I, we went through a lot. I’ll have a new one, but its heart will be the same.”

“I felt the same way about my first blaster,” Jango says. “Even after I outgrew the grip, I carried it around with me. I intended to gift it to my child, but the first time Boba saw it mounted on the wall, he asked me when I started collecting antiques.”

“Ouch,” Obi-Wan says, but he laughs lightly at his partner’s expense. “I was always good at saberwork. I was a restless, anxious child. The physical demands of training helped me focus. And, of course, it became a self-serving cycle. I was praised for my skill, which made me enjoy training, which increased my skill, which increased notice and praise…Of course, some of my greatest challenges, I faced without it. Maybe it’s why I struggled in those situations.”

Bandomeer, Melida/Daan, Naboo, and now Concordia.

“Or maybe it shows your strength,” Jango says. “You faced your greatest challenges and succeeded, even without your favored weapon.”

“I never thought about it like that,” Obi-Wan says. “My first mission was to Bandomeer, even though I didn’t realize it was a mission at the time.”

Safe and secure in Jango’s arms, Obi-Wan starts telling his riduur about his life.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan visits the quartermaster, visits some of the engineers, and visits the Keldabe markets twice before he has everything he needs to construct his saber. Jango had offered to source any materials Obi-Wan needed, but Obi-Wan was confident the Force would provide. One of the gem cutters even had two small shards of kyber. The shopkeeper didn’t realize what they were, and Obi-Wan didn’t volunteer the information. He feels no guilt for the slight deception.

Once he has his materials, Obi-Wan sits in one of the Great Hall’s workshops and begins building. His core crystal is strong, and it’s a faint blue after days meditating with it. The two shards will provide balance. He fits the crystal matrix first, his first crystal at the center and the two new ones on its flanks.

He installs two power cells, a primary and a back-up. It is not typical, but he is no longer a typical Jedi. He has seen what happens when a lightsaber fails at a critical time, and he will not be caught off-guard or unprepared.

A multi-crystal blade will be powerful, but Obi-Wan trusts himself to learn and harness that power. He fits the casing around the components to keep them in place, and then he layers the hilt over it, cortosis to keep his saber safe. It had been a fortuitous find, the scraps of cortosis in a junk bin in one of the Great Hall’s many storage units. Or so the quartermaster had said. Obi-Wan knows it wasn’t luck or chance. The Force guided him. With a cortosis hilt, no one can cut through his weapon. And, if anyone with a plasmablade tries, they will short out their own weapon.

To that end, Obi-Wan’s hilt is longer than his last one. It’s not by much, he doesn’t want to make it unwieldy, but his hilt now becomes a weapon, or a defense, of its own. Obi-Wan can grip it comfortably with two hands or use one and have enough hilt to precisely block an attack.

Obi-Wan lingers longest on the switch for his saber. Most Jedi hide it so one has to have the Force in order to activate or deactivate the blade. Obi-Wan’s previous saber had a hidden switch, but he isn’t surrounded by Force sensitives anymore. What if Jango needs a weapon and only Obi-Wan’s saber is available? Does he want to make his weapon inaccessible to his family?

Komari’s crystal holds the answer.

A sliver of it comes off, and it’s almost pure white, none of the blood that clings to the rest of it. It reaches for Obi-Wan, wants to help, wants to be put to good use. Obi-Wan slides the piece of kyber beneath the switch. Anyone the kyber is attuned to will be able to wield Obi-Wan’s saber. He will sit with Jango, Boba, and Korkie each in turn until the kyber recognizes them. Others as it becomes reasonable to do so.

When Obi-Wan finally completes his blade, he leaves it for a day to settle, and then he ignites it for the first time. It is no longer the deep, rich blue of his first blade. It’s lighter, like someone swirled the sky and the clouds together. Perhaps, the color will darken over time, but perhaps, it will remain this color. Obi-Wan isn’t bothered either way. The kyber knows what’s right. It will be what it needs to be.

Obi-Wan swings his blade in a few easy sweeps. Something deep in his chest settles as his saber hums, resonating with his inner peace. He is complete for the first time since Naboo. He is settled for the first time since…since he doesn’t know when.

He closes his eyes and moves through a kata. He doesn’t pick a specific one. He moves as his saber guides him to move. It’s fluid, as if he’s practiced a thousand times. When he finishes, he opens his eyes. Jango and Walon are both in the doorway to the workshop.

“It is done,” Obi-Wan says solemnly, with respect to the process. And then he grins. He twirls his blade, showing off.

“Just in time,” Jango says. “The Republic delegation will be here tomorrow for the pyre.”

Obi-Wan loses his smile. As much as he’s looking forward to seeing other members of the Order, it isn’t for a joyous occasion. “Do you have the final list? I can help with room assignments or dietary restrictions.”

“It’s all taken care of,” Jango promises. “Would you like a spar with your new blade?”

Obi-Wan looks down at Jango’s waist, where the darksaber hangs from a special clip. Dueling Jango won’t be the same as dueling another Force user, but Obi-Wan nods eagerly. He hasn’t held a saber in far too long. Having a chance to practice with it before the other Jedi arrive will be good. Maybe, he won’t completely embarrass himself when he spars with them as well.

Just thinking about Yoda’s acrobatic Ataru or Mace’s brutal Vaapad makes Obi-Wan groan happily. Walon accompanies them to one of the training rooms, no doubt curious. He isn’t the only one. Word spreads quickly that Obi-Wan has a lightsaber and is looking to take it for a test run against the darksaber.

Obi-Wan turns his saber down to a practice setting so it can’t do more than singe clothing. If he held it against Jango’s skin, it would blister and burn, but a quick tap won’t do more than sting. Obi-Wan gestures for Jango to approach, and they each ignite their sabers and begin with their blades crossed. Blue against the haloed black.

“This is an honorable spar,” Obi-Wan says. “We turn our backs, walk ten paces each, and then turn and face each other again.”

“Jetiise,” Jango mutters but it sounds fond.

They turn, each walk the required distance and then turn again. Obi-Wan makes the first move, because he’s too impatient to wait. He closes the distance between them and swings his blade down. Jango blocks it easily and then shoves. Obi-Wan bends his knees, uses Jango’s push, and leaps and flips over Jango’s head. He lands on his feet and grins at the murmurs from the onlookers.

“Show-off,” Jango accuses. He’s smiling and doesn’t try to hide it.

“You should be more respectful of other fighting styles,” Obi-Wan mock scolds.

“Show me something to respect.”

It’s a challenge, and Obi-Wan grins and starts another attack sequence. He uses the Force, because he can’t not use it. The Force is as much a part of him as his hands, his eyes, his brain. He weaves in and out of Jango’s guard, flowing like the Kelita River. He grabs Jango’s wrist with his free hand, shoves it up to keep Jango’s blade away, and then rests his own blade against the side of Jango’s neck.

