Satellite Mind

1. Anaxes, 19BBY

“General Windu, this is Tech.” 

The stressed voice coming out of Master Windu’s comlink drew Obi-Wan’s attention immediately, cutting through the routine sounds of the end of battle. He turned his head away from the trooper in front of him, looking over to Windu with a frown deepening with concern as Tech’s tone grew even more urgent. 

“We’ve discovered a bomb in the fusion reactor. We need someone to go down there and help disarm it.”

Obi-Wan met Windu’s eyes, and they communicated paragraphs in a look—they were both willing to stay behind while the men were evacuated, in order to disarm the bomb, no matter the risk. But Mace was senior in rank on the Council, and Obi-Wan respected him too much to defer this task to him. They only needed one person on the ground to help disarm it, and Obi-Wan knew it was his responsibility. He felt it in the Force—he could do this. He would do this.

After a long moment, Windu nodded his approval. 

“I’m on my way,” Obi-Wan confirmed, already turning and running toward the lift down to the fusion reactor. 

He heard Windu yell out behind him, “Get the men out of here!”

Obi-Wan reached the lift, and slammed a hand on the mechanism to initiate his descent. His determination made him clench his jaw and bounce in place on his toes as the lift moved slowly, much too slowly. He could tell that every second was precious, and wished he could make it go faster. 

After seconds that felt like minutes, the lift finally reached the bottom and opened to the vast chamber that housed the reactor. Obi-Wan darted forward, and hastily studied the structure of the room, looking for the bomb. There!

He took a deep breath and hopped over the railing, dropping down onto a catwalk far below. He used the Force to land softly, and then moved quickly but cautiously toward the core of the reactor—inching closer and closer to the bomb. 

He assessed the danger, and was dismayed. The bomb was so large, more than twice his height, and packed with enough payload that it could easily destroy the surrounding Republic shipyards, and possibly even most of Anaxes. 

The deactivation mechanism was obvious, and Obi-Wan moved forward again to get a better look, only to be bounced back painfully. Ray shielded.

He brought his wrist comlink up to his mouth. “Echo, I found the bomb. Tell me the sequence to shut it down.”

“I’m decrypting it now.” 

Obi-Wan positioned himself before the ray shielded control board and reached into the Force, waiting. 

“The first number in the sequence is three.”  

Obi-Wan raised a hand and focused, adjusting the first slider to the third position. The light above the slider switched from red to green with a quiet beep. He tried to ignore the countdown in his peripheral vision. So little time… 

“The next is… One…” Obi-Wan adjusted the next slider, watching with satisfaction as that light also switched to green. “Eight… Seven… Ahh!”

“Echo?” Obi-Wan asked, his attention on the Force wavering as Echo’s pained scream came through the com. 

There was only silence in response. 

“Echo, are you there?!”

It was Rex who answered, his voice stressed. “General Kenobi, Trench took out Echo. We can’t get you the last number in the sequence.” He paused for a moment, and his voice filled with desperation. “Sorry, General, you’ll have to disarm that bomb without us.”

Obi-Wan’s answer was immediate, “Don’t worry about me, Captain. Just get your men out of here!”

“Yes, sir!”

Windu’s voice came through the comlink next, his tone forbidding. “Obi-Wan, if you can’t stop the detonation, you must leave now.”

Obi-Wan’s mind was instantly filled with a cascade simulation of what would happen if he were to leave the bomb—all of the clones within the blast radius, all of the critical shipyards. He shook his head once, his focus returning to the final slider. “That is not an option. I still have a chance to stop this, even if it’s down to my best guess.” 

Or down to Anakin, Obi-Wan mused. Anakin could never be discounted to find a way to save the day. He knew that Anakin wouldn’t let him die without his best effort, and Anakin’s best efforts were often uncannily similar to miracles. 

He was no doubt single-handedly storming the bridge of Trench’s warship to get the final digit of the deactivation code personally. Obi-Wan could picture it very clearly in his imagination, a sight grown familiar over the last three years of war. Anakin’s fighting was poetry in motion, and the droids didn’t stand a chance. 

Anakin intimidating information out of a reluctant witness was a familiar sight too, though Obi-Wan’s appreciation of that deed was filled with a great deal more guilt. 

He grit his teeth, trying to stay focused in the here and now. The timer was counting down, and no information was forthcoming. Obi-Wan tried to look into the Force again, to see if he could sense the final digit of the sequence. He was not bad at manipulating electronics with the Force; usually he could pick most any lock with enough time and attention. 

The stakes were just too high to fiddle with it and risk a premature detonation, but it was also looking more and more like the only way to prevent his own death and the ruin of all the Republic shipyards. He reached deeper into the Force, sliding himself into even deeper meditation, when suddenly he felt a strange flux in the Force around him.

His never-completely-severed training bond with Anakin was prickling, a tentative press of Anakin’s mind that quickly became forceful as a tidal wave.

“It’s seven!”

Anakin was apparently pushing the last number of the bomb diffusing sequence at Obi-Wan directly through the Force. What was wrong with his com? Anakin was in orbit, it should have been impossible to hear him from this far enough away—the surge of energy required was enormous. It wouldn’t have been possible for anyone else, but he was managing it with sheer willpower. 

“Seven!”

Obi-Wan shook his head, beginning to feel like someone was kicking in the back of his skull. The whispers grew louder and louder, almost as though Anakin were standing behind him, speaking ever more clearly. 

“Seven, seven, seven!”  

Obi-Wan ignored the discomfort and refocused. He used the Force to move the last slider to seven, his heart pounding as the light flicked from red to green and all of the bomb’s lights went out. The litany of “Seven! Seven!” in Anakin’s voice also abruptly stopped, and Obi-Wan exhaled hard in relief. 

“Yes!” Anakin must have been notified the bomb had been successfully disarmed. “I did it! Stupid kriffing comlink almost killed Obi-Wan, why didn’t it connect? Sith hells.” Obi-Wan’s relief was quickly mixing with confusion as he continued to hear the monologue of Anakin’s thoughts. “Whatever, I’ll fix it later. He’s safe! I did it. He’ll be fine, they’ll all be fine. I did it…” 

Finally the words began to really fade as Anakin’s mind retreated, the distance between them too great for him to maintain the link for long, especially after he’d apparently stopped even trying, yet Obi-Wan could still hear him—Anakin was so absurdly powerful.

The last distinguishable words were speculative. “I bet this frigate has the self-destruct mechanism for the whole fleet…”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, turning to leave. Of course.

2. Koris II

Alone in his tent, Obi-Wan floated. 

Hovering in lotus pose a few inches above the dirty floor, he enjoyed his first moment of relative peace in days. Koris II was absolutely crawling with droids. It had taken a long and brutal slog through the damp and muck to establish a foothold on the planet, but they’d done it, he and Anakin and the 212th. 

The busy chatter of troopers making camp was audible above the patter of the rain on the plasto-canvas roof. If not for Cody ushering him into the newly-erected tent under strict instructions to get some rest, Obi-Wan would probably be helping them. 

Forced into inaction, he realized how badly he’d needed this. It felt like a burden was being lifted as he shut his eyes and let himself slip into a meditative state. His muscles relaxed and his conscious perception dulled, slipping instead into the Unifying Force, his body rising as he fell into sync with the space around him.

He could feel so much—the clones, each a unique point of light in the Force; the writhing vitality of thousands of tiny beings in the earth beneath his feet; the roiling currents of the clouds above, themselves an integral part of the planet’s life cycle. Obi-Wan gently acknowledged each one, and then let them go, to vibrate at the very edge of his awareness. 

One presence was much harder to ignore. Anakin was so close by, in his own tent but only separated by a few feet. Obi-Wan could feel him pacing back and forth, somehow still filled with restless energy. He’d certainly gotten used to meditating around his former Padawan long ago, but it never exactly got easier. As always, it felt something like staring into the sun. 

In this relaxed state, he could sense the tinge of Anakin’s signature, darkened by worry and strain. It was obvious that he was obsessing over the recent battle, turning every moment over and over in search of any mistakes, any weaknesses. Obi-Wan wished he wouldn’t torture himself like this, not that he had a leg to stand on when he himself did the same so often.

“Up and over the wall, I should have thrown that droid instead of using my saber, that cost a few seconds—”

Obi-Wan started as he recognized that he was hearing Anakin’s actual thoughts, as clearly as if Anakin were murmuring them directly in his ear. The realization caused him to tense slightly, yanking his consciousness up a level from its tranquil meditative state. 

It was, truthfully, concerning. 

Ever since defusing the bomb on Anaxes, he’d been catching more inadvertent glimpses of Anakin’s mind. But they usually consisted of a few words or a split-second image at most—certainly nothing in the realm of the sustained monologue of Anakin’s stream of consciousness that Obi-Wan was now receiving. 

The effort required to push the rest of the deactivation sequence to him must have opened up a new dimension of their bond, and Obi-Wan’s meditative state had allowed it to fully connect. It was as if a hazy holofilm complete with commentary was playing on the back of his eyelids, and it was distracting. 

Obi-Wan decided firmly to tell Anakin tonight. He’d been toying with the idea of doing so for days, putting it off while he tried to improve his own shielding, but things had clearly reached a tipping point. Anakin definitely wouldn’t appreciate his old Master rifling around in his head this deeply without permission. 

That settled, Obi-Wan tried to sink back into deep meditation, with mixed success. Anakin’s thoughts still intruded, remaining in his peripheral vision, as it were. As Obi-Wan futilely took himself through breathing exercises, he was treated to a montage of the day’s events, Anakin’s warmth in the Force oscillating slightly as he continued to pace his tent.

“Obi-Wan was so good against those Magnaguards, taking on three at once, his focus was incredible...”

He remembered the moment all too well—mostly how Anakin, cornered, had pushed a frantic call for help through the bond and he’d practically hurled himself across the battlefield to answer it. But watching it replayed through Anakin’s perspective was strange, to say the least. The version of himself in the memory looked intent and dangerous, his lightsaber a deadly blur as he finished off the droids before turning to look at Anakin with an expression that he, now, hardly recognized on his own face. 

Protective. He looked protective. 

The images began to play again as Anakin sat down heavily and kicked up—must he?—his muddy boots onto his freshly made bunk. Obi-Wan looked on with curiosity, wondering what Anakin found so fascinating in the memory. Did he still watch his former Master with the eye of a Padawan, still seek to emulate and learn from him? The thought made Obi-Wan warm with unbecoming pride. 

The warmth only seemed to grow and grow as he watched himself reach down and help Anakin up, and heard himself, voice rough with exertion, ask “Are you alright, Padawan?” The memory flashed again, and sharp, confusing heat coiled and pooled in his gut. 

He suddenly realized that this, too, was Anakin’s, pouring into him through the open bond. He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, because it wasn’t possible. But it was happening, as somewhere close by Anakin rucked up his tunics with impatient fingers. As he thoughtlessly ground his palm against his rapidly hardening cock. 

Obi-Wan felt the wash of pleasure that followed, felt Anakin’s quiet gasp echo in his very bones in a counterpoint to the memory of his own voice. 

“No!”

The vehement denial burst so quickly through the bond that it wasn’t clear where it originated. Anakin jerked his hand away from his cock as though burned. “No, remember, I can’t...”

Obi-Wan let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to regain his calm. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t think about what had just happened, what it implied... 

But he could still hear Anakin, as frustratingly strong as ever. He was trying to calm himself too. “No, not that, think about something else...” Anakin’s hand returned to the fastening of his trousers, his thoughts redirecting suddenly to brown eyes and soft skin. “Yes, that’s good, think of Padmé, the last time we saw each other... think of your wife—”

The last tenuous thread of Obi-Wan’s focus snapped, and he crashed to the ground.

“Master?” Anakin’s confused voice filtered through the tent walls. “Are you alright?” He sounded surprisingly level, considering what he’d just been—

Obi-Wan forcibly cut off that train of thought. 

“Fine, thank you!” he called back, pushing himself to a sitting position with a wince. His meditation hadn’t failed so spectacularly since he was a Padawan. 

“Are you sure? That sounded like it hurt.”

“I said, I’m fine,” Obi-Wan snapped. A bruised tailbone was nothing in the scope of the injuries he’d received in the past month alone. “I’m going to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.” 

“Okay...” Anakin replied doubtfully. “What is his problem? He was in a good mood earlier, I don’t understand ...”

Obi-Wan slammed his shields up, focusing hard and shutting Anakin out entirely. He didn’t want to hear any more. He certainly didn’t want to think about what he’d just heard. 

But as he lay in his narrow bunk later, the omnipresent rain still pattering against the ceiling, he couldn’t help but turn it over and over in his mind. 

