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Sun beamed in through the pillars of marble, elegant, graceful, and calming. Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure how the Gods could make themselves more known than this. With the ritual, the prayers, the ceremony, ready to begin once the sun dips into the horizon, when the sky bleeds red before draining into the purple night sky, Obi-Wan awaited for the moon to rise.
For the Gods, more specifically, the patron of their city, was to step down from the heavens after a long day’s of work and join them in the mortal realm. The Skywalker the priests called him. A mortal who had deemed himself worthy to be graced to become a God.
Obi-Wan wrapped the sash he wore tighter across his waist, gorgeous sheer blue from the islands. Glittering with silver from the mines further west. Those who had completed the trials, those higher than Obi-Wan wore gold, the metal of their patron.
Gold promised prosperity, wealth, and fertility. Obi-Wan wore silver. Finely made silver, decorated and embedded with jewels of all sorts. Pristine blue and a few speckles of richly hued greens. Obi-Wan was spoiled more than most.
Praised by both his clientele and his mentors that he was the epitome of a good temple worker. Kind, demure, and innocent in all the ways it mattered. Still deemed youthful and pretty even when older than most. But in his service to his god, Obi-Wan remained youthful.
The scuttle of feet at the entrance of the room had Obi-Wan looking up from the small obsidian mirror, a gift from a rather successful man of business who tended to offer his respects to the Skywalker, and who always requested Obi-Wan personally.
“Master Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan slowly made to his feet, ducking his head in a bow.
The Master smiled, his long gray hair, slipping from behind his shoulders and he gave Obi-Wan a nod of greeting. Walking inside Obi-Wan’s quarters without further invitation. “How are you faring?”
“Good,” Obi-Wan said. “Nervous as always.”
“What for?” Qui-Gon slyly asked, a hint of amusement in the older man’s tone. He knew Obi-Wan better than most. He had been the one who had taken Obi-Wan out of the dirty streets from a farming village about an hour’s worth of travel from the central acropolis.
Qui-Gon had bathed him, cleaned him, and showed him the ways of their God. Obi-Wan had always admired the Skywalker god, the stories he had been told. Of the young man who killed the first immortal. Who brought the head of the Krayt Dragon back to this very same city-state and which its bone made the alter they prayed to now.
Anakin Skywalker was the best of men, the bravest of the Pantheon of Gods, and the youngest. Garnering fame and godliness at seventeen years of age.
It was difficult for Obi-Wan not to worship the God, not when he did so much for their city.
“You know how I get, Master.” Obi-Wan said, turning back around and reaching for his hair comb, made from sturdy oak painted white. “What if I do something wrong?”
“You have never done any wrong, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon had stepped up behind him, hands bigger than most, with their nails neatly trimmed, grabbed along Obi-Wan’s waist. Giving a light squeeze.
Obi-Wan leaned into the familiar touch. It was not uncommon for even the priest to partake in this sort of worship, easier and far from intricate. But Qui-Gon had been Obi-Wan’s first prayer.
“Today will be long.” Obi-Wan noted. “Last year’s lasted even until the sun had risen and goddess Tano had already gone to sleep.”
Qui-Gon chuckled breathily into the sensitive part of Obi-Wan’s neck, sending shiver up through his spine. “I doubt you’ll be as busy this festival.” Another squeeze, “I do plan to come and partake myself, Padawan Obi-Wan.”
Sighing, Obi-Wan knew his master was more traditional than most. Most others took twenty to thirty minutes of his time, paying the coinage to the alter before being allowed to the back rooms where they, Obi-Wan, resided. And more traditional practices meant longer, more drawn out ceremonies.
Obi-Wan didn’t loath them, but they were surely more tiring. Involving bondage of the hands and the recitation of the words of prayer as he kneeled at Qui-Gon’s feet. Where he’d be laid on his back, told to bear neck and arms, at the mercy of their god through mortal hands.
“Don’t be too disappointed, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon teased. “It’ll be a good reminder of your studies. Muddling yourself with the simple prayers of other, lower men could make you forget your faith.”
“I know, master.” Obi-Wan hesitated. “And I suppose you are right.”
“A master always is.” Qui-Gon pulled away, his hands grazing the back of Obi-Wan’s naked neck, toying with the necklaces around his throat, some long and loose, hanging to the center of his chest, others tighter around his blood, the pumping of his life directly under the metal. “I’ll come see you later tonight.”
And Obi-Wan’s Master slipped back out the door, surely to go see other Padawan’s like Obi-Wan, or to simply assure that the preparations for the festival were going accordingly.
There had been a mishap a few years earlier. A Symposia had started early in the night and the drunken men had managed to venture their way to the doors of the Temple, knocking and ready to make their patronage.
