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Anakin hadn’t even wanted to go on the mission to Sujilak. Nothing against the planet, of course, but it was a low-priority mission, right around the time Obi-Wan needed to focus for exams.
The studying, also combined with the fact that Obi-Wan’s arm had been injured on their previous mission, meant that Anakin would be traveling alone to Sujilak. That by itself would have been fine. Anakin is a thirty-six year old man. He can travel alone.
(Alright, yes so he very rarely has had any reason or opportunity to, seeing as he was assigned Ahsoka as his Padawan mere months after becoming a Knight. And only a few weeks after Ahsoka’s Knighting ceremony, Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi’s master-padawan ship had splintered and imploded. Which meant that Anakin had stepped up to complete the then sixteen year old’s training.)
So no, Anakin doesn’t usually travel alone. He could, of course. He could.
But he prefers traveling with Obi-Wan next to him. He prefers that over everything in the galaxy actually.
A fact that probably reeked so much of attachment that the Council had insisted he leave his padawan behind for this mission. Anakin had had a bad feeling about it all, but when had anyone ever listened to Anakin? It’s not like he’s the Chosen One or anything.
But. Anyway. Sujilak had been boring, but it had been fine. Obi-Wan would have probably loved it, would have probably been fascinated by the markets on the castle’s grounds, the baubles and figurines they sold everywhere as a holiday tradition. He’d picked one up for Obi-Wan, not for any particular reason but that he wanted--needed--Obi-Wan to know he’d been thought of while he was gone.
Their bond has been quiet and muted. That’s not really that strange, of course, seeing as Obi-Wan usually gently closes the door to his mind when he’s studying or busy working because “Master, you’re so loud in the Force, it’s hard to think straight when you’re around.”
But Anakin has been having dreams, ever since he left Obi-Wan at the Temple on Coruscant. And they’re dreams that don’t even make sense . Obi-Wan can’t be in danger like he is in Anakin’s dreams. He’s in their quarters in the Temple, probably concentrating too hard on his books to answer his master’s comm-calls.
The dreams, paired with his own pre-existing desire to take Obi-Wan with him wherever he goes for the rest of his life, make Anakin relieved to lift off of Sujilak and guide the craft into hyperspace. He’ll have to report to the Council most probably, but he could sneak away first to see his padawan under the guise of dropping off his traveling cloak and bag.
It’s been three weeks away from Obi-Wan. Surely his prim padawan would allow him a hug or two? Perhaps one very long hug where he can press his nose against Obi-Wan’s short hair and breathe in deeply as he pulls him closer into his chest and Obi-Wan mumbles some half-hearted complaint because he was raised in the creche and then under Qui-Gon, who wouldn’t know physical affection if it tried to hold his hand.
But he’d melt into Anakin after a few seconds. He always has, even when he was sixteen and prickly and stuck in his own head.
Anakin crosses his arms over his chest. Obi-Wan will allow him a hug or two. Maybe they’ll drink tea and caf on the couch sitting close to each other while they tell each other what they’ve been doing. He hopes Obi-Wan has thought of him as often as Anakin has, which has, of course, been constantly.
He misses his padawan. That makes him a good master. And alright, especially in the last few years there have been moments where Anakin is inarguably a terrible master, where his eyes linger on his padawan’s freckle-dusted shoulders as he moves through katas, where he lets a brush of hands last too long because he can’t stand the thought of pulling away, where he’s in his bed late at night and the only thing he can think of when he wraps his hand around his cock is his padawan’s wide blue eyes, pretty lips wrapping around the word Master like it means something completely different.
He wasn’t like this with Ahsoka. It’s a cold comfort, but it’s true. It’s not that he’s attracted to all his padawans or something. Her padawanship under him was perhaps inappropriate in regards to the Order’s sense of decorum and detachment, but he’d never--he’d never wanted--or even thought about that. She was a kid when he became her master, all of twelve years old. He’d had to teach her so much about the Jedi, but also about the galaxy and her place in it. She felt more like...family.
Not that Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like his family. He does. But not as much as he feels like. Well.
His.
Obi-Wan came to him late, after three years with a different master. At sixteen, he’d been amazingly self-reliant and self-sufficient. He’d been quiet. He’d carried a hurt that Anakin hadn’t known how to fix at first. His new padawan was as different as he could be from his first one. Withdrawn. Wary. As if he thought that should he put a single toe out of line, Anakin would leave him too.
Ahsoka had, of course, relished in putting her whole foot out of line, if not her entire self, and Anakin had only ever had the heart to give her extra practice and no dessert for dinner as punishment. And she’d sigh and roll her eyes and snip at him and he’d snip back with no intention of wounding. That’s just how they worked.
But with Obi-Wan, he’s had to be softer. More gentle in both the training salles and their own quarters.
It’s not a hardship. Probably actually quite the opposite of a hardship, especially when Obi-Wan had started to bloom and unfold himself under his praise and pet names. Oh, Obi-Wan is still a staunch traditionalist in some aspects. Like for example, while Ahsoka had called him Anakin or Master Anakin, Obi-Wan never calls him anything but Master.
That is a hardship these days. Especially since Obi-Wan turned nineteen and he started really coming into his own, sneaking out of their quarters to meet with friends in the Lower Levels, coming back late if at all, always disheveled, always looking like he’s just had a really good fuck and he’s still seeing stars.