Think of Padmé... think of your wife...

He’d known, or he thought he had, about this attachment. He hadn’t known that Anakin had gone so far as to formalize it, to pledge himself—

For once, Obi-Wan let himself fume, both unwilling and unable to give the feelings to the Force. Anakin was too sensitive to him, and would notice. Notice and ask. Obi-Wan didn’t want to talk to him. Not about this, and not about…

The cutting knowledge of Anakin’s betrayal was somehow easier to face than the reality of Anakin’s eyes on him, Anakin’s desire, Anakin’s pleasure... 

Though tranquility ultimately escaped him, sheer exhaustion finally carried him into a fitful sleep as rain fell ever harder on the canvas above. With his last conscious thought, he realized both that he hadn’t told Anakin about the bond, and that he likely never would.  

3. Koris II

Obi-Wan turned his face to the sun and inhaled deeply, listening to the far off sounds of birds in the trees. He smiled as he exhaled—the relief of lower humidity was very real. It felt as though he was taking his first breath of fresh air in weeks, and in a way, it was even true. 

The Koris campaign had thus far consisted mostly of endless hours huddled in the command tent, staying out of the endless rain and bickering endlessly over strategy and supply chains. 

It had quickly become clear that such arguments were pointless, only good for passing the time as the barrage of their long-range artillery wore down the enemy shield generator the hard way. The only real breaks in the monotony were brief, intensely unpleasant interludes of combat when the Separatist leadership sent out droids in an attempt to dislodge their base. 

Those days were preferable. On those days, Obi-Wan had the privilege of crawling into his bunk—muddy, spent, and aching—and finding swift and easy rest. Sleep meant peace, something that was increasingly difficult to come by while trapped in close quarters with Anakin.

Anakin, Anakin’s secrets, and Anakin’s kriffing overactive imagination.  

Obi-Wan huffed and gracefully executed the steps of his kata, doing his best to push his frustration into the Force. It was difficult—much more than it should have been. He’d allowed the whole situation to fester in a way he would never normally consider. It was hardly his fault. How was he supposed to give emotions to the Force when he was afraid to even meditate? 

This was the first time he’d tried in days, and it was sorely needed.

In what felt like a miracle, the clouds had parted half an hour ago, granting a brief reprieve from the unceasing rain. Obi-Wan had wasted no time in finding a secluded corner of the camp with room to work. Moving meditation would help, he was sure. Katas strengthened the focus when a practitioner found themselves restless or susceptible to outside influence. His success using the method in Anakin’s training had certainly proved that much. 

Obi-Wan scowled at the thought, fighting to maintain his slow, deliberate pace as he moved into a series of strikes. It was because of Anakin that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—meditate. Anakin’s thoughts were so loud in the bond. Obi-Wan could mostly shut them out, most of the time. Mostly. But his usual efforts at meditation always seemed to tune him in to the fullest spectrum broadcast. 

Audio and visual.  

That wasn’t necessarily a problem, in theory. It was just that Obi-Wan kept hearing and seeing things that he shouldn’t and didn’t want to know about, in often excruciating detail. It wasn’t every time, but it was enough. 

So it was an immense relief to be outside, alone, the bond dulled by distraction and distance. Obi-Wan’s robe and tunics lay shucked on a nearby crate. He appreciated the pallid warmth of the planet’s sun on his face, the play of a light breeze against his skin, and the ability to stretch beyond the confines of a tent. He moved through the katas again and again, his calm deepening until his muscles shook with exertion but his mind was blissfully blank.

He barely had a chance to appreciate his success. Without warning, he was hit with a wave of emotion through the bond—a split second of surprise, quickly giving way to appreciation and arousal so intense that Obi-Wan stumbled over his footwork. 

He quickly righted himself, hoping Anakin hadn’t noticed the mistake—Anakin, who had just rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks at the sight of Obi-Wan stripped to his undertunic in the sunlight. The weight of his attention was palpable. Obi-Wan didn’t have to open his eyes to know he was being watched.

“Force, does he have any idea how he looks?” Anakin’s voice was low and intimate through the bond, full of frustrated, incredulous longing. “He’s so strong. I mean I know he’s strong but his arms—look at his arms. Stupid karking robes, wish I could see this all the time…” There was an unusually clear mental projection of what Obi-Wan would look like cutting through droids wearing only his undertunic, arms bare.

Heat gathered in Obi-Wan’s cheeks as he struggled to perform the kata to his usual standard while Anakin stood by and fantasized about him. It was much more difficult to move smoothly while muting and withholding his presence in the Force. Antithetical to the entire point of meditation, but… now was definitely not the time to let slip how much he could hear. "Maybe I should ask him to spar, maybe he'll throw me down again—he was so close, lightsaber to my neck, he smelled so good..."

As much as Obi-Wan had hoped he would just look and then leave, or look and then ask him whatever he’d come to ask, Anakin did neither. His continued, stealthy observation was just as avid and unashamed, drinking in the shape of Obi-Wan’s body that was so discernible in his relative state of undress. "Maybe he'd even take his shirt off, I want to touch his chest, kriff, look at his thighs, he's so strong..."

Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s eyes lingering everywhere, settling on different parts of him in turn, like he was being branded. He moved to the next form, focusing harder on his footwork and quickening the pace slightly, reciting the Code over and over: There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no chaos—

Anakin’s melodic voice kept echoing in his head, even louder than before, fixating on the exposed line of Obi-Wan’s throat. “Padmé always moans so nicely when I kiss her there, when I kiss her all over, I wonder...” 

An unexpected spike of fury made Obi-Wan stumble again, worse than before, at the shared flashes of Anakin’s memory of pressing soft kisses in a line down a long, graceful neck, and further down, metal and flesh hands gripping a slim waist, sweet noises of pleasure—

Obi-Wan corrected his stance and resumed his mental recitation with greater vehemence. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. He didn’t understand where the anger had come from, but he could interrogate that later. All that mattered right now was that he shouldn’t know this, didn’t want to see this.

“Would he want me to do that?” Suddenly, the scenario shifted, the body beneath Anakin’s becoming broader, more masculine. It was Obi-Wan’s body, Obi-Wan’s fingers entwined with Anakin’s on satiny sheets, Obi-Wan’s gasp of appreciation as Anakin licked a stripe up to his navel, and then down again, and then “No, it wouldn’t be like that, he would be different.” 

Another shift, and Obi-Wan sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath at Anakin sinking to his knees, Obi-Wan threading a hand through his curls and pulling his head back, murmuring “Open up, darling,” and Anakin eagerly complying, wide eyes searching for Obi-Wan’s approval. 

Anakin’s slight embarrassment at allowing himself to think of such a thing bled through the bond, accompanied by a far greater measure of hunger. Obi-Wan’s mind got stuck on the image, on Anakin, kneeling with a plea in his eyes, and he was horrified as he felt his cock twitch with interest against his thigh.

“Would he be gentle? Or would he fuck my face, make me choke—”

Obi-Wan stopped in mid-sequence, shoving the connection away. Enough. “Anakin?” 

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin took a half step back out of surprise but recovered quickly, assuming a falsely casual tone. “You should be more vigilant. I was able to sneak up on you far too easily.” 

Obi-Wan almost laughed and almost screamed. If only Anakin knew exactly how aware of him he was. He instead spoke neutrally, folding his arms across his chest. “Did you need something?” 

Anakin’s confusion bloomed in the bond at his refusal to engage. He looked down momentarily and dug the tip of his boot into the mud. “I came to tell you that I’m going to take a walk. Maybe do some reconnaissance.” 

“Thank you for informing me,” Obi-Wan replied flatly, not needing the Force to interpret Anakin’s resultant flinch or read the hurt shining in his eyes. He sighed, and did his best to soften his voice. “Please be on the lookout for danger. May the Force be with you.” 

“You too, Master.” Anakin inclined his head, turning to leave, his thoughts growing quieter as he walked away. “This campaign is awful, he seems so stressed. Maybe there’s some way I could help, cheer him up...” 

Obi-Wan stared fixedly at a nearby tent until he was gone, determined not to accidentally hear what cheering him up might entail. At least he’d have time to finish his katas. 

Not a tick later, a droplet of rain hit his nose. Obi-Wan sighed. 

It was pouring again by the time Anakin returned. His discovery of an alternate route into the Seperatist base came as such a profound relief that Obi-Wan didn’t even have the heart to scold him for scouting there alone. This planet was a prison, he never thought he’d feel so enthusiastic about the prospect of wading through a sewer. 

He refused to think about what had happened earlier. What kept happening. It was a problem for another time. 

But neither did he try to shut Anakin out, especially not once a spike of alarm in the Force gave him the split-second warning he needed to deflect a blast that might have killed one of his men. Anakin was intently focused on the task at hand. All Obi-Wan needed to do to know his next move, to know if he needed help, was listen. 

He begrudgingly admitted to himself that the ability had its uses. It functioned similar to the battle meditation he’d read about as a Padawan, an invaluable state of heightened mutual and situational awareness. Despite the gulf that seemed to be growing between them lately, they fought better than ever, moving in perfect coordination. Obi-Wan put himself between Anakin and danger as often as he could, and Anakin did the same. They took the Separatist stronghold with little trouble, shortening the projected siege by three months. 

He felt strangely hollow as he informed the Council of their victory, wondering where they’d be sent next. Would they separate him from Anakin? It would be for the best... the time apart would almost certainly weaken the bond, and offer an immediate respite from the torture that was hearing his thoughts... 

Then he thought of Anakin, slipping in the muck as he fought three Magnaguards alone, and suddenly the mere idea of separation turned his stomach. 

“What is our next assignment, Masters?” Obi-Wan asked respectfully. He had to be prepared for the possibility. It was almost certainly for the best. Anakin was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

“We recently received a report from the Supreme Chancellor’s office. Intelligence suggests General Grievous is hiding in the Koobi system with the Techno Union,” said Master Windu. “Now that your supervision is no longer needed for the siege effort, you and Skywalker will take the 212th there while the 501st mops up on Koris II.” 

Obi-Wan sagged slightly and inadvertently let slip an audible sigh of relief. He shouldn’t be relieved. 

“Unless an objection, you have?” Master Yoda asked, catching his reaction even through holo. 

Obi-Wan fixed his posture, clasping his hands behind his back. “No objection. My apologies. I am merely tired from the day’s efforts. Anakin and I are more than up to the task.” 

“Good, good. Go to Nelvaan, you will. Unexpected insight, you may find there.” 

He inclined his head. “We will decamp immediately.”  

“To speak to you privately, I would like, hmm?” Yoda added. 

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. “Of course, Master.” 

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Obi-Wan hardly noticed the other Masters leaving the holocall until they were alone, Yoda watching him steadily with those disconcertingly perceptive eyes. 

The silence began to stretch, so Obi-Wan broke it. “What matter did you wish to discuss?”

“Oh, no matter, no great matter.” There was a long pause while Yoda appraised him again. “Troubled, you seem, young Obi-Wan.” 

Was it that obvious? “I believe this war troubles all of us,” he said diplomatically. 

“Hmm!” Yoda didn’t sound convinced. “Sure, are you, that you do not wish to ask me something?” 

Obi-Wan looked down. He did need guidance. It would be so easy to tell Yoda everything—well, not everything. Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he felt intensely grateful that the holo wouldn’t register it. 

What would the wise Master advise? That he and Anakin were too attached, that they must close or sever their connection? They must know it would be impossible except through years of separation—long enough for them to become strangers to each other again.

Obi-Wan suddenly saw the years stretching into the future alone, being forced to allow Anakin’s presence to fade into a mere memory. He pictured fighting the next battle, the next one, and all the ones after that, without Anakin’s aid, without the bond’s help to protect Anakin. Pictured what might come to pass. 

No. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. He would happily endure countless uncomfortable moments if it meant Anakin was safe and… close. He needed to let him go, but… not yet. Just until the war was over, until Anakin was safe, then he would fix it. Anakin would leave anyway, he was married. He would leave to be with his wife. That was fine. It would be fine. 

Obi-Wan schooled his face to polite blankness and met Yoda’s eyes. “No, Master. I have nothing to tell you.”

4. Above Nelvaan

Nelvaan hung dead center in the Vigilance’s viewport, its blue-green surface almost sparkling against the black of space. Obi-Wan watched it pensively, hands clasped together beneath his sleeves. It was a beautiful sight, he supposed. He hardly appreciated it. 

Exhaustion pulled at him, hanging on his shoulders like a sodden cloak. Sleep and meditation both continued to elude him; he’d spent most of the hyperspace journey pacing his bunk, trying to shut out Anakin’s thoughts, Anakin’s dreams. It was unbearable.