“Again,” Jango says.

Obi-Wan steps back to give them space to start again. He doesn’t throw everything he has into the fight. With Jango using an unfamiliar weapon and out of his beskar’gam, it wouldn’t be fair. But Obi-Wan doesn’t hold himself back too much either. He exercises long dormant muscles, remembers what it’s like to work in harmony with his weapon. He can shoot a blaster, wield a beskad, and even crack a whip, but nothing compares to how he fights with a lighstaber. With his lightsaber.

Obi-Wan keeps the spars evenly matched, because he doesn’t want to sour Jango’s temper or embarrass him in front of his people. Obi-Wan wins all of the bouts, but Jango learns and adapts and gets better with each one.

Finally, though, Obi-Wan disarms Jango, and the darksaber hilt skitters across the floor. If Jango was a Force user, he could call it back to him, but he isn’t. The weapon is gone, out of reach. Obi-Wan powers down his own saber out of respect. He’s barely clipped it to his belt before Jango tackles him, apparently ready to grapple.

Obi-Wan rolls with the momentum and lands on top. He can’t help but grin as he grinds down against Jango’s cock, half-hard but getting harder with Obi-Wan’s attention. “I know that’s not a saber. Does that mean you’re happy to see me?”

Jango surges up to claim Obi-Wan’s mouth with a series of stinging kisses. This time, when Jango moves, Obi-Wan allows himself to be pinned. Jango kisses him again and all around them is a flood of approval and amusement and a hint of exasperation.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan realizes. He turns his head and sees Walon with his arms crossed over his chest, unimpressed.

Soxo puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles loudly.

“Oh, stars,” Obi-Wan says. He thumps his head lightly on the ground.

“There’s protocol for this,” Jango says. His thigh is between Obi-Wan’s legs, the thick muscle pressed perfectly and distractingly, against Obi-Wan’s own erection. “I can send them away.” He bites at Obi-Wan’s lips again and then moves out of reach before Obi-Wan can claim a longer kiss. “Or some of them can stay.”

There’s no way Jango misses the way Obi-Wan’s cock jumps at the suggestion. Jango’s eyes crinkle at the corners, amused, and there’s something sharply pleased in the curve of his smile, but he doesn’t issue any orders, as if he needs a firm answer before he takes any action.

Obi-Wan’s never considered himself much of an exhibitionist, but there’s something appealing about it now. He is a Jedi, and he came to Mandalore as an outsider, but he isn’t anymore. He’s the Mand’alor’s riduur. Let them all see how he pleases their leader. Let them see how much Jango wants him and how much he wants Jango in return.

“Only those who want to stay?” Obi-Wan confirms.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan nods. “Then they can stay.”

Jango’s smile sharpens. He ducks down to whisper against Obi-Wan’s ear. “As you wish, cyare.” And then he shifts until he’s kneeling. Obi-Wan loses the pressure between his legs, but he doesn’t pout, because he’s sure Jango will give him something better soon. “Protocol Alpha-Zed-71.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t look away from Jango to see who leaves and who stays. He hears footsteps, hears some murmurs, and then he hears the doors slide shut. Jango looks down again, and Obi-Wan smiles at him.

“You’re barely even sweating,” Jango says. “That’s how thoroughly you won our spars. But now look at you, yielding so sweetly.” He presses a thumb to Obi-Wan’s bottom lip and Obi-Wan opens his mouth eagerly. He can feel the appreciation and the lust in the room, and he can’t help but shift his hips, searching for some kind of friction.

Jango cups Obi-Wan’s face and looks intently into his eyes. “You’re already half-gone, cyar’ika. Have you done this before?”

No, and Obi-Wan’s starting to realize why. He drags in a few deep breaths. “I can feel them. Watching. Reacting.”

“Force osik?” Jango teases. “What do you want them to see?”

“I want them to see you fuck me. I’m pregnant. Show them how you did it.”

Jango groans and then sits back to pull at Obi-Wan’s pants. Obi-Wan lifts and twists his hips to help Jango get them off. Obi-Wan pulls his own shirt off and then demands Jango strip down too. Jango isn’t body shy. He stands, drops his clothes in a pile, and Obi-Wan can’t help but roll up to his knees so he can reach Jango’s cock. It’s thick and hard, already wet at the tip.

He mouths at the tip of it and closes his eyes so he can better hear the murmurs around him. He has a moment of shame, of concern over what he’s doing, on his knees for the Mand’alor in a room full of commandos. And then he shoves it ruthlessly into the Force. There are protocols in place for public sex in the training rooms. It isn’t wrong. It’s accommodated. It might even be encouraged.

Jango doesn’t let Obi-Wan suck him for long. Too soon, Jango threads his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair and pulls his head back. “That isn’t how I put two babes in your belly,” Jango says roughly.

“You can go more than once,” Obi-Wan says. He isn’t sure if it’s encouragement or a dare. He strains against Jango’s grip on his hair so he can rub his cheek against Jango’s cock. He looks up and knows the picture he makes. “Please?” he asks. And then, feeling daring, adds, “Alor?”

Jango’s hand tightens its hold. His eyes flash with desire. His body is tight with tension, but the good kind, coiled tightly, the moment before action. “You wanted an audience. Put on a show for them.”

Obi-Wan groans and nuzzles Jango’s cock again. It’s already hard, he doesn’t need to tease anymore, but he does, drawing it out for everyone in the room. He pays special attention to Jango’s balls and then works his way up, soaking Jango’s cock in saliva so that Obi-Wan can slide it easily into his mouth once he reaches the tip.

He takes the whole thing at once and then looks up, greedy for acknowledgement.

Jango strokes Obi-Wan’s throat. There’s something soft in his gaze, buried beneath the hunger and the desire. “Like I said, you yield so sweetly for me. Close your eyes and relax now, let me do this.”

Obi-Wan does, eyes slipping closed, as he gives control over to Jango. Jango pumps his hips slowly, dragging his cock out and then pushing it in deeply. Obi-Wan opens easily for him each time. He feels full, but he knows there’s more to be had. The next time Jango’s cock is all the way in, Obi-Wan swallows deliberately, and Jango curses and pulls on his hair.

Obi-Wan does it the next time and then the time after that. And then Jango pulls out. A moment later, he splatters Obi-Wan’s face in come. Obi-Wan opens his eyes but can’t muster up even a pretend glare.

“You can’t taste it when I come down your throat,” Jango says. He gathers a bit of cooling come and feeds it between Obi-Wan’s lips. “And you wanted them all to see. Now, they can see. They can see you dripping with my seed.”