But what can Anakin even say, especially when Ahsoka did worse. When Anakin himself did worse. Hey, sweetheart, exploring your body is a natural part of aging and I don’t want you to feel ashamed because I am very proud of who you’ve become and the confidence you’re demonstrating, but I would actually prefer it if you spent the rest of your life wearing a chastity belt and standing right next to me because thinking about what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with is going to be the thing that makes me fall to the Darkside. I will literally become a Sith if I have to see one more hickey on your neck that isn’t from my mouth, baby. Do you want that? Do you want your master to become the first Sith in a thousand years because you wanted to get your dick wet?
He can’t see a scenario where that goes over well.-
So he’s been looking at Obi-Wan differently for a year, fixating on his dimples and eyes and...and collarbones. And he may be a little more than attached to his padawan, but not more so than he thinks anyone would be after spending a few years in Obi-Wan Kenobi’s company.
He doesn’t know what Qui-Gon Jinn was thinking, giving Obi-Wan up. But whatever happened between them, well. It’s the best thing to happen to Anakin maybe in his entire life. Because now he gets Obi-Wan out of it, and there’s no way in Siths’ Hell he’d ever make the same mistake.
Comforted by these thoughts and hyper-aware of the dwindling space between himself and his padawan, he gets comfortable in the pilot’s chair and settles in for a quick nap
Probably not even thirty minutes later, he jolts awake in the chair. He’d dreamt of Obi-Wan, crying, sobbing, wounded. Obi-Wan, alone in the ruins of a city. Obi-Wan, injured. Dead. Then dead.
It takes two tries before his fingers can grab ahold of his comm and type out Obi-Wan’s sequence. He needs to hear his padawan’s voice, even if he’s sleepy or irritated at being woken up or torn away from studying
But Obi-Wan doesn’t answer.
Anakin is furious. Of all the moments his padawan chooses to disrespect him, to ignore him, he chooses now . Now, when Anakin needs him.
It’s a standard two days’ worth of flying to get back to the Temple. Anakin doesn’t sleep again.
---
As soon as he lands the craft in the Temple’s hangar bay, he’s off the ship and on the ground. He doesn’t know what his Force signature is doing, after so little sleep and absolutely no communication with his padawan, but the workers give him a wide berth as if afraid of him.
Good. He doesn’t want any distractions. What he wants now--the only thing he wants--is to go to sleep with his padawan safely in his arms. They’ve shared beds before of course, on long missions to cold or quaint planets. But never in the Temple. Not yet.
That’s going to change as soon as Anakin gets his hands on his wayward padawan.
But before he’s even out of the hangar, his old master is standing in the doors with Master Yoda.
“Masters,” Anakin ducks his head in a pantomime of respect. “Am I late?”
Master Windu shakes his head slightly, but at least it’s not the I’m disappointed in you, Anakin headshake. But it’s his I’m displeased with this situation in general and the shatterpoints I’m seeing are giving me headaches headshake, which may be worse.
“Meet, we must,” Yoda says.
“For the debrief, of course. Let me just drop off my bag and cloak,” Anakin responds, feeling very glad he’d rehearsed this exact scenario. He just wants to see Obi-Wan, he just wants to make sure his padawan is alright and whole. Then he can go to the Council. Then he can come back and sequester himself in their rooms and keep his padawan safe in his arms, just for a few hours. A night. Just until Anakin feels less like he’s dangling over the edge of a giant precipice, attached only by a thin string of sanity.
Just give him this.
“Meet now, we must,” Yoda insists, and Anakin closes his eyes and asks the Force for patience.“Of course, I just need--"
“It involves Padawan Kenobi,” Mace says. Master Windu has always been able to see through him, down to his very core. Sometimes it irritates Anakin and sometimes it makes him feel cared for. Now, it puts him on edge.
His entire body feels tense when he asks very sharply, “What about Obi-Wan?”
Yoda’s ears flick downwards. “In the Council chambers, we should meet. Follow us.”
Anakin narrows his eyes because he wants to protest, to demand every piece of information now , but Master Windu’s expression forces him to hold his tongue. Gripping the shoulder-strap of his bag tightly, Anakin walks behind the two masters as they cut a brisk path towards the Council room.
Until the very moment the doors open to reveal no Obi-Wan standing shamefully but proudly in the circle of the room, Anakin thinks that perhaps Obi-Wan has finally done something that has caught the attention of the Council and he will have to sit through an hour or so of Obi-Wan being reprimanded the way Anakin had been as a padawan. The thought had been a combination of both anticipation and worry.
But it’s nothing compared to the worry that permeates his whole body when he sees there is no Obi-Wan in the Council chambers. Most of the Council members are there, as well as Qui-Gon Jinn, who is standing on the far side of the ring of seats.
He doesn’t even wait until the doors are closed before he’s asking questions of his former master. “Where is Obi-Wan? What do you mean this involves him? What has he done? What has happened to him?”
It’s only been a matter of days. Seconds, really, compared to how much time they’ve spent together before this sudden absence. How can anything have happened? Under the weight of so many Council members’ stares, Anakin probably should wilt, but he’s too preoccupied for that. What has Obi-Wan done? Why can’t he see him?
Why can’t he see him?
