Summary:

Recovery is two steps forward, one step back

In this case, it's a really big step back

Notes:

Buckle up for explicit sex-consensual but far far far from healthy. A nice dose of dissociation, too, and some very light bdsm themes.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

It was Master Ti's pyre that had led him there. The grief. The responsibility. The overwhelming guilt of it all. Watching the fires swim as Anakin looked up at him, unfamiliar with the customs and unsure how to behave. Trying to explain that it had been a Sith. The Sith. The Sith Obi-Wan had seen with his own eyes and not recognized for what it was—blind ignorance twisting into pain as another paid for his own stupidity. Padme had been there as well, comforting the boy. No doubt she was consoling him now. If it weren't for her then Maris would have died as well. Such young blood would have been on his hands. He could see her despair as she lit the pyre. So young. So much potential.

Padme wanted to talk to him, but the funeral had been a convenient distraction—and wasn't that a horrible thing for him to think. Shaak Ti's burning corpse was convenient simply because it allowed him to delay a conversation he didn't want to have. He sipped his drink, head shaking of it's own accord. The liquid burnt his throat, but that was what he wanted. Alcohol served very few purposes in the grand scheme of things, and it was a blessing that two of those purposes were pain and forgetfulness. Maybe he could drink so much that he forgot the funeral. Or better yet, the entire month. Maybe he'd just drink so much that he died.

The bartender handed him a shot, and he looked up in surprise before there was a chuckle next to him. It occurred to Obi-Wan that he was more drunk than he'd believed he was if he had not only allowed himself to wallow in his feelings for so long without the slightest attempt to release them, but also gained the company of the man next to him without noticing. It also occurred to him that he didn't care how drunk he was. He picked up the shot, clinking his glass with the stranger's, rapping it lightly on the bar and tossing it back. The stranger didn't rap his glass on the bar, drinking it immediately instead and causing Obi-Wan to bristle at the asymmetry of it.

"I'm not usually this somber." Obi-Wan shook his annoyance off, regarding the man next to him. Human. Black hair. There was nothing remarkable about his features other than the slightly rough quality of their combination.

"What are you usually?" The man slid his own glass away from him, leaning forward. He wore dark trousers and a plain blue shirt. Obi-Wan had ditched his tunics and thrown on a loose cream shirt. He didn't want to be identified as a Jedi, but the boots and pants alone wouldn't call attention to him.

"Reserved. Collected." Obi-Wan slid his glass as well, matching the distance exactly. "Or if you'd believe my friends rather than me you might hear the phrase tightly wound." The man laughed. Obi-Wan did too, although he didn't know why. He pulled the drink he'd bought himself to his lips, sipping.

"So what drives such a tightly wound man to get soused on a weekday?" The man set credits on the table, ordering himself something to sip on.

"I was tired of being around people." Obi-Wan gave a wry smile when he saw the man raise an eyebrow. Something about this entire situation was almost absurdly humorous. It was so unlike him that it felt as if he wasn't really there. Surely Knight Kenobi was still in the temple, diligently doing his job and consoling those who needed it most after the loss they had all faced.

"You were tired of being around people so you came to a bar?" There was a hint of irony to the question, and Obi-Wan found himself laughing again in response. He usually enjoyed irony.

"Ah yes," he raised his glass, tilting his head to the side in a thoughtful manner, "perhaps I didn't think that one through."

"Perhaps you didn't." The man pitched his voice, copying Obi-Wan's high Coruscanti accent. Obi-Wan liked to think it made him sound refined, but here in the middle levels it was more likely to be seen as stuck up. "I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't say it." Obi-Wan sipped his drink again. It was close to empty. "Obi-Wan."

"Fetris," the man responded, standing. The motion put him closer to Obi-Wan, legs brushing against where knees jutted out from the stool. "And if you really don't want to be around people, I'm sure we can find somewhere less crowded." Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow, looking pointedly around at the half empty room.

"Because it's so busy here?" He let his voice lilt, showing his amusement. He finished his drink.

"Exactly." Fetris leaned over, hand moving to his shoulder as his body bent over Obi-Wan's. His mouth was by his ear now as he whispered. "Unless you really did just come here to sulk." Obi-Wan let his eyebrows furrow at that. He wasn't there to sulk, but he knew that going with Fetris was a bad idea for all the reasons he and Tresalis had discussed just days before.

And wasn't that hilarious.

Even now he was letting everyone except for himself decide what he did with his body. He was letting fear control his actions—fear that had no right to be there. He was Jedi Knight and he was afraid to touch another human because he might remember something. No. Everything in him screamed. Everything he'd been taught since he was a child. Fear leads to anger, anger to hate. Fear is the path to the dark side. Suffering. He didn't have to suffer if he would just let go of his fear. It was that simple, and he let himself chuckle at the realization, breath warming Fetris' ear as he stood up, body automatically pressing against the man in the space between their seats.

"Where, exactly, did you have in mind?"

The answer to his question was as simple as it was easily achieved. A moment to tip the bartender, a moment to walk outside, and Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself pressed against a wall. He laughed again as a tongue slipped in his mouth, and he pressed his own forward in return. He'd never done this, not really. He wondered if he was any good at it, only to quickly find himself not caring as his body was ground against. He pulled his hands down, tugging at clothing and feeling it blur away in a drunken haze. His shirt pulled over his head. His arm catching awkwardly in the sleeve. The tie of his pants undone. He started to stumble and covered it by falling gracefully to his knees instead, mouthing at the rough fabric of Fetris' trousers. This was something Qui-Gon had not forced on him. This was something he could truly experience for the first time.

