Pairing(s): Anakin/Obi-Wan
Disclaimer: Star Wars and all its characters are property of Lucasfilm Ltd. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Written for the 2008 Star Wars Valentine's Day challenge. Prompt: Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love! - from Moulin Rouge. Love and Lovers is my GFFA version of a few Shakespearean plays combined; I'll let you sort out the references. Intended to be humorous and light-hearted.
. . .
"But why do I have to play the annoying, whiny lover boy?" Anakin demanded, holding up the datapad containing his orders from the Master of the Arts.
Obi-Wan stood by the window of their apartment and continued to spritz feedwater on his potted plant. One of them snapped playfully at his fingers. He gently tapped it on its green beak, and it settled down, red blossoms fluttering. "I don't know. I think you would be pretty good at that, particularly the whining." He smirked.
Anakin scowled. "Yeah, and how long do you think your potted plant will last this time until you wind up killing it? And stop watering it, you're going to drown it."
Obi-Wan sighed and turned off the spritzer. "I'm following a manual this time. Now, why are you so upset? You should be flattered that the Master of the Arts thought you possessed enough dramatic flair to play Oreom in Love and Lovers. He does not pick just anyone."
"I hate that play. It's boring. And sappy."
"Well, the dastardly Gaio isn't sappy." Obi-Wan smirked. "And I happen to be playing him."
"At least the Master of the Arts picked you for the right part. I can see you as the sort of killjoy who would want to steal another guy's girl just because you want to be king."
"Really?" Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, and he moved out to the small, sheltered balcony. Anakin followed him, blinking a little. Not a single cloud hung in the blue Coruscant sky, and every building glittered under the bright sunlight. Obi-Wan moved to the railing and checked on his other potted plants. They were all dead, despite having been purported as near invulnerable desert-dwelling pricklepears. Obi-Wan Kenobi did not just have a black thumb—he had an entirely black hand.
"You know," Obi-Wan said, examining the desiccated remains of hit plants, "most people find me quite congenial."
"Yeah, well me and all your houseplants know how truly evil you can be."
Obi-Wan sprayed Anakin with the spritzer. Anakin held up his hands, but not before getting a face full of green feedwater. He grimaced at the sour taste and smell. "Hey!"
"Be glad I remember to feed you, my young apprentice."
Anakin wiped the feedwater on his tunic. Thanks to having switched to darker robes, he could not see a stain. "I don't want to play Oreom, Master."
"Too bad. We only put on a play every ten years, and it's important that we appreciate culture. Besides, why don't you like Oreom? Yes, he's stupid, but he's also a dashing, handsome, charming young starship pilot—sort of like you." Obi-Wan smirked.
Anakin scowled, but ignored Obi-Wan's jibe at his intelligence. "I don't like Itanita, the Queen of the Faer."
Obi-Wan arched a brow. "Really? I thought you had a thing for royal women."
Anakin licked his lips. His Master knew him too well, even if he didn't know how much Anakin dreamt of Padmé. "It's not Itanita so much as it is her actress. Lilua is playing her, and she hates me."
"Lilua doesn't hate you, Anakin. She just doesn't know you."
"She hates me. And I don't like her. I don't even find her attractive."
"She's the prettiest girl in the Temple, with a lovely combination of green skin and violet hair, and I've been told she—"
"Fine. You play Oreom. I'll play Giao."
"You'll play the role assigned to you, like it or not. The Master of the Arts makes the final decisions, and you'll do your best work. That's an order."
"You're such a prick sometimes," Anakin said, then marched out, grateful that Obi-Wan could not take away his HoloNet privileges away for mouthing off now that he had turned eighteen.
. . .
"The lines, Anakin, say the lines!" the Master of Arts cried as Anakin headed towards Wardrobe.
Anakin paused and sighed. He glanced around the empty auditorium they would perform in. Droids buzzed as they helped Jedi Knights construct the sets, and the smell of paint and sawdust tickled his nose. The Master of Arts stood behind Anakin with all four of his arms crossed.
Anakin pressed a palm to his chest and pitched his voice two shades shy of a falsetto. "Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love! Itanita, my beloved, leave this fairy tale behind and love me!" He sighed dramatically at the end. Anakin thought it was awful, but the Master of the Arts seemed to love it.
"Bravo, my boy, bravo!" The Master of the Arts clapped both sets of hands. "You shall make a fine Oreom."
"Are you kidding? Does this stuff actually work on women?"
The Master of the Arts stroked his furred chin. "Well, I've heard it works wonders on human females, but I'm not sure."
"Really? Hunh." Anakin had not realized that women loved cheesy, ridiculous lines so much. He would have to remember that for the future.
"Now run along and get fitted for your costume."
"Okay." Anakin resumed his journey towards Wardrobe. He breathed a sigh of relief when he escaped the ear-consuming echo of the auditorium.