Obi-Wan eagerly licks more from Jango’s fingers. Yes, they can see Obi-Wan marked and claimed by the Mand’alor. They can see the proof that Jango found his pleasure with him. But Obi-Wan is greedy. He wants more. He stretches out on his back and splays his legs open in invitation.

Jango chuckles in a way that always sends Obi-Wan’s heart racing. He isn’t laughing at Obi-Wan, precisely, but it’s close enough to make Obi-Wan squirm. Someone tosses a bottle of slick, and Jango catches it before he kneels between Obi-Wan’s spread legs.

Jango’s first touch is a tease. His thumb is dry, and he dips it in as if testing to see how tight Obi-Wan is. The next touch is at least slick, even if it’s still a tease. Obi-Wan whines as Jango dips his thumb in and then out. Jango doesn’t speed up. He opens Obi-Wan slowly, torturously.

Even once Obi-Wan has three fingers, it isn’t enough. Obi-Wan clenches around them and shakes his head. “More,” he says.

“More?” Jango presses his pinky finger against Obi-Wan’s hole. “Is this what you want?”

“No!” Obi-Wan growls and then, when Jango laughs, bares his teeth. “Fuck me.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to come twice,” Jango says. He slides his fingers out slowly and then pushes them back in even slower. “My cock isn’t ready yet.”

Jango is teasing him. They’re in the training room, and Obi-Wan remembers their sparring. Obi-Wan isn’t weak. He doesn’t have to take anything he doesn’t want to. With another growl he surges forward. He slams his hands into Jango’s shoulders and knocks Jango flat on his back. Before Jango can react, Obi-Wan sinks down on his cock.

Jango’s laughter cuts off into a groan. “Fuck, cyar’ika. You get bossy with an audience.”

“Get bossy when you don’t give me what I need,” Obi-Wan retorts. He settles himself on Jango’s cock and sighs as how well it fills him. Jango isn’t hard again yet, but Obi-Wan can get him there. He’ll be able to feel it, the way Jango swells and hardens, and the thought is enough to make Obi-Wan groan.

“You need my cock, huh?” Jango manages to sound smug, even pinned on his back. “What if it hurts? I did just come, I might be sensitive. You remember what that feels like, don’t you?”

Jango traces patterns on Obi-Wan’s thighs and makes it hard for Obi-Wan to concentrate. He manages a nod, because he does remember what it feels like when Jango wrings orgasm out of him back-to-back.

“Are you?” Obi-Wan asks. “Sensitive?”

“A little but what is it you said? You need my cock. So, here’s what we’re going to do, cyar’ika. You’re going to sit on my cock, just like you are, keep it warm until I’m ready to fuck you.”

Jango has a way of saying the most obscene things. Obi-Wan flushes, and Jango sits up until they’re chest-to-chest.

“Can you do that?” Jango asks.

Obi-Wan nods.

“My cock feels good,” Jango says. He strokes Obi-Wan’s cheek, and the skin pulls with dried come sticking to it. “Your hole is warm and wet, just like your mouth was. You’re so good to me, cyar’ika.”

“Jango,” Obi-Wan mumbles. Too many feelings rise up in him. He blinks back tears and tries to hide them by tucking his face against Jango’s neck. “Alor—Jango.”

“None of that, now,” Jango coaxes. He draws Obi-Wan’s face up and leans in for a kiss. It’s slow and lingering, and Obi-Wan feels more settled in his skin when it’s over. Jango pulls back and Obi-Wan blinks at him. He parts his lips and Jango slides two fingers into his mouth. It isn’t what Obi-Wan was going to ask for, but he sighs because it’s exactly what he needed.

“You have my cock and my fingers,” Jango says. “Is there anything else you need to pass the time? I have another hand. Where do you want it?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer right away. Jango is right, Obi-Wan is full, stuffed with Jango’s cock in his ass and Jango’s fingers in his mouth, and he already feels spoiled. It would be greedy to ask for more.

“Here?” Jango rubs his thumb over the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock. When Obi-Wan shakes his head, Jango pinches Obi-Wan’s balls. “Here?” Obi-Wan jerks and moans, but his erection doesn’t flag. “Hmm,” Jango says. “Interesting.” He pinches again and Obi-Wan squirms on Jango’s cock and sucks hard on his fingers. “I bet you could milk an orgasm out of me like this. But then I wouldn’t fuck you. You’d just dance on my cock until I came. Is that what you want?”

Jango pinches again, sharper, longer this time, and Obi-Wan tosses his head back. He grabs Jango’s hand and yanks it away. If he brings Jango’s hand to his nipples, it’ll be more of the same. The good kind of pain that makes him writhe, but then Jango won’t fuck him.

He guides Jango’s hand behind his back. The angle is awkward, but once he gets Jango close enough, Jango obligingly presses a teasing finger at Obi-Wan’s stretched hole. “You want more? Greedy, mesh’la.”

Rather than a censure, Jango sounds approving. Obi-Wan whines around the fingers in his mouth. He slides his tongue between them and then sucks hard.

“If I do this,” Jango’s finger disappears and the returns, wet with slick, “you’ll be loose around my cock. I’ll have to fuck you harder to make up for it.” Jango chuckles as he teases at Obi-Wan’s rim again. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it? Relax for me, cyar’ika, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and focuses on being relaxed, on being easy. He whimpers and tries to sink deeper on Jango’s cock. Jango hushes him, whispers soothingly in his ear, and carefully works a finger in next to his cock. It’s a stretch but Obi-Wan already wants a second. What if Jango could stroke his own cock while it was in Obi-Wan’s body? It would only be two fingers, but what if it was enough to make him come?

Obi-Wan projects the thought, and Jango curses and bites at Obi-Wan’s jaw. “I know that’s you, cyar’ika. I remember how much you loved it when I pushed only the tip in and jerked myself off. It would be like that, wouldn’t it? Except, I’d be even deeper in you. And you’d just lay there and moan for me while I used you to get off.”

“Jango!” Obi-Wan’s shout is garbled around Jango’s fingers.

“That’s not quite right,” Jango continues, merciless. “I’d be getting myself off. You just offered yourself up as a place for me to spill.”

Obi-Wan squeezes his eyes shut and tears leak out. Jango murmurs sweet things to him. He kisses Obi-Wan’s cheeks and the corner of his mouth. And then, finally, Jango eases his finger out of Obi-Wan’s ass. He slides the two out of Obi-Wan’s mouth, and then he guides Obi-Wan down until his shoulders are on the ground.

Jango rises up onto his knees, and his cock finds a new angle. Obi-Wan wraps his legs around Jango’s waist to encourage him to move like that again. Jango grips Obi-Wan’s hips and starts to fuck him. There isn’t any build-up, it’s nothing and then Jango slams into him at a punishing pace. Obi-Wan arches his back, squeezes his legs, and demands more. He slaps his palms on the ground for leverage and shoves to meet Jango’s next thrust.