"Fuck," Fetris whispered, hands pushing the fabric down before tangling into hair. The touch was light, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but wish he would just grab harder as he began to move his tongue over the half hard dick in front of him. It wasn't difficult to figure out what to do. He'd pleasured himself before, and he was a creative man. He used his hands and his tongue until half hard became hard, and then he pushed his mouth over the head, tongue pressing up along the bottom. Pleasure required motion. Friction. He bobbed his head to provide it, pushing just until it was uncomfortable and wishing still that the other man would hold him tighter. His own hands moved to fall over Fetris', clamping them down in encouragement until he felt a slight pain in his scalp as the other man caught on.

And that was all the encouragement that was needed, apparently. The rhythm was torn from him as he was thrust into, his head held firmly in place. Moisture settled at the corners of his eyes as he dug nails into skin, discomfort clawing at his throat. He pulled in shallow breaths when he could, eyes lolling at the loss of control and he reached a hand down to rub at himself through his own pants. He was hard, and it was difficult to think about anything other than his own arousal and the way his mouth was being used. He heard Fetris' breath hitch and his mouth was emptied but his head remained held in place.

"Fuck." Fetris looked down at him lewdly. "Fuck you want it bad."

And Obi-Wan knew what he looked like. Half naked and rubbing at himself in front of a stranger. The humor of it all washed over him again. He could waltz back into the temple still tousled and smelling of sex, tell everyone exactly where he'd been and what he'd been doing, and never be believed. They'd laugh it off as some sort of absurdist humor. Obi-Wan Kenobi having sex in an alley, sure, and Bantha can fly. It felt good to do something so out of character. Tangible proof that he could influence events around him. He looked up at Fetris, letting his eyes cloud as he let his hand sink beneath the waistband of his pants to stroke himself.

He stumbled as he was pulled up, but let the movement carry him forward until his lips were once again locked in a fierce kiss. His pants were pushed down to his knees and his head was pulled back again. The way he was twisted was not fluid. He was staggered into the wall more than anything else, and when he moved to help press himself against it there was another chuckle as his arm was grabbed and wrenched behind him.

"Eager." Hot breath. "You like getting your ass fucked as rough as you do your mouth, Obi-Wan?" The words were growled into his ear and fingers were shoved into his mouth. He nodded and let out an affirming mewl. He didn't want to use words right now. Didn't want to speak. Definitely didn't want to accidentally start a conversation about his sexual history, or lack thereof. The fingers were removed and he hissed as one was pressed inside of him. Teeth pressed inquiringly against his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt or mark. Permission. He wanted permission.

"Nothing above the collar," he gasped out, feeling a smile against his skin as he spoke. No need for anyone in the temple to see. "No marks above the collar." Teeth sunk into his skin, still soft but stinging sweetly. His other hand was grabbed, arms behind him and forcing his back to arch and his face to press against the wall as another finger was added. The fingers were scissoring, burning him, scalding, and as the third one was skipped and a cock began to press against him instead, time melted away.

Grunts mingled with the ever-present city sounds that could never be escaped on Coruscant, and Obi-Wan felt nothing but the searing hurt in his ass, his shoulders, his skin where it was pressed against the rough wall in front of him. He could hear himself breathing. Shuddering inhales. His body no longer existed apart from the bright points of pain. His muscles existed only to carry the ache as it radiated outwards.

Fetris was more real than he was in that moment. Coruscant was more real. The building digging into his skin existed in a more tangible way than Obi-Wan himself, even as he let out a cry of mingled pain and pleasure as his arms were released and a hand reached around him to grip his cock. His body was energy existing in this space, physical feeling holding him to the planet better than gravity ever could have managed. Without sensation, his entire being would be rent from his body and scattered throughout space, so far apart that his soul would experience it's own personal heat death.

And then it was over. His cock was spent and he had a stranger's cum inside of him. The pain was still there, dully holding his body in the alley as the body behind him slumped against him. There was sweat everywhere.

"Shit." He could feel the man peel away from him but remained pressed against the wall. He moved his fingers against it to see if he was really there. A hand appeared on his shoulder and he jerked around, only to see his shirt being offered to him. "Fuck, you okay Obi-Wan?" Fetris had an odd expression on his face. "I thought that you wanted—fuck."

"No, it's fine." Obi-Wan was surprised to hear his voice come out raspy,. He was surprised to hear himself speak at all. He brought his hand up to his face and found tears, and for a moment he was transfixed by the way they mingled with the sweat on his fingers. Salt water, he thought, and for some reason it felt profound. He grabbed his shirt and put it on slowly, joints bending a synapse behind. Fetris gave him a worried look. "I need to call a cab." He needed to leave this alleyway. He needed to never see the man in front of him again. He needed all memory of this event to fade quickly from the galaxy.

"Do you want to—"

"No." Obi-Wan pulled his pants up and tied them, glad he didn't have to bother with the boots. "No, I need a cab."

And then he was getting in a cab. He remembered pulling out his comm. Staring blankly at the screen as his fingers requested a pickup. He remembered walking to the street, but those were memories. They existed only in the past. They had never had a present, never been a now the way he was sitting in the cab now. Coruscant flew by and he asked the cab driver if it was obvious he'd just had sex. He laughed, and the man told him yes and directed him to fix his hair. The unruly cut was easy to fix, as it was short and stuck up by default. He fussed with his clothes, undoing his safety belt to arrange them into perfect alignment. By the time he was at the temple, he was receiving a strange look.

He realized I'm a Jedi. A Jedi who just stumbled into his cab after getting fucked in an alleyway.

"Are you sure this is—"

"Yes." Obi-Wan practically shoved credits at him. He knew how it looked already. He didn't need to hear it from anyone else. He just needed to get back to his quarters.

And then he was.

Notes:

This chapter was probably tougher for me to write than the first chapter, which is saying something. It also was a pretty palpable release, though.

Life goes on, worry not. Obi-Wan will get things figured out eventually, just like I did.