One long-ago afternoon when he was only a Padawan, trapped reading in the Archives on another of Master Qui-Gon’s obscure assignments, Obi-Wan had read an account of an unusual and memorable type of interrogation from Kuat—the victim was tied down and driven insane over hours or days by nothing but a slow drip of water on the forehead.

Naive teenager that he was at the time, he’d been incredulous at the idea that something so simple and painless could drive someone to spill their secrets. He’d been unfortunate enough to find himself under various creative tortures several times in the intervening years, but never the Kuatian method. 

Now, here, Obi-Wan thought he finally understood. Anakin was torturing him. Each fantasy that he was forced to endure was like another droplet of water. Every time he had to watch himself touching Anakin, his sanity eroded, and every time Anakin guiltily redirected his thoughts to Padmé, his grasp on self-control became more tenuous. 

He wanted to scream, to throw something—hardly the conduct of a Master Jedi.

Sometimes, Obi-Wan found himself fantasizing about grabbing Anakin by the shoulders, shaking him, anything to make him stop thinking. The most maddening part was that his hands were tied by his own choice; he was the one who had decided to keep the egregious invasion of privacy a secret. He simply had to endure, day after day. Drip after drip. 

Obi-Wan’s wrist comm pinged, pulling him from his reverie. He sighed in relief—it was an alert from Cody letting him know the planetary reconnaissance scan was ready for review. With only a short pause to forward the summons to Anakin, he turned and hurried to the briefing room. 

He had to hope that they could settle matters on Nelvaan quickly. If they finished before Master Plo and the 104th wrapped up their campaign, then the 212th would be sent back to Coruscant instead. It was the only light on the horizon, the only possible way out of this mess. 

Once they were on Coruscant, Obi-Wan would have some much-needed space. He could meditate in the Room of a Thousand Fountains under his favorite tree, and let the familiar fresh scent and hushed whispers ease his way to peace. He could finally firm up his shields and regain his equilibrium. He could untangle his mind from Anakin’s, and begin to let him go.

Coruscant too would reunite Anakin with Padmé, and he would get what he really wanted and needed. Obi-Wan was sure that the months of distance from his wife were responsible for Anakin having developed this abominable, passing fixation on his old Master, and proximity would fix it. He would fuck his wife, and forget about Obi-Wan, and things would be right again. The thought made him feel strangely empty. It was the right thing to do. 

Cody was waiting alone by the map table when he arrived. Obi-Wan took the opportunity to confer with him about some logistical matters, grateful for the distraction of conversation and the numbing effect of duty. He was a Jedi. He was a General. This is what mattered. This is who he was. He did his best to ignore his rising sense of irritation at Anakin’s continued absence. It was fine.

Several minutes passed before Anakin half-walked, half-jogged onto the bridge, out of breath and flushed. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but glance critically at his appearance—his robes were askew and his hair looked even more of a mess than usual, which was saying something. 

“Kriff, I kept him waiting,” Anakin’s voice echoed in the back of his mind. He ran a hand through his curls, disheveling them even further, before speaking out loud. “Sorry about that, I got here as quickly as I could.” 

“I do hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” Obi-Wan sniped, and then regretted it immediately as Anakin recalled being facedown in his bunk, muffling whimpers into his pillow as he worked two slick fingers inside, searching for that perfect spot, rubbing his aching, leaking cock against the sheets...

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened and he nearly choked, then cursed himself. He should be used to this by now, should be getting better at hiding his reactions, not worse. Fortunately, Anakin was too preoccupied with his own embarrassment as he cast about for an excuse to notice. 

“I was asleep.” Anakin’s tone was falsely casual. “Ever heard of sleeping? Try it sometime, you might like it.” 

Cody coughed, and Obi-Wan sighed heavily, looking away. He focused back on the map, deliberately not taking in Anakin’s bright eyes, his plush lips that he’d no doubt bitten pink and swollen as he’d touched himself, fucked himself with his fingers, did Padmé finger— “I’ll take it under advisement. Cody, will you pull up the data now that General Skywalker has been kind enough to join us?” 

“At once, sir.” Cody touched his datapad, and a rotating hologram of Nelvaan appeared above the map table. Obi-Wan tried to focus on it, but Anakin’s anxiety-laden thoughts continued to echo, playing havoc with his ability to concentrate. 

“Obi-Wan looks so pissed... does he know? Can he tell? No, there’s no way. It would probably never even occur to him.” Anakin’s Force signature emanated a mixture of relief and disappointment. “He doesn’t think about me like that.” 

“General?” 

Obi-Wan blinked, and realized that Cody had asked him something, or perhaps told him something important, and was waiting for his response. He wanted to kick himself. He should be better at shutting Anakin out—he had to be better. 

“Apologies, could you repeat that last? My thoughts wandered for a moment.” 

Cody nodded, slight surprise at Obi-Wan’s inattention registering on his stoic face. “Yes, sir. As I said, the surface scan picked up no evidence of enemy forces.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “How strange. The report from the Chancellor’s office seemed definitive.” 

Cody nodded. “It did, so I triple-checked the data. From what we can tell, it seems that the Separatists haven’t been on Nelvaan in months. There’s no sign of the Techno Union or Grievous.” 

Obi-Wan frowned at the holo of the planet, as if it were at fault for Grievous’s absence. He stroked his beard, thinking hard. The deck of the cruiser hummed around them, the troopers' familiar chatter and routine movements oddly muted by the chaotic haze of Anakin’s mind.

“So that’s it, then,” Anakin huffed. “We’re already done here.” His voice was flat but his thoughts were a frustrated whine. “I can’t believe I got dressed and rushed all the way here for nothing. I was so close, it hurts.” 

A sharp retort welled up in Obi-Wan’s throat. He wanted to tell Anakin to just kriffing leave, then, go back to his bunk and— no. He couldn’t respond to Anakin’s thoughts. It was far, far too late for that. He took a slow breath, trying to let the frustration pass, measuring his reply.

“Patience, if you please.” Obi-Wan glared at him, at his flushed cheeks and wild hair. “I sense there is more to this situation than meets the eye, Anakin.”

“Like what?” Anakin folded his arms, his tone sullen. The blankness of his face didn’t match the spike of feelings in the Force. “He’s so angry! I can see he’s angry, kriff, how does he even expect me to concentrate when I can actually see the anger on his face, it’s so good…”

Good? 

Obi-Wan blinked in confusion, trying to refocus on what he’d been about to say. He gestured vaguely towards the north of the planet. “There’s a Force nexus on Nelvaan, here, in the mountains. The caves there are strong in the Dark Side. Such a site could be ideal for a covert installation, protected from Jedi interference. All of which you would know, Anakin, if you had reviewed the supplementary materials from Master Yoda,” he added pointedly. 

Anakin looked down at his boots, his Force signature saturating with embarrassment and arousal. “You know I never read those.” “I tried but I couldn’t, how could I—it’s been so long, too long...” An image flashed, a tangled mess of sensations: being held tight enough to bruise, his cock aching to be touched, a heated voice murmuring in his ear: “So good for me, such a good boy.”

“I am aware, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said tightly. 

“Sorry Master, I’m so sorry. Please…” Anakin’s fantasy immediately resolved into a crystal clear image of Obi-Wan striding around the holotable and grabbing him by the neck, bending him over the console with one hand on his lower back, making him arch and whine, the other hand roughly yanking down his pants and spanking him hard. 

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, crossing his arms over his chest. His cock throbbed, and he tried to ignore the unnecessary sensation—it was always both better and worse when Anakin was fantasizing about him. At least it wasn’t Padmé, and he wasn’t invading the Senator’s privacy too. Yet.

He knew from experience that it was only a matter of time before Anakin’s passing fantasy of his Master would be replaced with an image of his wife. It always happened sooner or later, with a tidal wave of guilt. Obi-Wan assumed that no matter what stray thoughts Anakin had about him, he always came thinking about his wife. It didn’t matter who Anakin thought about as he came. Why would it possibly matter?

“Interesting, sir,” Cody was saying. He adjusted the resolution of the map, the planet replaced by a topographical of the surface. “There was some unusual geothermal activity in Sector 8.” 

Anakin’s silent voice continued, almost deafening, his tone fervent. “Force, I’m already so slick and open, he could fuck me here with no prep—just shove his cock in roughly, make me take it, punish me for being late.”

Obi-Wan felt a sudden swell of something like temptation to do exactly that, and clenched his fists. Why hadn’t Anakin switched to Padmé yet? Why was it still him? Why was his own cock so hard, heat coiling in his gut, his heart racing? He couldn't possibly be getting off on this. It wasn't acceptable. He didn't like it. He didn't.

Anakin met his eyes across the table. "I would be so good for him, please. I want to be good."

“Really?” Obi-Wan muttered irritably. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled as an image from the bond filled his mind, a vivid, detailed flash of him fucking Anakin raw, coming inside him. He doesn't really want that, he can't. Why isn't he thinking of Padmé? 

“I believe so.” Cody sounded politely confused. “I’ll pull up the data, sir, if you’d like to check it over yourself.” 

Obi-Wan’s face heated slightly as he realized he’d inadvertently snapped at his Commander. “No, thank you, Cody. I think your report has been sufficient." His voice sounded clipped, intent on ending the briefing. "Let’s have a squadron prepared to go planetside at once. We need to investigate the nexus in Sector 8.” 

“Right now? I was busy,” Anakin whined. “I need to come so bad, it hurts, Master, please, let me come.” Anakin’s bed and his ‘fresher flashed in his thoughts—sense memories of pleasure, his cock pulsing, his come spilling into his hand. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but glare at him. “Busy sleeping?”

“Right, sorry.” Anakin’s desire only spiked at Obi-Wan’s dirty look, the fantasy of being fucked over the console flashing again. Obi-Wan’s frown deepened. It made no sense. He should be thinking about Padmé by now.

“Think of it this way,” Obi-Wan said slowly, stepping away. “The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can get back to Coruscant.”

Anakin blinked at him, a strange sense of dread welling up in the Force. “What do you mean?” 

“Just a feeling.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “Won’t it be a relief to get a break from looking at your old Master’s face day and night? See the Chancellor, your other friends?”  

“Yes, Master.” Anakin’s voice sounded distant, his sense of guilt rising sharply. 

Obi-Wan nodded with grim satisfaction. The guilt meant he remembered his wife. It was over. He left the briefing room, his cock aching, exhausted. Just get him to Coruscant. Get him to Padmé. It would all be over.

5. Nelvaan

Obi-Wan stood silently beside the tribe’s shaman on a ledge overlooking the entrance to their cave, watching Anakin return at the head of a large band of locals. His eyes widened as he recognized how mutated and damaged they all were, and that Anakin was missing his right hand. How in the Force did he lose his hand?

The wind was cold, and Obi-Wan pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He hadn’t liked that the locals insisted Anakin go alone into the caves due to some prophecy. The quietness of Anakin’s absence in the Force was ending rapidly as he approached—Obi-Wan could feel his presence so clearly.

There was a long, anxious pause around him, and then the villagers all swarmed forward, embracing and welcoming home all those who had been taken and experimented on. It was all very touching, but Obi-Wan could not focus on the reunions—Anakin hadn’t come forward with the rest, and was in the back, standing to the side. He was strangely unable to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes, focusing instead on unsaddling his shaggy bantha and brushing it down. 

Obi-Wan studied Anakin curiously without crossing over to him, giving him space. He was shirtless and filthy, and the blue ceremonial tattoos insisted upon by the tribe’s shaman were standing out vividly against his pale skin. His broad chest almost seemed to glow with a sheen of sweat—his muscled back and shoulders flexing as he swung the saddle off. He looked exhausted, and troubled. 

Obi-Wan hardly had to reach out in the Force to sense Anakin’s distress, his mood registered as something close to a hurricane.

Images and words flooded by too fast through the bond for Obi-Wan to really understand. It appeared that Anakin’s trip through the caves had indeed been the ordeal that Master Yoda had warned them about. Obi-Wan knew well what happened when one went into places steeped in the dark side. For a Jedi, it was like a waking nightmare—coming face-to-face with ones’ greatest fears, and confronting the hardest truths about oneself. 

It seemed that Anakin had not liked what he’d seen.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and listened for a moment, taking advantage of the bond in a way that he knew was wrong, but his curiosity and concern overrode that particular inhibition. He focused, and heard a woman scream Anakin’s name, repeating over and over. Not in pleasure, but in something closer to pain. It was both fear and desperation. She—Padmé presumably—sounded afraid for him.

