How Kenobi Got His Groove Back:Alchemy Dream

A/N: And...I finally get another chapter out! I hope that if you're still reading this that you're enjoying the story so far, and that you enjoy this chapter! I have gone back and done some very minor editing on the other chapters. Feedback is very welcome, and reviews are love.

Warning: This chapter makes full use of the 'M' rating. This contains some Jedi hotness . You have been warned.

Summary: All it took was a light-hearted quip from Mace Windu to send Obi-Wan Kenobi off the edge and into insecurity. Anakin is fed up with his ex-master's age-related blubbering and is determined to show him exactly how beautiful he is.

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And theres my mind saying think before you go
Through that door it could lead to nowhere (this guy)
Has got you all romantic crazy in your head
Do you think I listen, no I don't care.

-Kylie Minogue "Red Blooded Woman"

Obi-Wan Kenobi is thirty-five years, three-hundred and sixty-three days and nineteen hours old when he is convinced that the ceiling of the apartment is going to cave in. Anakin has been guarding his door for the last twenty-four hours like a sentinel, and he is most certainly up to something.

Every few seconds, Obi-Wan hears Anakin's mattress shudder as he jumps on it, followed by a loud bang! on the ceiling that makes him want to go ahead and call the temple repair team. He knows he should march right in there and ask, no, command that Anakin stop whatever the hell he is doing right now. Damn his respect for the man's privacy.

Stretching up on his very tip-toes to the highest shelf in the pantry, he blindly gathers up a handful of spices, a sack of rice, a few peppers, tomatoes, and raspberries. Missions have been few and far between this month, allowing Obi-Wan for some time to experiment with his recipes. So far he has learned that peanuts are not good in cereal, that adding chocolate to everything in every form will end up in a six pound weight gain, and that his "five alarm midnight chili" causes Anakin to stay locked in the washroom until dawn.

Tonight's special is a rice dish with peppers and a raspberry and orange glaze. For how much Obi-Wan preaches to Anakin that simple, plain, bland meals are good for the body and soul, how they aid with meditation, he has become quite the chef, mixing and matching spices and textures. Of course, the true test of edibility is always Anakin. They have developed a very subtle and precise code to communicate the success of Obi-Wan's meals. When Anakin stands up and leaves murmuring something about take-out, it means it wasn't one of his better dishes.

Reaching back into the pantry, he grasps unsuccessfully for a bottle of cooking oil. Surely Anakin had bought the cooking oil? The list really hadn't been that long, and for all of the items he seemed to have brought home, the cooking oil should be there. He moves his hand around, searching his feelings for a glass bottle. Coming out empty handed, he makes a grumpy sound and instead goes to the refrigerator for a pat of butter. He lets the butter melt in the pan, watching it begin to bubble, and then pours the water and the rice into the bottom. Covering the pan with the lid, he pads to Anakin's room, still perplexed at the rhythmic noise. He worries his lip a little, and knocks hesitantly.

The noise stops.

Obi-Wan presses his ear to the door, picking up the sounds of Anakin moving something around in his room, and then at the footsteps towards the door. In a blur and a rush of air, Anakin is outside, the door pulled firmly shut. They stand and stare at each other for a moment.

"Anakin, I was noticing that we have no cooking oil. I was sure I put it on the list! Did you not pick it up yesterday?" Obi-Wan says indifferently as he makes his way to tend to chopping the vegetables. Anakin follows him to the counter, and looks strangely at him.

"No, Mas...Obi-Wan, I'm pretty sure I bought it. Did you look in the pantry?" he says, moving to look in the pantry for himself. Obi-Wan shouts over the sound of Anakin rustling through boxes and sacks, tossing can goods out onto the floor.

"Well, if you didnt, then you'll have to-Anakin, stop throwing those! They'll bust," Obi-Wan says, stirring and scowling. Anakin turns and glowers at Obi-Wan for a moment, and then raises to his feet, getting on tip-toe to look at the very top shelf. Smiling, he grabs the bottle of cooking oil and walks over to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan feels a blush creep to his cheeks, and immediately turns so that Anakin can't see his face.

"Don't say it, Anakin," he mutters. Anakin just grins, creeps behind the makeshift chef, wrapping his arms around his torso and resting his chin on Obi-Wan's head for emphasis.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I won't put things on the top shelf anymore," Obi-Wan moves forwards, trying to free himself of his mocking apprentice. Anakin, however, refuses to let go of Obi-Wan.

"Don't worry, Obi-Wan! I like you just the way you are. You're very comfy to rest my head on," he snickers. Obi-Wan finally shakes free of Anakin, and shoots him a serious look. He turns off the burner and sprinkles bright, colourful vegetables into the rice and stirs the mixture, pouring the mouthwatering red glaze over it all. He mixes it all up and divides the meal into two large bowls.

