“You’re going to blow our cover,” Obi-Wan whispers against his ear, his voice harsh to pierce through the thump, thump, thump of the music.
Qui-Gon merely raises his eyebrow in response. The bass is far too loud, and he is far, far too old for this.
“You’re stiff as a protocol droid, for fuck’s sake. Move,” Obi-Wan hisses, his breath hot and reminiscent of chadian rum.
Undercover in a gay club trope. This makes their coming together feel unavoidable, two bodies crashing together. But of course it’s not just bodies, therefore there’s a bittersweet edge to the entire scorching hot encounter.