"I see you have an admirer. Again." Anakin frowns across the field towards the King's eldest daughter, Princess Aliana: hair as black as midnight, green eyes like luscious jewels, cheeks flushed a delicate pink over pale, creamy skin.
Intelligent, courageous, beautiful… and harbouring a severe case of unrequited lust.
At least, Anakin hopes it is unrequited.
"Hmm? Oh, you think so?" Obi-Wan says, endearingly oblivious. "Oh dear."
Marginally reassured, Anakin watches the young woman until finally, noticing—very likely feeling— his barbed scrutiny, she tears her eyes away from Obi-Wan and turns to make her way back to the royal tent, sneaking a final look back towards them before she disappears inside.
"I could always speak to her. Tell her the truth."
Anakin would shout the truth from the fifth spire of the Temple, and the Code be damned, if only Obi-Wan would allow it. And if he did not know his former Master better, he might be hurt that Obi-Wan does not love him enough to feel the same way.
With that thought lingering, he glances to Obi-Wan, who has not laughed, or scoffed, or said anything at all, yet, and thinks that he maybe, just maybe, spies a sliver of a smile before it is replaced by that familiar, mild-mannered disapproval.
"I don't think that would be appropriate, Anakin."
"Why not?"
Obi-Wan stops, looks into the distance, and sighs. "You know why."
Hiding is cowardly, Anakin could say, but he knows he should be grateful that Obi-Wan wants to hide, because surely that must mean Obi-Wan feels something for him, something beyond what Jedi are allowed to feel.
If Anakin were paranoid, he could think of other reasons. He could wonder, for example, if Obi-Wan simply wants to preserve his own reputation, and guarantee his place on the Council. Or he could speculate if, in this case, Obi-Wan is attracted to Aliana, and doesn't want Anakin to interfere.
Anakin pushes those unhelpful thoughts away, and replaces them with something more affectionate. Obi-Wan Kenobi, his friend, his lover, is such an infuriatingly private man. In fact, Anakin thinks, even if they did not face such intense complications, Obi-Wan would probably no more divulge the details of the Skywalker-Kenobi relationship to a young woman on an unremarkable mid-rim planet than he would to the editor-in-chief of the holonet's worst gossip channel.
But it does still hurt, a little bit.
Late one evening, Anakin is picking his way between discarded drinking vessels and around the embers of camp fires when he spots the princess not-so-discreetly slipping into the large tent that is to be Obi-Wan's accommodation for the night.
Amusement mixing with dread, Anakin slows his approach. Experience tells him what will almost certainly happen next, but he can't help wondering if this will be the night when it does not. Sounds float over the sultry air: music laughter, singing, and occasional cheer floating from the infantrymen's section of the camp. Here, there are only quiet murmurings. The victory celebrations are over, and the nobles have already taken to their beds.
Anakin is a few paces away from the tent when Aliana emerges, shoving the flap of a door aside, angry tears on her face. She ignores him completely and marches away, hugging her shift to her body.
Sensing her humiliation, he experiences a spark of empathy, but it is short-lived because he's too busy being relieved. After a few seconds he opens the door flap, and leans inside. "Okay to come in?"
"Yes, yes, of course." Obi-Wan is seated at a makeshift desk comprising a storage crate with a coarse blanket laid on top. There is a datapad in front of him, and he's scribbling on flimsiplast with an old-fashioned inkpen.
"For the record, she didn't look too happy."
"I'll never understand why some women feel the need to show their gratitude in such an… intimate manner." Obi-Wan's hair glints like liquid fire in the lamplight, Anakin notices, and his tunic is loosened at the front, revealing an enticing triangle of skin.
"Because that's why they throw themselves at you. Out of gratitude."
"Well, that is what she said. Are you implying she had some other motive?"
"No, no, of course not. So, what did you say to her?"
"That we helped her people because it is our duty to do so. That, as a Jedi, the knowledge that we saved many lives is reward enough for our efforts. And when she still wasn't persuaded, that, as a man…" Obi-Wan pauses, running his finger along a line on the flimsiplast and frowning, then taps on his datapad, scrolling through the pages.
