Work Text:
I Choose You
~
1: The Rumor
~
There was a rumor at the Temple. It spread quickly, accompanied by hushed voices and wide eyes, calling to the Padawans’ curiosity like cheese to mice. Over time, it turned into their favorite thing to discuss; whenever a group of them joked and chatted in between training lessons, it was bound to be mentioned, and it went downhill from there.
Usually, Anakin didn’t care for such things. As a couple of familiar names got dropped more and more often, though, even he took notice, studying the Padawans with a frown, yet unwilling to speak to them.
It was a few days later that he heard the full tale. A blonde human girl, fifteen at most, had the ungrateful task of asking him about it, her friends chuckling in the background. When Anakin shot them dark looks, they at least had the decency to cover their mouths.
“We thought you must know, considering your history with Master Kenobi,” she said, smiling her best innocent smile. “We mean no harm. We’re just curious, that’s all.”
Anakin tensed up at the mention of Obi-Wan, and a part of him wanted to scan the area for threats; it wasn’t easy to let go of these reflexes. Still, he let the urge pass him by.
“Know what?” He furrowed his brows, confused, then angry about being confused. He didn’t like that a random Padawan knew something about Obi-Wan he didn’t.
“Well…” The girl hesitated, her cheeks glowing a suspicious pink. Maybe she’d hoped he already knew about the rumor and could confirm or disconfirm it immediately. “I’m not sure on the details, but, um…”
She pursed her lips, then took a deep breath. “Is it true that Master Kenobi intends to take Senator Organa as his new mate?”
Anakin stared at her as if she’d told him she wanted to massacre her entire class and maybe a few younglings as well. His mind came to an abrupt halt, like a ship crashing into another; he thought to hear the consequent explosion in the silence that followed. Irritation mingled with something much more primal and intense.
“Who told you that?”
The girl sent wary glances to her friends. She swallowed hard. “Um, Mikka, but he’s only heard it from another friend, and that one, well…”
She paused, likely noticing the way Anakin’s eyes kept narrowing, the approaching storm in the Force. “You… don’t know, then?”
“Of course I don’t!” Anakin snapped, though he immediately regretted it when she paled before his eyes. When he continued, he tried to keep his voice calm. The result was a drawled pronunciation that reminded him of the dialect they spoke on one of Chandrila’s moons, though it was better than yelling at a child.
“Because it isn’t true. You shouldn’t believe everything your nosy friends tell you, young one.”
With that, Anakin walked past her and down the hallway, seething silently. Obi-Wan and Bail? What a horrible idea. A good joke, maybe, and a tad more believable after Bail and his wife had gotten divorced, but nothing to take seriously. How could that girl even consider taking it seriously?
Not only the girl, Anakin remembered, and his mood went from bad to worse. All of them had been talking about it. What was so interesting about the love life of other people? Didn’t they have better things to do? Like learning how to be a good Jedi and keep their noses out of other people’s businesses?
Anakin scoffed, a hysterical grin running over his lips. Sure, Obi-Wan and Bail. That made so much sense. Of course, they’d fall in love. Sure. Of course. Like that would ever happen.
~
“You know, I haven’t heard from Bail Organa in quite a while. You haven’t seen him recently, have you?” Anakin rubbed his neck, avoiding Obi-Wan’s eyes.
He was quite proud of his voice and how nonchalant it sounded, though then again, he was with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan seemed able to look behind his best defenses, deciphering words that should be hidden by all means; now, after everything they’d been through, Anakin felt even more like an open book to him. His mouth felt dry and he licked his lips, waiting for the silence to be broken. It lasted too long to his liking.
“Oh Anakin.” Obi-Wan sighed.
Anakin stiffened, trying not to let his nervousness show. He bit the inside of his cheek when he felt the urge to repeat the question.
Obi-Wan gave him an amused smile, his eyes glimmering. “You don’t really believe that rumor, do you?”
Heat rushing to his cheeks, Anakin rolled his eyes and slumped into the armchair’s cushions. Maybe if he was lucky, they would swallow him.
“Of course not,” he reassured Obi-Wan, and pretended to overhear his quiet chuckle. He raised his chin. “You should try to put a stop to it, though. It’s getting annoying to deal with all these Padawans gossiping about your sex life. You’d think that would become boring fast but I still hear your name whenever I pass the training grounds.”
“Let them have their fun.” Obi-Wan poured himself and Anakin a cup of tea. Tendrils of gray steam floated toward the ceiling. “They’ll grow old and tired soon enough.”