“Two weeks ago,” Master Windu says, dropping into his seat, “Jedi Tahl was taken hostage on Melida/Daan. She was sent to negotiate peace. Not two standard days after communication between ourselves and Tahl failed, we sent Master Jinn to negotiate her return, having ascertained her to be held prisoner by one of the warring factions. To aid Master Jinn, we sent Padawan Kenobi, as his skill in diplomacy is--”
Reality fades out for a few moments. Melida/Daan has been locked in a civil war for centuries. It’s a violent, war-torn planet with little hope of a peaceful future. And while he was gone to karking Sujilak, the Council and Qui-Gon karking Jinn decided to take his padawan there.
What if his dreams of Obi-Wan hurt and alone in city ruins have actually been their bond connecting? What if his padawan has been grievously injured and they don’t know how to tell him? What if he’s currently in the Halls of Healing, stuck inside a bacta tank and that’s why he’s not picked up his calls over the last several days?
What if--
“While on this mission, Padawan Kenobi reportedly became enamored with a rebel group calling themselves the Young. Forced to choose between the mission objective and your padawan’s interpretation of the events, Master Jinn successfully liberated Jedi Tahl from her holding cell.” Master Mundi reads from his datapaad, as if this is a standard debriefing, as if he has not caused the collapse of Anakin’s entire world with a few simple words.
“As detailed in Master Jinn’s report, Obi-Wan Kenobi insisted on remaining on-planet with the rebel group, regardless of his Jedi mandate. Master Jinn had no other choice but to take an ailing Jedi Tahl back to the Coruscant Temple for proper healing and treatment.” The master finishes with a decisive click of his tongue.
Qui-Gon Jinn blinks at him from across the Council room, hands clasped behind his back. “Knight Skywalker,” he says gently, as if that will make up for the fact that he tore his padawan away from him. “It was a difficult decision to make. Time was critical, and Obi-Wan refused to see reason. Tahl’s life hung in the balance.”
“Then you should have left it up to the Force, not left my padawan in a warzone!” Anakin’s striding forward before he even decides to move, rage narrowing his vision until he doesn’t even see anyone else in the room, only the man who has put his Obi-Wan’s life at risk, has taken him away when Anakin was gone.
He never should have left without Obi-Wan, damn the mission to Sujilak, damn the Council’s worries about his attachment, damn Obi-Wan’s studies. Everything is wrong now.
And it’s Qui-Gon Jinn’s fault. The thought makes him see red. It feels like his body and soul are being consumed by the flames of his rage, that there is no other sensation he’ll ever feel again. Unbidden, the Dark side of the Force slinks against his own signature, rubbing against his mind in greeting.
Unbidden, but not necessarily unwelcome.
“Anakin,” Windu warns sharply, and Anakin rips his gaze away from Jinn to look at his old master. He would understand, surely. As one of the creators of Vaapad, he would know this dark beast inside of Anakin.
He lowers his shields and lets his force signature expand around the Council Chambers, a violent storm that buffets against the minds of the masters surrounding him. He is the Chosen One. He wants to inflict pain, to make his emotions known and felt because how could anyone continue to sit so placidly if they had any idea what Obi-Wan’s loss feels like?
No. Not loss. Temporary absence.
“Padawan,” Windu snaps now in that tone of his that has always demanded Anakin’s obedience. “Control yourself and listen.”
Anakin doesn’t feel much like listening and he bares his teeth in a snarl. Listen. Listen? He wants to make Qui-Gon Jinn scream for this. That, he’ll listen to. Only that.
Only then.
“For the sake of the Force, Skywalker,” Master Mundi bites out, holding a hand to his temple and rubbing furiously. “We’ve a ship fueled for you to retrieve your padawan. You are allowed to go to him.”
These words filter through the haze of his mind, bringing with them confusion and incredulity. Did they think he was going to wait for their permission? Did they think it mattered to him what the Council wanted? It has never mattered less what the Council wants.
But, he figures it does make it easier.
“Will you apologize?” He barks out to Qui-Gon Jinn, hands clenched into fists as he stares at the Jedi.
Jinn looks worse for wear, having borne the brunt of Anakin’s anger, but he stands straighter at this question. “Tahl is alive. She wouldn’t be, had I tried to reason with our padawan.”
“He’s mine,” Anakin snaps, rubbed completely the wrong way by Qui-Gon Jinn’s claiming words. “You gave him up. Twice. When we get back, you will never even look at him again.”
The words carry the weight of a threat, and the way Qui-Gon steps backwards slightly makes Anakin think that that’s been communicated.
And if my padawan is hurt, I will repay that hurt to you a thousand-fold. He doesn’t say out loud, but promises to himself.
But he won’t let himself even think of that. Of Obi-Wan being anything less than alright.
“I’m leaving now,” he decides, turning to look at his old master. “Send me the coordinates of Obi-Wan’s last known location.”
“If you promise to sleep at least a few hours,” Windu replies.
Anakin smiles, but it’s a bloodless thing. He can’t imagine sleeping right now. Not yet. Not yet.
---
It takes both infinitely longer and shorter than he thought it would, to land on Melida/Daan. Jinn had, in his mission report, told of a series of underground tunnels that a local girl had guided them through and where the Young were based. He’d made note of the coordinates to the entrance. It was probably the only useful thing Jinn had done the entire mission.
Something about the darkness of the underground tunnels prickles at Anakin’s skin. His padawan is not meant for such shadows. He belongs in the sunlight.
