Disclaimer: Star Wars and all its characters are property of Lucasfilm Ltd. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Inspired by one of Rhod's Obi-Wan fics. Anything in here that echoes her ideas can be found in her fic, done far better and with more style. She also beta-read this and deserves an award for being awesome like that. I also think I should thank KDawg, because without having her jumpstart me and meta with me about A/O, I probably wouldn't be writing this.
. . .
Obi-Wan understood fear better than most Jedi. He had been claustrophobic for most of his life. He worked through it constantly, and, for the most part, conquered his phobia. There was not a problem in the open space of the Jedi Temple, but sometimes in the cockpits of small fighters, panic would rise like bile within him. He would concentrate on doing something, anything, to not think about it. Most times, he was able to ignore it, to translate it into a mild dislike for flying.
It was not that he feared death. It was that he feared being trapped for all eternity, never to be free.
Qui-Gon had once told him that fear is natural. What separates Jedi from everyone else was their ability to master their fear, rather than let their fear master them.
When Anakin stood by the window, staring at glittering Coruscant ecumenopolis stretched out before him, gripped by fear of loss, by thoughts of his mother, Obi-Wan understood. He thought of tight spaces and walls closing around him and breath stolen from his lungs as the air suffocated him, and he understood.
He only wished he had the ability to tell Anakin to do as he did, to make him understand how to let that fear pass through him, like a ghost in the hallway, there, but unable to touch its surroundings. But he had no words, and all he could do was awkwardly pat Anakin on the shoulder.
. . .
Obi-Wan was never quite sure how he was supposed to react to Anakin's flirtations. Many of them were so small, so insignificant, that he thought it better to say nothing at all.
Sometimes, he wondered after he warmed at the touch of Anakin's hand on his hand, if he said nothing so he wouldn't have to tell Anakin to stop.
. . .
Anakin was not particularly subtle about his desires. It was not so much that he ever said anything—in fact, one of Obi-Wan's greatest frustrations with Anakin was that the older he got, the less he spoke of his feelings, though Obi-Wan was sure that Anakin felt them no less keenly.
Many of Anakin's flirtations could be dismissed in light of how eager he was for affection and human contact. Until he was twelve, Anakin would come up with some excuse to crawl into Obi-Wan's lap during the day or into his bed at night. When Obi-Wan insisted that Anakin was too old for these things, Anakin came up with other ways to ensure that Obi-Wan touched him, most of them involving a suspicious number of scraped knees and bleeding fingers.
It was Obi-Wan's own reactions that worried him when Anakin stroked his beard and suggested he shave or when Anakin watched him with that impossibly intense gaze of his.
Obi-Wan shouldn't thrill when Anakin got too close. His gaze shouldn't linger on Anakin's broadening shoulders when he changed tunics. Obi-Wan felt as if his body controlled him at those moments.
There were more obvious moments, when Anakin didn't bother to hide his desire. Those were the moments that redefined the others.
. . .
It had started when Anakin was fourteen. Perhaps it had begun earlier, but Obi-Wan hadn't noticed it until Anakin was nearly as tall as he. There was something almost adult about Anakin's surprisingly delicate features, something hungry in his blue eyes. Something that Obi-Wan wanted to respond to.
"Do you masturbate?" Anakin asked. There was a challenge in his voice, but Obi-Wan wasn't sure what the challenge was.
"Of course. Most human beings do," Obi-Wan answered. There was a shift in their conversations about sex now. No longer was it simply about a teacher informing his student about the facts of life. It had become remarkably personal.
"What do you think about when you do?"
Obi-Wan turned off the datapad he had been reading and stood up. "Things that arouse me." He headed into his bedroom.
He did not think of Anakin the next time he masturbated, but it didn't take long for the fantasy to take hold.
. . .
Anakin sometimes left his bedroom door unlocked when he masturbated. The door would slide open automatically as Obi-Wan passed by, but Anakin was too busy stroking himself to notice.
Obi-Wan kept walking by, resisting the urge to watch, to see Anakin's bare flesh flush and watch him tremble when he came.
