A few months before Order 66
He was naked. She was looking at him, and he could detect no shame in her eager eyes. He surprised himself by shedding the thin veils she was dressed with, impatiently but never harshly, and running slightly trembling hands along her body, as she shivered under his touch, seeking confirmation that this was happening for real. He looked into her eyes as he cupped her breasts, weighing them, slightly squeezing them. Her nipples hardened against his palms, and for this reason his manhood jerked upright. She could hardly wait, pushing him to lie on his back while kissing him savagely, leaning herself on him, pressing her body against his. He didn't even attempt resisting her magnetic pull. She kissed his neck, licking his pulse point, expressing her vocal relief as he slid inside her, holding onto her butt cheeks. She was famished for him, grinding her hips against his to have him all inside, mimicking his own movements.
Before getting to that point, they were having a conversation. Now, however, words were redundant. They were continuing their talk, using another type of language.
His chest heaved as he made small involuntary noises, the woman he had so ardently desired - despite every attempt at dousing his wants with cold rationality - sitting up while riding him, her torso starting to stiffen as she got closer to her peak...
Obi-Wan woke up feeling lighter than he'd felt in a while. It was as if he'd slept in a bed of perfumed flowers. It took him a moment to recall why that was the case. Then it hit him. A dream. A rarity for those of his kind. However, his ecstasy was short-lived, soon leaving the way to a grief deeper than a pit of Sith. A grief rendered more painful by the sweetness of the memory he'd relived in the dream.
Satine. She was gone. She was gone in the most violent, hateful, unjust, intolerable of ways. And he had failed as a Jedi, unable to prevent it. Most of all, he had failed her, as a man. As the man she trusted above all others. As a chosen confidant. As a lover of unspoken promises. Obi-Wan stood up from his stiff cot, rushing to the sink to splash his eyes with cold water before the tears could take over, relieved that no one else was in the room. It had been weeks, and yet this still haunted him. How could it not?
He had literally let her slip away. In hindsight, he had not moved a finger to prevent it, nor to ease her pain. Or to reassure her. He had given away nothing of his true feelings. He had left her alone, being in no way better than Maul. He had been short-sighted rushing to her aide. Everything about that damned day tormented him.
On a day to day basis, Obi-Wan struggled to cope with his grief. As absurd as it was, he feared meditating, for it would amplify his feelings. Therefore, he gave his all to the battlefield; spending his residual energy trying to hide how wrecked he really was.
Anakin's repressed aggressivity worried him, but somehow his ability to focus on the young one's problems was stunted, powerless as he was face his own problems. He resolved to show the boy his proximity at all times, allowing him to pursue his heart's desires, even when that meant meeting Padme Amidala in "secret". Obi-Wan felt, deep down, that what he was permitting was wrong...but then he remembered where restrictions had led him with regards to Satine's fate. He was experiencing emptiness in a way he'd never imagined possible after having elaborated Qui-Gon's passing. He was heartbroken, struggling to concile his Jedi-ness with the realness of his feelings. He wouldn't wish the same destiny upon anyone, let alone Anakin.