A few of the Masters had sneered at the sight, showing such indignity at the doors of the Temple and turning them away. The men became angry and vandalized the steps to the Temple, the night before the Skywalker’s festival was to be. Demanding to see the padawan’s, Obi-Wan had been frightened at the time, fearful that they would bring down the temple doors and come marching up to his room. There was no dignity in a prayer for one.
But as time passed and the terror resided, Obi-Wan laughed at the panic in the Master’s faces in retrospect, of course, Master Qui-Gon had been more amused than frustrated. Assured that the slaves would be able to clean up the mess before morning. But Master Qui-Gon had always been like that, calm and self-assured. Saying that Anakin Skywalker had not defeated the Hutt Empire if he had not been assured that things would be all right in the end.
Master Qui-Gon was always spouting wise words whenever one decided to listen, or if he found the will to speak them.
With one final glance at the obsidian, Obi-Wan deemed himself ready. His quarters were on the second floor, more prestigious than most of the other prostitutes, and it offered him a clear view of the city. The acropolis where the Temple and other religious sites sat on the top of a small hill.
And so, when he looked outside, he looked down at the bustling of life. The roads were being lit with fire and vendors and shops prepared for the festival. It would run throughout the night, and it was expected for all to be awake for the entirety.
Those who would come to pay respect and to offer prayer and sacrifice would walk from the lower city and to this hill where the Parthenon neighboring them will be hosting ceremony.
Just as the sun ducked behind the mountain range, Obi-wan knew it was time to make his way down. He had wanted to watch Lady Tano rise, but he suppose he’ll see her hanging in the sky later tonight. He was expected to be there for the first prayer of the night, afterwards, they would begin to allow others to join him in his quarters. But before that, he had been graciously given some free time to roam and enjoy the festival. A pleasant delight he had not been expecting. But Grand Priest Yoda had been the one to gift him such a pleasure.
The temple stairs were rather rickety as he made his way down. Humid and hot as it was, the white toga he wore made things as bearable as he could. The blue sash sticking to his skin, but it kept him as cool as it could. The Temple of Skywalker was the centerpiece of the acropolis, not far from the coast.
Obi-Wan thought that he must go visit the beach in the next few days, sink his toes in the sand. But most of all, he loved touching the water, the breeze was just right and the humid sweat that often accumulated on his skin cooled far more quickly than when he rested inside the temple.
Master Mace, second highest priest of the order, stood at the edge of the hallway. Tall and unnerving as he waited for the Grand priest Yoda to prepare the final ceremonies of the night.
There was no one Obi-Wan admired more than Grand Master Yoda. Older than Obi-Wan ever thought conceivable, and kindly wise. He was who Obi-Wan one day wished to become.
“Young Obi-Wan,” Master Mace greeted, but did little to show respect of Obi-Wan’s arrival. Obi-Wan in return bowed deeply, making sure to keep his gaze downward in reverence. As one of the Temple’s prostitutes, it was frowned upon to think that Obi-Wan ever stood in any accordance to Master Mace.
“Master,” Obi-Wan said before skirting beside him and making his way out the hanging wooden door.
Outside, where the alter laid in all its glory were benches and seats where one could kneel and pray. Offering tables to the side, and the walls were heavily adorned with intricate carvings of marble.
A grand statue, a gift from the king of Alderaan, made of strong wood and covered in a plate of gold, stood near the entrance of the temple. It was a depiction of the Skywalker as he killed the dragon, holding his long sword in one hand and grabbing the dragon’s teeth in the other.
Treasuries had been erected just outside the temple to house all the gifts that had been made in honor to the god. Obi-Wan often took pride in the revelry.
Making his way to an open spot on the floor, smiling when he coincidently sat kneeled next to Bant, a still young serving girl that had been initiated just a few years prior. She wore simpler clothes than he, but yet still, Obi-Wan had taken Bant under his wing. Knees tucked under him; he soothed out the creases in his robe before settling.
Bant was a smart young one, diligent and hard-working. Obi-Wan and her often took to the coast side often, he would watch her swim for hours as he stood comfortable in the sea wind.
“Are you nervous?” Obi-Wan quietly asked, trying to keep their conversation unnoticed.
Her hands were tight over her pale cream toga, eyes flickering from one side of the room to another. “They say that he can arrive, if he deems the sacrifice good enough.”
Obi-Wan’s brows rose, not an answer he had been expected. “I suppose,” Obi-Wan mused. “We are calling out to him, offering one of our greatest gifts to him. But dozens of temples will be celebrating him tonight, too.”
He didn’t mention, that how for nine years that Obi-Wan had participated in the festival, that the God had never come to visit them, here, to the god’s grandest temple in the entire Mediterranean. In the Skywalker’s biggest house of worship, he has never frequented. But there had been stories, of their god making shows in other temples. A fire blooming larger than possible and becoming the shape of a dragon skull for hours. Or the ground shaking as the rumble of the earth flooded the temple.
