Chapter Text
Jedi General Kenobi was a good sort, all things considered. He was intelligent, willing to listen to Cody and adjust the plans accordingly, and he seemed battle-tested in a way that none of the other Jedi were, for reasons Cody didn’t quite understand. He was also kind to the vode, and patient with the shinies, and he never reported anyone for minor infractions. He seemed to prefer them, actually, and seemed happy when any of their men in the Corps began to relax and let their personality show.
Cody knew from his batchers that it was hit or miss with the Jedi Generals. Kindness seemed to be a shared trait, for the most part, but not many knew how to temper that with the type of hard leadership that a military campaign required. General Kenobi did; in fact, he was excellent at it. The 7th Sky Corps had lower casualty rates than Cody ever could’ve expected, and Kenobi made a concerted effort to prioritize saving the lives of their men, not because they were costly Republic equipment, but because they were people.
He was also, to Cody’s great dismay, incredibly attractive, and just enough of a bastard for Cody to like him, really like him. They worked together very well, on and off the field, and they hadn’t been working together long at all when they started to become closer, friendlier, more casual. Kenobi’s office became their shared office, and late-night flimsiwork turned into shared midnight meals of ration bars and caf.
The first time they sparred together, half the Negotiator had come to watch. It'd been such an impressive display of sheer competence that Cody hadn’t even cared that he’d been so thoroughly trounced in front of their men. Kenobi had lessened the blow, anyways, by offering Cody a hand up and a palm clapped on his shoulder, eyes bright and pleased. He was even more intense on the field, a whirlwind of raw power, proving the kaminiise right that one Jedi was worth 1,000 troopers in a battle. And he always seemed to know where Cody was, to look up and find him, meet his eyes with a nod or a determined look or, worst of all, a devilish smile and a twirl of his lightsaber.
Cody had never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted Kenobi. Worse, still, he was sure that the General knew, with his endless flirting and his hand lingering on Cody’s arm after a briefing and his body draped across Cody’s to look at a chart over his shoulder. Cody’s deecee was stripped damn near raw with the amount of time he spent in the showers, imagining Kenobi leaning just a bit closer, pressing his cock against Cody’s ass, ghosting his lips over the back of Cody’s neck...
It wasn’t the worst infatuation in the world, but it was certainly distracting, and Cody found himself spending every shore leave seeking out men in disreputable bars, hoping to chase thoughts of Kenobi out of his head, at least long enough that he didn’t have to worry about Kenobi mind-reading the thoughts from him with the Force, however that osik worked.
The first time Cody saw Kenobi naked, he’d had a long enough day that he couldn’t quite hide the surprise from his face (or his mind, from the jetiise Force powers that he still didn’t quite understand).
The General, kicking his slime-covered clothes away, looked only a little irritated. “It’s impolite to stare, Commander.”
Cody looked away, focused instead on removing the rest of his armor. The slime (plant matter secretions, Commander) that they’d been doused in during their tactical retreat was incredibly viscous, and made the mag-locked buckles of his armor difficult to grasp hold of. “Sorry, sir,” he said, belatedly. “Just assumed you were standard, that’s all.”
The General muttered something that Cody couldn’t quite hear, but said nothing else.
Their return to the Negotiator had been met first with disgust, then concern, as the slime (plant matter secretions) had begun to blister the exposed skin of Kenobi’s hands and face. Cody, who’d been fully protected, wondered if this might finally convince the general to wear some armor out in the field. They’d been unceremoniously shuttled off to the medbay and pushed into the rarely-used decontaminant chamber. Helix was no doubt waiting just outside, antihistamine hypo in hand for the General.
“Ready?”
Kenobi didn’t give Cody a chance to respond before he pushed the button, drenching them both with the jet-force water shower.
“Karking –! Is this not properly set to atmo, or is freezing your shebs off part of the procedure?”
The General had hissed out a sharp breath when the water hit them, and was now making a concerted effort to relax. “I’m afraid, my dear, that this may simply be Helix’s retribution for trailing this mess through his medbay.”
There was a sharp rap on the door. “I can hear you, General,” came Helix’s voice, only a little muffled. “It’s airtight, not soundproof.”
Kenobi didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic as he said, “Ah, forgive me, Helix. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”
Cody huffed out a little laugh, shook his head.
Kenobi shot him a look, fond and amused, then winced as the smile pulled at the blistered skin of his cheeks.
“Rinse first, talk later,” Cody said, flatly.
While Kenobi worked to scrub the rest of the slime from his skin and hair, Cody tried his best to rinse off his armor. His blacks were kicked into the pile of Kenobi’s robes, likely to be disposed of if they couldn’t be cleaned.