Anakin looked over furtively, and his interior monologue became suddenly intelligible. “I wish I lived in a version of reality where Obi-Wan would give me a kriffing hug right now. I want him to, so bad. I wish I could go over and bury my face in his neck and hold on tight, and he would wrap his arms around me, hold me close forever and I’d be safe and it’d all be okay. Padmé would give me a hug, I guess, if she were here. If I asked Obi-Wan he would hate me forever, I’d be such a failure. I can’t lose him, I need him. I need him so much.”

Obi-Wan pulled himself back from the bond with a physical flinch, shaken by Anakin’s low, stressed voice saying “I need him so much.”

But withdrawing wasn’t enough—Anakin’s words followed him back to his own mind, even without effort to spy on Obi-Wan’s part. “What if he held me, and told me I did a good job, that I’m a good person, a good Jedi, the best Jedi, his Padawan, his favorite.”  

Anakin’s looping visualization of burying his face into Obi-Wan’s neck and smelling his familiar scent abruptly shifted, as if falling back down into a familiar rut in his mind—Anakin straddling Obi-Wan’s lap naked on their sofa in the Jedi Temple, his head still buried in Obi-Wan’s neck, both of them breathing hard, with Obi-Wan’s thick cock fucking up into him as he held him close, whispering, “So good for me, Padawan, you—”

The vision disappeared, followed by an immense surge of guilt that Obi-Wan guessed had something to do with thinking about someone other than his wife.

He was quickly proved right, when Padmé’s scream from the cave vision echoed in Anakin’s mind again, his thoughts racing. “It had been months since I’ve even seen her, weeks since Rex set up the secure channel. Why was she screaming? I would have sensed if she was in danger, right? How can I protect her if I’m not even there? What if she gets hurt because of me?” A flicker through his mind of soft sheets, silky skin, warm brown eyes, that rapidly slid back into blue eyes, strong arms, thick cock. “I want him to...”

Obi-Wan shook his head and rolled his shoulders back, remembering who he was—Jedi, General, Ambassador—and what he was supposed to do. It was selfish of him to listen, and selfish of him to want to know.

Anakin was fantasizing about the only available comfort. It didn’t mean more than that, and Obi-Wan shouldn’t focus on it. Once Anakin was back with Padmé it would stop. Soon enough, Anakin would be gone too, choosing her over the Order. Obi-Wan would have peace in his mind again. 

Obi-Wan would be alone.

He turned on his heel and headed back inside the caves occupied by the villagers. He observed politely as they began a traditional ceremony, dancing in costume to welcome home their fighters from battle. He discussed the events as he understood them with the shaman, and reassured them of the Republic’s commitment to keep the Techno Union away from their planet in the future.

Anakin’s presence in the Force remained a roiling mess, but he was far enough away that Obi-Wan could mostly ignore it. Eventually, his duties discharged, Obi-Wan couldn’t take it anymore. He wandered up to a ledge above the main area, seeking Anakin out. He found him still bare-chested, his cloak tossed over his shoulders, watching the dances with a thousand-yard stare. 

Obi-Wan could finally see the whole vision from the dark side cave in Anakin’s calmer mind, looping again and again, searching for meaning— a figure losing an arm, gaining a replacement that grew stronger and stronger as it protected the others, until the arm turned back on them, slaughtering those he’d been trying to protect, the violence growing overwhelming. 

Obi-Wan frowned, thoughtful. Was the figure Anakin, the cave showing him a version of his future? Is that the truth of the darkest part of who he was—an indiscriminate weapon, dangerous to everyone around him? Of course that was upsetting, no wonder he’s distressed.

He coughed, causing Anakin to startle slightly, breaking off from his looping thoughts.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, putting a whole sentence and question in the word. 

Anakin glanced at him and then looked down, shrugging. Obi-Wan sighed. “I sense that something is troubling you.” He drew closer, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur, trying to ease Anakin’s burden slightly. “Tell me more of your experience in the cave.”

Anakin shrugged again, still not looking at Obi-Wan. “I was shown a vision.” His left hand fiddled with the mechanical remnants of his shorn right hand, his mind racing, replaying the end of the vision over and over. His voice was absent, and casual, as he stared at the dancers. “Do you think they’ll be able to reclaim their old lives?”

Obi-Wan could feel viscerally that the question was about more than the villagers—Anakin’s vision of the future had scared him, and he wanted Obi-Wan to reassure him that it wouldn’t come true. He wasn’t a weapon. He wasn’t dangerous. Obi-Wan nodded slowly, his voice solemn. “I sense they will, Anakin. As long as each of them is willing to accept themself.” 

Anakin’s face grew stormy, his thoughts flickering by so quickly that Obi-Wan could hardly make them out. The figure’s overpowered arm killing the villagers, Padmé screaming, Obi-Wan turning his back on him, being alone in the dark, repeating over and over.

“Come on, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said gently. His hand twitched as if to lay it on Anakin’s arm, but he dropped it to his side without touching him. “You should rest. You did good work today, and we can leave. I’ve already said our farewells to the shaman and elders. You don’t have to worry about formalities, we can just go.”

Anakin nodded, exhausted and grateful, his thoughts still churning. The shuttle ride back to their Cruiser was technically silent, but Obi-Wan was almost deafened by Anakin’s anxiety and confusion in the Force. It was a relief to exit into the large hanger, but he noted the hurt in Anakin’s eyes when he made his excuses and tried to leave quickly.

He’d urged Anakin to sleep, but he’d refused. He wouldn’t sleep until he’d fixed his arm, couldn’t possibly sleep, and Obi-Wan hadn’t bothered trying to argue with him about it. His head was aching from the continual vibration of Anakin’s thoughts in the back of his head, and he had fled, ever hopeful that the increase in distance would muffle Anakin at least slightly. 

It worked, but only slightly. Not enough for Obi-Wan to sleep or meditate, so he lay on his bunk, fully dressed except for his boots, staring at the ceiling and trying to shut Anakin out enough to find any sort of equilibrium away from his dark and brooding mood, flashes of the cave, Padmé’s scream, his own face, over and over. 

He exhaled hard and sat up, running his hands through his hair. Apparently, the only way to rest was to go look for him—to see if he can set his mind at ease somehow. Maybe he could offer Anakin some hope for the future, reassure him that the vision wouldn’t come to pass. He could remind him of the other choice, the one that would definitely avoid the darkest path.  

Obi-Wan pulled back on his boots and left the room, sleep abandoned for now. He knew by all rights he should head to the MedLab, where Anakin should be getting a new prosthesis fixed by the medical droids, but he knew that wasn’t right. He could feel Anakin down lower, in the hangar of the ship. 

He was right—Anakin was still by their shuttle, kneeling by his R2 unit. He was letting the astromech help him attach a spare prosthetic arm. Why he couldn’t use an actual medical droid for this purpose escaped Obi-Wan entirely. 

The droid beeped a question, and Anakin sighed, murmuring a response. “No, Artoo. There are things that are far more painful.” The images cycled again— Padmé screaming, Obi-Wan turning his back, being alone in the dark.

Obi-Wan crossed the hanger and stopped, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I might find you here.”

Anakin looked fixedly at the ground. “Just finishing up. See?” He twisted his wrist, touching each metal finger to the thumb in quick succession, and then clenching and releasing his fist. “Good as new.”

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan said slowly, gathering his thoughts. Perhaps the surety of Padmé’s—his wife’s—embrace on the other side of the war would be enough to calm him, relieve him of the burden of pretending to be something he was not. 

Anakin gave him a quizzical look, head cocked to the side, his thoughts a flurry of, “Always feels so good, sitting looking up at him as he says my name—it’s like he’s teaching me again, my old Master. His tabards are messy, I bet I could suck his cock so easily from here, he’d just need to step forward, open his pants, put his cock in my mouth.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and moved backward, sitting down on a crate as Anakin began to chastise himself “No! Kriffing Sith damn hells, stop it. Stop it. You have to stop.”

Obi-Wan spoke, making his voice as calm and understanding as possible. “The most difficult trial a Jedi must face is to look inside oneself. Often we see things we don’t like, Anakin, but these aspects are not set in stone. It is our decisions that shape our destinies.”

“Our decisions,” Anakin echoed blankly. “Destinies?”

“You have choices, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, as gently as possible. “The future isn’t something to be afraid of. You don’t have to… you don’t have to wrestle with yourself, tear yourself apart like this.”

“What do you mean, like this?” Anakin asked, his thoughts full of, “Choices? What choices? What kriffing choices have I ever had?”

“Choices for the future, after the war. If you’ve looked inside and found that… found that the Jedi way is not what you want…” Obi-Wan said delicately, his throat feeling oddly tight. He ran a hand over his beard, smoothing his face.  

“What?” Anakin was horrified. “What are you talking about?”

“I will support you with whatever decision you make, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, feeling slightly ill, unsure whether what he was feeling was his or Anakin’s nerves. “It’s important to me that you know that.”

Anakin shook his head sharply. “What decision, Obi-Wan?”

“Leaving the Order,” Obi-Wan said, beginning to get confused as to why Anakin was so very confused. It had to have occurred to him. It had to have been the plan when they got married. Surely—

Anakin stood up, apparently unable to sit still. He was staring at Obi-Wan intently. “Why would I leave the Order? Are you kicking me out? Why? Is the Council—”

“No,” Obi-Wan cut him off. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. How to do this without revealing the bond? “I have known you for a very long time, Anakin. I’ve trained you since you were a small boy. You can’t deny that I know you, better than… almost anyone.”

Anakin ran his hand through his hair, his presence in the Force a bubbling mess of unintelligible thoughts. “Obi-Wan, what—”

Obi-Wan raised his hand in an appeasing gesture. “As an observer, and a friend, Anakin, not as your Master, but as your friend, I’ve seen how unhappy you’ve become, and I have a guess at the cause.” A very good guess.

“You do?” Anakin’s thoughts were very loud. “He knows? How does he know? I was so careful, I was so sure he didn’t.” His spoken words were much quieter. “How did you find out?”

“You’re not very subtle, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, pushing aside thoughts of the bond, thinking back on all the obvious signs of the mutual and ongoing attachment between Anakin and Padmé that he had tried very hard to remain blind to for the last three years. “It’s obvious.”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said, voice rough. He thought, “I bet he hates me now, he’s disgusted, no wonder he wants me to leave.” He cleared his throat and said, “I didn’t mean to upset you with my feelings, I—” 

“I’m not upset, Anakin,” Obi-Wan reassured him, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice and off his face. “You’ve done your best to stay with the Jedi for the war effort, and both the Republic and I appreciate that, I really do, but I know how much of a burden it is. I’m just trying to say that… if you look inside and decide that your path is with Padmé, I will support your choice to leave the Order.”

“Padmé?” Anakin’s mouth dropped slightly before he closed it with a snap. His brow furrowed deeply. “You’re talking about my… my relationship with Padmé?”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan turned the word into a question. “Why, what did you—”

“It’s not important,” Anakin cut him off, waving a hand as though clearing smoke from the air. “Why does that mean I have to leave the Order?”

Obi-Wan tried to find his way around the word wife. “I can sense that your attachment to the Senator is very strong, and it is causing you distress to be parted from her. You cannot be a Knight and have a… an attachment like that.” 

“Attachment,” Anakin’s brow furrowed, and he almost spat the word. Obi-Wan could hear his mutinous train of thought: “Attachment makes me stronger, better, not worse. There’s no reason I have to leave the Order, this is absurd, unfair.”

“Anakin—” Obi-Wan began, and was cut off, both jumping slightly when the R2 unit beeped several times rapidly in succession. 

Anakin frowned. “Someone using the ‘Fulcrum’ frequency?” His eyes found Obi-Wan’s, filled with concern. “Is it Saw Gerrera?”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed and he absently brought a hand to his chin, stroking his beard in thought at the ramifications—trying to remember the war, what was important and appropriate for him to think about. “Perhaps the siege at Onderon has taken a turn for the worse.”

The R2 unit beeped again, and even Obi-Wan could tell that it was a negative. 

Anakin listened closely to the droid’s continued chirping, and then gave Obi-Wan a concerned look. “Yularen is going to request we take the transmission on the bridge. Both of us. It’s… it’s Ahsoka and Bo Katan.”

Obi-Wan had a very bad feeling about this.

+1

The blue light of the holo flickered off, and Admiral Yularen’s face was professionally bland as he waited for orders.

Anakin still looked slightly thunderstruck, the Force around him trembling with a heady mix of emotions. Obi-Wan nodded his approval for their coordinates to be sent to Ahsoka and Bo Katan for rendezvous with the Vigilance. He turned on his heel and walked quickly off the bridge, leaving Anakin behind. 