Such a thing has yet to happen here, and truth be told, Obi-Wan doubted it ever would. For whatever reason, Skywalker has yet to divulge them in his presence.
Bant nodded as if assured, but this was her first festival she is being allowed in. Obi-Wan remembered his first time as well, fear laden and shaking more than he ever thought he did. Qui-Gon had eased his worries, Qui-Gon had been the one to hold him steady, kind and generous, and slow, as he took him for his first time. A memorable time in Obi-Wan’s life, one he was grateful for.
Obi-Wan couldn’t have asked for more, having heard countless stories of pain, misery, fear, and most of all, blood. Deep red blood that soaked the bone pale sheets, wrists tied in mean, bruising rope above their heads, mouths gagged, choking on their own tears.
At the beginning, Obi-Wan was convinced he wanted no life like this, but Qui-Gon had shown him straight, taught him to see the light, and to live in it.
It is why Obi-Wan keeps his worship to their god, for what is life without it.
“It’ll be okay,” Obi-Wan whispered, watching as Yoda stepped out from the door, Mace following him. “There’ll be plenty to celebrate, have some fun and it’ll be over before you know it.”
They didn’t say a word after that, as the torch Yoda carried caught on the oil placed around the alter and caught fire. He watched Bant from the corner of his eye as the entirety of the alter went aflame, the obsidian and the gold of the alter keeping it from burning or melting.
The alter fire will be fanned throughout the night, and those who would come to the Temple would see its beauty. Throw their food and whatever else to feed Skywalker.
And for the next hour, those who lived in the temple prayed, prayed more in one night than they had in weeks. All until the moon peeked out from the far mountain and the stars shone. Their prayers would be heard by the god that lived beyond the star’s light, where even the moon could not touch.
For Skywalker lived in the sun, raised in the deserts where the sun and heat ruled all, and now he ruled them.
Unbeknownst to them, Skywalker appeared. Stepping out of a shadowed ally and into the light of the street. The God looked up at the acropolis, where his greatest Temple stood, and grinned.
This night was for him, and entirely for him. It was his right to enjoy it to the fullest. But there was one he had been watching, whose moans echoed in his ears, whose pleasure he sought and searched for. He’s finally found him, hidden in between all the others. An oasis hidden in the vastness of the empty sands and his savaging hands had finally found water.
After the first ceremony, Obi-Wan was granted a brief reprieve to wander the night. Grand Yoda had given a solemn nod of permission, and Obi-Wan did not linger. He intended to savor the evening before returning to begin his duties at the temple. The time allotted was just enough to traverse the full stretch of the acropolis. Food being sold, lively strings of light as entertainers danced through the street. The rocky ground paving a stretch of road throughout the acropolis, stopped by the entrance and securely surrounded by the great wall of wood.
Obi-Wan could not imagine a home other than this. Gardens near the temple of Skywalker blooming rich red flowers, flowers he had spent hardworking sweat to cultivate as others tended to other blossoming greenery around.
How he wished he could venture down into the lower city, where the paths winded through the shops and homes, where the crowds engulfed him and he was one with the people in the worship of their god. To merely have the entire night to himself. Hearing of theatres hosting fantastical plays with actors that had won awards, where they performed plays with artisan masks and voices that boomed for all to hear. The theater near the base of the mountain was to be the greatest in all of Greece. Seats bountiful and a stage bigger than a field, he had only seen it in passing, but how Obi-Wan dearly wished to go.
Qui-gon had promised to take him one day, but days of relaxation and empty time were limited, holy days were what others considered days off, but Obi-Wan, and the rest of the temple, was expected to work. The gods never slept and neither should their almighty worship.
Sighing, he slowed to a gentle walk near booths of delicate fabrics, their silk coming from across the small sea. His fingers brushing over the sheer gold cloth, soft against his touch. Obi-Wan felt a hint of jealousy, already imagining how he would wear it. Loose and flowing down his pale back, sun freckles peeking from under it.
Knowing his sinful thoughts were wrong, yet still he could not stop such treacherous thoughts. Thoughts that envisioned himself draped in gold, flitting through the temple as he shone the same as the sun. envious when he saw the priests glitter with the yellow sun on their fingers and wrists.
It was not often that Obi-Wan got many fine things, but when he did, they were gifts from another. Gifts that suited their tastes and not Obi-Wan’s. Although, he knew better than to complain about such frivolous things.