That wasn’t what Anakin had wanted to hear. He scowled. “Why does this strange rumor even exist? I mean, an idea like that doesn’t just fall from the sky, does it?”
Obi-Wan handed him the tea. The cup was warm against his skin, soothing his tense joints after a long day of training. Anakin lifted it to his mouth, inhaling the chamomile tea’s earthy scent and a hint of flowers that made his body tingle pleasantly – Obi-Wan’s scent.
“If you want to know whether I’m dating Bail, you can just ask.”
Anakin almost let go of his cup. Thanks to the Force, he managed to keep his grip firm, though his fingers twitched and a few drops of tea leaped over the cup’s rim. He looked up. The air felt too hot, stifling even. His heart was fluttering. “Are you?”
Their gazes crossed. Obi-Wan offered a smile.
“No,” he said, and a weight left Anakin’s chest. “We met a few times to talk about a new law Bail’s working on; it concerns the segregation of alphas and omegas in schools, and aims to abolish these horrible private establishments. He wanted to hear my thoughts on the matter. That’s all.”
“Oh. Well, that’s great.” Anakin grinned, too relieved to think of something else to say. A thoughtful expression crossed Obi-Wan’s face, casting a shadow on it.
Anakin’s grin faded. “It is, right?”
Obi-Wan took a sip of tea, maybe only to have another moment to think. He was gazing into the cup as he spoke, as if it were much more interesting than Anakin’s eyes.
“With Dooku dead, the war’s all but over,” Obi-Wan said. “We have three omega Jedi Knights, plus a handful of Padawans. I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I’m cautiously optimistic. But, Anakin…
He sighed. “This rumor isn’t true. If it was, though, you’d have to live with that. You know we… we aren’t mates anymore.”
Anakin’s heart clenched, repeating those words, reminding him of a pain that felt both old and fresh. He tried to cover it up by taking a sip, which resulted in a burned tongue and a curse he barely kept silent. He grimaced. How did Obi-Wan manage to drink this with a straight face?
He didn’t look at him when he replied, and it was only half a lie. “Don’t worry, I know. It’s fine.”
~
2: The HoloNet
~
Sometimes Anakin found himself staring at Obi-Wan’s lips. His heart leaped and carried him away, to those few beautiful times he’d grazed them with his own, to desire and false joy, and he wanted to lean in and overwrite those memories with happiness.
He remembered what Obi-Wan had said, that he would have chosen to be with him under different circumstances and wondered what those different circumstances looked like and got lost in daydreams. He wondered if Obi-Wan had forgotten that conversation – Anakin at least could never forget.
The HoloNet didn’t forget either.
When Obi-Wan’s secret had first been revealed, the Council had tried to keep the news from spreading, though something like that could never stay hidden, and reporters had caught wind of it eventually. Maybe if his mate hadn’t been The Hero With No Fear, if they hadn’t been known as the legendary Jedi Team, it would have been different.
The kind of newspapers that relied on sensational headlines and large pictures to make money had a field day, throwing around words like soulmates and meant to be like candy; one even published a secret – fake – interview detailing their family planning, featuring a honeymoon on Scarif.
Anakin still hoped Obi-Wan had never gotten more than a glimpse of those articles. Back then they’d been annoying; now, he felt embarrassed and angry just thinking about them and the way they’d assumed Obi-Wan would choose to leave the Order to have a family. The way they hadn’t even questioned it because he was an omega.
The very same newspapers had an even greater field day when their bond was broken.
Poor Obi-Wan, some said. Will he ever get over this trauma?
Others, cynical voices through and through, focused on the Jedi Order and the rule change that allowed omegas to stay and be trained, mocking Obi-Wan’s decision and the prospect of fighting omegas.
The same authors who had celebrated his coming to terms with being an omega now treated him like a hopeless optimist, wondering when he’d return to Anakin, because omegas couldn’t live without a mate, could they?
Anakin hoped Obi-Wan had stumbled over even less of those articles. They still showed up a year later, like a pack of hyenas clinging to a particularly juicy piece of meat, and their sight never failed to make Anakin grit his teeth. It was a sign that they still had a long way to go.
Over time, his opinion on the reporters who thought writing those blasted articles was a good idea sunk even below that of bounty hunters and smugglers. One incident cemented the feeling in particular.
Obi-Wan and he were meeting Bail and Padmé in a bar to celebrate the Senate’s approval of the law they’d been working on. It was a warm night, and Coruscant’s upper levels were buzzing with life. Beings from all around the galaxy pulled their hoods into their faces and scurried to their establishment of choice.
