Obi-Wan had been to check on Luke again. There had been no real threats, no new news, and the desert had been blessedly quiet. His trip from home in the Jundland Wastes to the Lars homestead had been more for his own peace of mind than for any true necessity. He’d had a bad feeling, but what else was new in these dark times?
He studied the long, flat horizon from his position sitting on the lip of a cave, staring over the moonlit sand towards the points where the twin suns had recently dropped and faded from view. The wide, empty vista was beautiful, but Obi-Wan didn’t appreciate it. It brought him no comfort or peace.
Visiting the boy was an essential reminder of why he was here, and what he still needed to do. That sense of purpose gave him hope. Whenever the echoing quiet of Tatooine night stretched out, the emptiness overwhelming, the shadows around filled with memories, and the Force was so dark without the light of his friends and family—whenever the ache was too much, he took the trip over to see Luke.
Luke was doing well.
Obi-Wan was staying in the cave where he’d first slept after coming to Tatooine, back when he’d felt the threat of the empire loom very large. It was too close to the Lars homestead, and Owen had demanded he move on as soon as he realized where he’d been staying. Obi-Wan had agreed to leave, but he had left a small flat mattress and some supplies in the cave anyway as a future precaution.
He took a small swig of water, just enough to wet his mouth, and set the bottle aside. It was long past time for him to try to sleep. He stood up with a quiet, pained huff and crossed the cool floor of the cave to the mattress at the back, the uneven texture of sand and stone under his bare feet. It had been such a relief earlier to get out of his hot and sweaty boots and feel air on his damp skin, and even now that it was growing colder, he felt no desire to put them back on.
He’d sleep under his cloak, and be covered enough.
His knees ached as he lowered himself to the ground, and his lips quirked up in a wry smile. The gray hair that was spreading beyond his temples and appearing more and more in his beard was a reminder of his age that he didn’t often see, not given to looking in mirrors. He felt his age more than he saw it in all the small twinges and persistent, dull aches.
All of the damage of a lifetime of action, of years of war, had taken its toll, both in his body and his mind, and sleep did not come easy to him. It never did. His long training in meditation made him reflexively sit with the thoughts that came in a flurry as soon as he closed his eyes, and made him not push away all the excruciating memories that his heart shouted at him to notice, to resolve, as if he could.
All of the smaller traumas of his childhood and young adult life had haunted him too in the past, but usually sitting with the memories as they came to mind, seeing them without judgment and letting them pass away, had been sufficient to silence them enough for sleep.
This font of painful memories of the fall of everything and everyone he loved seemed almost eternal. It was never exhausted. It never ended. Obi-Wan was sure that he could sit with his past for a hundred years, and never see the end of the stream of disasters. All of the memories were burning red, the heat of the lava and the murderous glint in Anakin’s eyes…
Anakin.
Obi-Wan exhaled and turned to lay on his side, breathing through the tight, twisting, stabbing feeling and letting it all go. He went through exercises he remembered being taught in the creche, and accepted the memories of the soaring hallways and comfortable rooms of the Temple of his childhood, his home, the floor had been littered with small bodies, all of them too still, cut down, Anakin’s orange and yellow eyes—
Obi-Wan turned over and tried again, taking deep steady breaths, inviting sleep. He was so tired, he craved rest, but it was so elusive. Years of this. Years and it hadn’t stopped. It would never stop. Why hadn’t he been able to see what was happening to Anakin, why hadn’t he been able to help? Why hadn’t Anakin come to him, why had he killed—
“Master…”
Obi-Wan froze, his breath catching. He slowly opened his eyes and stared hard at the stone wall of the cave before him, his back turned away from the entrance. He tried to process what he’d heard, but it was impossible. The high child’s voice had come from behind him. It had been tentative and soft, like an echo of words heard long past, he had imagined it, surely—
“Master?”