Just as he was to leave the stall and continue on his walk, planning of completing the circle of the acropolis before returning to the Parthenon, a man stood at his side, seemingly admiring the same piece Obi-Wan was.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The man asked, he was taller than he, deep-set eyes, dark hair that curled at the end and a tanned complexion. Gorgeous in a way not many were. Face soft and sleek, but his body spoke of labor and muscle.
Obi-Wan would have taken him for a worker slave had his attire not spoken otherwise. Rich made leather with tunics of fine cotton, boots buckled with true silver and freshly clean, not a speck of mud on his soles.
He nodded in response. “It is, are you planning on buying it?”
The man hummed, tapping his chin in thought. Obi-Wan almost thought the man was playing with him, acting more than not. “It would make a good gift, would it not?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “It would.” He began to look elsewhere down the street, this odd conversation had him stilted, and was trying to find a way out of it. He did not want to waste much of his very limited time here.
“I’ll buy it then!” The man remarked, waving over the seller and motioning to the fabric piece. And it caught Obi-Wan entirely by surprise.
It was now that Obi-Wan realized how long the fabric had been, almost a yard long, and entirely worth more than Obi-Wan could ever hope to attain. But the man passed the coins without a second thought.
Wealthy, Obi-Wan noted, perhaps absurdly so. Obi-Wan didn’t think much of this man’s presence though, it was only the wealthiest that could make the grandest offerings to the gods. The wealthiest that made the trek here, the wealthiest that built the treasuries to house their opulent offerings.
Obi-Wan was sure that this unique man would give the silk-spun fabric to the temple, to Skywalker in return for fortune in business. Common enough, and more so during times of festivities.
He meandered away, having lost interest as the man finished his dealings. Obi-Wan had heard the commotion of a book seller a little farther down, a guilty desire of his had to always own a bound book of his own.
“Wait!” A voice called out to him from behind, it was the same man. Obi-Wan suddenly became a bit guarded, hopefully watching for any temple guards to be crossing by. Most knew him, and he heard that Quinlan was to be on post tonight.
Obi-wan turned to look back, head quirking and a question on his brow. But the man only marched forward, stepping closer to Obi-Wan than ever before. And astoundingly, he did what Obi-Wan expected least, he wrapped the silk scarf around Obi-Wan’s bare shoulders. Skin suddenly shielded from the coast breeze.
The sensation sending shivers down his spine, mouth agape, as he looked up at the man. But the man only smiled. “For you, Obi-Wan.”
He tidied the shawl over Obi-Wan’s skin, frowning before pulling a pin from his bag, a finely crafted Golden eagle, embezzled with diamonds for its eyes and clasped it to fabric, lodging it in place.
“I…” Obi-Wan couldn’t think of a reasonable thing to say. This man is absurd. This whole scene was absurd.
Before Obi-Wan could pull away, before he could even conjure a word, the man grabbed his hand, smiling so charmingly, Obi-Wan thought him to be a nymph, and dragged him through the crowds.
Stumbling over the pebbled rocks and loose ground, Obi-Wan fought to steady himself, but the man didn’t waver his grip on him. And not long, they found themselves at the edge of the acropolis. Their feet skidding on loose rocks as their feet found the carved path down the hill. The moonlight on their backs and the wind on their heels, chased down and away from the temple and its prying hands and eyes.
Obi-Wan knew he should start panicking, that he should start trying to free himself from this strange man’s grip. He had to get back to the temple, he didn’t have much longer before Qui-Gon, no, Mace, expected him back.
But he felt dazed, as if under a great spell. The man tugged him forward and Obi-Wan listlessly followed, feeling like a girl’s doll that was being played with. Dressed up and primed.
They winded down the rest of the path of the acropolis, until the reached the foot of the grand mound. Obi-Wan started to feel a tad scared, he’s never been into the city without Qui-Gon, and here he was, with a strange man.
If he got lost, Obi-Wan knew he wouldn’t be able to find his way back, not until morning at least. The city was a sprawling thing, roads that intersected, some that would abruptly stop and some that never ceased to end until you reached the open sea. Qui-Gon had always kept at his side when they came, and truth of it all, Obi-Wan had never been left alone long enough to figure it out.
Maneuvered away from a bustle of crowd, down here, the markets were in full swing. Bartering and trading, sellers calling out to any passersby. It was a hectic living thing, chaotic and free, nothing like life on the acropolis where people stood in their best clothes and best behavior.
A wholly new world. One that Obi-Wan did not know.
It was too much. Obi-Wan tried harder to build up the strength and yank himself free. He managed some, at least. But the man was stronger than him, vastly so. And all Obi-Wan did was deter them from the center of the street to a shop’s wall, somewhat covered under the yawning over them.
The man was smirking, and Obi-Wan didn’t realize why until he saw the man had blocked him in, arms on either side of his head, one hand still wrapped around his wrist.