It was difficult to maneuver through a crowd that moved like the sea, wild and unpredictable, and Anakin was grateful for the Force that kept him from running into bystanders. He still kept close to Obi-Wan, though, brushing his shoulder now and then, careful not to lose sight of him. When a group of drunk yarkoras flooded the street, they stopped to let them pass.
“Be careful, or that’ll be you later,” Anakin warned jokingly, pointing at an older yarkora who was stumbling six meters behind his group with heavy-lidded eyes and a perpetually confused expression, but had somehow managed not to kiss the ground yet. “Padmé told me she’s paying. I decided we should take full advantage of that.”
Obi-Wan snorted quietly, and his breath tickled Anakin’s ear. A hand touched his arm, sending a warm shiver down his back. “Remind me of that when you’re sobbing into my shoulder after a single glass of Corellian whiskey.”
Anakin rolled his eyes. “I was a Padawan back then. That doesn’t count.”
He turned his head to look at Obi-Wan, nodding to the neon letters of the bar Padmé had chosen; the street had cleared up enough to show bits of a glass door and large, decorated windows. “Let’s go.”
They began to walk again, though didn’t come far.
“Oi, oi!”
Anakin blinked into the flash of a camera, too stunned to do more than stare. His hand instinctively grasped Obi-Wan’s arm, and it was only later that he realized what a stupid idea that was.
The man shoving himself past passersby toward them had a goatee and small, glimmering eyes. So much gel clung to his hair that it shone like oil. His fitted suit made him look somewhat out of place in the crowd of casually dressed groups of friends, though its berry color was dark enough not to attract too much attention.
A few steps behind him a young Twi’lek – he couldn’t be past adolescence yet – with a patterned headscarf held a shiny black camera and shifted on his feet, trying to get a better angle.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, what a surprise! What a great pleasure!” The man – cursing silently, Anakin recognized him as Roska Koriin of the The Daily CoruSUN, the worst Coruscant’s tabloids had to offer – said with a grin. He was already fumbling with a device that looked like a comlink, if comlinks were supposed to be flashy and chic.
“Surely, you have a moment to answer a few questions –“
“No.” Anakin kept walking, though Obi-Wan was still frowning at the reporter as though not quite sure what to make of him. Anakin had no doubt he’d never read a line out of The Daily CoruSUN, let alone a whole paragraph of the lies and half-truths they called articles. Good for him.
Then and there, though, it gave Koriin an advantage. Like a vulture darting toward a rabbit, he thrust the comlink into Obi-Wan’s face – so close, Obi-Wan had to step back, the furrow in his forehead deepening. “Our readers will be so happy to hear you’ve reconciled. Do you believe your bond’s stronger now? Will you still fly to Scarif for your honeymoon or has a different planet caught your eye?”
Obi-Wan’s brows rose, his mouth ajar. “Honeymoon?” He made it sound like a word of a foreign language, a raspy quality to it. “There’s no honeymoon. We –“
“Keeping it sweet and simple, hm? I like it,” Koriin interrupted him. His Twi’lek companion took another photo and Anakin was tempted to slap that blasted camera out of his hands. A vein at his temple twitched.
“Who do you think you are…?” he growled, clenching his hands, but as he tried to step between Koriin and Obi-Wan, the Twi’lek – entirely accidental, surely – tripped and crashed into him. A hand coiled around his shoulder like a snake, patting it, holding him back; lekkus drove into his neck. “Thanks, mate.”
Anakin pushed him away more brusquely than what would be polite, half hoping he’d fall.
Koriin asked, “In two words, what do you love most about Anakin?”
You’ve got to be kidding me, shot through Anakin’s mind, though beneath anger, there was a fluttery feeling in his chest. Heat rushed into his cheeks. He found himself looking anywhere but at Obi-Wan. Then and there, he’d rather taken on a nest of gundarks than these rats of reporters – with the gundarks he wouldn’t have to hold back at least.
This had to stop. Now.
“Mr. Skywalker,” the Twi’lek said, mimicking laying an arm around someone’s shoulder, “if you could stand behind him, maybe kiss –“
Anakin’s glare silenced him.
Koriin was still staring expectantly at Obi-Wan when a pillar of blue light cut between them. The hiss of Anakin’s lightsaber must have been impressive even in the midst of busy steps and droning music; the reporter shrieked, stumbling back. His device shook in his hand, almost slipping out of his fingers.
