#eeeeeeeehehehehe

@kettish bit more fakemarried! @meggory84, fakemarried? fakemarried!! hehehehehei’m evil 

Obi-Wan had never been more grateful for the pair-bond he shared with Qui-Gon than the moment he appeared at Obi-Wan’s shoulder, hand outstretched, and asked, “May I have this dance?”

Obi-Wan smiled brilliantly at him and let himself be pulled away from the conversation. The moment they were out of earshot and mingling with the dancers in the middle of the room, he hissed out a relieved breath between his teeth. “Undercover assignments just bring out the worst in people,” he muttered into Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Oh, they don’t know you’re a Jedi and tell you all their sordid plans, hm? Such hardship, Qui-Gon chuckled, the deep rumble warm and grounding, but his hold on Obi-Wan tightened. “You’re shaking,” he said softly, the bond between them full of affection and a hint of concern.

“Just angry.” He’s not even part of our mission, for Force’s sake.

No. I’m sure Madleth would be happy to know of his operations, nevertheless. “Are you up for this, or should we call it a night?”

Obi-Wan shook his head slightly. The music was soothing, slow and intimate, and Qui-Gon’s arms around him were reassuring like nothing else could have been in that moment. He wasn’t sure Qui-Gon would still hold him like this in the privacy of their berth. Just once, he wanted to indulge in this much-craved contact. “One dance,” he said.

Qui-Gon nodded, and drew Obi-Wan close again, nuzzling into his hair. The move surprised Obi-Wan, but then—Newlyweds, he reminded himself, and decided to enjoy the moment. He drew back far enough to look up at Qui-Gon, let his hands slide up over warm cloth and splayed them over Qui-Gon’s shoulder blades, watching intently as Qui-Gon’s eyes half-closed in obvious pleasure.

This was an unexpected side of his Master, this freedom of expression and delight in sensation. At first, Obi-Wan had expected this mission not to be much different from their usual paired assignments. Being on this end of Qui-Gon’s concern, his care, the focus of nearly all his attention when Obi-Wan needed it most—that was nothing new.

Yet Qui-Gon had surprised him several times over. Obi-Wan knew, for instance, that he could dance: Qui-Gon once made a point of teaching him several forms for various diplomatic engagements and celebrations. But he’d never seen his Master dance like this, pressed close and completely comfortable. As Qui-Gon’s Padawan, he’d learned that his Master hid much of himself away under a tightly controlled mask of perfect serenity. But this level of intimacy, even of casual contact—Obi-Wan had never seen Qui-Gon share it with anyone else.

Mostly, Obi-Wan just wanted to bask in it. He let his mind float free on the music, following Qui-Gon’s lead. It ended all too soon, sending an almost physical pang of disappointment through him as Qui-Gon gently released him and stepped back. Obi-Wan followed, too dazed to protest. When the music began for the next dance, Obi-Wan gave it less than a moment’s thought before pulling Qui-Gon back out onto the floor, gratified when Qui-Gon went willingly.

Two minutes later Obi-Wan found himself wondering if he had, perhaps, miscalculated. It must have shown on his face, because Qui-Gon gave him an utterly wicked grin and picked him bodily up off the floor in a dizzying spin, laughing. Not to be out-done, Obi-Wan rose to the challenge and pulled Qui-Gon into a faster spin.

The music crazily barrelled on ahead with ever-increasing speed, like a competition to see who could possibly keep up and keep their feet. It whipped up a sense of unreality, almost like being drunk. The noise around them dulled to a constant roar, leaving nothing to focus on but the dance, and Obi-Wan’s partner. His partner… Qui-Gon’s face was lit with a carefree happiness that Obi-Wan had never seen. Qui-Gon’s hair was desperately trying to escape his loose tail, strands curling along his neck, stuck to his forehead. His eyes, deep, entrancing blue, sparkled with joy.

He was beautiful—distracting. They fell into each other, they fell into other dancers, other people careened into them—chaos, but all of it exhilarating and ridiculously fun.

The chaos didn’t end with the music. By the end, half the dance-floor was still dizzily staggering in an approximation of the steps, and Obi-Wan spotted a clear path out of the hall by sheer luck. He darted for it, pulling Qui-Gon along after him, and tripped on the stairs right as he flew out into the passage, not expecting to run into them so soon. Strong arms caught him up before he could fall, and Obi-Wan melted into the touch. Qui-Gon kept an arm wrapped around his waist all the way back to their berth, kept Obi-Wan pressed tightly to his side.

Obi-Wan was still giggling when they made it to their berth. He couldn’t help himself, not even when Qui-Gon hit his head on the way in, not ducking far enough as he entered. Obi-Wan winced in sympathy, pulling Qui-Gon in the rest of the way until the door shut behind him.

“Did that hurt?”

“No more than usual,” Qui-Gon said, with a faint grimace—one that didn’t dull the look of happiness on his face, thankfully. Obi-Wan reached up to smooth a few runway strands of hair back and tuck them behind Qui-Gon’s ears, making that his very singular focus. He moved with the exaggerated care of the inebriated, though he was completely sober—he thought, anyway. Something about that dance had left him feeling like he’d had one or two more glasses of Corellian brandy than strictly recommended.

Qui-Gon was watching him intently. Obi-Wan didn’t look up, unsure that he wanted to know what was in that gaze, but he didn’t shy away either. “We should do that more often,” he said.

“I’m not sure the Council can afford to send us on galactic cruises.”

There was that wry smile in Qui-Gon’s voice that did absolutely terrible things to Obi-Wan’s state of mind. He shook his head, laughing. “Well, who knows, between Anakin and Artoo we could probably run the whole—”

Temple, he’d meant to say. But he was entirely lost in the look on Qui-Gon’s face, the wide grin, the sound of his laugh that Obi-Wan almost never got to hear—the real one, the deep, expressive laugh, not the soft or near-silent chuckle. He wondered how long he’d been standing there looking at him awestruck, before Qui-Gon moved closer, leaned in, like he was waiting…

What possessed him, Obi-Wan couldn’t say. But he let himself lean forward, let his eyes fall closed, let this strange dance draw to its logical conclusion. The kiss—it was soft, gentle, sweet as it was tentative. Heat flooded his veins, and Obi-Wan let himself sink further into it, opening in invitation to the tongue that brushed gently against his lips.

It lasted only a moment, and ended too quickly. Obi-Wan drew back just far enough to look up at his Master, suddenly very, very confused. Even Qui-Gon seemed somewhat bewildered. They hovered on the point, not certain where to go from here.

A bang and a cheer from the hall outside broke the moment, and Obi-Wan shied away involuntarily. He thought he caught a flash of disappointment on Qui-Gon’s face, but it was gone far too quickly for him to be sure, and Qui-Gon, of course, said nothing.

“We have an early start tomorrow if we want to have a look around without anyone noticing,” Qui-Gon said instead.

“Right,” Obi-Wan murmured awkwardly, and stepped back, nodding once. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded again, and did his best not to flee too obviously into the fresher.