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There were times and places for shoving Obi-Wan up against a wall and kissing him senseless.
This was, unfortunately, probably not one of them.
But Jango couldn’t help it, he wanted to press Obi-Wan against a wall and kiss him, lick the blood from Obi-Wan’s lips, kiss the bruise forming on his cheek, add his own, far kinder bruises to his lover’s body; he wanted to absolutely ravish him.
“How uncivilized,” Obi-Wan murmured—Jango had to take a moment to double check that his shields were firmly in place, and that Obi-Wan hadn’t caught a hint of Jango’s thoughts—looking around the room with his lips pursed in distaste, as though he hadn’t just been in the thick of it, stabbing people with conveniently available cutlery.
The image of Obi-Wan subduing a man with a spoon would be one Jango treasured for the rest of his life, particularly on cold nights when he and Obi-Wan were separated.
His lover let out another disgruntled noise as he dislodged an unconscious man’s hand from the package they’d been here to secure. “One of these days, I’m going to have a mission that doesn’t turn into a disaster,” Obi-Wan was muttering to himself, pushing at the lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes during the fight.
He looked thoroughly disheveled and absolutely breathtaking.
Jango didn’t stand a chance. “Marry me.”
Obi-Wan froze at the words, turning slowly to face him, brows furrowed in confusion and a small hint of amusement. “What?”
The words had slipped out completely without any thought on Jango’s part.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. Jango had been thinking about what it would be like to marry Obi-Wan for months now, trying to determine the best way to bring it up.
This hadn’t been how he’d pictured it happening. Not that he’d been spending time imagining it. But if he had been imagining the scenario, he certainly would have pictured the proposal coming out a little more eloquently than it had. And when they weren’t surrounded by a bunch of unconscious thugs who’d thought they were more talented than they were.
Maybe late one night after he’d kissed his love into every inch of Obi-Wan’s skin. Or on an actual battlefield where they’d fought side by side.
Not after a bar fight against a bunch of incompetents.
Still, now that he’d already said it, he might as well keep going. “Marry me,” he repeated. “Here, now.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, giving the cantina around them an incredulous look.
Half the tables were overturned; chairs had been broken apart and used as weapons; there was Jawa juice and bantha stew dripping down the wall; there was a distinct smell of blood; and a very good possibility that a few people had had an unfortunate accident as a fear response.
In the back, the cantina owner was glaring at them grumpily as he slung an unconscious patron over his shoulder to dump them out onto the street.
It was the furthest thing from romantic Jango could have possibly suggested.
Still, Obi-Wan’s incredulousness was fading into a fond smile.
“This isn’t quite the best time for that, you realize?” Obi-Wan stepped nimbly over a fallen Togruta as he made his way towards Jango. “It’s rather ridiculous timing, for that matter.”
“But you’re not saying no,” Jango pointed out, hope surging through him.
“No, I’m not saying no.” Obi-Wan stopped in front of him, meeting his gaze fondly. “I’ve been rather desperately falling in love with you since you decided I needed lessons on how to use a blaster properly.”
“Someone had to, you were an absolute disaster. Would have shot your own foot.”
“Was I?” Obi-Wan smirked, eyes mischievous and teasing as he arched an eyebrow smugly. A slow dawning comprehension washed over him, and his mouth fell open unflatteringly as he stared at his lover.
“You weren’t awful?”
Obi-Wan shrugged, no shame in his eyes, if anything looking rather pleased with himself. “You were adorable—“ Jango had never been called adorable in his life, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be offended, when Obi-Wan was saying it so fondly, “—with all your tirades about blaster safety.” He paused, gaze dropping down to Jango’s hands. “And I deeply appreciated your more hands on lessons.”
Jango felt his skin heat; he might have used the excuse of blaster lessons to get a little closer than necessary. It wasn’t like he’d really needed to press close against Obi-Wan as he’d adjusted his stance.
But from the sounds of it, Obi-Wan had been using the whole thing as an excuse too.
“You’re terrible,” Jango murmured. Maybe it was no surprise that Jango loved the man an almost ridiculous amount. “I think for me, I finally realized I was in love with you when I walked in on you teaching Boba how to deflect knives with towels.”
“It’s an important skill,” Obi-Wan protested, the words a familiar refrain in a now familiar argument. ”He needs to be able to protect himself with anything lying around.”