The voice came again, painfully real, and painfully familiar. It was closer now, as though the speaker were moving toward him, but Obi-Wan heard no boyish feet scruffing the small stones, heard no breathing, and felt nobody in the Force. He was alone, he was absolutely certain that he was alone—his memories were just so vivid, surely—
“Obi-Wan? Master? I’m scared.”
Obi-Wan swallowed, and turned to look, a hand moving without thought toward his lightsaber. He resisted the urge to shout, his head snapping back. The boy was so close, kneeling right next to the bed, his hand outstretched toward Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Lightning flashed, somehow, illuminating his painfully familiar features. Anakin, but—
“Master?” Anakin’s wide eyes were begging him, and Obi-Wan couldn’t look away. “Can I stay with you?”
Obi-Wan blinked and abruptly the light filtering in wasn’t from the moons over Tatooine, but rather was the pale glow of a rainy Coruscant night pouring in through the shutters of his old Temple bedroom. The mattress beneath him was relatively thick and pillowy, the familiar scent of Temple laundry in his sheets, the Jedi-standard pajamas were soft on his skin.
Padawan Anakin was hovering at the side of the bed, his small face twisted with concern. Lighting flashed through the windows, followed by a loud roll of thunder. “I don’t like it, Master.”
Obi-Wan stared at him, at the boy, in disbelief. He seemed to be only ten or eleven at most, only a few years older than Luke. Lightning flashed again, and in the split fraction of an instant of brightest illumination, Obi-Wan could have sworn Anakin’s eyes flashed yellow. A dream, then. A memory, the first time Anakin experienced a thunderstorm, but replayed as a dream. He must have fallen asleep.
Obi-Wan swallowed, his throat tight, at a loss of how to behave. It was so uncanny to be conscious while dreaming, the rules of reality broken around him, time rolled back. His chest ached, the grief he felt at the sight of his old room, his old Padawan, his old life—it was too much. It hurt too much. He needed to wake up now, needed to…
Anakin tipped his head to the side, his fear melting into curiosity. “Why are you so old?”
“What?”
The young boy began looking around in fascination, getting up and moving toward the wall of the bedroom, his hand outstretched. “Is this a cave? Where are we?”
Obi-Wan frowned, and his stomach dropped with horror as the form of Anakin in front of him blurred and reformed as an adult, older than the last time Obi-Wan had seen him but whole and undamaged, no burns or disfigurements, his gaze sharp. He returned to the side of the bed, his legs looked so long in soft Jedi pants, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, his chest so broad, his body lean and strong, so familiar, like he was, like he should have been.
Anakin’s voice was low and concerned, and he crossed his arms in a familiar gesture, striking a familiar pose. “Why are you sleeping in a cave, Master?”
To Obi-Wan’s eye, it was as if older Anakin was coming back to bed, and it was as if he had been sleeping beside him, both at home at the Temple, as it was before… “This is a dream.”
“This is a dream,” Anakin agreed, sitting down on the mattress beside him, and Obi-Wan realized they were both back in the cave, the illusion of the Temple blurring and fading just as Anakin’s small body had done. He felt a swell of loss at seeing his home disappear from him again.
Anakin sighed, and he patted Obi-Wan’s shoulder with his exposed metal hand, making Obi-Wan cringe away. This illusion shouldn’t be able to touch him. Anakin’s quiet voice sounded almost wistful. “I was dreaming of a storm, and coming to you for comfort. You were young, and then you changed, and I realized. I’m dreaming this too.”
Obi-Wan recoiled at the idea of sharing a dream, drawing his body away and sitting up. It was an impossible assertion, there was no way for their minds to touch at this distance. Their training bond had always been unusually rich, but Obi-Wan had never shared dreams with him, even at the bond’s strongest point before the war. This was just a dream. This was just his own dream. Anakin hated him.
“You’re not really…” Obi-Wan shook his head and scrubbed his hands on his face, unsure how to make the dream change or finish.
Anakin adjusted how he was sitting, and made a familiar, disgruntled face at the sand that clung to the hem of his pants. “I’m really here.”