"We have something we need to discuss anyways, Anakin," Obi-wan says, gesturing for Anakin to sit, and places the bowls on either side of the small table. Anakin swallows, having a pretty good feeling that it will have, in some way, something to do with his being a little spendthrift. He sits down, and tries to come off nonchalant about the whole thing, digging voraciously into the rice. Obi-Wan, however, takes his time, taking a small bite, and then taking larger ones, deciding that it really isn't too bad. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his sandy hair.

"I got my bill today," he says casually. Anakin nearly chokes on his food, and does his best to cover the cough with a clearing of the throat. Which really isn't any more effective. Obi-Wan looks suspiciously at him, raising an eyebrow.

"One hundred and ninety credits? For a trip to the market?" Anakin sits up, suddenly defensive.

"Obi-Wan! I had to make a special trip to a...a woman's sex shop to get your damned soap! I think that I earned my share of the credits!" Anakin nearly shouts. Obi-Wan raises his hands in a peaceful gesture.

"Yes, but there is no reason to be secretive about what you buy, hiding in your room like that! I already have the statement, Anakin, and there's no need to be ashamed about buying...oils...for your," Obi-Wan struggles to keep his composure, "personal needs," he mutters, looking away, "but at least be honest with me. I think that I have earned your trust."

Anakin remains silent, his head spinning. He reaches up and tugs frustratedly on his hair. Obi-Wan thinks he bought the oils as a lubricant for masturbation! He feels his face grow red, and slams his finished bowl down on the table.

"They aren't for me, Obi-Wan!" he says, and then mentally slaps himself. Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, now interested. He puts his fork in the bowl, and leans back in the chair.

"Well, dear Anakin, what in the blazes did you buy them for?" he asks, dreading the answer.

"It's none of your business," he says. Obi-Wan bites his lip. He knows that Anakin must surely have had sexual experience by now, and while it isn't his place to encourage or discourage him on those matters anymore, he still wrestles with concern for his Anakin's sex life.

Or more accurately, jealousy.

"Anakin, you are no longer my Padawan, though I hope you will take my advice to heart. Don't let your feelings deceive you. You are a Jedi, and you must exercise caution with matters of the heart. Find relief when you need it, but do not form attachments. Especially to the young Senator." Anakin stares incredulously at Obi-Wan, who looks away.

"With all due respect, this conversations has nothing to do with you, and should have ended long ago! Half of our spending limit belongs to me, and I deserve to not be questioned for what I buy!" Anakin is angry at Obi-Wan's serenity, his seeming authority over his life, even now. He needs to say something, anything! Something hurtful! And fast. He needs a good idea. He stands up from the table, and slams the bowl down into the sink. Walking brusquely towards his bedroom, and running his hand over his stomach for sultry emphasis, he turns at Obi-Wan, who still sits, contemplative at the table.

"And besides, if you really must know, Master, the oils are for Padme. It's a really great feeling, you know, not having to settle for weak climaxes from my own hand," he spits, blood boiling from frustration. His heart begins pounding in sadness as the words trickle through his lips like venom. Slamming the door, he sits at the edge of his bed, holding his shaking head in his hands.

Sometimes his good ideas are really just bad ones in pretty wrapping.

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All of the lights are turned out in the Kenobi-Skywalker apartment, as an aging man lies, hollowed in his bed.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is thirty-five years, three-hundred and sixty-three days and twenty-one hours old, and he just cannot stop the anger, the frustration, the tears. He isn't sure if it's just the onset of a mid-life crisis, or maybe it it's something more curable. Something that meditation would take care of. But the void in his heart is a hole that nothing will seem to fill. He is proud of his accomplishments, of who he has become, but he is ashamed that none of it will ever matter if he can't get what he wants. What he lacks.

Love.

He has known love, sure. That was the first mistake, one that he vowed to never make again. He had loved Qui-Gon, just as Qui-Gon had loved him. Even as Qui-Gon lectured him about how wrong love was, Qui-Gon loved him. Obi-Wan enjoyed coming home every night to a warm apartment, to warm arms that he could rest in. It was a simple love, one that needed no words. It was uncomplicated in its very nature, a mutual agreement to watch one another's back, to protect the other, and to keep each other warm without forming attachments. Of course, Obi-Wan had failed in every way.