Seeing Ahsoka had certainly been wonderful, no doubt about that. He was pleased to know that she was finding her way in the galaxy, and using her skills as best she could. Seeing Bo Katan had been less fine, but not precisely unwelcome. Obi-Wan’s mind had been too caught up in his earlier conversation with Anakin for the invocation of Satine’s memory—her death at Maul’s hands—to have a strong impact. 

He was distracted.

Seeing Ahsoka had just reminded Obi-Wan of another good reason why Anakin wanted to leave: he could be with his own apprentice again. He could reunite the family that Obi-Wan had always implicitly included himself inside before— wrongly, he now realized. He’d apparently always subconsciously considered Anakin his partner, Ahsoka their child, but it was Padmé’s place all along, and he hadn’t even known it. 

Besides, Padmé could have children of her own. Anakin could have a biological family, something he’d apparently never stopped wanting and needing. That kind of domesticity was something Obi-Wan knew he could never offer him, something he’d never known. 

Obi-Wan reminded himself firmly for the millionth time that he had to  stop clinging; he’d understood things wrong, and regardless, it didn’t matter. Anakin’s family was attached, and Obi-Wan was a Jedi. He was not attached, and so was not included. He could let them go. He would let them all go.

It was what he’d been trained his whole life to do, and he was good at it. He had practice.

Satine—beloved, murdered Satine— hadn’t asked him to leave the Order when they were sixteen, and Obi-Wan hadn’t offered. She’d chosen to prioritize her duty to Mandalore, not him, reminding him to do the same. Later, Siri had chosen the Order too, chosen duty, they both had. Both women were dead now. He had no inappropriate bonds left, except Anakin.

Anakin, who was leaving to be with his wife. Anakin, who was following him back to his room, desperately thinking of ways to convince Obi-Wan that he should stay. It made no sense.

“I’m not going to leave the Order after the war, Master,” Anakin insisted, slightly out of breath as he caught up with Obi-Wan halfway down the corridor. His long legs made it easy, his slightly coltish run sending a swell of affection through Obi-Wan, who quickly crushed it down.

“It’s absurd, unfair!” Anakin’s thoughts were a fervent mess. “The Council can’t kick me out, Obi-Wan can’t; yes, they might hate me, but they have no justifiable reason… they don’t know of any justifiable reason!”

Obi-Wan quickened his pace, ignoring Anakin as best he could. He needed to be alone, needed to clear his head. “We’ll discuss it another time, Anakin.”

“No!” Anakin stepped in front of Obi-Wan, blocking his path and folding his arms petulantly. The Force bubbled with his memory of the cave, Padmé screaming, Obi-Wan turning his back on him, being alone in the dark. “I want to discuss it now.” 

Obi-Wan stared at him, jaw clenched. Anakin was almost pouting, his face flushed with frustration. He was close enough that Obi-Wan had to look up slightly to meet his eyes, could smell his sweat, close enough to kiss—

His own irrational, unwelcome, absurd desire to get even closer echoed through the bond as Anakin imagined closing the distance himself, and Obi-Wan took a half step back. 

“We have several hours before Ahsoka is going to arrive, and I suggest you sleep, Padawan,” he said as gently as he could. The ceremonial tattoo on Anakin’s face stood out against his skin, bringing out the blue of his eyes. Unthinkingly, Obi-Wan reached up and swept his thumb over it, smudging the ink slightly. “Use the ‘fresher first so you don’t look quite so uncivilized when she arrives.”

Anakin’s presence in the Force flared with surprise and arousal as Obi-Wan touched his face. Why had he done that? He let his hand drop quickly. Anakin sniffed and looked down, his emotions turning bitter. “Kriff, for a second, I thought... I’m such an idiot.” 

“She’s seen me look worse,” he grumbled. “She won’t care.”

“She will care if you look like you haven’t slept in a month, which is the case currently.” Punctuating the statement with a pointed glance, Obi-Wan sidestepped him and continued down the long gray hallway toward his quarters.

Predictably, Anakin fell in step with him. “You’re one to talk.” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Oddly enough, I was trying to sleep before I decided to check on you.”

“And why did you do that?” Anakin said, immediately defensive. “You should have just gone to sleep. You didn’t need to come down and threaten me with—”

“I wasn’t threatening you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan tried to cut him off before a rant gained momentum. “Quite the opposite.”

“What’s the opposite of a threat?” Anakin glowered, his thoughts simmering with resentment. “How is it not a threat to kick me out, leave me behind, ruin my life, cut me off from what I need…”

Obi-Wan sighed. Why couldn’t Anakin understand that he was just trying to help him, give him a gift— give permission to do what he needed? He tried to sound as reassuring as possible. “It was a promise, I suppose.”

They had finally reached his door. He shouldered past a looming Anakin to get to the keypad. The hallway was empty and far too quiet. 

“A promise?” Anakin spoke too loudly to his profile as he began punching in his code. “You mean how you promised to ‘support me,’ whatever that means, after you kick me out?” His mental voice was even more frantic, “That’s such bantha shit. He doesn’t want to support me, he wants to get rid of me—”

Obi-Wan watched as the light flashed green, unlocking his room. “I’m not kicking—”

“Yes!” Anakin hit the door with the flat of his gloved fist in frustration, sending a loud clang echoing down the (thankfully, deserted) corridor, and then pointed at Obi-Wan accusingly. “You are!”

Obi-Wan fixed him with an admonishing look, sliding the door open. “Anakin,” he began.

“Don’t ‘Anakin’ me.” Anakin jabbed the finger at his nose, making Obi-Wan jerk his head back to avoid contact. “Tell me, how often will you visit me once I’m gone?”

“Anakin—” he tried again, pushing Anakin’s hand out of his face. 

“I just said not to do that! It’s fine, you don’t even have to answer. I know the answer is once, probably. Once or twice.” He swallowed, biting off the rest of the sentence but continuing in his mind. “Then never again. Never again. He’d be thrilled if he never saw me again.”

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan sighed. He was so tired, so confused. How had this conversation gone so wrong? How could Anakin possibly think Obi-Wan was happy about any of this?

“Three times then. You’ll be kriffing free of me. I know that’s what you’ve wanted for ages.” Anakin’s insecurity was bleeding through his voice and the bond. “Didn’t even want me in the first place, and I’ve only been a burden, so this isn’t really a surprise— I know I’m a failure. I’ve always known.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders slumped. “Anakin…” 

“Stop it!” Anakin said loudly. “Stop saying my name like it means something special, you drive me insane.”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan said through gritted teeth. He pushed past Anakin and into his room. “Go to bed, Padawan.”

Anakin followed him in, his tone mutinous, closing the door behind him. “I’m very far from being your Padawan right now.”

Obi-Wan sighed, using the Force to pull his desk chair out and spin it around. He sat down heavily and ran a hand over his beard. “You’ll always be my Padawan, Anakin.”

“That sure sounds like attachment, Master,” Anakin sniped at him, standing in the middle of the room, his hands moving to his hips. 

“It is merely a fact,” Obi-Wan shrugged, pulling out his comlink and checking for notifications from the Council. There were none, of course. No fresh orders. No recall to Coruscant.

“Of course.” Anakin began to pace back and forth, like a caged rancor, his mind racing. “Of course he’ll only ever think of me as his failed apprentice anyway. He’ll never want to take care of me like I want, never fuck me, never—” 

Obi-Wan dropped his comlink on the desk and gave Anakin a pointed look. “Good night.” 

“No, not good night.” Anakin’s tone was approaching a whine. He came to stand in front of Obi-Wan, looking down with frustration. “Why did you feel the need to come down and ruin my life like that?”

Obi-Wan’s stomach twisted; he looked down and away. “That’s hardly fair.”

“It’s true!” Anakin threw his hands up, his eyes full of a long-familiar wildness. He’d never been a true Jedi, not really, had he… 

“I cannot imagine that you look on a future for you and the Senator as ruination, Anakin. It seems like… if that is what will make you happiest, then…”

“It doesn’t.” Anakin made an emphatic chopping gesture with his hand, sounding so very sure. “It won’t.”

Obi-Wan wondered very much why he had gotten married, then, but didn’t ask. “You would rather stay in the Order, and attempt to carry on an illicit romantic attachment the whole time?”

“Yes,” Anakin said, as if it were obvious. “I don’t see why not!”

“That’s…” Obi-Wan felt a spike of frustration at Anakin’s selfishness. “That’s not how things work!”

“Why not?” Anakin spoke with a long-perfected bratty tone that drove Obi-Wan insane.

“Why not?” He stood up sharply, his patience running thin. Anakin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at his abrupt movement, his eyes so bright— he was always so kriffing thrilled to get a reaction. He always wanted to see Obi-Wan walk the edge of his control. It was intolerable. “Why not?!”

“Yes,” Anakin said slowly, like Obi-Wan was slow on the uptake. It made his blood boil even more. “Why not?”

A thousand of Anakin’s fantasies from the last few weeks of being punished by Obi-Wan flickered through his mind, making Obi-Wan’s cock twitch in anticipation. He ignored it, emphatically.

“I’ve failed to teach you the Code for more than a decade, Anakin.” His tone was pressed, and he took an unthinking step forward into Anakin’s personal space. “You’ve so far consistently and continually refused to learn. I cannot possibly explain it to you now.”

“Try,” Anakin baited him, breathless at his approach. “Oh kriff, please try, I need you to fix me—”  

“No, Anakin.” Obi-Wan turned and took several steps away, willing his heart to slow, his traitorous cock to soften. Anakin’s ambient desire was somewhere close to spice in it’s intoxicating effect. Anakin needed to leave. Now. 

“Why not?”

Obi-Wan growled, shooting him a dirty look. “Because I am tired. You are in my room and I want you to leave.”

“Do you? That's too bad.” Anakin crossed his arms stubbornly. “I think you want to explain first.”

Obi-Wan mimicked Anakin’s whiny voice, “I’m very far from being your Padawan right now,” and glared. He felt so close to losing control, so overwhelmed with both his and Anakin’s emotions. “Which is it, Anakin? Are you my Padawan or not? I would perhaps explain to my Padawan, but my Padawan would also have to listen to me, and obey my orders. Orders like: leave, now.”

Anakin flushed. Other kinds of orders cycled rapidly through his imagination: Obi-Wan telling him to get on his knees and open his mouth, and Anakin, obeying without question, being a good Padawan, so good for him. Obi-Wan’s cock throbbed and his head pounded. He ground his teeth in frustration.

“I’m going to bed. I need sleep.” He sat heavily on the bed and began to take off his boots. “Leave, please.” 

“No,” Anakin pouted, putting his hands on his hips and taking up too much space— his emotions and thoughts turning the small room into a maelstrom.

Obi-Wan’s voice was chilly. “Now, Anakin.”

The tone made Anakin’s thoughts spiral out into a flood of arousal. “I could make him want me, show him why he should keep me around, if he’d just let me,” he thought desperately, imagining stripping down, spreading his legs for Obi-Wan, letting him take him, fuck him so deep, mark him, come inside him—

Obi-Wan wanted to put his head into his hands and scream. He felt overwhelmed, exhausted, so incredibly frustrated. “Stop it! Please, Force, make it stop! Can’t he ever think about anything else?!”

It was like a whirlpool freezing in place— Anakin’s thoughts stopped for a long, incredulous moment, his eyes full of dawning horror. “What.”

Obi-Wan froze, unable to breathe. 

Anakin sounded appalled. “You can hear my thoughts?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, unwillingly. “Sometimes.”

“For how long?” Anakin asked desperately. “How much did you hear? Why can’t I hear yours?”

“Since Anaxes,” Obi-Wan admitted, putting his head in his hands and swallowing a groan. He didn’t want to have this conversation— not now, not ever. “And I don't know.”

Anakin gasped, horrified. “What? That’s weeks! How much did you hear?” 

“It originally wasn’t much, Anakin, just some stray thoughts.” He spoke to the floor, avoiding Anakin’s gaze. “I apologize for not informing you. I was working on fixing it without you knowing. I couldn’t hear too much to begin with, I promise.” He swallowed, watching Anakin’s feet as he began to pace. “Things got… worse… but I just haven’t been able to focus long enough to fix it. We’re going to be separated soon and then I can do it.”

“Oh,” Anakin laughed bitterly. “I see. It all makes sense now.” He moved as if unable to stay still, pacing back and forth, his indignation and despair bubbling in the Force. “No wonder he can’t stand me— if he knows the way I think about him, no wonder he wants to get rid of me.” 

Obi-Wan’s head shot up. “That’s not true, I’m not trying to get rid of—”

Anakin’s eyes widened in offense. “Don’t do that! Get out of my head!” He clutched the hair at his temples, as if he could rip out their connection with sheer physical force. 