"Yes?"
"Blasted navicomp."
"Obi-Wan—"
"Do you know the coordinates of the Arkanis system, off the top of your head?"
"Three-two-hundred, five-seventy. You were saying, as a man, what?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes. That, as a man, I was resolutely uninterested."
"Ouch."
"I expect she'll eventually get over the tragic disappointment and go on to live a meaningful life." Attention still on his work, Obi-Wan flutters his fingers in the direction of the table. "There's fresh iced water, if you'd like some, and a bottle of the King's finest brandy to take the bitterness away. It seems he also appreciates our help."
Anakin pours two glasses of water, and sloshes pale yellow alcohol into each.
"She's very beautiful."
"Don't think you flatter me with envy, Anakin. You've had your share of attention and you're quite welcome to mine too. In fact, why don't you go after her?"
"Now you're being sarcastic."
"No, I mean it. You are young. I would not like to think your experience of life has been limited because of personal loyalty to me."
Anakin crosses to Obi-Wan's side and puts one of the drinks down on the desk. I hope you're still joking. I hope you know I couldn't.
"Obi-Wan, what worries me is..."
Obi-Wan looks up, "Go on."
"Oh, it doesn't matter. Forget it."
Obi-Wan puts his pen down. "No, tell me."
Anakin takes a large gulp of his drink, and carefully puts the glass down on the desk. "I was just wondering—I suppose I always wonder—if you are ever tempted, you know… to… accept."
It is not an unreasonable question. There is no rulebook covering the etiquette of screwing your Master, former or otherwise, and it's not exactly the kind of thing to go searching for in the archives with Jocasta Nu's wrinkly nose poking over your shoulder. And it has occurred to him that one explanation for Obi-Wan's occasional, perplexing comments about not expecting Anakin's fidelity is that Obi-Wan might have other lovers himself. The very idea makes Anakin feel so sick that he hasn't been able to find the words to ask. Until now.
Then he realises Obi-Wan looks as if Anakin's just suggested he might like to run for political office.
"Anakin, were you listening to me at all a moment ago?"
"Well, I—"
"Aside from the questionable morality of such a liaison, why in the galaxy would I want her, when I have you?"
Anakin suspects this might still be sarcasm, but, to his surprise, he finds unguarded honesty radiating from Obi-Wan.
After staring for a moment, he grins broadly. Obi-Wan smiles back, a little shyly, then busies himself shutting down his datapad, blushing.
Obi-Wan stands up, tipping his head to one side to stretch his neck, running the back of one hand over his eyes.
"Here. Let me." Anakin places his hand, the one of flesh, on Obi-Wan's neck, and gently kneads the place where the muscles are knotted and sore. When he feels Obi-Wan relax, and drop his chin to his chest, Anakin splays his fingers, and—tentatively, because, even now, he is not quite used to the idea that he is allowed to do this—strokes them upwards, into the soft hair at the back of Obi-Wan's head.
Slowly, Obi-Wan turns into the curve of Anakin's arm, and looks up. His eyes glimmer with humour and intimacy and something else. "You are aware that this is a tent. Make a sound louder than a squeak and the whole camp will likely hear."
"Are you implying I can't control myself enough to be quiet?"
"Quiet is not good enough. Silent, perhaps, might do."
"Hmm. I don't know. Where's the fun in that?"
Obi-Wan lips are just millimetres from Anakin's. "Do you want to wait?"
"No. Do you?"
"I think would kill me."
"Then…?" Anakin leans in.
"Then we'd better do this my way." Obi-Wan twirls under his arm and steps away, crossing the room to the silk curtains that surround the sleeping area.
"Your way?" Anakin begins to say, too loudly, before he remembers to whisper, "I didn't know you had a…"
When Obi-Wan's clothes start to appear through the gap in the curtains, Anakin stops trying to say anything, tugs his boots off, and discards as much clothing as he can manage to remove in the time it takes to cross the room.
Inside, gloriously naked, Obi-Wan is propped by one elbow on the bed's thick cushions.