Obi-Wan swallowed. “W-What are you doing?” Obi-Wan whispered, eyes wide as a doe. “I-I have to get back to the temple, they’re waiting for me.”
“I rather you stay here with me.” The man said, that smirk was growing less charming to Obi-Wan to more annoying.
Obi-Wan huffed, stifling his frustrated fear. “I am apart of Skywalker’s temple.” He announced. “The priests will be looking for me.”
The man openly laughed now, and Obi-Wan ignored the pang of indignation in his chest. “Even after I bought you such a nice gift?”
“You should be giving it to Skywalker the great! And I did not ask for it!” Obi-Wan said. “Offer it to him, it is his night, after all.”
“He thinks it looks better on you.” The man pouted, adjusting the shawl like a caring lover.
“You must not be speaking on his behave!” Obi-Wan spouted, Skywalker, as great as he was, was still a proud and often cruel god. To slander him was often divinely punished. Entire fields had been razed by crows by such words.
The man tightening his grip on Obi-Wan’s wrist, pinning him farther into the sharp rocks of the wall. Obi-Wan winced. The man leaned in close, no one was paying them any mind, hidden under the slight shadow and ignored for the greater festivities. His words were soft, lips brushing on the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear. “He can strike me down then.”
But nothing happened, and Obi-Wan knew this man had somehow won. Obi-Wan went limp in his hold, craning his neck to try and get away from the man’s lips, but he was chased down.
“I get what I want.” The man continued to speak, biting the soft part of Obi-Wan’s ear, teasing it. “I say what I want. And right now, on this night, I want you.”
“Who are you?” Obi-Wan asked, staring up at this odd being of a man, silhouetted by the pale moonlight. Who challenged gods and had no repercussions. Arrogant and full of himself and yet Obi-Wan didn’t detest him for it. It seemed natural on him, a reality rather than a play.
A kiss stole the air from Obi-Wan’s lung, olive tasting lips with the hint of rich wine from one of the islands. That hand that had held his wrist captive released, travelling down to his cheek, cupping his jaw between his big hands.
Obi-Wan didn’t stop himself as he leaned into the touch, pushing up against the kiss. Intoxicating, a wine from the purest and greenest of grapes. That soft bloom uncurled in his lower belly, the tell-tale sign of arousal. Obi-Wan couldn’t believe himself.
What was he doing? He needed to return to the temple. He could be banished from the temple for this, exiled even.
The man broke apart, not straying far, still so mesmerizingly close to his lips. His dark eyes like a creature in the dark, a shadow swirling within them. Obi-Wan swallowed but didn’t try to run, even when teeth sunk into the meat of Obi-Wan’s neck.
Laving more of his saccharine kisses down his neck, sucking and nibbling at Obi-Wan’s pale skin. Moving the golden shawl that he had bought for him out of the way, fisting a handful of Obi-Wan’s uniquely coppered hair.
A tug, and Obi-Wan moaned, unabashedly. Quickly flaming pink at the embarrassment but this man didn’t bat an eye, only sinking a smile in between his kisses to Obi-Wan’s skin.
A shopkeeper, presumingly the one who owned the shop they leaned against now, tried shooing them away. Waving about a wooden stick, intricately carved with an owl, “get lost! You’ll start driving away business with all that debauchery!”
He flung his stick at the wall, the hit resounding in Obi-Wan’s ears, and for a moment he thought they’ll be hit like a stray dog. But the man who held Obi-Wan in his arms shielded him, covering him with his body.
A low growl reverberating through his chest, and Obi-Wan wondered how his face appeared like to scare the poor shopkeeper enough to cast the sign to ward off evil. His face had been turned away from Obi-Wan and now his curiosity at had been piqued.
“Let us go.” The man was grabbing at his body again, calloused fingers of a hoplite wrapped around his waist, resting just above the small of his back.
“W-What did you do to him?” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked, unwilling to admit that that was perhaps the best kiss he had ever experienced, and that he had been rubbing his thighs together through it all.
Another smile, still as carefree as ever, kinder than before. “Nothing!”
And there was too much cheer in his voice that alerted Obi-Wan to know that he was lying. But there was not much else to say. Obi-Wan’s mind was still a tad unbalanced, light-headed in the best possible way.
“Where are we going?”
They were heading further and further away from the acropolis, and that dread was starting to crawl back in. And for the first time, a sense of danger made its presence in Obi-Wan’s mind. He had heard of recent killings in the city recently, and what a more opportune time to kill than during a festival. All witnesses will be too drunk to ever recall if anything did happen.
“Somewhere special.”
That did nothing to reassure Obi-Wan’s worries, but he was still allowing himself to be dragged about. Turning alley and turning corner after corner, a maze that Obi-Wan would not be able to decipher afterwards.