The Jedi had turned one of the Temple's classrooms into Wardrobe. Anakin walked in to the room and found hundreds of ornate costumes lining the walls, all hanging neatly from their hangars. Shoes and boots littered the floor, and stools and ladders led to shelves filled with boxes of various accessories. A human man stood on one of the ladders with his head buried in tufts of clothing and boxes. Anakin heard the sound of rummaging; this was, presumably, the tailor.
The tailor wore only a pair of gray leggings that clung to his skin. Anakin noticed the tailor had a very cute butt. Not too big, not too small, with just the right amount of tuck and swell. It looked very firm and suited the rest of the tailor's sculpted body. Anakin licked his lips, feeling uncomfortably warm. He had acknowledged the fact that he found men attractive since he had turned sixteen, but it still felt awkward to admire them. It was, however, an improvement over his attraction to women. Every time he admired one, he felt as if he betrayed Padmé's memory.
"Did you need something?" a female voice hissed.
Anakin spun around to see a tall, serpentine Lilthian slither in. She blinked all four of her eyes at Anakin and gently laid down a few more boxes on one of the table.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm Jissa, the seamstress. Did you need to be fitted?"
"Found it!" cried the unmistakable voice of Obi-Wan. He descended from the ladder, joyously holding up a long, black belt. Anakin gaped. He had just admired his own Master's backside.
"Excellent. That will go perfectly with the rest of your costume, Master Kenobi," Jissa said, taking the belt from Obi-Wan's hands.
"Oh, hello, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. He crossed his arms. "Did rehearsals go all right?"
"Lilua stepped on my toes during the dance scene. On purpose."
"I'm sure it was an accident." Obi-Wan peeled his gray leggings off and pulled on his normal trousers. Anakin stared. Had his Master always been so handsome? He had known Obi-Wan for nine years, and Obi-Wan's attractiveness had taken him by surprise. Obi-Wan removed the ruffled black doublet and pulled on his usual beige tunics.
"I doubt it." Anakin tore his gaze off Obi-Wan's bare chest and fixed it on Jissa's scaled visage. "I, um, need to be fitted. I'm playing Oreom."
"Excellent. Please put on the blue leggings in the box to your left," Jissa said, her snake-like body rippling as she picked up a measuring recorder.
"And nothing else?" Anakin squeaked, keenly aware of Obi-Wan's gaze.
"Of course. How else am I to get an accurate fit?"
"Well, uh…" Anakin's felt his cheeks heat up. He stared at Obi-Wan, whose brows furrowed. "Can you leave, Master?"
"Leave?" Obi-Wan blinked. "Why?"
"I need some privacy."
"Privacy? Why do you need privacy? You used to demand I shower with you, because you were once convinced you were going to drown in the tub."
"Yeah, well, I'm not a little boy anymore. I'm a grown man, remember?"
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Jissa, I'll be back. I need to go rehearse with young Lilua, in any case." He walked out of Wardrobe.
Anakin breathed a sigh of relief.
. . .
"Well, at least we have the fencing part down," Obi-Wan said, panting slightly from their exertions. He stretched out across the steps leading up to the stage beside Anakin and wiped tiny beads of sweat from his face with his tunic. He wore only a single beige tunic and a pair of tight leggings that emphasized his sizable male endowments.
Anakin found the view a little distracting, so he lifted up his plastisteel prop sword. The only saving grace of playing Oreom was that he got to fight Obi-Wan as Giao in a spectacular sword duel. The Master of the Arts had been rendered speechless with joy when he had seen Anakin and Obi-Wan rehearse their duels. "Yeah."
"You could at least try to pretend you like Lilua."
"You could at least try to pretend that you don't."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "She's been nothing but polite to me, and she's a wonderful actress, despite your claims to the contrary. Why shouldn't I like her?"
Anakin studied Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan's bone structure was solid and well-shaped, and his eyes bright and captivating. He was handsome, but not uncommonly so. Yet, something about the way his blue-gray eyes surveyed Anakin and the twitch of his lips made him the most gorgeous man in the galaxy. The dimple in his chin looked rather lickable. Anakin wondered why he had taken so long to notice.
"She's not that pretty," Anakin said.
"Pretty? What does that have to do with anything?" Obi-Wan's lips looked moist and soft, and they glistened under the stage lights. Anakin wondered what Obi-Wan's lips would taste like, if they felt as soft as they looked. He was suddenly glad Obi-Wan had shaved for his role as Giao—Anakin rarely got to admire his entire face.
"A lot. Besides, isn't she a little young for you?"
Obi-Wan started to laugh. "She's old enough. But in any case, you're being ridiculous. I don't like Lilua like that."