Calmly, Anakin came to a halt beside Obi-Wan. The tip of his blade was hovering mere inches away from Koriin’s chest, and it could get closer still; they both knew that. What Koriin didn’t know was that Jedi would never do such a cowardly thing, if they ever let themselves disrespect life enough to kill an unarmed man. Still, a part of Anakin relished Koriin’s fear.
“Get lost,” he hissed icily. “If you bother us again…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Koriin and the Twi’lek vanished in the crowd more quickly than a pod cut a corner in a podrace. The tension fell off Anakin, if not the irritation.
“Bastards,” he muttered, tucking his lightsaber away.
“Don’t – don’t you think you overreacted a bit?” Obi-Wan rasped, finally finding his voice. A hint of anger shone in it.
Anakin looked at him. Calmer now, he found reason in Obi-Wan’s words, though he couldn’t bring himself to fully regret his actions. Some people needed to be shown, not told, and who knew what kind of article Koriin might have written about them if he got even one or two honest answers from them.
Who knew what kind of article he was writing still.
Anakin grimaced, feeling a jolt of guilt, all too familiar.
“Perhaps,” he murmured as they continued on their way to the bar. A few nosy bystanders were still casting glances at them, but none approached and they were easy to ignore. “He deserves it, though. If you knew what he wrote about omega rights organizations, you’d agree with me.”
“I never said he didn’t deserve it,” Obi-Wan said, a quirk of amusement at his lips and a spark in his eyes. “Still, I can hardly approve of your threatening a civilian, now, can I?”
Their gazes crossed. Anakin found himself smiling, if only because the neon lights of nearby restaurants fell just right, giving Obi-Wan colorful halos that changed whenever they passed a new building, his coppery hair glimmering, an endearing blush on his cheeks. There was life in his eyes, so beautiful Anakin wondered how he could have ever considered living without it.
“Next time I’ll warn you and you can close your eyes, hm?”
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but it was without annoyance. “There won’t be a next time, hopefully.” He gave a faint snort. Something melancholic entered his gaze. “You’d think they lost interest by now.”
“Right.” Anakin shifted his gaze to the street, smile crumbling. As much as he detested Koriin and his friends, he couldn’t deny his heart had skipped a beat at this word – honeymoon –, had wished a part, even just a fraction of what those tabloids had written about their happy relationship was true.
Still, there was no despair in that thought, merely shadows of sadness, easily fading in the light of Obi-Wan’s vibrant presence. He’d always take Obi-Wan over his caged ghost.
A part of him, tiny yet sturdy, hadn’t stopped hoping for his love, and never would, but he knew better than to expect it. Stars, Obi-Wan didn’t owe him anything.
They were friends again when Anakin had already thought their friendship lost; if he paid for it with grief for what had never been, it was more than acceptable.
~
“Your heart,” Obi-Wan said, later, his speech slurred by Antakarian Fire Dancer and Barium Frizz. Jazz music was humming around them, mixing with laughter and a myriad of voices in a dozen different languages.
Anakin barely understood him, but, admittingly, alcohol might have been clouding his mind as well. His thoughts floated beyond his reach, and only slowly did he manage to open his lips to speak.
“W-what did you…?” He frowned. “What?”
“Your heart,” Obi-Wan repeated hoarsely. “That’s what I love most about you.”
Anakin laughed.
It was only in the morning, when he woke up to a spinning room and bile in his throat, that he realized Obi-Wan might not have made a joke, that it had been an answer to Koriin’s question.
~
3: The Medcenter
~
Anakin darted through the hallways so fast the walls became a blur of white and silver, his heart beating in his throat. The medic – a female Rodian with golden hoop earrings, a nametag calling her Dr. Dameeth – he almost ran into gave him a dark look, arms crossed before her closed coat. Her antennae twitched with disapproval. Anakin couldn’t have cared less about that, though.
“Where is he? Can I see him?”
“He? One of our patients I assume. Does the gentleman also have a name for him?” Her voice held a distinct accent, enhanced by irritation.
Anakin forced himself to take a deep breath, calming his voice. “Yes, of course. Obi-Wan Kenobi. I was told he was admitted this morning.”
Dr. Dameeth nodded. “That is true. Are you relatives? Is he your mate?”
Anakin’s mouth went dry. He stared at her a moment too long, then ground out, “No. Neither. We’re… friends. We’re both Jedi, you see; you… you could call us family, I suppose.”
Dr. Dameeth tilted her large head, her eyes narrowing as though studying him. A new thought crossed her eyes. “Anakin Skywalker?”