If the bond between the two of them had been weaker, it would perhaps be impossible to find Obi-Wan underground. But their bond is strong, and Anakin in the Force is just as strong. Following their bond to Obi-Wan is like following a gold thread in the dark. He closes his eyes and trusts in the Force. Trusts that they will be reunited. That Obi-Wan will be alright.
And then, like hearing the song of the Force herself, Anakin hears Obi-Wan’s crisp accent, the way he sharpens his vowels when he’s angry. Just listening to Obi-Wan speak is enough to have Anakin leaning back in relief. He’s alright. He’s alive. He’s talking to someone just around the corner, their voices soft but harsh.
“I will not,” his padawan insists. “I am not a leader. I don’t belong here.”
“You chose to stay, Obi,” another voice responds, female. Young.
Obi?
“To help you end your war!” Obi-Wan cries. “It was never really mine. It was just the right thing to do. My master would have done it.”
The girl scoffs and Anakin sneers at the sound. “You don’t have a master. Not anymore. I was there. The other Jedi told you staying would mean leaving the Order. So you left when you stayed.”
Obi-Wan’s silent, but Anakin can feel his pain through the Force around them. He almost reveals himself then.
“Let me cut that from you,” the girl wheedles. Anakin decides he resoundly doesn’t like her, even though he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “It’s a Jedi thing, right? Your braid. You’re not Jedi anymore, Obi. They’re not gonna come back. You’re Young now.”
When Obi-Wan’s Force signature tinges with hesitation and even worse consideration, Anakin can’t keep still. This girl has been feeding his padawan any number of false ideas dressed up as truths. It’s time to remind Obi-Wan the biggest truth of them all. Anakin will always come for him.
He gathers the thread of their bond in his hands and yanks on it, pulling a loud gasp from Obi-Wan.
“What is it?” the girl asks, immediately on high alert and sounding as if she’s scanning the surrounding area for threats. As if she could protect his padawan better than him .
“Master,” Obi-Wan murmurs wondrously, and Anakin teases at the bond approvingly. Yes. Yes.
There’s the sound of stumbling, hurried footsteps, and Anakin barely has enough time to push himself off the wall he was leaning against before Obi-Wan is there and throwing himself at him. He catches him eagerly and draws him closer into his arms.
Something disjointed inside of Anakin clicks back into place when Obi-Wan clutches closer to him.
“Master, what are you doing here?” Obi-Wan asks, lips brushing against the skin of Anakin’s neck in a way that could be considered psychological warfare . In lieu of answering, he nuzzles against the short hairs of Obi-Wan’s awful haircut and breathes in his scent. Padawan. Home.
He thinks about saying something awful like I’m here because you’re here, but the words won’t come. He’s been strung out on a ledge for days now, sleepless and worried and spiraling and something about saying that feels like it’ll break him.
“You tell me,” he says instead, even though he knows Obi-Wan will read it as a criticism or words gearing towards a fight. The last thing he wants to do with Obi-Wan is fight. Maybe later, when he’s slept a lot and he’s watched Obi-Wan eat and shower and generally exist within his orbit again. Then he can give into the nagging hurt that’s been steadily growing in the back of his mind since he left for Melida/Daan. That his padawan would leave the Order is in some ways deeply understandable. Anakin has felt the same way at times, and presented with a choice to follow his own ideas of justice even if it meant breaking the Jedi mandate, or to go against himself in order to remain a Jedi….Anakin can’t say he wouldn’t struggle with that choice.
But that his padawan would so easily leave him?
The very thought feels like a vibroblade to his heart, so he hasn’t thought of it much yet.
But Obi-Wan tenses in his arms and then pulls away. “I couldn’t leave them when they were still fighting,” he scowls at Anakin, crossing his arms. “The Young...they’re rough around the edges but they deserve to...to have a childhood. And peace.”
Anakin’s eyes tear away from Obi-Wan’s face when there’s movement at the corner behind him. He tenses to put himself in the way, but it’s just a girl who slips out of the shadows.
Oh right. He’d gotten so caught up in seeing his padawan that he’d forgotten for a second that he’d been talking with someone. Someone who had been trying to convince Obi-Wan that his master was never coming for him.
Smugness permeates his Force signature before he can stop it. Because there against his shoulder is Obi-Wan’s padawan braid which marks him as Anakin ’s student and this girl, whoever she is, is irrelevant now that Anakin’s back and his padawan is next to him again and they’re together.
“We’re leaving,” Anakin tells the both of them. A declaration of victory to the girl. A command to his padawan. “The war is over.”
“Mostly over,” the girl corrects, crossing her arms. She must be brave. “We need a leader of the Young now. We’ve chosen Obi-Wan.”
Tough luck, Anakin almost says but restrains himself just in time. No, he should be mature, the grown-up, the Jedi Knight.
But then Obi-Wan’s Force signature becomes dappled with something like longing and Anakin finds himself horrified. They’ve talked about it sometimes, very late at night or when they’re traveling in hyperspace and there’s nothing else to do but talk.
Qui-Gon Jinn had only accepted Obi-Wan as his padawan after Obi-Wan had aged out. And then he’d so obviously regretted that choice not three years later. To be chosen, really chosen , really wanted --Obi-Wan still yearned for that, Anakin knows.