He found it odd how, at dinner, it was always he who was more embarrassed than Anakin.
. . .
A Master was not to make his apprentice his lover. The Council stood very firm on this rule. Attachment between a Master and his or her Padawan Learner was already intense enough, they said. Sex was an abuse of power, an inexcusable deepening of a bond that the Jedi only allowed through necessity.
Obi-Wan always obeyed the Council.
. . .
It wasn't until Obi-Wan stared at a suspiciously calm Anakin, standing naked in the shower, that he entertained the possibility that Anakin had intentionally left the 'fresher door unlocked.
Anakin stepped out of the shower and stood in front of Obi-Wan, water dripping down his bronzed skin, so close his body heat radiated out from him—or perhaps it was the hot water from the shower behind him. Light gleamed off the dips and curves of his muscular definition. Obi-Wan was struck by an urge to lean forward and lap at the drops of water pooling on Anakin's collarbone.
"Did you want to join me, Master?" he asked. "There's enough room in the shower for both of us." It was tempting to stare at Anakin's half-hard cock, only a hand's breadth away, but Obi-Wan knew it would only give him ideas. It would give them both ideas.
It struck Obi-Wan, as he looked up to meet Anakin's eyes, that Anakin was taller than he. When had Anakin become a man, exactly? Obi-Wan felt like he'd missed it somehow, in midst of lightsaber training and meditation training and Force training and every other sort of training a Master was supposed to give his apprentice.
It occurred to him that Anakin was seventeen now, no longer a boy, but it was the physical sight of him, naked, sexually charged, suggestive, that made Anakin's imminent adulthood a reality.
"I'll wait to take my own shower. Try not to use up all the hot water," Obi-Wan said in a tone light enough that he hoped it hid his temptation.
He walked out, studiously avoiding Anakin's gaze.
. . .
When Obi-Wan had turned eighteen, Qui-Gon had taken him to a house of prostitution. Obi-Wan had never been sure if Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan had already had sex or not, or if it even mattered to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon had not hesitated at any point during Obi-Wan's adolescence to explain how to approach someone for sexual favors and how to treat partners during the act, amongst other things. Qui-Gon had been determined to make Obi-Wan as courteous a lover as he was a diplomat.
"Sex is a perfectly natural aspect of life, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon had said in that deep voice of his that somehow managed to lilt—compensation for a minor vocal defect. "I want you to be comfortable with it, as it is so integral to so many humanoid beings' existences. Pick a partner. More than one, if you'd like. Enjoy yourself."
When Anakin turned eighteen, Obi-Wan simply took him to Dex's for dinner. He never taught Anakin how to approach anyone for sex. Obi-Wan made excuses to himself that it was simply because Anakin was so young, but deep down, Obi-Wan knew it was because he couldn't bear the thought of Anakin with anyone else.
. . .
Obi-Wan bitterly reflected, as he struggled to hold up a closet shelf weighed down with Anakin's tools and miscellaneous parts, that he should ask Anakin to find a hobby that didn't take up so much room.
"Here, let me help."
Anakin moved behind him, his arms reaching around to help Obi-Wan hold the shelf up as he moved up more stabilizers to keep it steady.
The shelf was secure now, but Obi-Wan's arms still trembled a little. He didn't turn around. This was too close, with Anakin behind him, blocking him into the closet. The strange pressure of being trapped in a small space gripped his chest, but with it came something else, something new. He could feel Anakin's hot breath on his neck, his arms as they dropped back to his side, and a hard bulge pressed against the small of his back that could only be an erection.
Obi-Wan gasped for air, the heat in his body rising sharply. "Thank you. I need to make dinner," he said as quickly as possible, and slid away from Anakin, out of the closet, down the hall of their apartments.
He had to spend a full five minutes standing in front of the open refrigeration unit in order to banish all traces of arousal.
. . .
There was a time, in the middle of a botched mission, when Obi-Wan and Anakin were both thrown into a stone sarcophagus, Obi-Wan first, then Anakin on top of him, each facing the other. The durasteel lid was shut tightly over them.