He didn’t need to answer. She continued evenly, though with a softer gaze. “You can see him. He should be awake by now. The operation went well; there will be scars, but with the right physical therapy and bacta treatment, there should be no lasting damage or limited mobility.”
She pointed down the hallway. “Room 22.B. If you have any questions, I’ll be there for a brief inspection in half an hour.”
“Thank you.”
Anakin found himself walking faster. When he arrived at the room, though, he took a moment to ground himself in the Force, trying to think about how horrible he must look – cheeks red with exertion, hair as wild as a bird’s nest, sweaty and exhausted from the mission he’d only just returned from. He used his fingers to comb through his hair, but paused when he realized Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind it – he was making a fool of himself, wasn’t he?
I should have given him a day or two to recover, Anakin thought, but at the same time he knew there was no way he could have done that. The worry constricting his throat was difficult to bear already. Waiting two more days? Impossible. He had to see for himself that Obi-Wan’s injuries would heal, or else his mind would torture him with nightmares and fears.
Sensing his presence, Anakin felt lighter already, even though it was weaker than usual. Bracing himself, he opened the door carefully, so as not to wake him should Obi-Wan be asleep; on quiet feet he entered the room.
It turned out that wouldn’t have been necessary. Obi-Wan, while pale, inky bruises blossoming on his cheek and collar like tattoos, was sitting upright, a bowl in his lap; steam climbed to the ceiling, and Anakin caught glimpses of a creamy-orange soup. A spoon in his left hand – a bandage around his arm held back the right one –, Obi-Wan pursed his lips, blowing softly.
At the sounds of Anakin’s steps, his gaze rose. The spoon wavered, its contents spilling back into the bowl; Obi-Wan, lips opening in a surprised o, lowered it. Though exhaustion clouded his eyes, they lit up at seeing him, something warm and bright burning inside their depths. Anakin thought they must read him like an open book. Suddenly he felt like a shiny new recruit, unexperienced with the way of war and battles, for believing Obi-Wan would be anything but fine.
He tried to cover up his discomfort by clearing his throat. Now that he was here, he should embrace the moment. “Obi-Wan. I heard you got injured and, um, was nearby…” Stupid, he knows of your mission, doesn’t he? “I thought I could drop by, see how you’re doing, keep you company for a while, you know. I know how boring it gets at the medcenter.”
Anakin raised his hands with a shrug and a grin, hoping it was enough to convince Obi-Wan of the entirely casual nature of this visit.
Strangely, though, there was no amusement in Obi-Wan’s expression; instead, it darkened with a flicker of concern. “Anakin.” Why did his name sound like a sigh? “You’re not here to lecture me, are you?”
If Obi-Wan’s voice hadn’t sounded so serious, Anakin would have sworn he was joking. He laughed shakily, but Obi-Wan didn’t join in. “Lecture you? Why should I?”
Anakin approached the bed, a thin, metallic thing; behind the headboard, a large window offered glimpses at the high levels of Coruscant, towers and vehicles speeding past glowing in the warm light of the setting sun. He sat down on a stool, not feeling well towering over Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan’s gaze never left him. “This was my first solitary mission since, well…”
He didn’t need to say more.
“Ah.” Anakin’s smile fell. Tingling heat spread in his neck, reminding him of mistakes and remorse, memories that would always cage him like prison walls. There was a bitter taste on his tongue. Disappointment?
Much less enthusiastic, he murmured, “I’d never lecture for… for not being perfect…” Even though you are; to me, you are. “You got injured, so what? I get injured all the time. It’ll heal. You’re fine. You – you are fine, aren’t you?”
Obi-Wan studied him silently, long enough that Anakin felt the urge to avert his gaze. Finally, a small smile curved beneath his well-trimmed beard. “I am fine.”
He shifted his gaze to the bowl, looking as though the weight of the world lay on his shoulders; he bore it with grace, though, with determination. Beneath scratches and flat hair and barely healed wounds, a warrior fought on.
“My arm might be broken, but the princess of Naldar has been returned to her family, and I’ve survived worse. It could have gone much worse. I suppose… there’ll be a next time, hm?”
For such a small sentence, it held a lot of weight, the raspy tone of Obi-Wan’s voice soft and hesitantly hopeful; he spoke like a man who only now realized the storm he’d expected was a gust of wind instead.
There would be a next time; Obi-Wan was taking on missions again, as long as they didn’t interfere with the time of his heat. Something they both – perhaps the whole of the Order – hadn’t thought possible was happening: Omegas were fighting, and the Council had forgiven Obi-Wan. With a bit of practice, he might be leading clones into battle again soon.
