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Warmth.
Anakin is cozy, and cozy isn’t a word that he would freely associate with his cabin or bunk aboard the Resolute—they are neither.
Cold and cramped, sure; they are every bit the definition of those words.
But, if he were in his bunk, the feelings of satisfaction and security drifting hazily around the room in the Force wouldn’t make any sense. Those are feelings he’s used to waking up surrounded by in the Temple, in his room within the apartment he shared with Obi-Wan, not aboard a star destroyer within an active war zone…
What.
As Anakin’s sleep-laden brain desperately claws towards consciousness, closer to the clarity of awareness, another odd sensation makes itself apparent.
Not only is he warm, he is lying face down with something sprawled out across his back. Is he… even aboard the Resolute? Or is he lying in the mud on some war-torn battlefield having been injured in combat? Anakin doesn’t feel injured, and it wouldn’t explain the feelings of security and homeliness caressing him in the Force…
What the fuck.
If he isn’t returning to the land of the living after being maimed on some backwater planet in the ass-end of the galaxy, nor is he slowly rousing from slumber to greet another quiet and serene morning in the Temple, then just where the hell is he?
Whatever is lying on top of him shifts, and his brain struggles to reach coherence more quickly. Anakin thinks he recognizes the movement, but in the fuzzy void between wakefulness and sleep, he cannot put a name to exactly what it reminds him of. That is, until he feels a soft exhale of air against the shell of his ear and strong fingers flex and grasp at his hip reflexively, feels the brush of another slumbering consciousness curl just a little tighter around him in their Force bond.
A glittering cerulean and gold velvet haze of lazy contentment…
… oh fuck.
Correction: whomever. Obi-Wan is lying on top of him, asleep.
They had fallen asleep.
Curling together to chase unconsciousness is never a part of their rendezvous. The intimacy of it is too staggering and comes with too many consequences. It isn’t something either of them are willing to risk.
None of that matters now because as Anakin finally manages to shake the last dregs of slumber obscuring his rationality, he realizes there is no way for him to shimmy his way out from under Obi-Wan’s prone form and sneak out of the room without being noticed. Never mind the fact that they had fucked up this brilliantly in his quarters.
In one moment of exhaustion and carelessness, they had changed everything.
Fuck.
Wakefulness slams into him with a ferocity that rivals being woken from a dead sleep by a surprise Separatist attack.
The problem is, they aren’t actually under attack. Obi-Wan is safe, warm, and cozy in his bed.
The realization that he isn’t, in fact, in his bed—that there is someone else with him—is what ultimately jerks him back to consciousness faster than a ship jumping to hyperspace.
He immediately pushes himself up on hands still unsteady from sleep, and Obi-Wan finds himself hovering over the long expanse of golden-hued skin decorated with angry scratch marks leading tantalizingly down to where the sheet is thrown casually over a beautifully toned ass…
“Took you long enough.” Anakin deadpans from below him, the steel in his voice belying the soft tremors accentuating the edges of his words.
“I—”
“Force, Obi-Wan, get with it,” Anakin mutters, the words sounding forced, as he shifts awkwardly underneath the other’s bodyweight. When he speaks again, his voice seems to tremble even more, “Get the fuck off of me.”
He’s lying on top of Anakin. Why is he lying on top of Anakin, asleep?
Shit.
Obi-Wan’s brain finally kicks into gear, the cogs in his mind finally stuttering clumsily into alignment, as he realizes just how badly they screwed up by casually falling into such blatant intimacy. He struggles—the realization making him feel skittish and agitated—with the sheets wrapped sensually around his body, in an effort to free himself and escape the narrow bunk as quickly as possible. Obi-Wan yelps as the sheet tangles around his ankle, and instead of gracefully leaving the bed's enticing embrace, he falls off the side and to the floor in an undignified heap.
“Really, Master? Trying to get away from me that quickly?” Anakin’s voice is forebodingly flat, bizarrely bereft.