This was not a starfighter cockpit. Obi-Wan could not calm himself in by reminding himself that he could get back out, that this was not the end. This was a grave, a stone prison built to hold him until he died. All his Jedi control melted away, and he scrabbled for freedom. His body twisted in terror, his hands pushing, seeking, searching, not even fully registering Anakin on top of him as he sought release.
It wasn't until Anakin gave a small groan and shuddered against Obi-Wan, that Obi-Wan stopped struggling. He felt something wet against his hip and realized he'd just inadvertently caused Anakin to orgasm with his thrashing. Anakin's embarrassed pleasure cut through his fear like a razor, and he lay calm against the cold stone bottom.
Anakin turned his face away, limp against Obi-Wan now, perhaps hoping Obi-Wan would think him dead and not react.
Obi-Wan didn't know what to say, so he said in a calm, clear voice that amazed even him, "We need to get out of here."
Anakin nodded slowly and flipped onto his back to help Obi-Wan push the lid open with the Force.
. . .
Obi-Wan didn't want Anakin to go with Padmé alone to Naboo. He already knew what would happen, and the way they looked at each other on Geonosis only confirmed how right he had been.
It hurt every bit as much as he thought it would.
. . .
What confused him more than Anakin trying desperately to hide his relationship with Padmé, was that Anakin never stopped displaying his interest in Obi-Wan. He still stood too close, still looked at Obi-Wan too hungrily, still arranged for Obi-Wan to walk in on him during moments that would have embarrassed anyone else with even a shred of modesty.
Obi-Wan was never sure whether to be flattered by that or not. Sometimes, he wondered what Padmé thought about that, but when he visited her, the subject of Anakin's desire to fuck Obi-Wan never came up.
There were times, though, perhaps when she thought Obi-Wan was busy eating the pastry that Threepio had just served him, that she looked at him with such naked envy that he was sure that she knew.
. . .
They sat back to back one night on a planet called Mithyr, on watch, while they let the survivors of their clone trooper contingent sleep. They were in the northern part of the main continent, and the nearest city was over a thousand kilometers away. It was a clear night, and the tree-like plants dropped purple leaves around them. There was no moon, but the nearby Sacreha cluster of stars kept the night bright. Obi-Wan liked the wide, open space.
Anakin was warm against Obi-Wan's back, even warmer than usual. It was disconcerting to sit on a cold, flat rock with such a hot, soft person at his back. It didn't stop the cold from stinging his extremities, however.
"I could use a hot cup of tea right about now," Obi-Wan had said, blowing on his fingers to recover some feeling. Autumn colds were almost as bad as winter, only with less snow. They were more dangerous in their deception, and Obi-Wan regretted not having brought gloves and an extra cloak.
Anakin mumbled something that Obi-Wan didn't quite catch.
"What was that?"
Anakin hesitated. "I said I could use a blowjob right about now."
Obi-Wan froze, and he didn't feel the cold any longer. He forced himself to laugh after a moment. "Well, there's always that."
"They're good for warming you up. And distracting you from things like war. And death."
"It's not so bad, Anakin. Just a few losses—"
"Ten men died today."
"Ten clones died. They did their duty."
"Yeah, when they died, did you notice a difference in the Force from when anyone else dies?"
Obi-Wan said nothing and continued to blow on his fingers, though he no longer needed it.
"I just miss that distraction. Sex is good for that," Anakin said, his tone dreamy now. "Hands on your hips, holding you back as a nice, warm, wet mouth swallows your—"
"Yes, I'm familiar with the concept," Obi-Wan cut in, shifting on the rock. Despite the cold, he was hard now. Heat flamed through his entire body, in defiance of the weather.
Anakin refused to be deterred. "It's like somehow entering another world. A world focused solely on your cock, especially when the sucking starts. You can't think of anything but how good it feels, how hot you are, how much you want to move, so pent up, needing release…"
"Stop it," Obi-Wan hissed, mustering every ounce of Jedi training he had to not slip his hands in his pants at Anakin's words. It wasn't even so much the words, but the feeling behind them, that desire, radiating off Anakin's body like a personal heater.