And Anakin?
The Anakin who hadn’t known omegas, who’d turned a blind eye to their struggles and seen them as bearers of children only, who’d accepted Obi-Wan as his mate but not as an equal, would have been angry with him, might have felt vindicated by his injuries in his belief that omegas weren’t meant to fight.
Now, though, Anakin knew better. He was worried, yes, but he’d always be worried about him – that was who he was: He loved Obi-Wan, and he didn’t want to see him hurt.
I love you, Anakin thought, blinking through an unexpected rush of tears, a silent prayer to himself. He might not dare to say it out loud, but it brought him strength still. A secret he shared with himself. Something he could hold on to; something to remind him that Obi-Wan’s well-being was worth more than society’s expectations and his own urges. He would respect his wishes.
When Anakin reached out, touching hesitantly, when he felt Obi-Wan’s fingers opening to embrace his, his heart seemed to burst with warmth. He smiled.
“Maybe we could go on a mission together. It would be just like old times, hm?”
Obi-Wan squeezed his hand. “I’d like that.”
~
+ 1: Heat
~
Nowadays Obi-Wan spent the time of his heat locked into his quarters at the Jedi Temple, where no one could enter without his permission.
It had taken some getting used to – a part of him still preferred the suppressants, though he couldn’t deny he felt better without them, more stable, calm; headaches he’d usually gotten twice a month had vanished and he had no stomach aches anymore. Most of all, though, it made him feel more confident not to be dependent on pills anymore. There was freedom in knowing he was in full control of his life, of every part of it.
Still, something built inside him, a flicker of longing, a lingering restlessness in the back of his mind, the whisper of a question: What if…?
Easy to ignore at first, it had grown, and the pictures this feeling sent were of Anakin. There were blurred memories, sometimes; there were fantasies, dug out from the depths of his mind. Later Obi-Wan would think back on them with heated cheeks and tingling skin.
While he could bear his heats without submerging in a state of uncontrolled desire – through meditation, little food, and breathing techniques –, there was no pleasure in them, and it took much longer for this itch beneath his stomach to disappear. What might have taken no more than a day with a mate, lasted up to four days for Obi-Wan. He left his room with an odd sadness, a grief for something that had never happened.
The rumor about Bail and him started around the same time he began wondering how it would be to take a mate of his own free will. Burned before, he was hesitant, if only out of spite; among omegas, he’d started to make a name for himself as someone who turned old orders upside down – if he did what traditions urged him to, wouldn’t he betray them? Could he still be true to himself?
Obi-Wan often lay awake over those thoughts. Worse, his nights were filled with dreams, sighs and moans, a familiar voice. He found himself avoiding Anakin during the day, but it only made the restlessness inside him worse – and his mood sour – and so he admitted defeat shortly later.
He spent time with Anakin whenever he wanted to spend time with him, and if he stared at him too long now and then, admiring a beauty he hadn’t quite noticed before, admiring his strength and sense of humor and warmth, his love that he had so much to give of, Obi-Wan accepted it as part of the Force’s natural flow. He made up excuses and denied the wish lurking inside him for as long as it was possible.
Eventually, it wasn’t possible anymore. Eventually, Obi-Wan made a choice.
Perhaps Anakin had waited long enough.
~
Obi-Wan recognized the signs. They weren’t overly distracting yet, merely sudden rushes of warmth similar to drinking hot beverages, a tingling sensation on his skin, strange urges and wishes flaring up. Usually, he would have gone to his quarters and prepared himself for a few long days of patience and loneliness; this time, he hesitated, thinking, torturing himself, a frown drawn on his face. He licked his lips, so dry, warm as a fever, and made a single call.
There would be enough time for a short talk, an honest conversation without primal instincts overwriting logic. There wasn’t much time needed, was there? After all, a simple yes or no would suffice.
As Obi-Wan waited for Anakin to arrive, though, he found he’d never faced a harder question. He wasn’t sure whether he could go through with it.
A knock on the door stopped his musings. Obi-Wan took a deep breath – the air seemed sticky, thick, reminding him of rainforests – and went to let Anakin inside.
“You wanted to see me?” Anakin eyed him with furrowed brows. They furrowed further when his nostrils flared, inhaling.