“Anakin, I—”
“Obi-Wan. ‘You know this changes everything’,” Anakin mocks his accent, then sighs deeply as he pushes himself to sit on the narrow bunk, uncaring of his nakedness with the sheet tangled around Obi-Wan on the floor. “It seems like we have a decision to make. We can either say ‘fuck it’ and completely walk away from each other. Or we say ‘fuck it all’ and go for it, and deal with the fallout when it comes.”
Obi-Wan struggles to catch up with Anakin’s fatalism, still sprawled on the floor and gaping like an idiot. “Surely we can just ignore this one minor indiscretion? We can simply forget about it and go back to the way things were, and be cautious not let this misstep happen again. We needn't make a big deal out of it.”
“It’s a big deal for me. Now that I know what it’s like to wake up next to you, I’m going to crave it. Don’t lie to me. You won’t be able to forget about it either.”
Obi-Wan blanches, eyes comically shocked wide.
Anakin’s right—Obi-Wan knows it—but he stubbornly keeps his mouth clenched shut. Curling around him in his sleep, protecting him, it had felt too right upon waking; now that he had gotten to experience it, he would yearn for it.
It reeks of attachment.
At least if they quit while they were ahead, he could suffer alone in silence, and not drag Anakin down with him.
“You know I’m right.” Anakin sighs, planting his hands on the mattress and levering himself to stand. “I’m going to go shower. You have a choice. Either be gone by the time I get back, or come join me.”
Join him in the shower? Now, that’s definitely crossing a line.
Obi-Wan watches enthralled, his undignified sprawl on the floor all but forgotten, as Anakin rises from the bunk in all of his naked glory. As the other man strides across the room towards the refresher, Obi-Wan keenly observes the pull of muscles beneath tanned quads and that toned ass, almost missing the final comment Anakin casually tosses over his shoulder before he steps into the refresher.
“Ball’s in your court, Kenobi.”
Kenobi?
Clearly, Anakin is attempting to distance himself, to seem flippant over the whole affair, like he doesn’t care what path Obi-Wan chooses in the end. But Obi-Wan is too in tune with the younger man’s body language and with how he feels through the shimmering interconnected webs of their Force bond. Obi-Wan can feel the sorrow and regret and heartache that pounds at the walls of the other man’s shields, desperate to be freed to scream their sorrows unhindered.
Now, the question remains.
Is Anakin upset because he has arrived at the understanding that they need to stop while they are ahead? Has he already started the process of grieving the vulnerabilities that they share?
Or, has Anakin already drawn the conclusion that while he might want to continue things—to hell with the consequences—Obi-Wan would want to walk away as if the things they shared had no meaning? And…
Has Obi-Wan already made the decision to walk away?
As soon as the door shuts, Obi-Wan’s body moves without conscious thought, without permission, and he suddenly finds himself with clammy palms pressed against the cold surface. He stands there motionlessly, hands and forehead pressed to the barrier in front of him.
The barrier between him and Anakin.
The closed door, paired with Anakin’s parting words, ring with a finality that shocks loneliness underneath Obi-Wan’s skin.
Now that his brain has had time to catch up with his body's unconscious actions, Obi-Wan blows out a long sigh of frustration. Why is he even standing in front of this door? He should be gathering clothes strewn around the room in the frenzy of the previous evening's passions, dressing reluctantly, and heading back to his cabin.
No.
Anakin cranks up the water temperature to one step below scalding, stumbling gracelessly into the tiny stall. He yelps as the door smacks him on the calf in his haste.
Despite his bravado, he’s trembling, the shivers wracking his body uncontrollably. Anakin feels like he is ready to crawl out of his skin and turn into a mere shell of himself. He leans forward, head collapsing onto forearms braced on the wall in front of him, and lets the water scald his skin, soak his hair, and drip uncomfortably into his face.
How could they let themselves fuck up this badly?