“I already told you, I can’t,” Obi-Wan said with apologetic resignation. He was so tired; he didn’t know how much more of this he could take— not without snapping and doing or saying something he would regret. “I’ve tried, Anakin. I very much wish I could.” 

“I know, Obi-Wan, believe me,” Anakin sneered, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I’m well aware of how disgusting you must find me.”

“I don’t think that, that’s not why— Anakin, you’re married. You lied to me, you didn’t tell me the truth!” Anakin scoffed, and Obi-Wan raised his voice. “You’ve chosen to be with Padmé; I know you want to have a life and family with her. It will make you happier than living a lie and violating the Code. I need to let you go so you can be with her.” 

Anakin’s mind was filled with incredulous dismay, his tone affronted. “How the kriff can he think I want to leave the Order, leave him, and be with Padmé, if he can hear my thoughts?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Stop it, Obi-Wan! Stop trying to act like you know what’s best for me, you always— hang on.” His gaze sharpened as he processed what had been said earlier. “What do you mean, that’s not why?” 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and tried for soothing. “Just that I don’t find you disgusting, Anakin, but that doesn’t matter, it’s entirely beside the point.”

“But... didn’t it bother you too much? Me thinking those things about you?” Obi-Wan could hear Anakin’s thought, layered under the words, “How much I want you to fuck me raw?”

“It’s… normal,” Obi-Wan said, a spike of arousal making his cock twitch and grow heavier. Blast. His voice came out tight. “Everyone has thoughts, it doesn’t mean anything. I have thoughts, I let them go. It’s just part of being a Jedi. You've been separated from your… wife. It’s natural and—”

“You have thoughts? Thoughts?” Anakin’s volume rose, and he moved closer, looming over where Obi-Wan was still sitting on the bed. He sounded so desperate to know. “Do you ever think about me, Master?” Obi-Wan’s hands rose in an unconscious warding off gesture. “Tell me, Master.”

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“No, no thoughts?” Anakin whispered, stepping even closer, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “Or no, you won’t tell me.”

Obi-Wan watched him approach with dread twisting his stomach, unable to break eye contact. “I won’t tell you. It doesn't matter.”

Anakin’s eyes bored into his, searching for any evidence of his true feelings, and Obi-Wan desperately willed them to remain blank. Almost absently, Anakin cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek with his flesh hand, his thumb stroking once over his cheekbone. Obi-Wan took a shaky breath, feeling trapped— the touch was scalding.

They were getting so close that he could feel Anakin’s warm breath against his lips as he murmured, “It matters to me, Master.” 

“It shouldn’t!” Obi-Wan said, jerking his head out of Anakin’s hand and smacking it away. “It can’t!”

He planted a palm in the center of Anakin’s chest and shoved him back— shoving down the part of himself that was screaming to pull him closer, hold him, taste his lips. He stood up and backed away, putting feet of space between them. “Nothing good can come of this! We’re… I’m a Jedi. You’re married, Anakin! You’re just using me to fill a void! What I want doesn’t matter! Never matters!”

“What do you want, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked. “What do you want?” His expression was pleading, his thoughts fervent. He took a slow step forward as though magnetized. “You can do whatever you want to me, you can have anything, everything...” 

“Stop it,” Obi-Wan’s voice was weak. “Go… go jerk off and think about your wife, again, or think about what you’ll do when the war’s over— when you leave the Order.”

“I’m not leaving the Order,” Anakin said with finality. He moved forward again, closing more of the distance, and Obi-Wan stepped back. The back of his tabards brushed against the bulkhead. 

“Marriage violates the Code, Anakin. You can’t stay. You’re not…” Obi-Wan swallowed as Anakin leaned over him, bracketing him with his arms. “You’re not really a Jedi now, maybe you never have been.” He forced himself to look at him, trying to express the gravity of his shame. “I have failed you.”

“You haven’t!” Anakin insisted, dipping his head closer, his eyes shining. ”I am a Jedi, and I’m not leaving. I can be both, have both.” Before Obi-Wan could respond, he closed the final distance and insistently pressed their lips together. 

Obi-Wan made a small, punched out noise in the back of his throat. The kiss was clumsy but fervent, Anakin’s lips were so soft, so warm, he smelled so good, they had to stop this. With all his force of will, he took hold of Anakin’s shoulders and shoved him back. 

Anakin’s pupils were blown and he was flushed, panting, his mind spinning with arousal. Obi-Wan deliberately looked away. “You’ve already chosen,” He shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And you didn’t pick me.”

“You’ve never been an option!” Anakin answered his thoughts, and Obi-Wan winced. “I needed you, but you pushed me away!”

“Needed me?” Obi-Wan scoffed. “Needed me to do what? Violate the Code?”

“No!” Anakin said defensively, with “Yes!” echoing in his mind. “You fuck random men all the time, I know you do! Why couldn’t you just fuck me too? You didn’t have to violate the Code.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped despite himself, and he gave Anakin an incredulous look. “You think fucking you wouldn’t violate the Code?”

“You don’t have to…” Anakin swallowed, arousal spilling out into the Force at Obi-Wan’s language and Obi-Wan’s intent and frustrated expression. “You don’t do attachments, I get that. You could have treated me like the rest of them, I would have been happy!” His thoughts churned underneath, a dizzying series of images and sensations. “You could have fucked me and left me dripping, Obi-Wan, and it would still have been enough!”

“Are you saying…” Obi-Wan shook his head, trying to clear the mental image of leaving Anakin limp and sweaty, covered in his come. “Would you still have gotten married if I’d…”

“Master,” Anakin’s voice was heated and low, and he was drawing closer again, pushing back into Obi-Wan’s personal space. “If you’d touched me even once, I wouldn’t have even thought to look at anyone else. You never had to love me back, I don’t expect that but… I love Padmé, I love making her happy. She lets me make her feel good.” He looked frustrated. “You never let me.”

Obi-Wan’s thoughts bloomed with insecurity. “If I’d touched you, you could have loved me?”

“I do love you,” Anakin said, resigned. “I’ve always loved you. I have no idea how you managed to listen to me think for weeks and miss that small detail. I suppose I don’t think about water being wet either, Obi-Wan. You’re mine, my Master. Of course I love you.”

Anakin closed the gap again, kissing him with more surety, licking into his mouth with a pleased sound that shot straight to Obi-Wan’s cock. He felt like he’d been hit by a stun grenade, the words echoing in his mind— I love you, I love you, I love you.  

Obi-Wan was overwhelmed then with a flash of insight. He was suddenly facing two impossibly painful truths: first, that he loved Anakin back, in exactly the way that Anakin wanted him to and the Code forbade, and second— that it didn't matter whatsoever. 

“No,” Obi-Wan said roughly, breaking the kiss and pulling away, his heart racing. “We need to stop this right now.”

Anakin whined, reaching for him. “Why?”

Obi-Wan pushed him back with the Force, and then waved his hands sharply to indicate what he’d done. “Because we’re Jedi, and we have the Code for a reason! Our powers are dangerous, Anakin, and if our control is compromised we could hurt people! Hurt them very badly! Have you forgotten that?”

“No, I know that!” Anakin said dismissively. He still tried to move closer, his desperation and arousal turning the Force around them into an eddy of desire— Obi-Wan was drowning in it. “I can handle it. We can handle it.”

An image flashed of Obi-Wan’s calloused hand holding his lightsaber, morphing into his hand on Anakin’s hard cock, his slick fingers pressing inside him. “Dear Force please, please handle me.”

Obi-Wan felt very much like he was standing on the edge of an abyss. Anakin’s arrogance and entitlement was intolerable, and he couldn’t listen to another moment of it. 

“You can’t handle it!” He snapped, grabbing Anakin by the nape of the neck and squeezing hard. Anakin whimpered, eyes fluttering closed at the contact. Obi-Wan yanked him forward, enjoying very much how he tripped over his feet in an attempt to stay upright. “You don’t act like you know it! You keep pushing me!” 

“Master,” Anakin whined as Obi-Wan bent him over the desk. “Please.”

Obi-Wan growled, pushing him down harder and pinning him in place— making him hold still and listen. “You got married, Anakin! What would Padmé think if she saw you now? Trying to bait me into your… various and assorted infidelities! How many vows do you want to break today, Anakin? Don’t you feel kriffing guilty?” 

A spike of powerful emotion flared in Anakin, wordless and vast in its complexity, his face flushing a deep red. Obi-Wan hummed with grim satisfaction. “Your guilt tells the truth, Anakin, more than you ever have! You know what’s right— you know that you have obligations, wedding vows, to uphold. You love your wife. Stop pushing me for your own amusement.”

“It’s not just that, Master,” Anakin wiggled his hips slightly, trying to break free and turn around. “I’m so sorry, Master, let me make it up to you, please.”

“No,” Obi-Wan pushed him down harder. His frustration colored his words into a low, intent murmur. “I was wrong. You must leave the Order; not at the end of the war. Now.”

“What? No, don’t say that!” Anakin tried to free himself again, and Obi-Wan grabbed both wrists and held them crossed behind his back, the angle shoving Anakin’s face down harder against the desk.

Obi-Wan’s voice became even lower and rougher, the feedback of Anakin’s incredulous pleasure at the position washing over him too. “You must. You must leave the war, and soon.”

Anakin whimpered. “Why? Don’t make me leave you, Master. Why?”

“Your judgement is compromised.” 

“No, it isn’t, I promise, it—”

Obi-Wan’s frustration welled up, and his last shreds of inhibition dissolved. He used the Force to fix Anakin’s wrists together, and then let go. He roughly pushed aside Anakin’s tabards and pulled down his pants— following the script he’d watched Anakin imagine a hundred times. 

“Master!” Anakin gasped as his cock was freed from his pants, he was so hard.

“Do you understand, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, voice rough. He smacked the curve of Anakin’s bare ass with a sharp crack, taking out his frustration, punctuating each phrase with another slap: “Reckless missions make sense now— infatuation with her was perfectly obvious— made you angry, irrational.” He struck harder and Anakin whimpered, his eyes becoming glassy. “Claiming to love me too— how dare you— you are a danger to yourself and others. Your judgment is compromised.”  

The pale skin of Anakin’s ass was rapidly turning pink, the marks of Obi-Wan’s hand blooming on his skin. His thoughts were very loud. “But so is yours, Master, so is yours!”

“What?” Obi-Wan smacked him again. “Explain.”

“If I have to leave,” Anakin said, breathless, insistent, “You have to leave too. You care about me too. I know it.” His thoughts were laced with a strange mixture of resignation and determination. “Even if you can’t love me, I know you care more than you should.”

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan said, voice full of warning. He smacked him again, suddenly feeling cornered despite having Anakin in such a submissive position. 

“Obi-Wan, please.” Anakin’s voice sounded thick, each smack driving him closer and closer to tears.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, disgusted. “I will absolutely not come with you. What would Padmé think? You must leave the Order, retire somewhere peaceful with your wife, and let your powers fade.” Another series of hard smacks, making Anakin’s hips jerk and rub his cock against the desk, his long eyelashes growing wet with unshed tears. “You made your choice, Anakin.”

“I made it wrong, then,” Anakin said, voice shaky, and then sniffed loudly. “Master, I made it wrong.” 

“You did,” Obi-Wan said heavily. He pulled away, rubbing the slightly numb hand that he’d used to turn Anakin’s ass so pink, trying to get himself under control. He is a Jedi— there is no emotion. This is beneath him.

Anakin sobbed at the increase in distance— at Obi-Wan’s confirmation of his error. He remained bent over the desk, even after Obi-Wan released his hold on his wrists in the Force. “I’m so sorry, Master, but I won’t leave you. I can’t. If you won’t go, I have to stay.”

Obi-Wan shook his head at him. “You cannot.”

“Then…” Anakin’s thoughts overflowed, pushing words into Obi-Wan’s mind with desperate certainty. “Come with me, please, Master, I love you. Obi-Wan. I can’t go alone… I need you.”

“You will certainly not be alone,” Obi-Wan reminded him. “Your wife will be there. You married her. That was the point.”

“No,” Anakin frowned at that. “Alone means without you, Master. If Padmé is the reason you won’t… I’ll leave her. If I can’t have you both, I choose you. Leave with me.”

“Don’t you dare…” Obi-Wan felt a spike of irritation at that obvious and glaring lie— it was like Anakin was taunting him with words that he’d wanted to hear his whole life. He grabbed Anakin’s shoulder and pulled him up from the desk, glaring at his face. “Don’t you dare say that, you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” Anakin’s wide blue eyes were guileless— his pants around his knees, his breathing shallow. “I do mean it.”