“Then why aren’t you trying to kill me?”
“Vader’s still asleep,” Anakin said quietly. Obi-Wan noted that his voice was deeper than it had been, a low, intimate rumble in the quiet cave. He shivered as Anakin leaned closer, his tone growing conspiratorial. “I’m keeping him under.”
“What does that mean?” Obi-Wan said, disturbed. “You’re what…”
Anakin’s face had stayed close, his whole body was too close, hovering in Obi-Wan’s personal space, not touching but almost, almost—
“It means he’s asleep, but I’m not.”
“And who are you?”
“Don’t you recognize me, Master?” Anakin said, his smile teasing and sad. Obi-Wan hated this dream, please, let him wake up, please, now. Anakin pushed on his shoulder, leaving his hand to rest until Obi-Wan jerked away. “I’m Anakin.”
Obi-Wan’s nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, lips pressed tight. If he couldn’t wake himself up, he could still leave. He looked toward the cave entrance, his voice cracking on the first word. “Anakin is dead.”
Anakin laughed without much humor, and put his hand back on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, preventing him from getting up and moving away. His grip tightened slightly, making Obi-Wan hold still. “You don’t really believe that.”
Obi-Wan twisted, trying to escape, and Anakin quickly pinned him back to the mattress, trapping his hips beneath his own and hovering over him on his elbows, breathing a little more quickly. Obi-Wan was immobilized by the contact, the weight of him, the unexpected heat of his breath and his overwhelming proximity. He hadn’t touched another person in so long, even in his dreams, this was different, this was new.
Anakin looked distracted by the contact too, his eyes so dark as he stared down and past him, and he abruptly buried his face in Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan instinctively grabbed his waist, trying to push him back, but Anakin moaned and completely stopped supporting himself. He let his entire weight crush down on Obi-Wan, settling between his legs and against his chest, nuzzling into his neck.
Obi-Wan struggled to breathe. Anakin’s soft, bare skin was scalding beneath his palms and fingertips, and the hot, wet feeling of Anakin’s mouth against his neck made him shudder. Betrayer. “Get off.”
“I don’t want to,” Anakin murmured under his ear, making him shiver again. He pressed even closer somehow, and Obi-Wan could feel his chest expand as he breathed, so fast and shallow. “I miss you so much.”
“Don’t—” Obi-Wan said sharply, eyes squeezing closed. “Don’t say that.” His hands gripped tighter on Anakin’s waist, pushing him back, but Anakin just moaned and rocked against him. “Anakin–”
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin rumbled back, like his name was an argument, and like he was winning that argument. He pressed his hips down against Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan realized to his horror that he was responding to the pressure, to the proximity, arousal flushing through him. He took a steadying breath, trying to control his body and avoid getting hard at any cost. He needed to wake up now, please, now.
Anakin suddenly stilled, his appearance becoming slightly hazy, still warm to the touch but growing somehow more vague to the eye. Obi-Wan blinked quickly, trying to use the uncanny pause in the dream to get his bearings. The Force felt strange, the world around him liminal and gray. His feet were cold.
Anakin suddenly grew more real, his presence solid and clear again, and he slumped heavily against Obi-Wan’s chest as if fatigued.
“What was that?” Obi-Wan asked, unsettled, unconsciously soothing Anakin with his hands, his palms rubbing up and down his sides in encouragement.
“I told you,” Anakin said quietly. “I’m keeping him asleep.”
“You’re… what?” Obi-Wan shook his head in confusion. “Part of his mind?”
Anakin hummed in affirmation, and wiggled slightly, pressing against him again and reminding Obi-Wan of how tangled together they were. Wake up, he needed to wake up. “We want you, in many different ways.”
“What?”
“I’m the part of him that misses you, and wants you,” Anakin said slowly and deliberately, like Obi-Wan was slow on the uptake. He kissed his neck once, and then whispered fondly. “You miss me too, Obi-Wan, and want me like this, or else I wouldn’t have been able to reach out and find you, don’t deny it. There’s no point. You miss me too.”