Their arrangement was good, and it should have been enough. It helped them immeasurably, through the gut-wrenching guilt and horrors they experienced over the past years. Now, they wouldn’t be able to seek it out again after this, given the need for distance between them. Obi-Wan surely will walk away, and Anakin needs to come to terms with the fact that he will have to do the same. How could they let themselves become so remiss that they ruined something that feels so right, even considering what it may be lacking? Bloody hell, the war is already killing him.
How is he going to survive it alone?
How is Anakin supposed to survive it without the encompassing oasis of Obi-Wan’s touch, the one that always manages to save him from the fresh hell of their reality? The one that always seems to be able to pull him back from the brink of falling into the abyss?
Anakin tilts his head back, letting the water splash directly onto his face, uncaring of the discomfort of the direct spray in his eyes. It’s nothing compared to the thought of losing Obi-Wan forever, which is twisting like a rusty, pitted dagger deep in his abdomen.
He won’t delude himself into thinking they could go back to the way they were before.
Before they had fallen into each other’s arms and beds, they had had a relationship of trust based on years of brotherhood, comradeship, and shared heartache. Now that they have crossed the first line of falling into, falling for, each other's body and soul, Anakin intrinsically knows that they can’t return to what they were before after sharing the language of their bodies.
They would be no better than strangers.
Anakin unwillingly accepts it. To do otherwise would only lead to further heartache; he knows that it’s what Obi-Wan will do, and fighting against that man’s resolve is nigh impossible.
Obi-Wan won’t be joining him.
Anakin fights savagely to keep a noise of anguish locked tightly behind quivering lips, as unbidden tears stream down his flushed cheeks.
This is the end.
“I could never be a stranger to you, dear one. I think it might kill me.”
The unexpected words hit Anakin with the force of an out-of-control freighter. He turns so fast that he almost slips in the water pooling on the floor, his mouth wide open and gaping, as Obi-Wan steps into the shower behind him. The cool air from outside of the stall breezes in behind him, sending shivers scattering across Anakin’s skin.
Obi-Wan must have caught his thoughts drifting despondently around him in the Force.
“What—” Anakin starts to speak, but Obi-Wan cuts him off.
“Fuck it all, Anakin. I need you by my side,” he whispers sharply, stepping into the spray and crowding him back against the wall. Obi-Wan catches his lips in a soft and brief, desperate kiss. He pulls back just far enough that his lips whisper against Anakin’s as he speaks again, “I don’t want to only think about all that we could have been. I’d rather experience it for myself. I see a future in your eyes, and I think you see the same in mine.”
Anakin immediately melts into Obi-Wan’s familiar hold, the shock of his impassioned words making his body go lax, and he loses himself to the novelty of a kiss overflowing with a type of intimacy they had never allowed themselves to share before. Instead of demanding lust and passion, it promises devotion and the possibility of a future together.
Obi-Wan is choosing him.
He must be out of his mind.
Obi-Wan shakes his head almost violently. There’s no way that he could walk away now, regardless of the consequences that he—that they—would face by staying. Yes, it could cost him his seat on the Council, their place in the Order, or his sanity, should Anakin be killed in battle, but he was quickly finding that he wasn’t strong enough to walk away from the sea of tranquility he had discovered in Anakin’s arms.
Not to mention that if he walks away now, by necessity, they would have to become unfamiliar to one another to survive their parting.
‘They would be no better than strangers.’
Obi-Wan latches greedily onto the stray poignant thought that has wiggled its way through the intricately layered labyrinth of Anakin’s shields, one that perfectly echoes the wretchedness of his own.
It is obvious that they both want this, regardless of the consequences they would face. Whatever they end up being, they will face them together. So…
Why are they doing this to themselves?
With that, Obi-Wan’s resolve crumbles. His hand slides down the steel of the door with intent, curling into a fist right before he uses it to slam down on the door release. Gait filled with single-minded determination, he stalks into the heavily fogged room, sparing no mind for the way that it parts seductively around him like the murky remnants of a dissipating dream.
“I could never be a stranger to you, dear one. I think it might kill me.”