But there’s not a chance in Siths hell that he’s going to lose his padawan to a bunch of teenagers playing at government.
“Tough luck,” he says. “I chose him first.”
He’s monitoring Obi-Wan’s Force signature more than he’s monitoring his facial expression or the girl’s response. There’s a flicker of surprise followed by a deep stripe of pleasure, embarrassment, happiness, and something burning hot but hard to pin down and identify.
When Obi-Wan looks away, embarrassment winning out physically, Anakin bares his teeth at the girl. I don’t share, he tries to convey with his glare.
“That’s it then?” the girl asks Obi-Wan plaintively. “Your master comes back and asks you to jump and you say how high? Obi-Wan, you could make an actual change here! We could!”
“Cerasi,” Obi-Wan mutters, crossing his arms. “You know it’s not like that. And you know I think you could be the leader of the Young. You’re everything they stand for, truly. You’d be amazing. You have the votes. You know as well as I do I don’t really belong here.”
“You could,” Cerasi snaps. “You could belong here, Obi-Wan. I thought--I hoped we could...lead together. We’d balance each other out, we’d--”
Anakin comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with his padawan. When he slides an arm around his waist, Obi-Wan surprises both of them by leaning into the touch.
The truth is, Obi-Wan already balances someone else out. Obi-Wan already belongs somewhere else. And Anakin is not going to let him go, not if he thinks Obi-Wan doesn’t want him to.
“We’re leaving,” Anakin murmurs, gracious in his victory now that Obi-Wan just nods with him.
“Yes, Master,” his padawan says, and the Force sings.
---
They’ve been in hyperspace for fifteen standard minutes when Obi-Wan unbuckles himself from his chair and leaves the pilot’s cabin. Anakin lasts two more minutes before he’s following him out, unwilling and unable to allow Obi-Wan out of his line of sight just yet.
He finds him in the little kitchen, making tea as if he had not left the Order and Anakin for a girl.
“I dreamt of you,” Anakin says, leaning against the door as he watches his padawan move about. “Before I even knew you were on Melida/Daan. I thought they were nightmares. I was terrified they would come true.”
Obi-Wan looks at him quietly.
“You died in them,” Anakin elaborates, words torn out of his throat. “You were in a city. And you died. And I didn’t even know where you were, Obi-Wan.”
“I had a duty to those people--”
“You had a duty to me!” Anakin roars before he consciously makes the choice to, and Obi-Wan startles further away from him. He never raises his voice, not at Obi.
He inhales and exhales three times each before he has his temper under control. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he gets out, rubbing a hand down his face. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I...will try to now.”
It’s not what he wants, to be away from Obi-Wan, but he’d never forgive himself for lashing out at his padawan because he couldn’t control his own anger. With Snips, that’d never been a problem. But with Obi-Wan....Obi-Wan just brings out so much in him. All of his strong emotions.
He gets ready for bed in jerky movements, thoughts running wild through his head. He wants to hold Obi-Wan in his arms. He wants to talk to him about Melida/Daan. He wants to make sure his padawan is alright, that he’s handling having fought a war as well as can be expected.
But he needs to sleep first. That’s obvious.
Only as soon as he lays down on the mattress, he’s fully awake, the Force buzzing around him. How could he possibly sleep? What will they tell the Council? He already knows Mace will have him scheduled for joint meditation sessions until the end of the year probably, thanks to his outburst in the Council chambers.
What will Obi-Wan’s punishment be? Will Anakin be forced to discipline him? He doesn’t like the thought, can already imagine the way Obi-Wan will widen his eyes and pout at him until Anakin folds like a piece of wet flimsi.
Before he can think further, the door to his quarters slides open and Obi-Wan’s Force presence fills the tiny room. Just the act of feeling his padawan so close and without his outermost shields relaxes Anakin more than anything else has.
Then Obi-Wan climbs over him to lay down close to and facing him, hands coming up to rest in the scant space between their bodies, and Anakin’s tense all over again.
“You do look terrible,” Obi-Wan mumbles, running his thumb beneath Anakin’s eye. “You should sleep.”
“I was about to,” Anakin lies, his own hand coming up to wrap around Obi-Wan’s padawan braid and tug it like he’d been tugging their bond earlier.
Obi-Wan sighs and melts closer, his eyes fluttering slightly. Anakin’s chest feels rather tight as he gazes at his padawan. So beautiful. So sweet. So infuriating.
“Are you angry with me?” Obi-Wan asks with a pout. Anakin narrows his eyes because he knows that means that Obi-Wan knows he is, and that Obi-Wan is trying to get out of trouble. He’s worn the exact same expression every time Anakin’s caught him sneaking back into the Temple after a night out.
But demanding to be left behind in a war zone is a little more serious than getting illegally drunk with Quinlan Vos, and it’s just not going to work this time.
“I’m absolutely furious, sweetheart,” he says pleasantly, pulling at his padawan braid again. “Would you like to know what I was just thinking about?”
Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows and wets his lips. This is definitely psychological warfare. “I don’t know, do I?”
“I was wondering what the Council would have me do to punish my padawan,” Anakin snaps and he means it to sound reluctant, angry, to convey to Obi-Wan how little he likes about this situation.
But Obi-Wan’s breath freezes for a second, just noticeable at this distance. And his pupils dilate, and suddenly Anakin’s own heart is beating at twice its normal speed.