All of the outraged tension went out of Obi-Wan, and he inhaled the familiar scent of Anakin’s hair, recognizing it immediately even though he would never have been able to describe it with words. Guilt washed over and through him, but he couldn’t stop breathing him in, and holding him close. Betrayer. “Of course I miss you.”
Anakin made a pained, triumphant noise and lifted his head from Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan only had a moment to see the expression on his face as it drew nearer, only a moment to see Anakin as he should be before they were kissing, and oh…
Anakin’s lips were so warm and soft, pressing insistently against Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan’s guilt bubbled low in his stomach as he reflexively kissed him back, wrapping his arms around him and falling up into the sensation of the kiss. It felt so much better than he’d remembered, the pleasure of it sparkling in his veins and sending lightning down his spine.
He opened his mouth, and the kiss deepened, swiftly escalating into something sloppy and desperate. He tasted so good, he needed him so much. Anakin whimpered against his lips, and Obi-Wan jerked his head back against the mattress, breathing hard. Betrayer. “You… I can’t do this.”
“Not even in a dream?” Anakin said invitingly. He rubbed his cheek against Obi-Wan’s beard and began kissing down his neck, rolling his hips slowly. “It’s just a dream, Master.”
It was just a dream.
Obi-Wan exhaled hard; the permission afforded in that excuse was cutting through the last knot of restraint keeping him back. Anakin had done unforgivable things. He didn’t care. His cock ached, and it was such a relief to grab his hips and pull him closer.
Anakin made a surprised, pleased noise that Obi-Wan found so satisfying, he wanted to hear it again and again. He palmed the soft curve of Anakin’s ass and conceded, “Just a dream.”
Anakin nodded quickly, and plucked at Obi-Wan’s shirt, demanding that he take it off. Obi-Wan pushed him back and complied, stripping off his tunic and tossing it aside. Anakin made a low, satisfied noise and ran a hand from between Obi-Wan’s collarbones down to the outline of his hard cock, almost petting his chest, and Obi-Wan groaned as he squeezed gently on the head of his cock.
“Can I?” Anakin said breathlessly, and Obi-Wan knocked his hand off so he could open his trousers and shove them down in answer. Anakin immediately slid his hand inside the fabric and pulled out Obi-Wan’s cock, pushing his pants off his hips and letting him kick them away. He sounded mesmerized, his face lowering and broadcasting his intent. “Let me…”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groaned as Anakin licked his pouting lips, sucking saliva into his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed, the long eyelashes dark on his cheeks, as he kissed the head of Obi-Wan’s cock gently before taking it inside. He sucked, his tongue circling with teasing pressure, and Obi-Wan lifted a hand to his hair, cupping his head encouragingly and helping him find a rhythm, fingers tangling in the messy curls.
Anakin hummed with pleasure and pulled his head back to spit on his cock, his hand moving quickly before he took it back into his mouth, bobbing up and down. Obi-Wan watched dumbly, his mind felt fractured and set alight, his thoughts scattered, and the pleasure was an overwhelming, rising tide. The wet heat of his mouth, the pressure of his lips, and the sweet, intent expression on his face, it was all so impossibly good.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, both a warning and a plea, unsure if he needed him to stop at that moment, or to never stop, to keep taking him until he filled his wet mouth with come. Make him take it.
Anakin made the choice for him and pulled back before he came, grinning and breathing hard. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, removing the shine of saliva and precome. He was glowing with satisfaction at having taken Obi-Wan apart so quickly, his eyes wide and shining with need. “I want you to fuck me.”
Obi-Wan groaned, biting his lip, the words knifing through him, a hot rush of arousal. He took advantage of Anakin’s invitation and rolled them over, the cool air on his wet cock made him increasingly desperate to sink back inside Anakin’s body, inside his wet heat. If not his mouth, he’d happily… “I can’t fuck you without oil.”