“What—” Anakin starts to speak, but Obi-Wan abruptly cuts off whatever argument is about to spill past those sinfully plump lips.
“Fuck it all, Anakin. I need you by my side. I don’t want to only think about all that we could have been. I’d rather experience it for myself. I see a future in your eyes, and I think you see the same in mine,” Obi-Wan hisses quietly. Even to his own ears, he sounds almost feral in his need. Were it any other time, he would be embarrassed by the raw, almost animalistic quality underlying his tone, but there are more important things to focus on at the moment.
Like the way Anakin immediately softens as soon as Obi-Wan boxes him against the shower wall, one hand on the wall on either side of his head. He tilts his head back unconsciously to accept the soft but passionate kiss Obi-Wan bestows upon him, as though his body were already anticipating his partner’s movements.
The familiarity of the action has him aching in ways he is unfamiliar with.
It causes a sentiment, usually locked away under layers of disaffirmation and avoidance, to finally bubble over and lodge itself high in his throat. Unwilling to have any unnecessary space between them, Obi-Wan languorously presses every inch of his wet naked skin against the overheated expanse of Anakin’s.
Shocked deeply by the words falling unhindered from his lips, Obi-Wan quickly captures Anakin’s lips in another kiss to prevent any further admissions, this one less chaste. As if they have a mind of their own, his hands move from the wall, one hand splaying against Anakin’s long neck to better angle his face to receive Obi-Wan’s attentions, the other teasing wet skin as it slides down Anakin’s back and comes to rest on one asscheek with a pointed squeeze.
“Yesyesyes please—” Anakin babbles, voicing the almost incoherent need raging rampantly through their bond.
Obi-Wan knows exactly what Anakin wants.
“I won't fuck you right now, Anakin. Soon, but not now.” Obi-Wan takes a moment to simply gaze at the younger man’s beautiful face, from the water droplets caught in long dainty lashes, down his rakish scar, to bitten-red lips, with a wry grin. “As much as I would like to indulge myself in that part of your body, my dear, I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of patience. I’d like to take you apart slowly, piece by piece, for your first time. In the meantime, there are other ways that I can make you feel good.”
What remains unspoken is the sheer intimacy of what they are committing too. Throughout their encounters thus far, Obi-Wan has always been the one to take Anakin deep within his body. This decision wasn’t born out of any particular preference; while Obi-Wan does have a taste for the painful stretch—particularly after a hard battle—of being opened up on Anakin’s cock, he equally enjoys taking apart others with his.
No, the decision stemmed from his realization that Anakin hadn’t ever taken another into his body.
The intimacy behind such a first time wasn’t something that Obi-Wan had been willing to take from Anakin, especially with the former power imbalance of their previous mentorship and the clandestine nature of such wartime encounters. He would never have been able to forgive himself for casually accepting such a gift.
Obi-Wan had felt Anakin’s disagreement staining the Force multiple times since then, but he had held fast, and they had never spoken aloud about it.
Besides, given the opportunity to bury himself deep inside Anakin’s body, Obi-Wan is sure that he would have never been able to leave, damn the consequences.
There is no reason now to continue holding onto the notion.
Anakin nods enthusiastically, and Obi-Wan can feel in the Force that Anakin doesn’t care how his Master touches him, only that he somehow gets his hand on him in the wake of such intimate confessions. The hand on Anakin’s jaw tightens minutely before he releases the tension and brings the first finger of said hand to his own mouth. Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows, catching Anakin’s stunned gaze, as he makes a show out of openly sucking on and slicking the digit with his saliva.
Obi-Wan slips the slick digit out of his mouth with a loud pop and, with eyes still locked with Anakin’s like two opposing magnetic poles, he slides his hand down the other man’s body to join the first on his ass. He slips the seeking digit between soft cheeks, and with a barely noticeable nod from Anakin, gently presses the finger into his hole to the knuckle in one firm motion.