Obi-Wan felt so lost. “But… your guilt…. You’ve been so guilty thinking about me. You love her. You want her.” 

Anakin shook his head, laughing without mirth. “I was only guilty because I thought you didn’t want me to want you, and I didn’t want to do what you don’t want me to do, because I love you. If I have to go, you need to come.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth felt dry. This couldn’t be real. “My life belongs to the Order that trained me, Anakin. I am a Jedi by choice, so I can help people, save people. How am I supposed to live with myself thinking of all the people harmed by my inaction?”

“I… I know.” Anakin looked down, face crumpling, words speeding up. “Of course. All of that is…I love you, you’re so perfect, so good. The idea of being without you is unbearable, but… I guess I never thought you’d love me back, not enough. I always… I know you don’t have attachments. I don’t know why I thought… I’m sorry.” He leaned down to pull up his pants, sniffling, the Force radiating his misery off him in waves. 

Obi-Wan reached for his shoulder again, “Anakin—”

Anakin leaned into his touch, desperate for contact. His emotions were so unstable, so close to boiling over. “Are you really… are you really going to make me leave without you? Are you going to report me to the Council? Will I… will I please see you again? Or… Obi-Wan, please, don’t do this to me… I’m sorry I love you. I’m sorry I can’t stop.”

“Anakin—”

“I love you,” Anakin sobbed. “Why can’t you love me too?”

“I... ” Obi-Wan felt helpless before Anakin’s sorrow. He could think things he couldn’t say— “Anakin, I do love you.”

Anakin’s eyes met his and then dropped away, his voice full of disbelief. “Do you?”

“Yes. If you… if you were really serious about leaving her, then yes. I would leave with you.”

Anakin’s chest stopped moving as he stopped breathing, his whole body vibrating with sudden tension. “What?”

“You’re leaving the Order, Anakin. You’re either going to Naboo with Padmé or… somewhere with me.”

“You’re… you’re an option?” Anakin gaped at him. “I can… you’re letting me pick you?”

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably, running a hand over his beard. “I suppose… yes. I’m an option. You’re right. My judgement is compromised already, but I have the training to… I could have endured letting go. I could still endure. It’s your choice.”

Anakin didn’t even hesitate a breath, tongue tripping over the words in his haste to get them out. “Obi-Wan, I choose you, of course I choose you.”

Obi-Wan’s breath caught, and he blinked, knowing that he had heard correctly but somehow unable to believe it. Even after everything, he had never thought... no one had ever... 

Anakin must have caught the tenor of his thoughts, because he reached out and gently took hold of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, drawing him close, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ll always choose you,” he vowed. “Always, Master.” 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathed, and kissed him. 

Anakin made a wounded noise, his Force signature reaching for Obi-Wan’s, emanating gratitude, relief, and love, so much love, how had he not sensed it before... Obi-Wan welcomed it, letting his mind touch Anakin’s, pouring back through the bond everything that he couldn’t say. It felt so easy, so natural, to press their bodies together and tangle his fingers in Anakin’s unruly hair.

It felt like coming home.

Obi-Wan groaned against Anakin’s mouth, overwhelmed with the knowledge that Anakin wanted him, had chosen him, was his. His guilt and regret seemed to dissipate like mist melting beneath the sun. All he felt was the warmth of Anakin’s touch, all he knew was the desire to get closer. He could. He would.

He deepened the kiss, sliding his hands down to Anakin’s waist and walking him backwards. As Anakin’s backside hit the edge of the desk, he made a sudden hiss of pain. Obi-Wan froze, horrified with himself, remembering how he’d manhandled Anakin, spanked him, made him cry. 

He quickly pulled back and tugged Anakin away from the desk, soothing a hand down his spine. 

“I’m so sorry for what happened before, Padawan.” He spoke with as much sincerity as he could, staring into Anakin’s hazy blue eyes. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that and hurt you, it was inexcusable.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin laughed, breathlessly, incredulously. “You know I liked that. I wanted you to do that so badly.” His thoughts took over, his voice thick with desire as he pressed it into Obi-Wan’s mind. “It made me so hard, I want you to do it again, whenever you want, even harder, leave bruises and make me feel you for days.” 

Obi-Wan groaned in mixed arousal and relief, his cock throbbing at the thought of his handprint marked into Anakin’s skin. Force, why did he like that so much? 

“Oh, Anakin.” He reached up and pushed Anakin’s hair away from his face, rubbing the blue tattoo with his fingertips, making Anakin tremble. “Whatever am I going to do with you?” 

“I can think of a few things,” Anakin said, smirking hopefully.

“Can you?” Obi-Wan teased. “I had absolutely no idea.” 

Anakin flushed and looked down. “I really am sorry that I kept bothering you, I really didn’t mean to—”

“Shh, shh...” Obi-Wan gently stopped Anakin’s mouth with his hand. “I liked it too, darling, surely you must know that.”

“You did?” Anakin’s lips brushed against his palm, sending a shiver of pleasure up his arm. His eyes shone with insecurity. 

“Far too much,” Obi-Wan assured him, moving his hand to Anakin’s cheek and reaching out with the Force. He pushed into Anakin’s mind all his memories of the past few weeks— all the times his cock had gotten inappropriately hard at Anakin’s fantasies, all the nights he had lain awake in his bunk desperately trying to keep his hands off himself. Anakin moaned at the images, his eyes sliding shut. “You are very distracting.”

Anakin’s touch skimmed up Obi-Wan’s thigh, and Obi-Wan hissed with pleasure as fingers closed over his cock. “You really do want me,” Anakin thought wonderingly. “You want all of that... with me?”    

Obi-Wan nodded and enjoyed the expression of bliss that stole across Anakin’s features. Taking Anakin’s hips in a gentle hold, he spun them around before leaning back against the desk. He stroked Anakin’s face and gave him a slightly wry smile. “Take your pick.” 

Anakin’s eyes darkened, and he chewed at his lip, his gaze stealing up and down Obi-Wan’s body. Then he drew in a breath, long and shuddering, and sank to his knees. 

“Please,” he exhaled, his hands sliding up Obi-Wan’s clothed thighs. “I want to...” A thousand familiar fantasies flashed by, the Force saturating with his overwhelming desire to suck Obi-Wan’s cock. He nuzzled his face into the front of Obi-Wan’s pants, mouthing at his length through the fabric. “I’ve wanted this so badly, since I was a Padawan, I’ve been waiting so long.” 

Obi-Wan felt lightheaded, and threaded his fingers through Anakin’s curls. The awareness of how wrong it was to feel the way he did about his Padawan washed over him: the knowledge of how inappropriate this was, how far he’d slipped from who he’d wanted to be— and yet he felt more alive than ever. “Suck my cock, Anakin.” 

“Kriff,” Anakin breathed, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “Yes, Master.” He hastily undid the fastenings at Obi-Wan’s waist and drew out his cock, his metal fingers cool against the heated skin. “Stars, he’s so big, just like I knew he’d be...” As if drawn by a tractor beam, Anakin leaned forward and licked at the slit, tasting Obi-Wan’s precome and making him hiss with sudden pleasure. 

The sight of a disheveled Anakin on his knees, his wet, reddened mouth pressed to his cock, was overwhelming, intoxicating. He watched, rapt, breathing hard, as Anakin tentatively fit his lips over the head and sucked at it, fighting the urge to let his eyes slide closed. He wanted to commit every detail to memory— it was unbelievably wonderful, so much better than any fantasy. 

Anakin moaned around his cock. “Is it good, am I good?” he asked silently, his eyes flicking up to meet Obi-Wan’s. 

“So good, darling,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well.” 

“I am?” Anakin pulled his mouth away with a wet sound, still stroking Obi-Wan gently with his flesh hand. “I’ve never done this before,” he whispered, a shy confession. 

Satisfaction and possessiveness flared in Obi-Wan’s chest, unbecomingly strong. “Never?” His voice was rough. “No other men?” 

“Only you,” Anakin promised, his eyes wide. “Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, Anakin, Padawan, you’re perfect.” He petted Anakin’s hair reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to do.” 

Anakin moaned and kissed his cock again, his thoughts fervent. “Yes, please, Master, teach me, I want to do it right for you.” 

“You were doing it just right, Padawan, keep going, you can take me a little deeper when you’re ready,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Let your lips cover your teeth, relax your jaw, suck gently— let me in.” 

An adorable look of concentration passed over Anakin’s face as he tried to apply what Obi-Wan had said, and Obi-Wan groaned. “Very good, darling. I don’t expect you to take it deep today, your first time. I’ll fuck your face later, I promise.”

Anakin looked up at him and hummed in acknowledgment, and Obi-Wan tightened his hold on his hair. He barely resisted contradicting everything he’d just said and fucking his cock deep in Anakin’s throat, and laughed. “Do you want me to fuck you today, or do you want me to finish in your mouth? Because I can still get you off after, but if you want to get fucked you will have to stop now.”

Anakin pulled back, desperate for breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice trembling. “Fuck me, I’ll do anything, fuck…”

“Take off your clothes,” Obi-Wan directed, “and lay on the bed.” Anakin scrambled to obey. At Obi-Wan’s sharp look, he didn’t toss his clothes haphazardly, but folded them sloppily and set them aside. 

Obi-Wan watched Anakin’s skin being revealed, inch by inch. He fumbled slightly, pulling a packet of bacta from his belt and setting it on the desk. He unfastened his belt and set it aside carefully, hastening to unwrap his obi, and shrug off his tabards. 

Anakin laid in the bunk as he’d been asked, bare and trembling, the blue ceremonial tattoos making his golden skin seem to glow. His eyes were shut and his flesh hand was slowly stroking his hard, leaking cock. Obi-Wan’s breath caught, his own cock twitching in his pants.

“Eager, are we?” he asked, crossing the small room to stand over the bed, looking down with a heady sense of unreality at Anakin’s nude body, Anakin’s hand stroking his cock— so this is what that looked like, all the times he’d listened as Anakin’s pleasure had peaked alone in his room.

“Master!” Anakin gasped, opening his eyes. “Master, please...” 

Obi-Wan shook his head and tsk'ed, projecting his thoughts back across the bond. “Be good and wait for me, Padawan, and I’ll take care of you.” 

Anakin nodded, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. With evident difficulty, he let go of his cock, gripping at the sheets instead. “Okay, but please, hurry.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works, darling.” He continued undressing as he spoke, folding his clothes and setting them aside. “You teased me for weeks, and now I get to take my time with you.” 

Anakin drew in a shuddering breath and nodded, his Force signature saturated with so much arousal. “Whatever you want, Master, just don’t stop.” His desire-black eyes were fixed on Obi-Wan’s body, appreciating every inch as it was exposed, his need to touch and be touched overwhelming. 

Once he was naked, Obi-Wan sat on the bed beside Anakin. He reached out and traced the line of his collarbone, goosebumps rising on tattooed skin in the wake of his fingers. 

“What now?” Anakin asked eagerly. 

“What do you think, love?” 

Anakin’s breath caught, and Obi-Wan’s rough voice saying “love” echoed in his mind as half a dozen fantasies of Obi-Wan’s fingers inside of him flashed by in a second.

“Very good, Padawan, yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed, continuing to stroke Anakin’s chest as he whimpered in pleasure at the praise. “I’m going to open you up with my fingers, get you ready for me. Has anyone ever done that for you before? I know you have,” he added with a grin, pushing the memory that had tormented him with arousal during the Nelvaan briefing back through the bond. 

Anakin flushed and stammered. “N-no, Master, just me, no one else has ever—” 

Obi-Wan leaned down and caught his lips, pressing all his appreciation into the kiss. He would be the first to touch Anakin like this, the first to fuck him, this was all theirs, just theirs— the thought was immensely satisfying. 

“I’m going to take care of you, I promise. I’ll make it so good,” he murmured against Anakin’s mouth, their breath mingling. Anakin whined as he pulled away and patted the bed. “Turn over for me now.” 

Anakin rolled onto his stomach immediately, glancing back over his shoulder and beaming at Obi-Wan. His pleasure at being told what to do was incandescent. Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head, picking up the bacta and clambering onto the bed to kneel between Anakin’s thighs. 

He took in the view for a long moment— Anakin’s tousled hair, his muscular back, the geometric blue ink slightly smudged, the graceful arch of his spine leading down to his perfect ass, still pink from being spanked. Obi-Wan hummed appreciatively. He could touch all of it, make Anakin his. 

He patted Anakin’s flank. “Up.” 