“Come for me, and I’ll give you the last of what you need,” Jango promises. He grins when Obi-Wan’s hands don’t so much as twitch. “You really want to show off, cyar’ika? Want them to see how you can come without a touch to your pretty cock?”

Obi-Wan groans and tosses his head.

“Go on, then,” Jango encourages. “Spurt all over your stomach, milk the come out of me so when I pull out, you’re still full of me.”

Obi-Wan whimpers and feels himself tip closer to the edge, but he isn’t quite there yet.

“Almost there, cyar’ika.” Jango bends Obi-Wan almost in two and fucks him deeper. “Mesh’la.” Jango’s gaze catches Obi-Wan’s and holds it. “Ner riduur.”

Obi-Wan arches his back, bares his throat, and then comes all over himself. Jango fucks him through the aftershocks, praises Obi-Wan for how sweetly he clenches around him, and then spills deep inside of him.

Jango sags forward. Obi-Wan grunts at the sudden weight but manages to unfold himself so he’s in a slightly more comfortable position. He draws Jango down to his chest, holds him close and pets his hair. Arousal hangs heavy in the air, Obi-Wan and Jango’s mixing with the others in the room.

“Well,” Jango begins and then he doesn’t finish, leaves the word hanging.

Obi-Wan laughs softly and tips Jango’s head up so they can kiss. It’s as soft and sweet a kiss as they’ve shared this afternoon.

“Shower?” Obi-Wan asks once he turns his head away. “And then a bath?”

“Yes,” Jango agrees. “Between the spar and the sex, you were brutal with my body.”

“Mmm, but you like it.” Obi-Wan smiles, knowing he’s right. Even if he couldn’t feel it in the Force, he can feel it in the way Jango cradles Obi-Wan in his hands, and he can see it in the expression in Jango’s eyes. “You like me.”

“Ner riduur,” Jango whispers, his words only for Obi-Wan now. “Victory is yours today.”

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stands at Jango’s side as the large transport with the Republic and Jedi delegation lands. His new saber is clipped to his belt. He felt Master Yoda’s presence long before they landed, and Obi-Wan relies on years of Jedi training to stay still and calm as the landing ramp lowers.

Chancellor Palpatine is the first to disembark. He’s flanked by his aides and two of his personal guard. Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan and Senator Lott Dod of the Trade Federation follow with a small retinue of their own.

And then, behind them, are the Jedi. Obi-Wan knows who was coming, but it’s still a surprise to see so many Jedi, especially in Mandalorian space. Master Yoda and Master Windu are here to represent the Council. Master Dooku, as Komari’s master is here, along with Master Jinn. Where Master Jinn goes, Anakin follows so he’s here. A Jedi Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize is here, older than Obi-Wan but younger than Master Dooku. Rounding out the group is Madame Nu. As far as Obi-Wan is aware, she has no personal connection to Komari Vosa, but she stands at Master Dooku’s side, perhaps here as personal support to him.

“Welcome to Mandalore,” Jango says through his vocorder. He wears his full beskar’gam. Obi-Wan noted earlier that only the commandos with pure beskar armor are here. Obi-Wan can’t fault the cautiousness, even if it is rather obvious. “I hope the next time you visit is under better circumstances. I know you have just landed, but we can have droids take your belongings to your rooms, and we can go to the pyre. It is my understanding it is supposed to be done at twilight?”

Outside, the sun is setting. Master Windu tucks his hands into his sleeves and bows in greeting. “Thank you for your welcome, Mand’alor. Yes, we would appreciate holding the pyre now. While Jedi are returned to the Force at death and time does not matter, it has long been tradition to do it at twilight so our fallen member can be reunited with the stars.”

“Are we done being polite?” Anakin whispers, loudly, to Master Jinn. And then, before Master Jinn can answer, he wriggles away from the Jedi and throws himself at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan grunts as the boy slams into him, but he pats Anakin awkwardly on the back.

“Hello, Padawan Skywalker,” Obi-Wan greets.

“Padawan,” Master Jinn chides. It’s a tone Obi-Wan is well-accustomed to, and he nudges Anakin back to Master Jinn’s side. “Knight Fett is the Mand’alor’s spouse. He should be treated appropriately.”

Anakin wilts and Obi-Wan does his best not to stiffen at Master Jinn’s rebuke.

“Oh, unclench, Qui, would you?” A man Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize demands. He offers Obi-Wan a charming smile. “We’ve never had the pleasure. Rael Averross. I trained under Master Dooku.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet another of my lineage,” Obi-Wan says. He has heard of Knight Averross, even if this is his first time meeting him. He was Master Dooku’s first padawan, but Master Jinn didn’t speak of him often or fondly. He wonders if Knight Averross was close to Komari or if he is also here for Master Dooku’s sake. “If you insist on being formal, you may call me Knight Fett, but I suspect you will use Obi-Wan instead.”

“Then you should call me Rael.” Another charming smile, and this time, Jango shifts so he stands closer to Obi-Wan. Rael catches the movement and laughs. “I’m not quite so degenerate as to hit on my lineage nephew at my lineage sister’s funeral, Mand’alor. I would say Obi-Wan is too young for me, but one time, on Takodano…”

“Enough,” Master Dooku says, but his expression is slightly less severe than it had been. “Before you thoroughly destroy the Jedi Order’s reputation.”

“I rather think I’m enhancing it,” Rael says and then he laughs as Master Dooku cuffs him.

They split into three groups for the ground transports. Obi-Wan and Jango are on a transport with Master Windu, Master Dooku, and Madame Nu. Senator Organa steps onto the transport before Chancellor Palpatine can.

They set off for the clearing they’ve decided to hold the pyre in. Obi-Wan reaches into his pocket and pulls out the red kyber crystal they recovered from one of Komari’s sabers. Obi-Wan had originally intended to try and purge it himself, but with the Jedi here, it makes more sense to give the crystal to someone else.

“We were only able to recover one,” Obi-Wan says softly. He holds his hand out, offering the crystal to Master Dooku. “I hope you will be able to help her kyber find the peace she herself could not.”

“She is one with the Force now,” Master Dooku says, but his words are wooden, a repetition of a phrase with no true belief behind it. He takes the kyber, and his eyes pinch at the corners as if he can feel the rush of emotions from it. “I failed her.”

“The Order failed her,” Obi-Wan corrects gently. “She loved you and instead of helping her work through her emotions, the Order cast her out for them.”

“I am sorry she targeted you.” Master Dooku stares at the crystal as if it will give him answers or, perhaps, memories of his former padawan.

“She believed I was given what she had been rejected for.” Obi-Wan leans against Jango’s side.