Anakin gasps wantonly, though his eyes never leave Obi-Wan’s gaze. It’s so intimate, so lewd, so wholesome… it’s so many things, and Obi-Wan cannot find the strength within him to look away. He startles slightly, so caught up in the magnetism of their shared gaze that the feel of Anakin’s mismatched hands grasping him by the hips takes him by surprise.
The shared fire ricocheting between their eyes and souls urges Obi-Wan into action, and with a deep press of his finger into Anakin’s body, he forces his other hand between their pelvises, grasping both of their straining lengths in his fist. He starts to stroke them towards completion with a kind of focused intensity that he doesn’t usually chase during their encounters; usually, he likes to relish, to savour, the feeling of his body against Anakin’s, as much as possible.
He doesn’t possess that kind of patience at the moment.
The slide of his hand cradled around the hard lengths of both of their cocks is a bit too dry, for either of their preferences, but Obi-Wan doesn’t care right now, and he can feel that Anakin doesn’t either. He’s already teetering dangerously close to the edge, the intensity of the moment having set him on edge from the beginning, and he starts to move both hands with purpose, sharing moist panting breaths in the scant space between their lips. Obi-Wan slams his finger back inside Anakin’s body one last time, and with the change to a gentle undulation of his crooked finger, he feels Anakin lose himself.
“Holy fuck, Obi-Wan, I’m—”
The feeling of Anakin’s hole fluttering, his internal muscles rippling, around his fingers has him grinding his teeth. Obi-Wan watches with fascination as Anakin comes apart on his fingers, for the first time, before his eyes; no matter how many times he’s observed the vulnerability of Anakin’s body and mind succumbing to pleasure, it will somehow always continue to feel like their first time all over again. The pleasure Anakin is caught up in reverberates viciously within the fiery confines of their bond; paired with the feeling of Anakin’s come slicking the grip on their cocks, a few more harsh strokes of his hand is all that it takes for Obi-Wan to come with a broken moan.
He shudders, and can feel the static echo of the same sensation dancing across Anakin’s skin. Finally breaking their heated gaze, Obi-Wan leans his forehead against the wall just above Anakin’s shoulder—wet, tangled hair falling into his eyes. He briefly toys with their oversensitive cocks lazily before releasing them and winding arms around Anakin’s wet torso, hugging him tightly to his body.
“Obi-Wan?” Anakin pants softly, still trying to catch his breath, “Are you okay?”
He’s more than okay.
“Yes, I’m okay. I… I just want to hold you for a moment,” Obi-Wan whispers into Anakin’s shoulder.
Anakin doesn’t respond, instead agreeing with a shallow nod of his head and arms snaking around the small of Obi-Wan’s back, fingers lacing together and pulling him even closer into their shared embrace.
Allowing himself to be held this closely by someone he cares about is a new and strange experience, one that Obi-Wan finds he can easily get used to. He allows himself long minutes of comfort that just yesterday, he would have viciously denied himself, even in the darkness of his thoughts. For now, he lets himself freely bask in the feeling of Anakin’s skin and presence, the Force curling protectively around them in the vulnerable aftermath of shared pleasure.
The code forbids it, but we no longer do.
The sudden realization knocks Obi-Wan out of his gentle solace, though he does not raise his head from where he has it hidden against Anakin’s neck.
“We still need to talk about how we’re going to handle this force-forsaken mess we’ve gotten ourselves into,” Obi-Wan mutters, words muffled slightly by the way his face presses into the damp skin of Anakin’s shoulder.
“Yeah, later. Now, if you don’t take me back to bed, I’m going to scream,” Anakin states, his attempt to lighten the gravity of their shared realization with affection and humour flooding their bond.
Obi-Wan snorts softly at Anakin’s dramatic evasion, affectionately nosing into the underside of his jaw, before finally pulling back from his hiding place and gazing deeply into the soft, knowing gaze Anakin fixes him with. Obi-Wan gives him a fond smile, one that causes the muscles of his cheeks to ache, and leans in to brush a chaste, gentle kiss across the other man’s lips.
He could happily live in that gaze forever.