Anakin lifted his hips obediently so Obi-Wan could slide the spare pillow underneath. He wriggled until he was comfortable, whimpering at the press of his cock against the fabric. Obi-Wan ripped open the bacta packet and coated two fingers. Anakin watched over his shoulder with wide eyes, nervous anticipation radiating through the bond. 

“Relax, there we are,” said Obi-Wan soothingly, running a hand down Anakin’s spine and feeling the tension in his muscles. 

Anakin grumbled something unintelligible into the pillow, his thoughts echoing, “How, how can I relax, Master? I need you in me now, please...” 

Obi-Wan laughed. “You will relax, Padawan, I won’t hurt you.” Still petting Anakin’s back, he slid slick fingers down to stroke at his entrance. Anakin whined at the contact, his hips jerking downward again, the sound going straight to Obi-Wan’s cock. He used one hand to hold Anakin’s hips still, and simultaneously began to press his fingers inside, slowly opening him up.

“Master,” Anakin groaned into the pillow. “Feels so good.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan murmured, delicately and deliberately beginning to slide his fingers in and out, spreading them and scissoring them. Anakin whined, and Obi-Wan sped up, seeking and then finding the spot that made Anakin gasp and jerk his hips. “Very good, Anakin.”

“Master!” Anakin groaned, shifting again in Obi-Wan’s firm grip. “Please, I’m ready, I’m ready—” 

“You’re not,” Obi-Wan laughed. “I don’t think you appreciate how different it is to be fucked by a cock than to finger yourself, darling.”

“I want to know,” Anakin whined. “Show me, show me.”

“Patience,” Obi-Wan said, exasperated. He slid the hand that had been gripping Anakin’s hip up his spine slowly, rubbing with his fingertips and feeling each vertebra. Anakin made a frustrated noise, rocking his hips and pressing his leaking cock into the pillow. Obi-Wan began to fuck him faster with his fingers, feeling in the Force as Anakin grew closer and closer to coming.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin said, alarmed. “I’m—”

“I know, darling.” Obi-Wan pushed him right up to the edge, and backed away, sliding his fingers out. “You’re ready now.”

“Thank the Force,” Anakin groaned. He spread his legs, rocking his hips forward, trying to position himself to best take Obi-Wan’s cock. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression pleading. “Please, Master.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his back again thoughtfully, and then pulled away. Anakin’s eyes went wide with concern, and Obi-Wan smiled reassuringly, emptying the bacta packet into his palm and rubbing his cock. He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, and patted his lap.  “Come here, I want to look at you.”

Anakin’s eyes brightened and he crawled over, sitting happily on Obi-Wan’s lap and hissing as his still-tender ass touched his thighs. He immediately burrowed his face against Obi-Wan’s neck and smelled him, nuzzling him and rubbing his cock against Obi-Wan’s, humming with contentment.

Obi-Wan grabbed his hips and lifted him up, lining up his slick cock and rubbing the head against his entrance teasingly. Anakin moaned and bit Obi-Wan’s neck, his hips jerking. “Master, now, please, Master.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Obi-Wan murmured into his hair, kissing his temple. He threaded his fingers through Anakin’s curls and tugged gently, getting him to sit up and look him in the eye. 

Anakin’s cheeks were so flushed, his breathing so shallow— Obi-Wan kissed him gently, and then pulled back, watching Anakin’s face as he finally pushed the head of his cock inside, and slowly began to sink into him. Anakin’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open. “Oh!”

“I told you,” Obi-Wan said, voice tight. Anakin was so hot and slick with bacta, the pressure around his cock was maddening, perfect. “I told you it would be different.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin panted, his eyes fluttering closed and his brow furrowing in concentration. His thoughts spilled through the bond: “It’s so much, he’s so big. I can’t believe it— Obi-Wan is fucking me, his cock is inside me, it’s so thick.”

Obi-Wan held Anakin’s hips in a bruisingly tight grip, preventing him several times from pushing down and taking it all too fast. After the third attempt, he swatted him on the ass with a sharp crack. “Patience!”

“Please,” Anakin whined, opening his eyes. “Force, fuck me, please!”

Obi-Wan just kissed him in return, allowing Anakin to sink down slowly, inch by inch, until his cock was completely inside him— buried so deep in Anakin’s tight body. He wrapped his arms around his chest and held him close, letting him adjust, biting his plush lower lip and sucking on it, like he’d wanted to do for so long. 

Anakin broke the kiss with a gasp, pulling his head back with surprise. His incredulous pleasure at being stuffed so full was thick in the Force, making it hard for Obi-Wan to breathe. His thoughts were trembling, heated. “Feels so good, Master. I love you. I love you so much.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groaned, his hips thrusting up once, his cock sliding in and out for the first time. 

Anakin gasped at the new sensation, and rocked his hips down, seeking more. He grabbed Obi-Wan’s shoulders for stability and Obi-Wan hummed his approval, making himself sit still— allowing Anakin to test and explore how it felt to take his cock.

Anakin rolled his hips and groaned, watching where their bodies were joined together for a long moment before looking up and making a questioning noise, “Does it feel good, Master? Am I doing good?” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan breathed, kissing him again, hands gripping his hips to begin to guide him towards the best angle, moving him up and down. Anakin groaned loudly and relaxed into his hold, letting himself be directed. The small room was very quiet except for their breathing, and Anakin’s whimpering. “Very good.”

Anakin buried his face in Obi-Wan’s neck again and raised himself up on his knees. His thoughts were fervent. “Fuck me harder, please, take me, I want it.” 

Obi-Wan groaned and snapped his hips up, his cock sliding in deep, and Anakin whined. “Yes!” He grabbed Anakin’s thighs and did it again, even more forcefully, fucking him harder and harder as Anakin clung to him, gasping. “Yes, Master, yes!”

Obi-Wan felt like he was losing himself in Anakin’s perfect, soft, hot body— the scent of his hair and his sweat was overwhelming, his breath hot on his neck. He ordered, “Hold on to me.”

Anakin’s arms tightened around his neck without question, and Obi-Wan slid a hand from Anakin’s thigh under his ass. Holding him tight against his body, Obi-Wan stood up and turned around, dumping him on his back on the bed.

Anakin looked up at him, his eyes wide for a long moment before the Force boiled with his pleasure at Obi-Wan’s casual display of strength. Obi-Wan smiled down at him, and crawled on top, kissing him and covering him with his body.

Anakin moaned happily, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and spreading his legs wide. Obi-Wan smoothly pushed his cock back inside and Anakin’s back arched up, his cock rubbing against Obi-Wan’s stomach. He gasped, his thoughts full of warning. “Kriff, Master, I’m so close.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, rough and low, fucking him harder. He adjusted his hips slightly, sliding in at a different angle, and Anakin’s head dropped to the pillow, his eyes rolling back. Obi-Wan sped up, watching Anakin’s face intently as it grew tense. He was so beautiful, so perfect. Obi-Wan murmured, “Force, I love you.”

Anakin moaned loudly in response, his hips jerking, and Obi-Wan felt the hot spill of come both against his stomach and everywhere in the Force around them. Anakin’s pleasure in the Force was dazzling, blinding, overwhelming, perfect.

Obi-Wan groaned, “Perfect, yes, Anakin.”

Anakin opened his eyes, seeking connection, the Force still trembling with the strength of the aftershocks of his pleasure. “Are you going to come inside me?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan rasped, his hips beginning to lose rhythm as he drew closer to the edge. “Fill you with my come, Padawan, yes.”

“Yes,” Anakin echoed, nodding up at him. He drew Obi-Wan’s face closer and kissed him sloppily, murmuring. “Come, Master. I want to see you come.”

Obi-Wan moaned and snapped his hips forward one last time, his orgasm crackling over him, cock throbbing as he came deep inside Anakin’s tight body. The overwhelming tension in his stomach released all at once, pleasure radiating up his spine— sparkling, tingling, perfect. 

After an infinite moment, Obi-Wan exhaled hard, and opened his eyes, staring at Anakin’s pleasure-soaked face, “Anakin.”

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin beamed up at him, and matched his slightly incredulous tone. He yanked him down, squeezing him tight against his chest. “My Master.”

Obi-Wan hummed and relaxed for a second, his mind so blissfully blank, the world so perfect. If only they could stay like this forever, but they couldn't. 

Anakin whined with disapproval as Obi-Wan shifted, pulling his cock out and sitting back, watching as his come trickled out behind, and he remembered Anakin’s fervent words. As if he would ever leave him dripping. He stood and grabbed one of Anakin’s dirty tunics from the sloppy pile on the floor and wiped them both off. The blue ink of Anakin’s tattoo was smeared everywhere, and Obi-Wan quickly gave up trying to clean that off. They both needed the ‘fresher, rather badly.  

“Master?” Anakin asked, and it sounded like he was waking up at the contact, his brain coming back online. “Do we really have to leave the Order?”

Obi-Wan dropped the dirty tunic and glanced back at him, meeting his eyes. “Yes.”

Anakin’s brow crinkled, his bottom lip jutting forward. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan exhaled hard, leaning forward to kiss him gently and then dropped down beside him onto the bed, exhausted. “I’m honestly unsure as to when, though. The war is at a critical juncture; it seems like we are so close to victory. I can’t decide if we might just as well finish the war and figure out after, or if our attachment is so dangerous we have to leave immediately. I don’t want to guess wrong, and fall to the dark side, Anakin.”

Anakin sighed and snuggled into his side. “We’ll be fine if we stick together.”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said, doubt still coloring his words. He wrapped his arms around Anakin and pulled him close, letting their legs tangle together. His voice lowered and he murmured in Anakin’s ear, “But perhaps not, darling. Either of us could be very dangerous if things go wrong.”

“They won’t,” Anakin said blithely. He kissed Obi-Wan’s neck. “We’ll be fine.”

Obi-Wan swallowed his misgivings, staring at the ceiling and trying to appreciate how perfect it felt to have Anakin so close, just like he’d wanted for so long. It still seemed unreal that Anakin had chosen him, and Obi-Wan was having real trouble believing it. It could have all just been because Anakin had been away from his wife for too long, and seeing her would reignite his feelings for her. He might change his mind, and not want Obi-Wan anymore. 

A spike of preemptive grief in the Force made Anakin tense, and look up at him sharply. “What?”

“Nothing,” Obi-Wan said quickly, stroking his back. At Anakin’s dubious look, he continued, “Nothing important. I just worry, you know that.” Anakin rolled his eyes, and still looked expectant for Obi-Wan to explain. “Seeing Padmé might—”

Anakin scoffed, cutting him off. His voice was strident. “I wasn’t lying and I won’t change my mind. I love you. I have for years; I always will.”

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly, his grief intensifying as he imagined losing Anakin after having had this moment— it would be infinitely harder to let him go, infinitely more painful. 

Anakin snapped at him, annoyed. “Stop it!” 

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan sighed, and pulled him to his chest. “I just… I love you.”

Anakin shook his head, nuzzling against him. He muttered, “Trust me.”

“I’ll try,” Obi-Wan said, kissing his hair again. 

Anakin hummed. “Seeing her won’t change anything, I promise. There is nothing Padmé could say to me that would make me change my mind, Obi-Wan. You don’t need to doubt me.”

“We’ll see,” Obi-Wan hedged. His attention was caught by the sudden light blinking on his comlink. Finally. “The Council has orders for us.”

“Great,” Anakin mumbled, pushing his face into Obi-Wan’s chest. He rubbed his cheek against the hair there with a contented hum.

Obi-Wan smiled at him fondly, and then focused, using the Force to lift his datapad from the desk, bringing it smoothly to his waiting palm. Anakin watched with glee, opening his mouth to tease him for frivolous uses of the Force. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, and Anakin just grinned. 

Obi-Wan studied the orders and swore quietly. 

“What?” Anakin asked, immediately concerned. 

Obi-Wan waved his hand. “It’s fine. Master Plo just beat me to the rotation on Coruscant. I suppose there’s definitely no harm in waiting for Ahsoka now. We’re to do a sweep of the nearest hyperlane for Separatist activity.”

Anakin listened and then shrugged, giving Obi-Wan a contented kiss on the neck. “I’m in no hurry to go back to Coruscant, Master.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his back fondly one last time, and then rolled away, standing and cracking his back with a sigh. “C’mon, love. Ahsoka could be here soon enough.”

“Right!” Anakin agreed with a small, almost bashful smile spreading at Obi-Wan’s term of endearment. “I really do love you too, Obi-Wan.”

“I know.” Obi-Wan kissed his forehead, and then grabbed his arm, pulling him up and out of bed. “In any case we need to use the ‘fresher, Padawan, and then we do have much more to talk about.”

“Fine, Master.” Anakin sighed theatrically, letting himself be pulled. “Let’s go.”