Anakin's brows furrowed. "Why not? You sing her praises all the time, even though she's mean to me."
"She's not mean to you, Anakin—you're paranoid. And while I think she's nice enough, I don't find women attractive." Obi-Wan smirked and stood up. "Come along, let's get some lunch before we have more rehearsals."
Anakin did not say anything. He numbly followed Obi-Wan, unable to register anything other than Obi-Wan's sexual preferences.
. . .
"Come on, Anakin. We need to rehearse. Your friend, Palpatine, plans to watch the play when we open, and he'll bring along his entire Senatorial entourage. Do you really want to embarrass yourself?" Obi-Wan asked. He tapped the bottom of Anakin's boots again.
Anakin lay stretched out across their plush couch, perhaps the only comfortable thing in their bare common room. He had spent all day finishing up coursework and exercising—he did not want to spend his free time rehearsing for a play he did not want to star in. He wanted to watch Bibo Babo's Bad Bith Bonto. His favorite episode played on the holoplayer, and he could see it if Obi-Wan got out of his way.
"Did you hear me? We need to leave." Obi-Wan pushed Anakin's feet off the arm of the couch, but Anakin put them back on.
"Anakin." Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed.
"I'm watching something."
"I don't care. We need to go to rehearsal."
"You go."
"You're the blasted star of the play. Now, let's go." Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin's ankles and held up his legs. He arched his brow in annoyance. Anakin found Obi-Wan's eyebrow fascinating—according to Anakin's count, Obi-Wan could express over eighty-three different emotions with a single eyebrow.
Anakin could hear the renegade Bonto had pulled out his blaster and threaten an entire army of space thugs, but Anakin could not see him open fire. He loved that part, too. "I've rehearsed every day since this damn thing started. I want to have some fun."
"You can have fun after rehearsal. Don't make me drag you down to the auditorium."
Anakin jerked his ankles free and leapt up. He leaned into Obi-Wan's face and grinned. "All right. Drag me."
Obi-Wan may have been one of the most restrained men Anakin had ever met, but he was not above responding to a challenge. He grabbed Anakin by the waist, trying to lift him up, but Anakin twisted out of his grip and knocked him to the floor with a great tackle. They rolled around, struggling to get a grip on the other, coming to a stop when they knocked the couch over.
"Let's watch Bad Bith Bonto, Master," Anakin said. He grinned, enjoying his sudden closeness to Obi-Wan, their limbs tangled, bodies pressed together. He indulged a whim and ran his fingers through Obi-Wan's thick auburn hair. It felt surprisingly soft. He buried his nose in it, breathing in the sweet smell of goudaberries from Obi-Wan's shampoo.
"Anakin, what are you doing?" Obi-Wan rolled out from under Anakin, his eyes widening. His cheeks flushed red, though Anakin could not tell if it was from exertion or not. Anakin could have sworn he had felt a corresponding heat in Obi-Wan's body when they had touched.
"Just playing around, Master," Anakin said in mock innocence.
Obi-Wan stood up. "Save it for rehearsal. Let's go. Or I toss the holoplayer off the balcony."
"Fine, fine." Touching Obi-Wan made Anakin want more, even if it was at the expense of his free time. He followed Obi-Wan out without complaint.
. . .
"You're on, Anakin."
Anakin walked on the set and adjusted his glittering tunic. His red cape dragged on the polished floor, but it was too late to get it trimmed now. Thousands of people crammed into the Temple's auditorium to see the Jedi Order's performance of Love and Lovers. Palpatine sat in the VIP box, with many of his friends filling out the seats. Every Jedi Knight, young and old, watched the play, seated according to tradition.
Everyone expected Anakin to convincingly pretend he was in love with Lilua, when he spent most of his scenes unable to tear his gaze off Obi-Wan. His black costume made him hauntingly sexy in Anakin's opinion, and his stage eyeliner only served to bring out his sparkling eyes. He was not a delicate intergalactic bloom or a sparkling star in the darkness of space, as Oreom described Itanita—Obi-Wan's beauty was emphatically male and real.
Anakin wondered if he would still be so taken with Obi-Wan if Padmé had been his Itanita, but it did not matter. The chances of him ever seeing her again were slim, and Obi-Wan was right there, right then.
The final scene contained the declaration of love that Oreom used to woo Itanita away from the evil Giao at their wedding. Anakin walked up the painted aisle, surrounded by Jedi in costumes staring at him expectantly from their plastisteel pews. Anakin paused before Itanita and Giao, who stood in front of the priest, ready to say their vows.
Obi-Wan and Lilua turned to him. Silence fell over the entire stage, and even the audience, waiting for Anakin to say the most famous of the overwrought lines in Love and Lovers. Everyone in the galaxy loved this scene, enough for constant cultural references and reenactments on every planet catalogued. Few plays had ever reached the fame of Love and Lovers. They all waited for Anakin to give them their payoff, to prove Oreom's abiding love for Itanita, despite their species and class differences.