“You are not going to kill me, right?” Obi-Wan squeaked out. He wasn’t sure what he would do if the man would say yes. Fight? Doubtful he would win. Scream? His voice would be lost in the thrum of the crowds.
A laugh, boisterous and perfectly spectacular. “Of course not!” The man said, so confidently that Obi-Wan felt foolish even bringing it up. “You’re too pretty to kill.”
Obi-Wan laughed too, less heartedly and perhaps a bit unnerved. This man had just met him and was already showering him with compliments and gifts. The feeling of amiss sprang up.
“You still haven’t answered my first question.” Obi-Wan said, they had entered to a higher-elite residences. Plots of land far more spread out with extravagant gardens and houses with open rooms and pathways.
“And what was it?” The man asked, slowing his pace more as they began to enter a secluded estate.
Obi-Wan’s mouth went dry at the sight. It was not the biggest house in the city but it was surely nothing to turn one’s nose up either. Marble pillars with an entrance of greatly detailed tiles on the ground, curtains more expensive than what the temple had for the alter at every window and door. “Your name…”
The man waltzed inside, bringing Obi-Wan in alongside him. They pass breezily by the kitchen, by the twin sleeping dogs near the patio, and up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. A balcony overlooking most of the city, and a straight sight to the acropolis, entirely lit up with fire light. A gorgeous view Obi-Wan had never seen before.
“Anakin.” The man drawled, hands roaming Obi-Wan’s body again, tracing the line of his back, the shape of his waist and chest. Coming up to his shoulders, holding him tight. Obi-Wan would have thought it possessive. “Anakin Skywalker.”
Obi-Wan’s heart dropped. And suddenly he stood stock still, terrified to move, horrified to even breathe in his presence. “N-No…”
“Yes.” He softly hissed, another open-mouthed kiss at the base of his nape.
The shawl that had been a gift slowly began to be peeled off from his skin, pulled down to expose his smooth rounded shoulders, sparsely decorated with peach fuzz. Lower it went until Anakin, his patron god, Anakin Skywalker unclipped the golden pin and it all went floating gently to the floor.
Obi-Wan’s throat bobbed, panting and half-lidded eyes, still staring in front of him, still staring at his temple. Was Anakin going to take him here?
“I’ve been watching you for a while,” Anakin spoke, husked and toying, grabbing the back of Obi-Wan’s hair, exposing the line of his neck, following it with his eyes. Eyes that now glowed molten yellow, the wrath of a mountain that destroyed an entire city, and he wondered if he was to receive the same punishment. “I’ve been hearing your prayers, listening, watching, as they take you, night after night.”
“It’s all been for you…” Obi-Wan exhaled, goosebumps littered all the way down his spine, finally garnering the courage to look behind him, to truly meet Anakin’s eyes. Hypnotizing. Unnatural. Godly.
He raised his hand to the young, soft skin of Anakin’s cheek, so defined and sharp he worried he’d cut himself. Anakin was the pinnacle of men, the perfect physique, the perfect specimen.
Harsh yet soft, otherworldly yet attainable. Too much and yet not enough.
Obi-Wan took a step forward as Anakin watched him with amused eyes. A smirk dancing on his lips. There was a chill in the room, no source of heat, no one but them in the entire house. The dogs downstairs would not bother them, no one would.
Anakin pushed him back, manhandling him until Obi-Wan tripped over the edge of the bed. Tumbling down but Anakin chased after him. His skin had never felt such fine linen. Cool to the touch even in the Greek heat.
“Your moans,” Anakin licked a strip of Obi-Wan’s skin, tasting the sweat, the perfume and the smoke, his skin still wore. “The way you writhed on the bed, as they held you down. Even as you took another man’s cock inside you, you would still worship my name on your lips. So loyal.”
“So, adoring.” Anakin had both arms caging Obi-Wan in, a few scant inches above him. Obi-Wan could feel his hot breath pan over his nose, over his lips and cheeks. There was no one but Anakin here. “Tell me,” He stared deep in Obi-Wan, his eyes changing from yellow to blue. “Will you still say my name. Still worship me as I take you apart.”
“Anything,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “You could do anything to me.”
Anakin’s smile turned mean, gloating as he ripped the toga from Obi-Wan’s skin. Gone was the nice demeanor, a man who was gentle, and in his stead was something desperate, yearning, and greedy.
Obi-Wan opposed to none of it, shocked gasps were his only protest as he bared nude. “Start praying.” Anakin demanded.
It took only a moment for him to gather his words, to recite the prose that always lingered in the tip of his tongue. And as he spoke, Anakin heard, listening with rapt attention. And for the first time, Obi-Wan knew his prayers were being heeded.