“If he ends up in a situation where his only option is to fend off knives with a towel he probably has far bigger problems.”
Obi-Wan ignored his very excellent point in favor of stepping close enough to brush against Jango’s armor. Jango automatically placed his hands on Obi-Wan’s hips, he was dressed in a simple tunic and tight spacer pants for his current undercover work, though his shirt was now stained with a mix of blood and bantha stew.
Despite the bantha stew, he looked utterly ravishing—which unfortunately the goons that were sprawled around the cantina had also thought, if the way they hadn’t taken Obi-Wan’s ‘no’ well was any indication.
“I think our bigger problem right now is that I don’t have any armor to exchange with you; if you really want to get married right this instant.”
Jango hesitated, because if he was going to marry Obi-Wan—and he was going to—he wanted to do it right. “We can exchange our vows now, and then you’ll let me take you to finally get properly fitted with the vambraces of your own so we can finish the exchange.”
Obi-Wan smiled softly. “You know, marrying you might be the only good reason to start wearing armor.”
Jango rolled his eyes, because this was another very familiar argument for them. “How about to protect yourself from all the people who inevitably start shooting at you?” He would know, since these days when people started shooting at Obi-Wan, they were shooting at him as well.
“It’s called a lightsaber, you might have heard of it.”
Jango was actually carrying it, right now. It was too dangerous for Obi-Wan to carry it on him while he was undercover, but neither he nor Obi-Wan wanted it to be too far away if the need called for it.
On his belt it didn’t look like the weapon of a Jedi, it looked like a trophy.
It was a trophy, though not for the reasons it appeared. For Obi-Wan to trust him to carry his lightsaber was a prize in and of itself.
As Obi-Wan was inclined to say, the weapon was more than a weapon, it was his life. And he had given it to Jango with nothing more than a smile and eyes filled with trust.
Jango would still sleep better at night if Obi-Wan had something a little more practical than his lightsaber. “We’ll have a lifetime for me to convince you of the use of armor.”
Obi-Wan met his eyes. “A lifetime,” he repeated. He smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
Jango pressed a kiss to that smile, feeling it against his lips—he could taste blood, and he wasn’t sure if it was Obi-Wan’s or someone else’s but it didn’t much matter. He moved his hands from Obi-Wan’s hips to find Obi-Wan’s own hands, leading them to the latches of his left vambrace. “Mhi solos tome,” he whispered against Obi-Wan’s lips. He felt something close to breathless as the words slipped from his mouth.
Obi-Wan carefully unlatched the vambrace, and Jango shivered as Obi-Wan ran a soft touch over Jango’s now exposed arm. He kissed Jango back, brief and warm before pulling back. “Mhi solos dar’tome.”
Jango took the vambrace from Obi-Wan’s hands, gently taking hold of Obi-Wan’s arm. “Mhi me’dinui an.”
“Mhi ba’juri verde,” Obi-Wan finished, his breath hitching just a bit. Jango clasped the vambrace around Obi-Wan’s arm. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but that just meant they’d get it adjusted when they went to get Obi-Wan a pair of vambraces so they could finish the exchange.
Everything seemed to fade away as he stared at his riduur. His riduur. “Hello there, riduur,” he murmured. Obi-Wan laughed, bright and delighted, before pulling Jango in for an almost desperate kiss, clinging to Jango tightly.
The vambrace on his riduur’s arm dug into Jango’s neck, the sensation both cold and beautiful.
“I love you,” Jango said, when they finally pulled back. “Even when you’re a reckless idiot who starts bar fights.”
“They started it, I just finished it,” Obi-Wan protested. “And I’m your reckless idiot, now.”
Jango smiled and kissed Obi-Wan again.
From the back of the room the bartender let out an audibly annoyed sigh. “If you two are done with your little ‘wedding’, I’ve still got a lot of clean up to do, thanks to the two of you, so if you could go do whatever it is newly married people do somewhere else, I would appreciate that.”
And well, if Jango really wanted to do all of the things he wanted to do to his riduur, he definitely didn’t want to be doing it in a cantina.
He ran his fingers over the vambrace on Obi-Wan’s arm one more time. His riduur wearing his vambrace.
“Come on, riduur,” Obi-Wan said lowly, the word sending a thrill down Jango’s back. “I think we have a marriage to celebrate.”