Master Windu looks between Obi-Wan and his riduur with a calculating expression. This, more than Rael’s earlier charm, is what leads Jango to settling a hand on Obi-Wan’s hip. He’s careful not to touch Obi-Wan’s stomach, as if he isn’t sure how such news will be received. Obi-Wan wants to tell the other Jedi, but he’ll wait until tomorrow. Today is for mourning the past. Tomorrow, they can look toward the future.

They arrive at the clearing, where the pyre has already been assembled. The Jedi brought a crate with them and add a few pieces of wood to it. It’s symbolic but it’s important. When Master Dooku removes Komari from stasis and places her on the pyre, he lingers as he settles her cloak over her like a blanket.

“My padawan,” he murmurs.

Madame Nu steps up to his side and remains there as Master Dooku lights the pyre. Flames lick at the wood. When they catch on the Jedi’s addition, sweet-smelling smoke rises from the pyre.

Obi-Wan had been the one to prepare the body; though, Mij and a historian had watched him, both taking notes as he did. Mandalorians have killed Jedi in the past, but they have never honored the dead. The morbid part of Obi-Wan wonders if the notes Mij and the historian took will serve as a blueprint for when it’s time for Obi-Wan’s own pyre.

No one speaks as the flames consume Komari until only the pyre remains, still burning, a glow of light to illuminate the observers.

“Soul and now body, she is one with the Force,” Master Dooku says, the traditional words heavy with grief. He bows his head, and Madame Nu slides her hand into his to offer him comfort.

“One with the Force, she is, but in our memories, she lives on,” Master Yoda says. “Remember, I do, when she first learned jar’kai.”

“You spent hours in the Archives,” Madame Nu says, smiling at Master Dooku. “You wanted to learn everything there was so you could teach her.”

“She learned well,” Master Windu adds. “She taught a group of enterprising young padawans how to dual wield.”

They trade memories as the fire burns steady. Obi-Wan doesn’t offer any memories, but once the group is quiet, Master Yoda hums and turns to Obi-Wan. “Spoken of her life, we have. Speak of her death now, we must.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to, Master Dooku doesn’t need to hear this, but he’s been trained too well to ignore an order from Master Yoda. “She came here to kill me. The Sith promised her an apprenticeship and the love of her master if she gave him my body.”

“It was not the Sith’s first attempt on your life,” Jango says. He touches Obi-Wan’s cheek with a armored hand. “First, he tried to strip you of your past and your connections. Next, he tried to take the Force from you. Maybe it was to weaken you ahead of more forthright assassination attempts, but the would-be killer is dead, and you still stand here with me.”

Jango turns away from Obi-Wan. “Is that why you came here, Sidious? To see the job completed yourself?”

Sidious? Obi-Wan thinks and then he realizes Jango is talking to Chancellor Palpatine. Obi-Wan knows Jango was suspicious of Palpatine trying to sabotage relationships between the Jedi and the Mandalorian Empire, but to accuse him of being a Sith lord?

“Your helmet filter must be malfunctioning,” Chancellor Palpatine says, his voice dripping with condescension. “The incense from the pyre is going to your head.”

“Coruscant feels as though there’s a heavy fog settling over it,” Master Windu says. He shifts his feet as if preparing for a fight. “I didn’t realize until we left, and the Force became so much clearer.”

What? No. Master Windu can’t possibly agree with Jango. The Chancellor—Obi-Wan looks at the Chancellor, properly looks at him, using the Force to see beyond the physical. There is darkness twisting around the man. Wisps that reach out toward Komari’s pyre. Others that creep toward Anakin.

Maul and Komari were both uncontrolled darkness. They burned with their rage and their hatred. Palpatine is cold, but it doesn’t make him weak. It doesn’t make him safe. It only meant it was easier for him to hide.

Obi-Wan draws his lightsaber, but he doesn’t ignite it yet.

“What is this?” Palpatine hisses, his voice curling with delight. “The Jedi and the Mandalorian Empire have coordinated an assassination attempt of the Chancellor the Republic? Your arrogance will be your downfall.”

Palpatine throws his hand out, and the Jedi fly backwards. The Mandalorians remain, grounded by their beskar. Myles shoots, blaster already in hand, but Palpatine—no, Sidious—deflects the shot harmlessly away.

Everything happens quickly after that. Obi-Wan grabs Master Dooku and Madame Nu to help him move the two senators and their entourages to one of the transports. Obi-Wan manages to grab Anakin as well, because the boy has courage and he has heart, but he is too young to face a Sith master.

Sidious’s red blade fends off Master Windu and Master Yoda, while he uses his free hand to toss Rael and Master Jinn out of the fray. The Mandalorians can get in close, but Sidious uses Force-enhanced strength to push them aside.

No one has landed a hit on the Sith master yet.

And then Jango, in beskar’gam to protect him from the Force and the darksaber to protect him from Sidious’s red blade, steps up to duel the Sith.

“You think you can defeat me?” Sidious laughs as his blade clashes against Jango’s. “I have pulled the strings for your entire life, Jango, Clan Fett, House Mereel. Your parents died at my command. Tor shot Jaster Mereel out of the sky at my command. Even your husband—”

“No.” Jango locks his blade against Sidious’s and holds steady. “You did everything in your power to keep Obi-Wan away from me and then, once you couldn’t, you tried to poison our relationship, but it didn’t work. You were afraid of the Mandalorian-Jedi alliance, and you should be, because we will defeat you.”

Sidious laughs and then throws lightning at Master Windu and Master Yoda to keep them out of the fight. He attacks Jango with speed not even Jango can keep up with. At least his beskar’gam holds. But Sidious pushes Jango back, forces him to cede ground until Sidious knocks Jango flat on his back.

Sidious taps Jango’s chestplate with his saber. “Your armor can’t protect you everywhere.” He slides his blade toward one of the gaps, and Obi-Wan shouts and throws his saber hilt. Sidious looks up, amused, and bats it out of the air with his own blade.

As soon as the red plasmablade connects with Obi-Wan’s hilt, the red splutters and dies.

“What?” Sidious demands.

With a war cry, Jango surges up and thrusts the darksaber through Sidious’s chest. A purple blade joins it as Master Windu rejoins the fight. Sidious gasps and then he screams. Death comes for him, and Obi-Wan can feel it in the air, the way everything gathers close and tight like—

Obi-Wan throws both his hands out and pushes. Sidious goes flying backward, twin holes in his chest. Obi-Wan pushes more, more, more and then there’s an explosion. All the darkness Sidious had harnessed and imprisoned, trapped within his mortal body now seeks freedom. It shatters Sidious’s body from the inside out and the concussive force is enough to shake the ground beneath their feet.

After a moment, it passes. Sidious’s saber hilt falls to the ground, the only thing left of the Sith.