Anakin’s gaze soon trailed away from Obi-Wan’s face, heading lower and lower. His hands following his eyes, palming and groping at the small mounds of fat on his chest.
His voice choked, stuttering but a quick reprimand from the god and Obi-Wan was repeating the words in fluid motion swiftly again. Vehemently whispering the prayers, the praises of his god, the deeds he had done. Asking for wealth, asking for protection and purity in return.
A tongue lapped at his pelvic bone, and this time Obi-Wan mewled at the touch. Stuttering back to the start of the prayer again, starting over as Anakin slowly dipped even lower, until he was at the slit between Obi-Wan’s legs.
Those yellow eyes peering up at him from between his legs.
Obi-Wan flushed, on the verge of tears and holding back the urge to cover his face with his hands.
Anakin grabbed a hold of his thigh, the fat spilling out from between his fingers, and he spread him apart. Holding open his legs as he started to indulge himself with Obi-Wan’s sweet juices. Slick coating his tongue and lips, the freshest of wine, the most mouthwatering of fruits.
Spoiled as he was, he took what he wanted. And this priest of his was his since the beginning. Obi-Wan was in heart, body, and soul, entirely his. And now that he had the man under him, that he held him and tasted him, he doubted he could let him go.
Another lick, this time he fucked his tongue inside of his cunt, smiling into the musky smell of his pussy when he squirmed in his hands. This little temple prostitute of his had the most adorable reactions. Even when he’s been taken by hundreds of other men, men who had paid coin to his temple to fuck him, he still twitches at the most mundane things.
Tearing away from that delectable cunt, Anakin hummed as he heard Obi-Wan start anew on his prayers. This was particularly an older one, one that if Anakin remembered, Obi-Wan’s master had taught him as he fucked him.
Biting at his thigh before pressing a kiss to the bruised skin. He kissed and sat as he listened to Obi-Wan’s honeyed voice for a while.
Anakin had never been quite sure what had caught his attention to Obi-Wan, in hindsight, he was just another one of his followers, one of many of his temple prostitutes. But perhaps it was his copper-colored hair, one that reminded him of home in the deserts. Or perhaps it was his voice, they way he would lay worship at the foot of his bed that beckoned him closer.
He was still not sure, but he knew that his attention had been caught. And Anakin was an obsessive man. Never stopping until it was whole-heartedly his. He didn’t share and he didn’t compromise.
At last, Obi-Wan drew the last prayer he had. Having gone through all the ones he had memorized.
For a while, Anakin only basked in the silence, a curtain swayed in the breeze on the balcony. And he knew Obi-Wan was waiting anxiously for a reaction from him. But he loved to tease if nothing else.
“You did so well, my Obi-Wan.” Anakin finally declared, and Obi-Wan felt as if he could breathe at ease.
“Thank you, Great Skywalker…” Obi-Wan mumbled in reply, it would have been awfully rude not to thank the god for his compliment.
“My Obi-Wan,” Anakin said again, with more conviction. “Mine. Mine, Soley mine.”
“Of course,” Obi-Wan said. “Only yours, only ever for you.”
“Good,” Another smile pressed into the skin between Obi-Wan’s thigh. A warm thrum from the delight of the god.
Licking another strip up Obi-Wan’s cunt, Anakin relished in his shudder. “Shall we begin then?”
“Begin what?” Obi-Wan naively asked.
“The ceremony.” Anakin incautiously answered, a sharp grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “But this time it will be me which whom you worship with. No one else.”
Softly nodding, Obi-Wan nervously waited.
But oddly enough, Anakin was kind and gentle in the way he treated him. Lavishing another one of his sinful kisses to Obi-Wan’s skin, trailing down in distraction as his calloused, soldier-like finger entered him.
Obi-Wan squirmed, trying to tighten his thighs together, to close them. He didn’t understand why, far from a blushing virgin, but something about Anakin made him feel reborn again. Made him feel young and fresh, experiencing his first time all over again.
His finger felt hardened inside of him, rubbing against his sensitive walls, but Anakin pinned him down. Stronger than strength, Anakin kept him from moving, kept him from pushing him away. Anakin had him in his grasp and he’d be damned to damnation before he’d let him go. Not when he knew how it felt to have Obi-Wan, wholly and utterly his.
To have him under him, spread out on his bed, cherished with his love. Anakin had been a spectator for far too long, grown jealous at others for laying their hands on this, on what he considered as his.
One finger swiftly became two, and that kindness that was present in all Anakin did to him began to dissipate. Only a lingering afterthought now.
Biting back a groan, it teetered on the edge of displeasure and euphoria. Obi-Wan had no conceivable way to explain it. It was more than just what the mortal man could possibly imagine, this was the work of the god.