Obi-Wan knew what he was smelling – flowers, sweet and gentle, calling him; Anakin’s scent seemed stronger to him too, enhanced as a moon’s light on a cloudless sky. In a standard hour maybe, he’d feel drawn to it, would strive to be near him. Not yet, though.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t be here,” Anakin murmured, flushing. He made a measured step back, almost at the threshold again.
“It’s fine,” Obi-Wan said. “You don’t need to stay long.” Not if you don’t want to.
His confusion was still apparent on both his face and in the Force, but Anakin shut the door. He all but pressed himself against it, arms crossed as though it might widen the distance between them.
“Well?” There was a spark of irritation in his voice. “What’s so important right now?”
Obi-Wan stared at him, wondering how speaking could feel like such a difficult task when he’d done it all his life. Doubts rose. What if Anakin had changed his mind about this, about them? What if Obi-Wan was setting himself up to get hurt and damaged their already battered friendship in the process?
He swallowed hard. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all.
Then, though, he remembered – I’d always choose you; Anakin smiling at him, rushing to the medcenter to make sure he was all right, fending off reporters and supporting him before the Council; the look in his eyes whenever their gazes crossed. Could that be love?
Did he want it to be love?
Obi-Wan rasped, “Anakin, I… I had time to think and I…”
How could he possibly put his feelings into words? How could he explain the storm whirling inside him without making a fool of himself? How could Anakin understand?
“I’d choose you now… if you… if you would have me.”
Anakin’s eyes widened.
A croak. “Are you… serious?”
A part of Obi-Wan wanted to laugh. Do you really need to ask? Look into the Force and tell me.
He could have answered the question, but words felt meaningless, and actions held all the power. With a rush of heat in his veins, Obi-Wan crossed the distance between them.
In their time together, he’d never been the one to kiss Anakin; this time it was his hand that cupped Anakin’s cheek and, standing on his tiptoes, Obi-Wan leaned in and joined their lips with gentle pressure. His heart was racing, but there was no fear; this is right, it whispered, this is how it’s supposed to be. He found himself smiling as Anakin returned the kiss with a hoarse sigh.
Strong hands grasped his shoulders, and the musky scent of an alpha engulfed him as Anakin pressed himself closer, deepening the kiss. Obi-Wan slung his arm around Anakin’s neck and lost himself in the haze, savoring it, for it had been out of reach for so long. Perhaps Anakin hadn’t been the only one waiting for this.
When they parted eventually, the air was thick and hot and humming with a promise and Anakin’s eyes, long lashes fluttering in a daze, dark with desire. They were panting both.
Anakin laid a hand on his back, fingers drawing circles, when a smile tugged at his lips and a whisper broke through, “You’re beautiful.” As though to give meaning to his words, he leaned down to kiss Obi-Wan again, kiss his forehead, his temples, his lips. Skin tingling with longing, a spark jumped to Obi-Wan’s cock. He moaned softly.
“You have to be sure,” Anakin breathed against his lips, grip tightening ever so slightly. “Please, Obi-Wan, I don’t know if I could stop. Please.”
“I am,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ve never been more sure of something.”
He let himself fall into his embrace. Anakin brushed the collar of his tunic aside and buried his face in his neck, kissing, licking at the pale halfmoon scar he’d left there so many months ago; Obi-Wan shivered with arousal. If they continued, there would be no going back. But he was ready – for Anakin, for the good and the bad, for holding his hand all the way to the end.
“I want you.” Obi-Wan ran his hands over Anakin’s back, feeling muscles flex beneath layers and layers of annoying clothes. The words burned his lips; still, there was something freeing at saying them aloud. Alpha, his deepest instincts purred. Mine, as I am yours.
Anakin gave a growl, a sound from deep inside his throat that reverberated in his chest, and then there were hands around Obi-Wan’s hips, lifting him up; instinctively, Obi-Wan pulled up his legs, hooking them around Anakin, so he could carry them to his bed.
Through the fabric he could feel Anakin’s hard cock rubbing against the inside of his thigh; it sent sparks through him, rushes of dizziness and fragments of thoughts – fill me up – fuck me – mark me – breed me – do with me as you want.
As his back hit the mattress, a shiver ran down his spine, made him spread his legs. Heat throbbing inside him grew, flooded him in shuddering waves. He closed his eyes. The room seemed to be spinning, unreal next to Anakin, Anakin, Anakin – his scent so intoxicating, each breath felt like water in a desert. With clumsy, shaky motions – made more awkward by his lying on the bed – Obi-Wan undressed the best he could; Anakin, faster, helped him soon.