The water stopped on its own, presumably on a timer, or perhaps when Helix’s monitors deemed them appropriately slime-free, and the medic met them at the door, shoving towels into their arms and reaching for the General's face to inspect the blisters.
Cody was sent on his way after a precautionary hypo to the neck and a set of borrowed blacks. The General, much to his displeasure, was held overnight for monitoring.
When he got back to his chambers, Cody tried very hard not to think about it. He failed, rationalized to himself that it was only appropriate for the General’s second in command to know the basics about his biology, and logged in to the private ‘net connection that one of the techies had set up for him. It wasn’t hard to find a list of near-human species with non-standard reproductive systems, but working through the list to narrow down which species proved difficult. The basic descriptions of some species were enough to know they weren’t what he was looking for, but for others, his searches came up with little more than pornography. He quickly realized that he needed more information from Kenobi, and would simply have to ask.
In the course of war, it was understandable that the non-essentials would slip his mind. The matter of Kenobi’s species was one of those non-essentials, and it wasn’t until weeks later that it came up again.
Cody found himself tucked away in a dilapidated building, something that, before the Seppie invasion, might have been a hotel. He knelt beside the General, frantically pushing his robes aside to get a better look at the wound.
“It’s fine, Commander,” hissed the General. “It’s only a little scrape.”
“There’s six inches of rusted pipe sticking out of your gut, General,” he snapped. “Now is not the time.”
He touched the pipe in question, just to stabilize it for a moment, but froze in alarm when Kenobi all but cried out. He swallowed, carefully releasing the metal.
“I apologize, Cody,” said Kenobi, through gritted teeth. His brow was drenched in sweat.
Cody checked his comm log. “Med-evac should be coming soon.”
Kenobi winced. “How soon?”
Not soon enough if that was lodged in any vital organs, Cody knew that for damn sure. “What species are you, sir?”
Kenobi almost laughed. “What? Of all times to –”
“Are your internal organs human standard?” Cody interrupted. “I don’t know what damage might have been done, if not.”
Understanding lit in Kenobi’s eyes. “Ah,” he said, frowning. “Yes, very similar to human standard. Anything non-standard is lower, namely internal and external reproductive systems. And my core temperature runs a bit lower than a standard human. But I don’t believe anything vital has been ruptured."
Cody’s lips thinned, but he said little else. “As you say, sir. The medics will be here soon.”
It was only later, after evac and treatment and debrief in their shared office, that Kenobi brought the subject up again. “Commander,” he said, as Cody rose to leave after their meeting concluded. “You asked after my species?”
There was a pause, Cody waiting for him to continue.
“Stewjoni,” he said, clipped and short. “Though I’d rather prefer the knowledge not be spread around, if you understand.”
Cody inclined his head. “Of course, sir. Strictly confidential. Thank you for informing me.”
Obi-Wan studied him for a moment, then nodded once before dismissing him.
Cody was not particularly well-read, nor was he especially well-traveled. But he remembered searching for Stewjoni, when he'd first tried to look into Kenobi's species. He'd found little more than rumors posted on disreputable fetish blogs, and the occasional news article, usually in reference to slavery. According to the sites, for whatever they were worth, Stewjoni were said to be dualsex, extremely resilient, and sexually compatible with most species in the galaxy, despite the planet's extreme isolationist stance.
Having intruded on Kenobi's privacy long enough, Cody mentally set aside that information in a box he'd labeled "Kenobi," and resolved not to think on it. Was it worse, ethically, he wondered, to entertain sexual fantasies about your superior officer before you knew what his genitals looked like, or after?
He resolved himself to try very hard not to think of Kenobi at all in the showers, with moderate success. But there was little he could do about dreams, and he often found himself in that hazy space between sleeping and waking, rutting against the mattress to hazy memories of Kenobi grinning at him in the midst of battle, spinning that damn saber like the cocky bastard he was; then merging into memories of Kenobi naked under that frigid water shower, the muscles in his damned ridiculous arms flexing as he scrubbed at his hair, ran a hand across the side of his neck, down his chest to take hold of his cock, and -
Cody woke frustrated more often than not, these days. He'd endure the indignity of walking to the communal showers with his cock tenting his blacks, get himself off under the hum of the sonic to thoughts of absolutely nothing specific, vague memories of past encounters, then dress and go about his day, only for every ounce of tension and desire to return when Kenobi greeted him on the bridge with a flirtatious smile and a lingering hand on his wrist. They hadn't even been working together a full year, and Kenobi was already going to be the death of him.