Obi-Wan stares at the hilt. He isn’t sure what’s more difficult to believe, that Sith masters explode when they die or that the Chancellor of the Republic had been a Sith. Obi-Wan’s knees tremble. Force exhaustion? Relief? Some kind of dark backlash? It doesn’t matter. The battle is over. Obi-Wan falls to his knees.

“Mij!” Jango shouts as he rushes to Obi-Wan side.

Vaguely, Obi-Wan is aware of movement around him. Jedi supporting other Jedi. Jedi reassuring the Republic representatives. Mandalorians giving aid where they can. Jango kneels on the grass next to Obi-Wan.

“The Chancellor was a Sith,” Obi-Wan says. If he repeats it enough, it might sink in. He tilts his head and studies Jango’s helmet. “How did you know?”

“I was already suspicious of the Chancellor,” Jango says. He runs his hands up and down Obi-Wan’s arms as Mij joins them, med-scanner in hand. “I knew he was trying to sabotage the Mandalorian-Jedi alliance. The cin vhetin, how he attempted to isolate you, the Force suppressor, removing your implant. He sought to undermine us at every opportunity, in ways that put you, specifically in danger. And then he was stupid enough to send an assassin to do what his tricks could not.”

Jango leans in to rest their foreheads against each other. “You told me yourself, riduur. This was supposed to be your mission until he intervened. He tried to keep us apart, because he knew we would be his downfall. And he was right.”

“Take your helmet off.” Obi-Wan’s already fumbling with the latches. He understands now, why only those in beskar’gam are here. And he understands why Jango didn’t tell him anything. The beskar protected their thoughts and their intention from Sidious. If Obi-Wan had known Jango’s suspicions, the Sith would have looked into his head and had a warning.

Jango places his helmet on the ground and Obi-Wan pulls him in again until they rest against each other, skin-to-skin. Obi-Wan breathes deeply, allowing the keldabe to settle him. He can feel Jango’s emotions without the beskar blocking them. There is a hint of fear, but it’s rapidly being replaced with relief, with joy, with a fierce protectiveness that Obi-Wan has come to associate with Mandalorians.

So many things could have gone wrong, not only today but before. Instead, they were victorious. Obi-Wan holds his hand out and his saber answers his call. He turns to look at the hilt. He rubs his thumb over the metal and laughs. “Cortosis. A Mandalorian defense against Jedi. You’re right. Together, we defeated him.”

“Cyare,” Jango says. His voice is deep and curls around Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan leans forward for a different kind of kiss, but before his lips can touch Jango’s, Mij clears his throat.

“As touching as this is,” Mij drawls. “I am trying to do a medical examination.”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan says. Shocked, shaken, but he isn’t injured.

“All of you?” Mij asks casually.

Obi-Wan and Jango both look down at Obi-Wan’s stomach.

“I was right!” Anakin’s exclamation breaks through the bubble of silence. He bounds over so he can hover next to Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Master Jinn is teaching me about the Living Force and you’re full of it.” Anakin drops to the ground and waves at Obi-Wan’s stomach. “Hello, babies! Hey, if we’re brothers, does that mean I’m going to be an uncle? Will I be allowed to visit, or will it be like with my mom?”

It's a whirlwind of words, and Obi-Wan isn’t the only one stunned when Anakin finally stops. But one thing sticks out in Obi-Wan’s head. “Your mom?”

“She’s still a slave. I worry about her.”

“It sounds like you and I need to have a talk, Padawan Skywalker,” Master Windu says. “I didn’t know about your mother. We will look into her situation and find the best way to help her. And with regards to Obi-Wan, provided the Mand’alor extends an invitation, you are allowed to visit.”

“Perhaps some of the Jedi representatives can remain, and we can strengthen our alliance,” Jango says. “We could make it easier to travel between our borders. The former chancellor almost succeeded in isolating Obi-Wan from the Order. That was never my intention with this marriage.”

“You’re healthy,” Mij says. “All of you.” He rests his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “But this was an exciting evening, and I’d like to get you back to the Great Hall.”

“Yes,” Jango agrees, and there’s a thrum of insistence in his mind. He clearly wants Obi-Wan back in his stronghold where he can ensure he’s protected. Obi-Wan accepts that there will be some hovering over the next few days.

Master Dooku and Madame Nu remain to stand vigil until the pyre burns down completely, but the rest of them return to the Great Hall. Palpatine’s retinue is brought to the cells to await a joint interrogation by the Mandalorians and the Jedi.

Master Windu and Master Yoda escort the Republic delegation back to Coruscant to report on what happened. They promise to send a transport and a proper negotiating team back as soon as it’s plausible. Jango has to report to his own people what has happened, which leaves Obi-Wan in charge of hosting, and entertaining, Master Jinn, Master Averross, and Padawan Skywalker.

Anakin is easy at least. He either wants to sit at Obi-Wan’s side and hear about everything Obi-Wan’s done since coming to Mandalore, or he wants to play with Boba and Korkie, who are as intrigued by him as he is by them.

This is an afternoon where the three boys have made themselves scarce, no doubt causing some kind of trouble, but for the next few hours, it isn’t Obi-Wan’s responsibility. Obi-Wan brews tea while Master Jinn pretends his datapad has his full attention and Rael tries to distract him. Master Dooku and Madame Nu have returned from their vigil, but they keep to themselves, still in mourning.

“You could have left with Master Yoda and Master Windu,” Obi-Wan says, after the silence has stretched long enough that he’s uncomfortable. When he was Master Jinn’s padawan, he had to put up with long silences and uncomfortable tension, but he is a knight now. He is in his own home, and Master Jinn shouldn’t have this much control over Obi-Wan’s feelings.

“I am here to support Yan,” Master Jinn says stiffly. He doesn’t look at Obi-Wan unless he can’t help it. And he refuses to interact with Jango at all.

“Then why aren’t you with him?” Obi-Wan asks.

Rael stops trying to pluck Master Jinn’s arm hair and looks at Obi-Wan curiously.

“Komari told me,” Obi-Wan says. Master Jinn still won’t look at him. “I know you didn’t want me.” Rael’s mouth falls open, surprised. Master Jinn’s emotions flare in surprise and irritation before they’re locked down again. But Obi-Wan’s provoked a reaction, and he knows he can get another. “Why? Why didn’t you just leave me on Bandomeer? Once it was safe, you didn’t have to take me as your padawan.”

“You wanted to be a Jedi,” Master Jinn says.

“You didn’t think I’d make a good one.”

“I didn’t think I’d make a good teacher,” Master Jinn corrects. “Not after my failures with Xanatos.”

“But you took me,” Obi-Wan says. “If you knew I was a failure, and you knew you weren’t ready for it, why would you do it? Did you—did you know then that Anakin was your future? Did you want to make sure you were ready when your real student came into your life?”