He had failed in protecting his Master, and in not forming an attachment to him. For months after his Master's death at the hands of the Sith, Obi-Wan had perched at the edge of his bed, his new Padawan crawling mercilessly over him like a jungle gym. And for the first time in his life, he experienced hatred. Hatred for the Sith, and hatred for Qui-Gon for leaving him. For putting him in an impossible position, allowing him to fall in love, and then experience loss. The addition of Anakin in his life was no consolation. The young one did nothing but ask questions, most of which Obi-Wan had no answers for. Qui-Gon, gentle, wise Qui-Gon Jinn had chosen Anakin to love, and upon his death, passed that choice on to Obi-Wan. Even worse, Obi-Wan had made that choice, sealing his never ending cycle of error.

Obi-Wan wants to believe that Anakin isn't fully aware how much his words and actions hurt him. He wants to think that deep inside, Anakin feels the same way about him. He spends sleepless nights mulling through everything Anakin says, looking for any sign that Anakin has affection, or even care for his former Master. He examines his touches, his actions, for anything that speaks of a mutual desire. And of course, when he doesn't find any, he fills in the gaps with fantasy. He is ashamed of his mind and its ability to accurately depict he and Anakin fucking on the countertops, in between the sheets, and under the spray of water in the refresher. It happens at the strangest of times. Just an amiable touch to his shoulder is just enough information to send his mind off into wonderment of what the same touch would feel like in the small of his back, short nails digging slightly into his skin. From there, it progresses to watching Anakin's mouth hang open in ecstasy, his long, soft and wet tongue licking Obi-Wan's earlobe gently, his voice whispering dreamily inside his ear how many ways he wants him tonight.

But even this is never enough. It's never real enough to send Obi-Wan over the edge. Obi-Wan isn't sure if it's some kind of dysfunction in his anatomy or his imagination, but as of late, much to his shame and chagrin, orgasm eludes him.

He can jerk away to the dirtiest thoughts ever concocted, come right to the edge, and it stops. He can't move past the edge. His dread is palpable; he's heard of men turning towards their forties and becoming unable to...you know. Grimacing at the thought, he runs a hand over his face, groaning at the very thought of getting that old.

It's a really great feeling, you know, not having to settle for weak climaxes from my own hand.

It really shouldn't bother him. Obi-Wan's private life is of no concern to Anakin. Even if Anakin suspects that his former Master is having...issues, it shouldn't bother him at all.

But it does.

He wonders how Anakin sees him. He wonders if he only sees an aging, dysfunctional old man. With a bald spot. He constantly wonders if growing a beard was such a good idea, if he has bags under his eyes, to match the ugly little wrinkles, if Anakin notices that his lips are thin. He worries that Anakin doesn't like his freckles, the prominent dimple in his chin, and, oh Sith, the peppering grey that is making itself known around his temple. Even if Anakin did cause it. He sometimes wishes he had the timeless beauty that Padme had, the perfect bone structure, and oh, the full, luxurious lips. He would do anything to have lips worthy of planting a big one on Anakin's petulant pout.

Obi-Wan slams his head back onto his pillow, groaning. He should be happy! Going out with Mace should make him forget things a little bit. Looking at the clock, he decides now is as good as any to go to sleep. While lying in bed, he removes his leather belt and obi, easing off the heavy, warm tunics from his shoulders. He slides the pants and leggings from his thin hips, sighing a little at the contact of the cool sheets on his taut belly and chest and adjusting his legs under the covers to stretch out. Gloriously nude in his bed, he cups his hand over his groin to prevent arousal from the sensuous sheets. This of course, doesn't work, as his favourite fantasy floods his mind. He sighs softly as his dream Anakin sashays out of his mind and into his bed, like a monster with thousands of mouths and hands, nowhere and everywhere all at once. Soft lips nip at and whisper into his ear as this thousand-armed, beautiful Jedi god sets fire to every inch of his skin, promising release with every touch. Obi-Wan does his best to keep himself quiet, as his hand rubs over his leaking tip. He archs his back as Anakin plays with his overly-sensitive nipples, licking them and running one of his hands through the patch of soft hair there. He grinds his body against his lover, seeking friction and approval. Obi-Wan grabs his ass and speeds his movement, causing his love to shudder and thrust against him harder. Harder! Ohh...harder!

"Harder," Obi-Wan whispers to himself, just the sound of his voice, the imagined scenario of himself demanding and begging Anakin to touch him sending him flying. His heart is pounding, and he is so close! He grunts a little, the feeling coming over him. Every nerve tingles, his mouth opens to scream and...

He loses it.

Anakin leaves him, as does his hand, which has given up, and Obi-Wan groans loudly in dissatisfaction.

"Fucking Sith!" he shouts, hating the hot tears leaking from his eyes, hating himself for never being good enough.

And everything is quiet again.

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Anakin shoots up in his bed at the sound, the feeling of upset from his former Master's bedroom. He turns over, debating whether or not to search Obi-Wan's mind, to reach out and give some kind of comfort, or leave him alone.

After all, you've really done it now, Anakin.