He presses his palm against Obi-Wan’s cheek. His padawan pushes into the touch, watching Anakin watch him with wide, unblinking eyes.
The bond’s torn open between them, both their shields down, and thoughts flickering quickly through their minds, impossible to tell which belongs to whom.
Is this--
Are we really --
Finally, finally, finally--
Obi-Wan leans forward, hand falling directly over Anakin’s heart and he should be embarrassed because of how fast it’s beating, like he’s an Initiate who’s never had a first kiss, but Obi-Wan’s sliding closer and there’s no room in his chest for embarrassment, not when love and adoration and relief and anticipation have filled him up.
But Anakin knows himself, and he knows Obi-Wan. He can’t kiss Obi-Wan if Obi-Wan doesn’t feel the same way about him, if Obi-Wan is just going to go out and kiss other people when they get back to the Temple. And alright, the bond between them is alight with mutual affection and happiness, but. But Obi-Wan left him only a few days ago.
“Why did you stay?” Anakin whispers, right before their mouths touch.
Obi-Wan’s eyes spring open and he pulls back. “Really?” he asks, sitting up. “You want to talk about this now?”
“I don’t want to do anything else until we have, baby,” he says, following him up. “So it’s either sleep or talk and then….”
He trails off. Something about putting a verbal name to what they were about to do makes it sound so dangerously real. He was about to let his padawan kiss him. He was about to kiss him back. His arms had been tense with the need to roll his padawan under his body and cage him against the mattress using nothing but his weight and limbs. Keep him safe and hidden and his as he bites up the column of his neck, leaves mouth and teeth prints the same place all those other people had left them.
But his would never fade.
Obi-Wan crosses his arms and looks away, his jaw working furiously. “Fine,” he finally says. “But put on a damned shirt, Master, you look indecent.”
Anakin blinks, taken aback.
“Or I’ll strip down to my sleep clothes and we’ll have our serious conversation then,” Obi-Wan threatens. “And I sleep in the nude.”
Of course he does.
“Fine,” he snaps, grabbing a loose robe from his closet and tying it shut. “Is this alright?”
Obi-Wan looks back at him appraisingly and then for much longer than necessary lets his eyes trail over Anakin’s body. “Fine,” he purrs, kneeling back up onto the bed coquettishly.
But Anakin knows what he’s trying to do. “Blast, Obi-Wan, just tell me why. What were you thinking? Damn Melida/Daan! Why did you think, even for a second, I would not come for you? That had you told me what you wanted I wouldn’t move both planet and galaxy to give it to you?”
Obi-Wan flushes under his irate look, and this time Anakin knows it’s real. “That sounds an awful lot like attachment, Master,” he murmurs, tucking his padawan braid behind his ear.
“I almost Force-choked Qui-Gon Jinn in front of half the Council when they told me he’d left you in a warzone,” Anakin sighs, feeling exhausted and every minute of his age. “Of course I’m fucking attached to you, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan has the audacity to look stunned and then even doubtful. “But I’m an awful padawan,” he says. “I know you think that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Qui-Gon said!” Obi-Wan yells, the words sudden in their volume and their existence both. “He told me on the way there that you said you wouldn’t even consider knighting me for years! Was he lying?”
Anakin inhales sharply, and his hands clench into fists. Obi-Wan was never supposed to find out about that. Obi-Wan was never supposed to be looking so hurt by something Anakin hadn’t truly meant.
“There was context, sweetheart,” Anakin murmurs, closing the space between them and cupping his face with both hands.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Obi-Wan sounds heartbroken. “I don’t need to. I’m not a good padawan, you don’t really love me, I’m never going to be a good Jedi, I--I had the chance to leave the Order and do something. Something that I...I thought you’d do. That you’d...be proud of me for.”
“Darling, I’m proud of you,” Anakin tilts his padawan’s face up until they’re looking each other in the eyes. He hopes his grip isn’t too tight, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was. “Of course I am. You’re the best padawan in the entire world. The best padawan in the entire galaxy and all of space and time.”
Obi-Wan sniffs and his eyes are wet and it’s the worst thing Anakin has ever had to endure. “You didn’t lose an arm when you were training Ahsoka,” he points out, pulling Anakin’s durasteel hand off his face to entwine their fingers together.
“I lost years of my life,” he quips, bringing their hands to his mouth to kiss the back of Obi-Wan’s fingers.
Obi-Wan scoffs, but it’s still much too weak to be as sarcastic as he was likely aiming for. “And you haven’t with me?”
“No, baby,” he murmurs against Obi-Wan’s skin. “It feels as if you’ve given them all back.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes go impossibly wide at this, and he sways forward like he can’t help it. Anakin brushes his free hand through Obi-Wan’s hair and then down to play with the end of his padawan braid.
“When Jinn talked to me about your padawanship,” Anakin murmurs slowly, carefully, “he mentioned how Ahsoka was Knighted fairly early, the same way I was. He wondered if you would be given the same honor. I hadn’t even considered that to be honest. Not,” he adds swiftly when Obi-Wan’s Force signature spikes with humiliation, “because you would be unfit for the duties of a Knight. But because I’m selfish, baby. Greedy. I want more than just three years with you. If I could, I’d keep you as my padawan until you’re thirty years old and you break my hip when we spar.”