"The lines, Anakin!" The Master of the Arts whispered from offstage. "Say the lines!"
All Anakin saw was Obi-Wan's face, waiting, expectant, gently beautiful. He was all Anakin had, and Anakin was not going to miss his chance.
Anakin fell to one knee and pressed a palm to his chest. He gave his best lovelorn expression to Obi-Wan and said, "Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love! Giao, my beloved, leave this fairy tale behind and love me!"
The auditorium exploded with chatter until the Master of the Arts roared for silence. Obi-Wan's mouth dropped open as he stared at Anakin. Anakin kept his gaze fixed on Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan alone. No one else mattered right then. Obi-Wan's eyebrow expressed his irritation.
"Long have I kept my feelings secret!" Anakin continued. "I pretended to love Itanita because I thought I could not have you! But I shall no longer pretend! I love you, Giao, for your wit and your beauty and your fine swordsmanship! We should join together and leave this wicked planet, to ply our trade amongst the stars!"
Anakin, personally, thought it was the best ad lib that any drama had seen. He could not tell if the audience liked it or not, though they certainly had a lot to say about it, given the growing buzz of conversation that filled the auditorium.
The Master of the Arts ran to the edge of the stage near Obi-Wan. "We must rescue the performance! Accept his love, Obi-Wan!"
Obi-Wan worked his jaw, but then put on his best Jedi expression and strode towards Anakin. He took Anakin's hands and squeezed them tightly, his angry eyebrow nearly ruining his smile. Anakin did his best not to cry out in pain.
"Sweet Oreom, it does my heart good to hear your confession, and I confess that I loved you all this time as well. Now, the truth has set us free. Let us away to your starship and set sail for the stars. Truly, all we need is love!"
The Master of the Arts breathed an audible sigh of relief. Behind Anakin, the crowd burst into cheers and applause, but Anakin did not care about that. Mostly, he cared about Obi-Wan crushing his hands. "Ow," Anakin whimpered, struggling to free himself as the curtains fell.
Obi-Wan roughly let Anakin's hands go. "We'll talk about this when we get home," he hissed, eyes flashing.
. . .
"What's your problem?" Anakin asked as soon as they entered their apartment. "The play was a success—the Master of the Arts even commended me for reinterpreting Love and Lovers and 'injecting new life into an old story.'"
"That's not the point, Anakin." Obi-Wan took off his black cape and tossed it over one of the chairs. He marched over to his potted plant, a storm brewing on his face. "There were rules. You broke them."
"No, I didn't. I'm allowed to ad lib and view my character however I want. The Master of the Arts said so."
Obi-Wan pulled out his spritzer and hosed the potted plant down. "It wasn't funny, Anakin. Not even in the slightest. I don't like being put on the spot like that."
Anakin watched Obi-Wan's hands working the spritzer. They were strong hands, deft and quick. Anakin wondered what Obi-Wan's hands would feel like sliding across his body and decided he wanted to find out.
"It wasn't fair," Obi-Wan continued. "You embarrassed me. In public. Imagine what people thought of us."
Anakin licked his lips and leaned on the potted plant's table, trying to catch Obi-Wan's eye. The slightly smudged eyeliner on Obi-Wan's eyelids made him appear sad, as if he needed a kiss. "I don't care what people thought. I meant it."
Obi-Wan paused. "What?"
"I said what I said because I wanted to say it to you, not to Lilua."
Obi-Wan looked away and stared down at his potted plant. He did not speak for a long time. "Oh, no."
"Why 'no?'" Anakin demanded. "I'm an adult, and there's no rules against it. Not even any you could make up."
Obi-Wan turned red. "I wasn't talking about that. I killed my potted plant."
Anakin glanced down at it, realizing it had not moved once during their conversation. The poor thing was shriveled into a gray tangle at the bottom, long dead. Obi-Wan must have forgotten to water it the whole time they had been busy rehearsing for the play.
"You really are the bane of all flora," Anakin said, lifting up a shriveled vine.
"Maybe you could help me remember to feed the next one."
"You'll need help remembering not to drown it in feedwater, too."
Obi-Wan looked up and smiled. "I'm sure you can help me with that." His eyes seemed very bright, and when he arched his brow, it was in invitation.
"I can help you with a lot of things, Master. For one, I can help you out of that costume," Anakin said with a grin. He grabbed Obi-Wan's belt and started unclasping the buckles.
"Lucky for me that I have you around," Obi-Wan whispered, then kissed Anakin, his body warm, his hands firm and pleasing as they slid down to cup Anakin's butt.
The kiss was every bit as sweet and soft as Anakin had thought it would be.