Master Jinn jerks back as if Obi-Wan struck him.

“The Jedi Order has failed many of its children,” Obi-Wan says softly. He takes the tea kettle off the stove. “Komari Fell. Xanatos Fell. The Sith preyed on them, but it was the Order who made them vulnerable. The Order needs to do better. You should take a seat on the Council.”

“Me?” Master Jinn shakes his head. “No. I wouldn’t be suited for it.”

“No, you simply disregard their orders and mandates when you think you know better. If you truly know better, then sit in a chair amongst them and convince them.”

Master Jinn crosses his arms over his chest and looks away. Obi-Wan knows him well enough to know that he is simply biding his time until he constructs his rebuttal.

“You didn’t Fall,” Rael says. “I assume you consider yourself amongst those failed by the Order.”

“I promised Master Jinn that I wouldn’t. On Bandomeer, after Xanatos, and I realized the fears that had taken root in Master Jinn’s mind. I promised him I would never Fall, and I intend to keep that promise. As to whether or not the Order failed me…” Obi-Wan shrugs. “I don’t know. I am a Jedi knight. I have a long-term assignment that I find myself quite happy with. The journey to reach here, however…” Obi-Wan knows life is not easy, especially not for Jedi. They must face trials and conquer their fears.

But he isn’t sure life is meant to be quite so hard as his had been.

“Maybe you should be on the Council,” Rael says.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Obi-Wan pours three cups of tea. “I am barely knighted, and it looks as though I’ll be permanently posted on Mandalore.” He carries the tea over and sets the tray down on the small table in front of the couch. He takes his cup and settles in the armchair.

“Fresh perspective is good,” Rael says. He pulls a flask out of his robes and adds a liberal amount of liquor to his tea. He flashes Obi-Wan a smile. “None for you, now that you have little ones. Have you thought about what you’ll do if they’re Force sensitive?”

“I’ve thought about it.” Obi-Wan sips his tea. He’s thought about training them himself. He isn’t eager to send his children to the Coruscant temple. He’s certain Jango’s reaction would be a much stronger no.

“Maybe you form your own Council,” Rael suggests, offhand, and he ignores Qui-Gon’s fierce glare. “You could form your own temple while you’re at it. Seems a shame that there’s only ever been one Mandalorian Jedi. You could start a school for a whole generation of them.”

“That’s a large undertaking for one person,” Obi-Wan says. The Force doesn’t scream at him to brush the idea aside, even if his own thoughts shy away from it. A school for Force sensitives on Mandalore. It couldn’t be a temple, not if it was to be accepted by Mandalorians, but a school, a discipline, that might work. “It would require teachers who are, ah, more flexible than the typical temple Jedi.”

“Are you recruiting me?” Rael asks. He looks delighted by the prospect, something serious lurking behind the bright mischief in his eyes. “I might even have a few referrals. I met the oddest Jedi on my travels. He goes by Jon Antilles, which is the fakest name I have ever heard, but he won’t give me another.”

“You cannot be serious!” Master Jinn’s outburst is loud, but expected. When Obi-Wan does nothing but placidly sip his tea, Master Jinn’s expression grows heavy with familiar disappointment.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan asks. “There are Jedi knights and masters who would welcome the opportunity to build a new temple. Ones who are as well-suited to Mandalore as I am. You have everything you want. Why would you deny me the same?”

“What?” Master Jinn asks weakly.

Obi-Wan sets his teacup down on the small table next to his chair. “You are alive, I am out of the way, and you are free to raise Anakin Skywalker. What have I done to you that you want me not only gone but also alone?”

Obi-Wan is aware of Rael on the couch, listening with avid interest but showing no signs of interfering. Master Jinn still looks shocked, as if Obi-Wan hit him over the head with the darksaber hilt.

“Out of the way?” Master Jinn repeats. “Obi-Wan I never—”

Obi-Wan doesn’t let him finish the lie. “You tried to take Anakin as your padawan, when I was still your responsibility!” Obi-Wan and Master Jinn were never able to have a proper fight about this, because the trip to Naboo was cold silence and then Master Jinn was on the verge of death. But, as horrific as what happened in the Council Chambers was, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. “Jedi talk, you know. When I turned twenty, there were whispers about me still being a padawan. Enough remembered the tumultuous start to my apprenticeship that it wasn’t too strange. But as the years passed and you still didn’t recommend me for my trials, the whispers turned sharper. Something was wrong with me. No one could fault a master for holding an apprenticeship back from failure. And then Anakin happened.”

Even after time, distance, and a lot of meditation, Obi-Wan can’t keep all the bitterness out of his voice.

“He needed me,” Master Jinn says softly.

“And I didn’t?” Obi-Wan counters. “You couldn’t have talked to Master Windu? I know you’re good friends. You couldn’t have talked to a councilor about the importance of training a boy so powerful with the Force? You couldn’t have recommended your friend, who has made an entire lightsaber form out of understanding one’s emotional landscape and utilizing it, about training a boy seen as too old and too emotional? And if it had to be you, you couldn’t have settled Anakin in the Initiates’ Dorms until you completed my training? He was only nine, he still had time before he aged out.”

“Obi-Wan—”

“You rejected me.” Obi-Wan can’t stop now that he’s started. “I thought—” Obi-Wan’s voice cracks, and he bows his head for a moment, draws his strength. “You rejected me when I was twelve, but you found me worthy on Bandomeer. Melida/Daan was…bad. New Apsolon was worse.” He still remembers Master Jinn’s fury, the weight of his grief at Master Tahl’s death. “We disappointed each other throughout my apprenticeship, but we also saved each other. I thought—” Obi-Wan’s voice cracks again, as if his body doesn’t want him to put voice to his thoughts. “I thought I had earned by place at your side. And you pushed me out as soon as you found someone better.”

“No!” Master Jinn surges off the couch. He kneels at Obi-Wan’s feet and grasps Obi-Wan’s hands in his much larger ones. “Padawan, no. I never—” He bows his head over Obi-Wan’s hands. “That was never my intention, Obi-Wan. You’re right, you should have been nominated for your trials earlier, but I was selfish. I wasn’t ready to be parted with you, and so I deferred them. I took missions in the outer rim, kept us from the temple for years at a time, came up with any excuse to delay, but you were ready. You had been ready for a long time. It was me who wasn’t ready.”

“What?” Obi-Wan asks weakly.

“I thought you knew. I thought you were indulging an old, sentimental master. I thought you would have been happy when we found Anakin, because he was the push I needed to nominate you. The Force spoke clearly and yes, I still believe I am the right Jedi to train him, and I couldn’t, because you were my padawan. But you shouldn’t have been. Your nomination deserved to happen sooner, and it deserved more ceremony than what I did in the Council Chambers. I never thought—I never intended for you to feel it as a rebuke.”