“You’re not that much older than me,” Obi-Wan argues softly, choosing the least important part of his entire speech to focus on, which is, of course, typical.
“I’m very much older than you,” Anakin says just as softly.
Obi-Wan hums as if considering this. “Alright,” he agrees. “You’re much older than me. But I like it.”
He can’t stifle a groan at his impossible padawan, his favorite person in the entire galaxy, kneeling all nice and easy on his bed and saying impossibly wonderful things while Anakin’s trying to have a serious conversation with him.
Something about this conflict must show on his face or flash across the bond because Obi-Wan uses their still interlocked hands to yank him closer until Anakin’s only options are get up on the bed as well or stumble straight into the mattress. “I stayed behind on Melida/Daan because I wanted to help them,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his breath hitting Anakin’s face. “But I also thought you didn’t believe in me as your padawan.”
“That’s stupid,” Anakin says stupidly. “You’re the thing I believe in most in the entire Jedi Order. If you want to leave, let me know and we’ll leave. I promised to train you, Obi-Wan. I will. No matter what, I--”
“Master, shut up and kiss me, blast it,” Obi-Wan interrupts him, dropping his hand so he can throw his arms around his neck.
There’s nothing else Anakin can do, save for complying. Giving into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s demands has become something of a habit for him in the last few years. Now isn’t any different.
Their first kiss is short and sweet and Anakin pulls back after only a few seconds to make sure Obi-Wan liked it, wanted it, wants more .
But Obi-Wan tangles his hand into his hair and forces his head back down, which feels like a pretty clear sign that he’s on board for more.
After a minute of gentle, closed-mouth kisses, Anakin licks at the seam of Obi-Wan’s lips insistently. This is nice and wonderful and more than he ever really thought he’d have.
But he hadn’t been lying earlier when he had told Obi-Wan that he was greedy. He is greedy. He wants more. He wants everything.
Luckily, Obi-Wan seems completely willing to give him that, opening his mouth with a gasp to allow his tongue to slip inside. His padawan is moving quickly, gripping at his hips to bring them closer together, and Anakin is reminded once again how very young he is. Though someone had the nerve to teach him how to kiss, no one’s ever taught him patience when it comes to sex. How good it can feel to go slow and easy and steady.
He gentles the desperate kiss and pulls back to look at his padawan, who looks like an absolute wreck.
“Baby,” Anakin murmurs, pressing kisses down the length of his throat like he’s dreamt of doing for months now, at the very least. “You’re a mess, baby.”
Obi-Wan keens high in his throat and leans his entire body weight onto him, and Anakin takes that as his cue to lay them both on the bed. Without being told to, Obi-Wan adjusts his legs until Anakin can fit between them and bring their mouths together in another heated kiss.
Although their lips are busy, Anakin uses the bond to send a stream of constant praise to Obi-Wan. How could he not? He’s reacting so beautifully under his hands, arching up into his touch when Anakin rubs at one of his nipples over his thin robes.
Beautiful, precious padawan, Anakin sends across their bond, licking at Obi-Wan’s teeth as he strokes up and down his sides.
More, more, Obi-Wan sends back, disjointed and chock-full of emotions. Please, Master.
The way that word--master--sounds in Obi-Wan’s mind makes Anakin’s cock twitch in his pants. He’s never heard Obi-Wan say it like that , so full of willingness and eagerness and devotion and demand.
He rips himself away from his padawan, if only so he can tear at his own clothes, rid himself of his loose robe and looser pants. Obi-Wan is trying to do to the same, but he’s wearing so many more layers.
Anakin tries to help, but with each new piece of skin that becomes exposed, he gets distracted with the desire to map it with his tongue. Beautiful. Perfect.
Padawan.
Laughing, Obi-Wan pushes Anakin away and rids himself of the rest of his clothing.
“What?” Anakin asks, amused despite the arousal pulsing between his legs. “What’s making my padawan laugh so?”
“You’re ridiculous,” he receives in return, partnered with a short but searing kiss. “I can’t believe I want my ridiculous master to fuck me so bad.”
Anakin groans short and sharp and bites at Obi-Wan’s throat. “How long, sweetheart? How long have you wanted something I was always going to want to give you?”
Obi-Wan tosses his head back when Anakin’s mouth finally locks around one of his nipples and his tongue flicks at the bud. “Ages, fuck, Master, please--
“How long?” Anakin insists, pulling back because he’s curious now. But he’s not cruel, so he rubs his thumb over the head of Obi-Wan’s cock, eyes darting down to watch it jump from the stimulation. When Obi-Wan doesn’t answer immediately, Anakin slaps at his flank, just a gentle blow to get his attention.
One would think he’d struck him with Force lightning the way his body tenses between his thighs at the blow. “Since I was sixteen,” his padawan confesses breathily. “Ages, Master, touch me, fuck me, please, I--”
Anakin claims his mouth in a harsh kiss again, unable to process anything but the way Obi-Wan had begged. If Anakin were a better man, he would not have ever heard that string of words from his padawan in the first place. If he were a lesser man, he would have teased him far longer to hear him beg so prettily again.
But Anakin is only who he is, as strong or weak as that may be, so he sets about giving Obi-Wan everything the boy begs for.
Except, of course: “Baby, sweetheart, I can’t fuck you, I don’t have anything,” he murmurs, stroking through Obi-Wan’s hair. “In our quarters, yes, but this is a Jedi ship, love.”