There was wetness between his thighs; when Anakin reached out to probe, his fingers came back glistening in the dim light. He sucked at them once, twice, moaning softly, all the while looking Obi-Wan square in the eye, a smirk playing at his lips. Obi-Wan felt himself blushing, though he found himself unable to avert his gaze.
Slightly wet fingers cupping his cheek, Anakin leaned down to kiss him again, slowly shifting on top of him, straddling his legs. When Anakin opened his mouth, Obi-Wan tasted himself on his tongue, hot breaths and moans mingling in the air. The Force was trembling with lust. Knowing Anakin wanted him as much as he wanted him, Obi-Wan leaned into his touches with all he had, drunk with desire. There was no holding back anymore.
He felt empty, so horribly empty; his hole was itching with the need to be filled, slick wetting the bed beneath him. After so many times denying himself this feeling, denying himself the wish for an alpha – for Anakin –, Obi-Wan was close to begging.
“You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” Anakin purred, shoving two fingers inside Obi-Wan with such ease Obi-Wan felt like crying, felt like slapping him for not giving him more, giving him what he wanted. What he needed.
“Ready to take my cock so beautifully. You want it deep inside you, don’t you? My sweet omega. Obi-Wan.” Anakin reached up, palming Obi-Wan’s nipple with his other hand, twisting it ever so slightly; Obi-Wan moaned in response, blinking out of heavy-lidded eyes. He bucked his hips, spread his legs further, yearning for release.
“You want me,” Anakin whispered, his voice an odd mix of lust and satisfaction and relief after an eternity of rain; there was admiration in it too. Obi-Wan wanted to hold him close and never let go. He nodded, and, because Anakin seemed to like it, repeated it, “I want you, Anakin, my alpha”, repeated it over and over again.
Finally, Anakin moved; one hand next to Obi-Wan’s head, the other on his hip, he sunk into him in one fluent motion, his hard cock filling Obi-Wan just right, brushing his inner walls with just the right amount of friction. Gasps and moans spilled from his lips. All he could do was hold on to his shoulders with sweat-dampened hands when Anakin began to thrust into him.
Obi-Wan shuddered with pleasure as he was pushed into the mattress, wet, squelching sounds echoing behind the veil of want and alpha and need. Absently, he ran his fingers over Anakin’s battle scars, admiring his strengths, relishing the way his muscles moved beneath them; the omega inside him smiled, knowing Anakin would do anything to protect him, knowing they didn’t have to be afraid of anything if they worked together as a team. Their union felt as right as the sun breaking through the clouds.
Soon, Obi-Wan thought, shivering, sighing as Anakin hit sweet spots deep inside him. I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.
Anakin fucked him slowly and thoroughly, as though trying to burn each sensation, each small and strained sound into his memory, murmuring, “You feel so good”, growling, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” In a flurry of limbs and fabric, they moved as one.
When Anakin’s thrust became faster, more erratic, Obi-Wan clung to him more tightly, brought closer to the edge with each of them. His cock was almost painfully erect, pressed flush against his stomach between their bodies; still, it was only when Anakin leaned down to place his hot lips on the scarred bite mark and drove his teeth into his skin, marking him as his mate once more and for all eternity, that Obi-Wan came, hard.
He gasped into Anakin’s shoulder as fiery waves ran through his body, carrying him beyond pleasure into a bliss that left him shaken and exhausted. Anakin came soon afterwards; with a last thrust, he buried himself deep inside Obi-Wan, the gush of semen warm and sticky, trickling down his butt cheeks.
Knot engorging, locking him inside, Anakin slumped on top of him and snuggled up to him like a sleepy cat, lazily licking across the bitemark. Though it should be stinging, Obi-Wan felt nothing but tingling warmth, a joy that went further than the one he’d known before – after all, it was Anakin’s too. For a moment, chest against chest, he thought their hearts were beating as one.
The reforging of their bond left him light-headed and satisfied, floating somewhere where thoughts and logic and the cruelties of reality couldn’t reach. It felt familiar, but there was a new shine to it that made all the difference, as a flower couldn’t blossom in the dark; bathed in light, Obi-Wan knew he’d made the right decision. The ribbon tying them together didn’t feel like a chain anymore and there was no weight on his chest as he reached for it.
I love you, it whispered, I always will, I always have. It was a thought so bright and all-compassing, Obi-Wan thought Anakin must be yelling it for all the galaxy to hear; but, no, this was his thought, meant only for him, the thought of his mate – and yet also his own. They didn’t need any words.
I love you too.
Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around Anakin and smiled.
~