Two Halfs of One Warrior • Obikin/Vaderwan One-Shots

Confused Adversaries Who Are Ourselves In Disguise

• Summary: Once upon a time, there were two spies who fell in love.

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[1]

Walking through the gallery with his hands in his pockets, Obi-Wan took in the art around him. When he’d been assigned the Dooku case, Obi-Wan couldn’t deny he’d been a bit giddy. Dooku had been elusive for a few years now, seeing as he moved around so much. That was what excited Obi-Wan the most: getting to travel. And, of course, finally catching Dooku. Of course that, too.

As a man of taste and who was not shy when it came to spending, it wasn’t hard to figure out he’d be at this art auction tonight. In preparation, the agency bought Obi-Wan a brand new suit, something black and simple to help him blend in. He’d shaved his face, already missing the beard he’d been working so long to perfect, but knowing it was a small sacrifice for the mission. Even though he despised them, he also wore a wig: a dark brown thing that was shorter on the sides and longer on the top, parted on the left and styled in a slicked-back manner.

He walked over to the next room, turning the corner and immediately bumping into someone. “Oh,” he said, using a Scottish accent, “my apologies.”

If he ever let himself be so corny and romantic, Obi-Wan would say he’d just bumped into one of the museum’s statues, because the person he had collided with what nothing less than statuesque. He had straight black hair that landed just above his collar bones, which were fully on display thanks to the little red dress he was wearing – in fact, that dress displayed not only the top of the man’s chest, but his shoulders and arms and long legs, as well. Long, muscular legs that were enhanced by the simple black heels he wore.

“No need,” the man said – more like purred, making Obi-Wan snap his eyes up from where he’d been ogling the man’s exposed thighs. “I was just about to worry my little outfit here was about to go to waste, but here you are.” His glossy pink lips stretched into a sultry smile, and Obi-Wan was amazed that they could still look so plump and full even when pulled into a smile like that.

But his amazement didn’t distract from the fact that the man was doing a horrifically bad British accent. (As a British man himself, Obi-Wan felt he had the authority to think so.)

“‘Little’ is correct,” Obi-Wan responded, putting on a smile as he tried to figure out why this man was using an accent. “It would be a shame to let it go to waste, I agree.”

(Maybe Obi-Wan could fuck this guy hard enough he couldn’t remember to use the terrible accent, and then Obi-Wan wouldn’t necessarily have to call him out. Or, he could still fuck him hard and either prove the man’s commitment to the accent or his unfortunate fate of having a terrible accent. Either way, he would fuck him and the outfit would not go to waste. A win-win no matter what, really.)

The man-that-was-really-a-statue had smiled bigger even as his eyelids seemed to get heavier, and he leaned closer to Obi-Wan. Before either of them could say or do anything else, though, an announcement went out through the museum stating that the auction was about to begin.

Damn. Maybe he could find the man again after he caught Dooku… Maybe Obi-Wan could bring both of them back to England and the man could learn how to do a proper British accent.

“I’m afraid that’s my cue, m’eudail,” Obi-Wan said with an apologetic furrow of his brow. “But perhaps after–”

The man cut him off, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him close, a pout on his pretty lips. “Oh, love,” he said, and perhaps he’d meant it to sound cute and petulant, but the accent just made it sound like he had water in his mouth and was trying to talk without letting any of it spill out. “What about my outfit?”