“Bacta?” Obi-wan suggests with wide, desperate eyes, squirming beneath him and rubbing their cocks together.
Anakin sneers automatically. “I’m not fucking you for the first time with bacta, love. We can wait.”
Obi-Wan seems to disagree with this completely, and he makes that known by whining loud in his throat, hands flying down to his own cock. “I can’t,” he denies, “I’ve used bacta before, Master, it works, I promise!”
Anakin doesn’t know what his padawan is trying to accomplish, reminding him of all the times he’s seen him recently fucked and not by his master’s cock.
But it reminds him of something. Something he thinks perhaps Obi-Wan would be willing to try. “Remember how earlier I told you I was wondering what your punishment from the Council would be?” He asks, pulling up to ghost his lips across the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear.
His padawan shivers in his arms, full-bodied and desperate. “Yes,” he admits, wriggling his hips and trying to get friction on his angry red cock.
“I think I’ve decided what I want from you,” Anakin murmurs. “Flip over for me, baby. I want to give you just a few spanks, just a couple of light taps. Just so I know I’m a good master and I put my padawan in his place. Up and over my lap and moaning like a schutta for more, darling. There you go.”
Anakin has never seen Obi-Wan move so fast, and before he knows it he’s splayed out in his lap, ass up and clutching at the bedsheets with both hands.
“Good,” he murmurs, trailing his hand down to soft flesh. Obi-Wan whimpers and presses up into his hand. It’s the best reaction Anakin could have ever even hoped for, that his stubborn contrarian padawan would want this, from him.
He pulls his hand back and waits two seconds--three--just to put Obi-Wan really on edge. Then he smacks down, not too hard. The noise is louder than the hit was forceful, but still Obi-Wan rocks forwards and back with a high whine.
More? Anakin sends across the bond, rubbing his hand against where he’s hit.
More more more more more mo-- Obi-Wan sends back immediately, until Anakin raises his hand and hits him again.
He won’t go too far or too hard, no matter how much Obi-Wan is gagging for it in his lap. No matter how much Anakin’s own cock seems to hurt more and more with every hit he delivers to Obi-Wan’s backside.
“You’re my perfect padawan,” Anakin mumbles, half nonsensically as he sets up a semi-steady rhythm. “Just mine. No one else’s. Pretty and perfect for me.”
His hand hits low enough that he cilps at Obi-Wan’s perineum and the very edge of his testicles. Not even a second later, Obi-Wan is coming with a loud cry, fisting his hands in the sheets and pushing up into Anakin’s hand.
“Baby,” Anakin breathes out, shocked beyond measure. “Darling, you’re perfect, fuck, look at you.”
“Fuck me,” Obi-Wan demands weakly, barely recovered from his orgasm. “Please, Master.”
“You know I won’t,” Anakin says, but even he can tell his resolve is wavering.
Thankfully, his padawan seems to have decided to take pity on him, because he carefully rolls off Anakin’s lap and onto his back next to him. “Use my come, Master, fuck my thighs,” he murmurs, shaking hands coming up to collect his discharge from his stomach and rub it over the insides of his thighs. “Please, Master,” he starts to say, but Anakin’s on him before he can finish.
Perhaps Anakin is a weaker man than he ever thought. Perhaps Obi-Wan is just his weak spot. But before he knows it, he’s flipped his padawan onto his stomach and fucked in between his thighs.
“You’ll apologize to the Council,” he growls out in a voice hardly recognizable as his own.
Obi-Wan gasps at either the feeling of Anakin’s cock or his words. It’s hard to tell. “I have nothing to feel sorry for,” he protests between pants as Anakin’s thrusts knock him forward with their ferocity.
“Then you will lie,” Anakin grits out, enjoying the feeling of his padawan’s thighs more than he could ever possibly articulate. Tight, wet, and the head of cock bumps against Obi-Wan’s own cock and balls with every other thrust. “Because they will not let you back if you do not, and I will not see you leave me because of your pride.”
“You--said--you’d leave--with me,” his padawan gets out, and Anakin bites at the back of his neck and then licks over the mark, enjoying the taste of his salty skin almost as much as he enjoys the noise it pulls out of Obi-Wan.
“I will, I would,” Anakin groans, hands gripping at his hips hard enough to bruise.
“Wouldn’t want to go anywhere without you, Master,” Obi-Wan sighs out, tilting his hips up that extra bit. Either it’s the slight change in angle or the words, but Anakin reaches his very edge and before he even really realizes it, he’s falling off that precipice with a deep groan of Obi-Wan’s name.
In the immediate aftermath, he collapses onto the bed beside Obi-Wan who turns around immediately to curl up in his arms. They should definitely clean up. “We should definitely clean up,” he says, surprised that he’s the one to suggest it and not his fastidious padawan.
“In a minute, Master,” Obi-Wan murmurs, lips brushing against his collarbone.
Anakin sighs and strokes through his hair. “Call me Anakin, just once,” he requests softly, staring up at the ceiling of his quarters.
“In a minute, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, apparently much more agreeable after an orgasm.
Anakin lets his arm pull Obi-Wan impossibly closer, while his eyes fall shut slowly. “Good, padawan,” he responds, everything else and all its consequences so far away from their bed. From them. “Very good.”