#aaaand. we're done with this batch of prompts lol

[cabezadeperro]

#11 laying their hand on the other's neck with cody/obi wan or cody/fox? love your writing <3

hi anon! thanks ❤️

i chose codywan, because it's been a while lol. established relationship, takes place during the war. T, 990w.

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Cody chokes on dust, heart beating hard within his chest, and vaults over the overturned speeder seconds before the mortar shell hits the ground. The impact rattles his brain within his skull, and he curses with gritted teeth, his back against the belly of the vehicle and the heels of his boots digging grooves in the overturned dirt of the street. He can feel the thump-thump-thump of the cannons against the hard-packed earth—they’re getting closer, making their way through the little town. Cody swallows thickly, trying to think his way around the problem, trying to put away his fury and his frustration—intelligence said Grievous had moved on from the sector, but so what. 

He can feel his men’s attention on him. Boil’s watching him from the alley on the other side of the street, the white of his armour turned dusty orange with dust, and a trooper whose name he doesn’t know is at Cody’s side. He must have followed when Cody jumped over the speeder—that’s the only reason he’s not dead. Cody looks around the felled speeder and sees a twitching pair of white boots, blood on the dirt, hands scrabbling at the rubble of what used to be a house. He’s one of the new kids, his armour clear of paint, the chest plate not sitting quite right on his thinner chest, and he kneels there, rifle hugged against his chest, shaking so hard his shell is rattling.

The general is—somewhere. He took three squads and a few speeders and took the mountain path. If everything went well, he should be on his way back, and the tactical droid should be gone, but that matters little. Cody has half a company and a couple hundred battle droids bearing down, and Kenobi might get there on time, or he might not.

He’s terrified. He’s sweating under his blacks, his heart beating so hard he feels dizzy, and it’s like his lungs have stopped functioning properly, oxygen not quite making it to his chest, to his brain. Cody licks his lips and starts barking orders, and when they move out, he makes sure the kid is behind him.

Cody gets them through. He shoots and reloads and keeps on moving, his HUD a riot of colour, his ears ringing with the noise of falling shells, with his men’s screams, with his own choking breaths. Later he will be able to recount every single choice he made, every single move, he will be able to explain everything he did and didn’t do, but it will feel as if he’s talking about somebody else. First, the horror; then, everything else, his mind doing its best to excise the horror, to save Cody from himself.

Cody gets them through, Cody gets himself through it and back to base, back to the tent he shares with the general. Kenobi’s not there—Cody saw him, a flash of tan crossing the camp towards the command centre; he knows he’s alright—but he’ll be back soon. His post-action debriefs to the Council are short, mostly out of necessity, and as much as the man enjoys talking he never talks to them long.

Cody exhales. He takes off his helmet for the first time in hours and blinks at the dim darkness within the tent, ears still ringing. He wants to sit down, but he’s disgusting, and he doesn’t want to get his bedsheets dirty: in the end, it occurs to him he can just sit down on the tarp on the floor, and that’s what he does. He leaves his bucket at his side and tugs off his gloves, his gauntlets, his bracers, and then starts it on his boots, leaving it all where it falls, a certain kind of spiteful pleasure in the implied disrespect.

Everything hurts. Cody wiggles his bare toes and scoots backwards until his spine bumps against his locker, and then he stays there, surrounded by armour debris. He leans back, looks at the ceiling of the tent, and thinks: I want a shower. I’m hungry. I should eat something and get back to work.

And he will do all of those things, but not yet. First, he closes his eyes and breathes out, sitting alone in his tent, his men talking and walking and working just beyond its thin walls, and he kind of wants to cry, kind of wants to get in bed and never come out again. 

“Commander?”

Heck. 

Cody lifts his bed. Kenobi’s back, looking as tired and grimy as Cody feels. His eyebrows are raised: he looks down at the armour pieces on the floor, at Cody sitting there, half out of his blacks, and he sighs.

He starts picking up the armour pieces and stacking up on Cody’s rack. He’s slower than Cody, than any of Cody’s brothers—he’s half-taking his time, his curiosity obvious in the way he holds the plastoid alloy, half-finding out where everything goes on the fly. Cody should stand up and tell him to leave it, but he doesn’t want to, and the general seems more than happy to find himself picking up after Cody, so Cody lets him be.

Once he’s done he toes off his boots and then goes to sit with Cody on the ground, shoulder to shoulder. Cody huffs and moves to the side, and when Kenobi raises an arm in invitation, Cody ducks under it, leans his head against Kenobi’s shoulder. Kenobi shifts under his weight, and they resettle, Kenobi with his right hand on Cody’s neck, right over his pulse, Cody wrapping tired fingers around a bony knee.

Kenobi rubs his cheek on Cody’s curls, brushes a kiss against the scar of his temple. 

“Cody. Commander mine. You stink,” he says. Cody can feel his lips moving against his skin, his moustache soft.

He pinches him, hard, in the thigh. Kenobi jumps and curses at him, but he doesn’t move away,  and Cody grins, and closes his eyes.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #june prompts #maría writes #aaaand. we're done with this batch of prompts lol #i'll probably open prompts again sometime this weekend