Staring at the glowing stars he has painstakingly attached to his ceiling, his heart skips a beat, remembering the venomous words that he shot at Obi-Wan, shaking his head sadly. Any comfort he gave Obi-Wan would no doubt, be ill-received after the scene he made. He is sure that his anger has a hand in Obi-Wan's pain, and he sighs, making a small whimpering sound of irritation at himself.

Regardless of the consequence of his curiosity, Anakin hesitantly reaches out over their bond, looking for the source of Obi-Wan's distress. He is surprised when he isn't met with shields, but pain. Something is definitely wrong. Anakin gathers his courage and lifts himself from the bed, pulling a pair of discarded sleep pants over his lithe body. He walks out of his bedroom to Obi-Wan's next to his. Palming the door open slightly, his mouth opens silently, agape at what his eyes drink in.

Obi-Wan lies, back arched up off the bed, furiously trying to get himself off. The sheets have slid down to only cover his feet, revealing what Anakin has longed to see. His heart races at the sight of his perfect body, pumping and twisting. He licks his lips at the shape the moonlight makes across his stomach, at the way it falls over his hand as it moves up and down. And ohhh...what his hand is moving up and down on.

Such perfection.

He prods at Obi-Wan's mind again, this time finding desperation. His eyes open wide as he connects the feelings. How could he have not known! Granted, he had noticed an increased frustration in his companion, and there had been that incident in the shower...but never would he have even thought that Obi-Wan Kenobi was having that kind of...trouble.

Anakin wants to hit himself. And those things he had said? Hatefully insinuating that Obi-Wan was a lonely man who only had his hand to keep him company! How he wishes he'd known, before falsifying those words, halfheartedly trying to hurt him. Anakin prods Obi-Wan's mind once more, hoping and praying to not be caught, and is shocked at the image that is projected. Obi-Wan is fantasizing.

About him.

Anakin's jaw nearly drops at what his oh-so virginal Master has him doing in his deepest fantasy, his every hope being answered in that one instant. Anakin instantly wants to rush in there, aid Obi-Wan with his pleasure-seeking, apologize and put an end to their years of sexual tension. But it is too soon. Anakin knows that Obi-Wan would be hurt if he knew that he was delving into his most private thoughts...such brash and bold action could only end in more pain for the two. Anakin palms the door shut again, wondering how, if there is any possible way to help Obi-Wan.
He smiles. If Obi-Wan wants a fantasy, he'll give him a fantasy.

He pads back to his room, shedding his pants and making sure not to snag his erection. Sliding into his still warm bed, he works for a moment to silently strengthen his and Obi-Wan's connection, allowing them both to see glimpses of each other without it being blatant enough to startle Obi-Wan. He pulls the covers around his body and bends his knees up, taking himself into his hands. The motion elicits a few light moans, and he allows the image of Obi-Wan to flood his senses. The way the skin around his eyes would wrinkle as his eyes snap shut when Anakin rubs his lips along that sexy beard that he hates to love. The touch of his calloused hands, the warmth and scent of his skin, the brush of his hair and the taste of his lips and tongue against his own. Anakin can barely stop his voice from crying out.

"Ohhh..." he moans loudly, allowing the sound to penetrate both their connection and the thin wall that separates them. He feels a spark in his mind and smiles. Obi-Wan heard him, and is responding to his voice, his pleasure, without even knowing it.

Anakin begins searching Obi-Wan's desires, elaborating a little with his own. Soon, he can hear through the wall, the strangled sighs, the erotic sounds, the light moans his work is causing. Anakin connects himself to Obi-Wan's pace, moaning loudly, putting on a show. He begins rocking his body, allowing the mattress to shudder against his ministrations. The sounds arouse him, the heaviness of his breathing, his words coaxing both of them, the bed echoing his rhythm. Moans and whines volley back and forth, pushing them both to the edge. Anakin knows he is close.

"Ohh...harder, fuck Obi-Wan! Harder!" he growls, imagining Obi-Wan deep inside him, above him, a sexy smirk on his face as he thrusts into him. Anakin feels the sheath of sweat break over his skin, and desperately wants Obi-Wan there with him. He searches for the right words, the words that can bring Obi-Wan there. Listening to Obi-Wan moaning in the other room, he returns to his fantasy, and cries Obi-Wan's name as his back arches up off the bed.

"Ohhhhbi-Wan! Come for me, now!" Anakin groans loudly as he finishes, and smiles, moaning again as he hears an erotic noise from the other bedroom. He smirks a little, happy to know that for what he is now sure isn't the first time, he's indirectly responsible for Obi-Wan's sticky sheets. But then, as many luscious possibilities the morning after may hold, there are also a wealth of more probable, bad reactions his former Master could have.

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