Anakin grins and crawls onto the bed. He reaches for Obi-Wan but is stopped with a look, and a three-fingered shove to his shoulder that leaves him lying flat on his back.
Obi-Wan sits up beside him, smiling as a strokes a hand so gently along Anakin's jawline, shoulder, chest, and over the ticklish spot between belly and hip, making him shiver. When Obi-Wan's hand lingers there, Anakin begins to squirm, and then laugh, but he's silenced by Obi-Wan's finger against his lips, and then distracted by the other hand now working on the fastenings of his leggings, which are still, unfortunately, very much on. Obi-Wan must be torturing him on purpose, because it never usually seems to take forever, and when warm, rough fingers finally close around his aching flesh, Anakin very nearly cries out, but then Obi-Wan's mouth is against his, moulding their lips together, sliding his tongue against Anakin's, swallowing his moans.
He feels Obi-Wan smile because he's been proved right. Anakin has just enough time to think what he would say, if he was allowed, which is that this is all Obi-Wan's fault in the first place, but then Obi-Wan does something so deliciously wicked with his mouth that Anakin forgets about thinking, and surrenders to sensation, allowing Obi-Wan to show him just how much he still has to learn.
Obi-Wan wakes him before dawn. "Hey, sleepyhead. Getting-up time."
Anakin nuzzles the pillow, sliding his arm around Obi-Wan's waist. "Muh-huh… five more minutes."
Obi-Wan pats him on the shoulder. "The servants will be doing their rounds any second. You'd better go."
With a groan, Anakin sits up, running a hand through his hair. "Hey, I love you too."
It was meant to sound like a joke, but the words cut close to such strangled emotion that Anakin's mouth is dry before the end of the sentence. Skin prickling, he risks looking down at Obi-Wan, but his eyes are still too blurry with sleep to see clearly.
Obi-Wan sits up, and, raises a hand to Anakin's cheek. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, but then slides his hand around to the back of Anakin's neck instead, and pulls him into a soft, lingering kiss.
When they part, he rests his forehead against Anakin's. "I… think... I really think... you should go now."
And Anakin very nearly says it, then: the unsavoury, selfish thought that must have surely occurred to Obi-Wan too.
They can't separate us. They have no choice. They cannot afford to lose a single Jedi General, let alone two of their very best. They need us.
But he can already see the dismay on Obi-Wan's face. The guilt. The revulsion.
So Anakin nods, says nothing, and turns to find his clothes.
Princess Aliana is not present when they bid their goodbyes to the King and his advisors. Afterwards, Obi-Wan boards their ship to program the navicomp while Anakin makes last-minute adjustments to the port side engine. He's half buried in machinery when he senses her approach.
She does a pretty good job of hiding her surprise when he ducks out from under the engine, but he can still feel it.
"Oh… General Skywalker. I thought you had already left."
She's lying. He smiles, wiping his greasy hands on the back of his leggings. "Just about to. Are you looking for Obi-Wan?"
"No, as I said—"
"He's already aboard, if you want to say goodbye. I could call him down…"
"No, no. Please don't disturb him." She looks up, a little wistfully, towards the cockpit window, then back at Anakin. "My people will always be indebted to you and General Kenobi for your help. Please thank him on my behalf."
"I will." And I really will, you can be sure of that…
She sighs, quietly, and, now, when she is no longer any kind of threat, Anakin genuinely feels sorry for her. He takes her offered hand, kissing the back of it in the traditional farewell of her planet's genteel class. "Obi-Wan is devoted to the Jedi Order. He takes his vows very seriously," he says, allowing the (incorrect) implication to hang in the air, hoping she will take comfort from it.
"You believe so?" She looks him straight in the eye, raising an immaculately-groomed eyebrow. "Then I am much mistaken. I was under the impression that he was devoted to you."
Before he can say anything in return, she turns on her heel, and leaves. This time she does not look back.
Years later, those words will return to him, when the darkness has consumed everything, when redemption is a feeble joke, when someone like her would not dare to look him in the eye, and would mumble in fear and stutter and tremble at his feet.
And he will ache for the faintest possibility that she may have been right.