“This is a dream,” Anakin huffed, pushing off his own soft pants. His bare legs were so long, the hair pale and golden. His thighs were so strong under Obi-Wan’s palms as he spread them apart, opening him up so he could look at his ass. The tip of his cock shone with precome against his stomach, but Obi-Wan ignored it to spit on his fingers and trace the outline of his entrance, circling and testing him.
Anakin whimpered and Obi-Wan hummed absently, his attention totally focused on his fingers, and his voice coming out low and intent. “If this were my dream, you’d be open and ready for me, like you were waiting.”
“I got myself ready,” Anakin agreed, nodding quickly and rocking his hips, trying to get more and whining in complaint when Obi-Wan denied him. “I opened myself up.”
“You knew I was coming,” Obi-Wan told him, and pressed one of his fingers through the perfectly soft and slick rim, sinking it slowly inside. “You did a good job.”
“I did?” Anakin asked breathlessly, his eyes fixed on Obi-Wan’s hand. He moaned, his head dropping back as Obi-Wan pulled out and then slid in another finger with the first, fucking them in and out. “I did so good.”
“You did well,” Obi-Wan corrected him automatically, and curled his fingers, seeking and finding the perfect spot. Anakin whined and his stomach contracted, cock twitching. “You did very well.”
“Fuck me,” Anakin rocked his hips needily, and he tugged on Obi-Wan’s back, pulling him closer. “I need it, I miss you so much, fuck. I love you.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said forbiddingly, eyes flashing up to meet and stare at him with incredulous anger.
Anakin whined an apology, and spread his legs wider. “I know I ruined everything, I know, I know, but…” he reached a hand down and wrapped his fingers around Obi-Wan’s cock, gently pulling him closer and lining him up. Obi-Wan allowed it, and moaned when the head of his cock rubbed against his soft, hot skin, pressing and teasing his hole but not thrusting inside. He was ready, he could take it, this was a dream. Anakin’s whine was getting louder. “Fuck me anyway, fuck me, please, Master—”
Anakin’s words cut off and he gasped loudly, his eyes going wide as Obi-Wan flexed his hips forward and down, cock sliding deep inside in one long, insistent thrust. Anakin’s mouth fell open, making an incredulous noise as he took it, his body just as slick and open as if he’d spent an hour on his fingers, getting himself ready. He felt so good, so perfect around his cock, exactly how he should feel beneath him.
Obi-Wan pulled his hips back and then thrust in harder, over and over, sinking ever deeper into Anakin’s tight, slick heat. He pulled Anakin’s legs up and pressed them back, spreading them wider and opening him up even more, fucking him harder. He quickly found a steady rhythm that drove little moans out from Anakin’s lips with every sharp thrust.
“Master,” Anakin said desperately, reaching up and pulling him down by the neck to kiss him, to suck on his lips and murmur against his skin. “Miss you, miss you, love you, sorry…”
Obi-Wan made a deep, frustrated noise. His tremendous sense of guilt was a background haze, present and immaterial, as he kissed him just as desperately, seeking the contact of his skin. Anakin, he’d missed him, wanted him, needed him, needed this. His hips slowed down, and he fucked him more and more softly, never stopping and never speeding up, making him take it.
He pulled back to look at Anakin’s face, and Anakin was staring up at him, his eyes wide and almost starry. His expression was so open and vulnerable, he was so handsome. Obi-Wan smiled at him, and he smiled back immediately, equally fond and soft, mirroring him on instinct. Obi-Wan couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I thought this part of you died.”
Anakin’s smile faded. “Vader’s very strong.”
Obi-Wan kissed him gently, his heart pounding, feeling so close. Anakin was still alive, still loved him, he missed him too. “But you’re still alive.”
“For now,” Anakin said harshly, and Obi-Wan froze, trembling on the edge of coming.