“You met Anakin and it was like you forgot about me. And when you thought you were dying—” Tears rise up in Obi-Wan’s eyes, the way they always do when he remembers Naboo—“Your last words were about him.”

“I trusted you,” Master Jinn says. He grips Obi-Wan’s hands tightly as if he can communicate better with touch than his words. “If I died, I wanted you to know that I trusted you with training him. And I know, I was cold when you reached out to the temple. I struggled when I woke in the Halls of Healing with no training bond and to hear that I had been in a coma for several months and that you were gone.”

“You thought I left you.” Obi-Wan laughs, even though it isn’t funny. “After everything, you thought you had the right to be angry that I was the one who left. From the age of twelve, you were my entire life. I offered to die for you on Bandomeer, and I never retracted that offer. My life was yours from that day and you—” Obi-Wan pulls one of his hands free so he can wipe at his eyes. “You didn’t care for it properly.”

“No.” Master Jinn presses his forehead to Obi-Wan’s knees. “I didn’t and I apologize, Obi-Wan. You gave me a gift, you were my responsibility, and I was far more careless with you than I should have been. Please, forgive me.”

“Already done,” Obi-Wan says softly.

“No, it can’t be that easy. I must atone.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You are forgiven, Master Jinn. I hope you will take the lessons you learned from my apprenticeship, and they will guide you to be better with Anakin, but there is nothing you owe me.”

Master Jinn raises his head, and there are tears in his eyes now as well. “You are a good Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and an even better man. If there is any credit to me for who you are, it is because I was a series of tests. I wish my role had been better.” He moves into a crouch and, when Obi-Wan doesn’t pull away, he presses a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead. “May the Force forever be with you, Knight Fett.”

“And also with you, Master Jinn.” The formal words aren’t stiff, rather they’re infused with warmth and a deep, aching sadness. Obi-Wan knows this is an ending. He is closing the door on a tumultuous apprenticeship. It is important closure, but that doesn’t mean it is painless.

Master Jinn bows deeply and then sees himself out of the quarters. Obi-Wan glances at Rael and is glad when the man doesn’t say anything. He remains, keeps Obi-Wan from being alone, but he allows Obi-Wan the space he needs.

Obi-Wan brings his now cold tea to the sink and pours the rest of it down the drain.

#

Finally, the Jedi are gone. Even Rael left, but he promises to return with a transport of Jedi he thinks would thrive on Mandalore. Obi-Wan still can’t believe that Jango or his advisors are alright with an expanded Jedi presence, but Jango repeatedly tells Obi-Wan that he is. Obi-Wan and Jango are married and as much as the Mandalorians are now Obi-Wan’s people, he is also a Jedi, and he shouldn’t be denied half himself for the rest of his life.

Today, though, thoughts of the Mandalorian sect of the Jedi, are far from Obi-Wan’s mind.

He and Jango are propped up in their bed, Obi-Wan resting against Jango, one of Jango’s hands on Obi-Wan’s stomach. Curled next to them are Boba and Korkie. With another two children on the way, they might need a bigger bed.

“If there are two, Korkie and I should each name one,” Boba announces into the peaceful quiet.

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan asks, the amusement in his voice matching the warm fondness he feels from Jango.

“What if Obi-Wan and I want to name our children?” Jango asks. His arms are wrapped loosely around Obi-Wan and his hands rest on Obi-Wan’s stomach. He’s been more tactile recently but whether it’s the pregnancy, the scare of the fight against the Chancellor or something else altogether, Obi-Wan isn’t sure. “We did do all the work to make them.”

Boba wrinkles his nose, as if he’s old enough to know exactly what Obi-Wan and Jango did for Obi-Wan to be pregnant. “Gross, buir.”

“I heard it’s never work to be with someone you love,” Korkie says.

Obi-Wan can feel Jango’s chest expand as he inhales to respond, but Obi-Wan beats him to it. “There is always work involved in a relationship,” Obi-Wan tells both the boys. “If you love someone, then you are more willing to put in the work and it perhaps doesn’t always feel like a burden, but no relationship can thrive if its neglected.”

Jango chuckles and dips his head to press his lips to Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Very romantic, riduur.”

Obi-Wan bristles at being teased, but he doesn’t jab an elbow into Jango’s midsection, even though he has the perfect opening to do so. “One can be both practical and capable of love.”

“I know,” Jango says, and there’s no teasing in his voice now. He rests his cheek against Obi-Wan’s, as if holding him isn’t enough and he needs to be even closer.

Obi-Wan, mollified, relaxes back against Jango’s chest. His riduur isn’t as comfortable as a mattress, but a mattress can’t hold him or send warm, pleasant thoughts in his direction. Obi-Wan’s jaw cracks on a wide yawn, and he tries to rally, but Jango hushes him and tightens his hold.

“Listen to your body,” Jango counsels. “Boba, Korkie, would you like to help Obi-Wan sleep?”

Boba peers up at them with all the suspicion of a child. “Is this a trick to make us nap too?”

“No tricks,” Jango promises. “Obi-Wan can sense our emotions. Think of happy memories and give him good dreams.”

Obi-Wan thinks about protesting, because he is certainly being tricked into a nap, but then both Boba and Korkie burrow closer to him. Boba’s thoughts are a mix of evenings with Jango much like this, tucked up against his side as Jango reads to him or strokes a hand through his hair. Korkie reminisces about their first trip to the Kelita River and how they stretched out, lazy, in the sun after exhausting themselves swimming.

Obi-Wan’s limbs grow heavy first and then his eyelids. He closes his eyes and gives in to his riduur’s embrace. Jango’s thoughts are firmly on this moment and how he thinks it’s near perfect. In Jango’s mind, the only thing this quiet idyll needs is another two children, little bundles of blankets tucked in Obi-Wan’s arms.

He cannot live completely in this moment, in this warm haze. Obi-Wan has responsibilities, more now that he’s preparing Mandalore for its first Ka’ra Academy in history. Jango has even more responsibilities, still the leader of Mandalore and now with the added challenge of navigating a relationship with the Republic after helping to kill the Chancellor.

But their duties give purpose to their lives. They’re the reason Obi-Wan is even here on Mandalore to begin with. And in between protecting the Mandalore System and teaching those blessed by the Ka’ra, they will raise their family. They will raise warriors.

Those are very pleasant thoughts to have before sleeping, indeed. A future, full of possibilities, stretching out in front of Obi-Wan. The future is always in motion, Obi-Wan thinks, his mind heavy with impending sleep. It is a good thing so many of those possibilities are ones he looks forward to, then. And with Jango at his side, with his new family, with the support of the Order, Obi-Wan is confident he will succeed in bringing about the future he wants.