If there had been any doubt that Anakin knew exactly what he was doing, it was removed when Anakin said, "But you wanted a cup of tea, right, Master?"
Obi-Wan stood up, adjusting his robes to hide his erection, though he knew Anakin would sense the arousal in any case. "At least I'll be getting what I want tonight," he said, and headed back to camp.
The cup of tea was the second thing he had before falling asleep.
. . .
Obi-Wan knew things would become more difficult when Anakin became a Jedi Knight. There were strict codes of ethics about Masters taking their Padawans as their lovers, but none for Masters and their former apprentices. Every good excuse he had not to pursue a sexual relationship dissolved when he ceremoniously clipped Anakin's braid off.
Anakin only smiled as the long, thin braid of hair slipped to the floor. He smiled at Obi-Wan, his heavy-lidded eyes almost sleepy with desire.
All that stood between them now were their fears. Anakin's fears of loss, and Obi-Wan's fears of being too close.
. . .
Fear proved to be a paltry barrier between them.
Or maybe it was the war that weakened his resolve.
Obi-Wan was never sure. He was also never sure who kissed who first.
They were supposed to infiltrate a large Separatist facility, and instead of the usual well-wishing, there was Anakin's lips pressed against his, tongue sliding into his mouth, hands buried in his hair. Obi-Wan's heart pounded, his body thrummed with energy, and he thought he might burst out of his skin if he kissed Anakin any longer.
"Be careful, Master," Anakin said when they pulled away. He smiled before he slipped into the forest under-brush to find the facility's side entrance.
As Obi-Wan headed to the back, he reflected that Anakin's smile reminded him of a well-fed puuri cat.
. . .
The first time hadn't been planned. Obi-Wan still wasn't sure he wanted to give in, even when Anakin looked at him so hungrily that Obi-Wan remembered what it was like to be a young man again.
Sparring exercises made it worse. Adrenaline rushed through both their bodies, making them want more activity, more movement, more challenge. They broke off the duel when the Juggernaut transport meant to carry them through the jungles of Kilis Bei arrived.
Obi-Wan only just entered into the dressing room for his shower when Anakin came up behind him, making Obi-Wan keenly aware of how small the dressing room was, how close Anakin stood behind him. He instinctively fought off the panic. He could handle it; he could handle anything. He was a Jedi Master, after all.
"Would you like some help with those, Master?" Anakin had asked in a low voice, his breath hot against Obi-Wan's neck, recalling similar moments like this. He tugged at the tunics Obi-Wan had started undoing.
It was plain, then and there, that it was up to Obi-Wan how this worked. If it worked at all. He was grateful for that control, though he doubted Anakin was fully aware of the power he'd just handed Obi-Wan.
"If you wish," Obi-Wan said quietly, letting Anakin disrobe him.
The act was messy, and over far too soon. The frenetic energy they treasured during their sparring sessions did not translate well to Anakin holding him up against the lockers and fucking him raw.
Obi-Wan decided, while Anakin stood up to finish stripping off the rest of his own clothing for their shower, that next time would be better.
. . .
Anakin never asked for the blowjob, but when Obi-Wan gave it to him, he seemed to appreciate it. Obi-Wan did not get on his knees, as Anakin expected, but laid Anakin down inside one of their survival tents and unzipped his pants to indicate what he was going to do.
Words were rarely necessary for them to express what they wanted, at least when it came to sex.
Obi-Wan sucked languidly on Anakin for a while, until he let go to kiss Anakin, to draw the experience out. Anakin trembled beneath him, mewling into his mouth, pawing at his shoulders, begging him to finish what he started without forming a single word.
Obi-Wan returned to Anakin's cock, more energetic about it now, urging Anakin to come. Anakin gurgled out incoherent noises, arching back against the bed, tangling his fingers in Obi-Wan's hair.