Anakin’s eyes were different, flashing before going hazy, his whole body blurring slightly, despite feeling the same around his cock. Obi-Wan looked down at him, and blinked as the figure of Anakin became real again, his smooth skin now scarred and broken, his limbs missing, his hair gone, his eyes burning yellow. Obi-Wan was still buried deep inside him.
“Interesting dream,” Vader said menacingly, his voice raspy and quiet. He tried to move, shifting his hips and inadvertently fucking himself on Obi-Wan’s cock. His eyes slid shut with shocked pleasure, and he moaned. Obi-Wan couldn’t move, he couldn’t think. He held perfectly still as Vader repeated the motion, moaning again the same way, his pleasure looking strange as it warred with his fury.
His scars looked so painful, and Obi-Wan couldn't look away from the damage their battle had caused, his mind spinning without traction. His cock felt so good, sunk so deep inside the tight body below him, but Vader's cruel, mocking voice made him shudder. “Am I not pretty enough for you to fuck, Master? Do you regret chopping me apart and leaving me to burn?”
Obi-Wan still couldn’t move, and Vader's lip curled with contempt. He swiftly rolled them over, spinning Obi-Wan flat on his back and sinking back down on his cock, riding him quickly. No matter how much his voice was contemptuous, his eyes were still eager as he began to stroke his cock at the same time with a prosthetic hand. Obi-Wan didn't like that, for some reason, he wanted to replace metal with his own hand, but he wasn't sure he could.
He lifted his palms to rest supportively on the thighs of Vader's amputated legs, tentatively touching the scarred skin. Vader sneered but did nothing, just rolled his hips faster, finding the best angle and using Obi-Wan’s cock to stroke the perfect place inside, making his face flush with pleasure. Nothing Vader was doing was about Obi-Wan’s pleasure, but it still felt so good to him anyway, and Obi-Wan could tell that Vader was pleased about that. “Are you going to come in me, Master?”
Obi-Wan opened and closed his mouth helplessly, gasping for air, his balls getting tight as his orgasm was approaching, he was so close. Vader looked strangely intent, demanding an answer. Obi-Wan gasped, feeling so close. "Yes, I think, yes."
Vader groaned, his hand moving faster and faster on his cock, and with one last twist of his wrist, he cried out and came, his metal hand filling with come, and his body clenching down on Obi-Wan’s cock. The look of pleasure on his scarred face was the last thing Obi-Wan saw before the strength of his own orgasm made his eyes squeeze shut. It felt endless, incredible, the release was overwhelming.
“I’m going to find and kill you,” Vader said, breathlessly. He slid off Obi-Wan’s cock and pushed himself to the side, staring up at the ceiling of the cave. There wasn’t really room for both of them on the small mattress side by side, but it was a dream, so they fit. “I hate you so much.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan said tiredly.
“I’m sorry,” Anakin said softly beside him, and Obi-Wan snapped his head over to look with surprise. The unscarred version of Anakin had returned, his face twisted with apology. “He woke up. He wants you too, so much, he just won’t admit it.”
Obi-Wan took one last, long look at his handsome face, and then turned back to the ceiling, exhaling hard. “This is all just a dream. You’re not really him. You’re a version of what I think he’s like. What I would hope he’s like. I hope you exist, but… it’s unlikely.” Obi-Wan swallowed and tried to wake up. “Yoda was right.”
“If you say so,” Anakin said, almost amused. “I’ll see you here again soon, then?”
“What?” Obi-Wan asked, astonished, the room going hazy. “Again?”
Obi-Wan woke up.
The early glow of pale morning light was filtering in through the entrance of the cave, filling the silent, empty room. He was alone. He blinked and shook his head, the events of the night’s dreams becoming hazier and hazier until they vanished into mist. He got up and began his day, pulling on his boots and preparing for his journey home.
He wasn’t sure exactly why, but something felt resolved and settled. Trips to visit Luke, nights spent in that cave, tended to have that effect. It made the trip worth it to find that sense of peace of mind, that sense of hope. He’d doubtless be back soon, but for now, he was centered. Thank the Force.