Marked

Clone Wars AU, Obi-Wan/Anakin. Happens in the same verse as chapter 4, Feral. Contains slash, but nothing explicit.


The tepid, brownish water started to tint towards red the second Anakin dipped his hands into it. He scooped a handful of water from the battered drum and washed the worst of the blood and grime from his face. The taste of mud and iron still clung stubbornly to the insides of his mouth. Another scoopful of water down his neck, hopelessly ineffective against the layers of dirt and sweat that had accumulated over his skin, and Anakin gave up on washing, making room for Obi-Wan beside their makeshift basin.

He went to sit on the cot, heart still beating with the fierce rhythm of the battle, blood still rushing through veins at intoxicating speed. Currently, he felt like he could easily fight for another day, but Anakin knew from experience that this heightened, thrilled state would not last long; every moment the flattening exhaustion, the numbing fatigue was steadily creeping upon him. He looked at Obi-Wan, who was wetting his face with weary movements, and saw his own feelings mirrored back.

Obi-Wan didn't bother to wash himself any more thoroughly than Anakin had; the muddy and bloody water, although better than none at all, would not get them clean. Anakin couldn't say that he minded their disheveled, dirty appearance all that much – it was just a fact of life he had gotten used to. Perhaps their next assignment would be to a planet that had unspoiled lakes or seas, but that wish was distant and muted. In truth, it mattered little where they went, only that they went there together, as a team.

"Let me take a look at your back," Anakin said, his voice coming out as a low, gravelly growl. He realized those were the first words he had spoken – and not screamed – in hours.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, adopting his signature all-suffering look, but acquiesced easily enough, realizing that his former Padawan would not leave the matter be. Settling before Anakin on the cot, he unfastened his vambraces and then took off his tabard and overtunic while Anakin waited none too patiently. When that task was done, Obi-Wan moved to lift his torn and bloody undertunic, but halted the movement almost immediately, breathing heavily. Without a word, Anakin took hold of the well-worn fabric, gently lifting it up. The tunic ripped free from the skin caked with blood, making Obi-Wan wince.

Anakin took a long look at the bare back, his first thought – as always – appreciation and fascination. The muscular expanse was covered with black lines, now streaked with red, from the very lower back up to the shoulders and twining around the upper arms. He traced the edge of the dragon's left wing with his finger, drawing his own line over the inky one with smeared blood.

"I knew it," Obi-Wan huffed, more fond than annoyed. "Admit it. You just wanted to look at the tattoo."

"I always want to look at it," Anakin confessed without any shame, admiring the fearsome creature that adorned his Master's entire back. Beneath those black features of the roaring beast were scars, almost too faint to be visible and too many to count. But Anakin knew they were there, just as Obi-Wan did, every scar a memory of shared pain. The dragon had not been meant to cover those memories – but to transform them into a mark of endurance, strength and survival.

After giving the tattoo the admiration it deserved, Anakin examined Obi-Wan's back more clinically, cataloguing the cuts with practiced eye. Luckily the damage from the explosion was not as bad as he had feared; the shrapnel wounds were shallow and most of them had already stopped bleeding. Still, they needed cleaning, which presented a small, but annoying dilemma.

They had used up their own medical supplies down to the last disinfectant pack some days ago, and although the medics were surely to have some left, Anakin knew that Obi-Wan would never consent to asking for even the smallest plaster as long as there were men in need of those. Their muddy wash-water would do probably more harm than good, and the only water left, that was clean enough, was the less than inch of liquid that was still at the bottom of Anakin's water bottle. He fished the canteen from the ground, where he had abandoned it with his utility belt. The water sloshed despondently in the almost empty bottle.

"Are you going to do something anytime soon?" Obi-Wan sniped, fidgeting slightly.

"Patience, Master," Anakin smirked. He rummaged under the cot blindly with one hand, finally getting hold of an old tunic that had been shoved there. It was torn badly enough to be unfit for its designated job as a garment, but it was clean enough to be moderately effective as a source of makeshift bandages. Several strips of brown fabric had already been ripped from the tunic. This time, Obi-Wan didn't need bandages, but Anakin wanted something to clean his cuts with, so he tore couple of pieces of fabric and carefully poured little water on them.

With infinite care, Anakin started to clean the cuts, wiping them carefully with the wet cloth. Soon, all the fabric scraps were colored red and the canteen held just a few mouthfuls of water. It was apparent it wouldn't be enough to clean Obi-Wan's back to Anakin's satisfaction.

"My thanks," Obi-Wan said, reaching for his undershirt, apparently mistaking the pause in Anakin's movements for the end of the treatment.

"I'm not finished yet." Anakin yanked Obi-Wan closer to himself, glaring at the water bottle. He could command someone to bring them clean water or…

"The Council's representative is waiting for us," Obi-Wan protested half-heartedly.

"Let her wait." Anakin didn't want to think about her, much less the blasted Council. He took a small sip of the water, rinsing his mouth with it. Then he pressed his lips against one of the cuts, first sucking it lightly and then licking it clean.

"Ah – Anakin…" Obi-Wan gasped out, voice hoarse. "What on the Force…this is…"

"Hmmm…" Anakin put his mouth on another cut, continuing his unconventional nursing. "I'm cleaning your wounds…"

"Yes, I rather gathered that!"

"We don't have enough clean water to do this properly." He took another sip of the water, rinsing some of his Master's blood from his mouth, then bent down to tend to the cuts again with his tongue and lips.

"Leave it to you to make the best out of every situation," Obi-Wan snarked, but there was an undercurrent of wry humor in his words.

Anakin grinned. "I think I'm not the only one enjoying this." His mouth moved to unblemished skin, kissing and nipping one of the dragon's claws. After lavishing enough attention to that particular spot, he moved lower, mouthing along the curving line of the creature's tail.

"Perhaps," Obi-Wan conceded, sighing deeply. Under Anakin's kisses, his muscles relaxed, his shoulders' lost their rigid line, his breaths became even. He didn't resist, when Anakin pushed him to lie on his stomach, just closed his eyes. Anakin undressed his own upper body, leaving his pants and boots on, a habit they had both adopted long ago. After all, sudden and surprising attacks were better met with at least partially clothed than stark naked.

A pleasant thrum of arousal quivered in him, but as they were both too tired to really do anything, Anakin let it hum inside his skin, content to huddle up close to Obi-Wan, skin to skin. He pressed his face against his Master's shoulder, staring at the tip of the black wing.

"They are going to split us up," he whispered, only now finding the voice to say the thought that had been plaguing him.

"They may try." Obi-Wan's voice was quiet but firm. No other words were needed, for both knew what the other was thinking.

Let them try. They will not take you from me.