The taste of his come on Obi-Wan's tongue was bittersweet.
. . .
Obi-Wan sometimes thought they should talk about this shift of their relationship, this change from Master and Padawan to partners and lovers, but when the moment came, he could never loosen his tongue enough to express himself.
Was he supposed to tell Anakin that he loved him? That they should be careful about attachment? That Obi-Wan sometimes wondered, with no little jealousy, if Anakin loved Padmé more than him?
The words that came seemed so normal, so human, as to be discarded. Jedi should not concern themselves with such things.
. . .
Padmé seemed to know about Anakin and Obi-Wan's mismatched trysts. She didn't say so, but during the dinners they had at her apartment, she'd watch the two of them as they shared some inside joke or cast some intimate glance at the other. A cloud would pass over her expression before being replaced by one of her usual sunny smiles.
Obi-Wan was not so arrogant as to pretend, when Anakin sat closer to her, smiling, occasionally stroking her arm, that he was able to keep a cloud off his own expression.
Whether Padmé was the other woman, or he the other man, Obi-Wan did not know.
. . .
They were supposed to be sleeping. The lights of the Nordwi Star dimmed, and Obi-Wan laid down his bunk with the full intention of not waking up until they received another mission. Anakin, however, had different plans.
Obi-Wan woke from his half-asleep state with Anakin beside him, hot and hard, his hand bravely questing to cup Obi-Wan's groin. Obi-Wan groaned a little, hardening under the touch.
"Please, Master," Anakin whispered into his ear, half-begging, half-demanding. "I need you."
Obi-Wan moved upward and somehow wound up pressed against the transparisteel window behind his bed. He was too tired to make out the details, but he felt Anakin pulling down his sleeping pants.
The heat was almost unbearable. Exhaustion nearly forgotten, Obi-Wan trembled as Anakin touched him. Anakin oiled him, perhaps a little more roughly than he cared for, but it did not make him want Anakin any less. When Anakin thrust into him, Obi-Wan made a soft groan of approval.
There was something to the experience of Anakin being inside him that went beyond words. Obi-Wan leaned back, rocking along Anakin, allowing the other man to build up the momentum he wished. He gripped the window ledge for leverage and closed his eyes.
There was a little pain, but there were thrills racing up and down his spine, and a gloved hand wrapped around his cock, the syntheleather so soft and smooth that it felt like velvet as it slid against his foreskin. The pleasure vastly outweighed the pain.
Obi-Wan came just a couple of minutes after Anakin, his mind swirling and eddying into the hyperspace they traveled through his orgasm. His ecstasy was frozen in time, lasting far longer than it should have, and when it was over, he felt lighter.
Anakin held him, fitted him in his lap so he didn't have to immediately slide out, soft though his cock was by now. "See," he whispered. "Sex helps. It distracts. It reminds you what's important."
Obi-Wan reached back to stroke Anakin's face and wondered what Anakin was so desperate to be distracted from.
. . .
Obi-Wan should have known there was something wrong when Anakin came to him less, touched him less, wanted him less. The fire in his eyes had been blanketed with darkness, and his hunger was not for anything Obi-Wan could give him.
He thought if he gave Anakin more space, it would sort itself out.
He never dreamt he could have been that wrong.
. . .
There was no starfighter cockpit tight enough, no stone coffin small enough, no eternity spent inside a shrinking tunnel that could make him feel as sick with fear as he did when he saw the security holo of Anakin bowing before his new master.
The panic happened far away, the clawing and the scrabbling to get away from this horrific truth located somewhere deep inside of Obi-Wan, where he couldn't quite feel it. When that part that cared so deeply realized it would never get free, that this was real, that there was no denying the truth, it laid back down, never to return, forever locked in a tight space inside of his heart.
There were no words to convey what he felt. So he said nothing, until he couldn't bear to watch any longer and turned off the holo.
He hadn't known. Somehow, he'd been blind to it all. He wondered if there was something, anything, he had said to make Anakin do this.
It was then that Obi-Wan realized he had never said anything at all.