With the desperation so like a man’s, Anakin pulled back, releasing his cock from his humanly constricts of clothing, and pushed in deep inside of Obi-Wan. Filling him fuller than full. And Obi-Wan now understood why they worshiped Anakin as a godly being.
Obi-wan threw his head back, a breathless and noisy gasp escaping his mouth. Drool already pooling from his mouth, eyes fluttering. His fingers dug into the tactile sheets. Trying terribly to distinguish a way to ground himself.
But then Anakin rolled his hips even deeper, pushing for as far as he could go. A feral beast hanging over Obi-Wan, mouth open and hot breath steaming, eyes half lidded as lust consumed them.
All of Obi-Wan’s sense spoke of only one being, one word. Anakin.
His arms found enough power to raise and wrap themselves around Anakin’s sturdy shoulders, his muscles and neck rippling with unforeseen competency and caliber.
The bed rocked with Anakin’s brutal thrusts, things of tenacity and vigor. Obi-Wan was not quite sure if he would survive this encounter, but he thought he would not truly mind, to be welcomed into the fields of Elysium with the Great Anakin’s seed dripping from him.
Time seemed to have passed with an unusual blur. The sweat of their bodies, the physical incarnation of the love between them falling between their muscles and limbs. Anakin kept Obi-Wan’s body close to him, holding him tighter than the sky to the sun. keeping him from straying far.
But Obi-Wan thought he could not even move even if he so wished. Anakin pounded into him hard enough to make his legs shake, to make them loose feeling as he held them up into the air. Feet dangling over Anakin’s stunning back. Flopping in the air uselessly as he was ravishingly fucked out of his mind.
It was not until the moon shone high, and the stars brighter, the waves of the ocean cracking against the shore rocks, that Anakin began to ultimately slow down.
Stuttering in the way he moved, expression kin to pain crossing his face, and through Obi-Wan’s blurry, tear-stricken eyes did he see how Anakin grinded his teeth. Undertaking an immense duty.
His hold on Obi-Wan tightened, more bruises would form wherever Anakin so much as touched him, but they would come morning, for now, all Obi-Wan could feel was the curl in his stomach.
Cunt squeezing at Anakin’s cock, begging and pleading for release, for that final stretch to get what he wanted most of all. And Anakin was following him into this dreamy release.
They would climb before falling.
Anakin fell on top of him, arms no longer able to keep him upright, and Obi-Wan’s lungs were forced to exhale. His hands tangled in the curly, sticky mess of Anakin’s tawny hair. Their chests crowded together until their thunderous hearts raced together in the Olympic games, and even then, it was not enough.
No longer bearing to pull away from Obi-Wan at all, Anakin was compelled to drive in deeper and deeper, no matter what stood in his way.
It only made Obi-Wan even more crazed as he began to feel the way Anakin’s tip kissed at the entrance of his cervix. Entering places no man has been before, and it felt only right that Anakin would be the first to explore such a new place.
And rather quite suddenly, as Obi-Wan delved into the depths of pleasure, his cunt spasming around Anakin’s cock, did he finally come to a stop on top of him. His weight laid heavily over Obi-Wan.
Feeling the odd sensation of seed spurting hotly inside of him. A feeling never quite used to as it kept coming and coming. A never-ending stream it seemed to him. Seeping out from around Anakin’s cock, leaking in between Obi-Wan’s thighs before drip-dripping into the sheets.
Panting in synchronicity, Obi-Wan could not help but stare into the endless blue eyes of Anakin, satisfied and appeased in his look. It brought Obi-Wan grand pleasure at seeing him in such.
For a long while, they did not move. Staying still and comfortable in the heat of their bodies, even when they began to cool and rather than eased warmness, gross stickiness settled in, they did not move.
Anakin nuzzled into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, licking a dog’s tongue to his skin, tasting him again with more than mortal flesh and flavor. “Come with me.” Anakin whispered into the stale air.
The sounds of people outside were becoming prominent. The festival in Anakin’s very own honor was reaching its high of the night, screams and shouts of all kind pervaded the empty house they shared their love in.
“Come with you where?” Obi-Wan drowsily asked, for the longest time of his life Anakin’s house of worship, his temple, was all Obi-Wan ever knew. Before that was a life not worth mentioning, no before Anakin entered his life ever was. The simple concept of Anakin was all that mattered to Obi-Wan, his mere thoughtful existence is what made Obi-Wan’s life meaningful, where his life truly began.
“To my land.” Anakin said. “I will build you a grand place to live, with gardens and fountains in the desert, where you may sleep on the clouds and where I will place the moon and stars at your feet. And a bed where we may sleep in together for the rest of time.”
Obi-Wan could almost imagine such a place. “I do not deserve such a thing, I am merely your follower, your worshipper. I ask for nothing but the hope to be able to pray to you.”
Anakin grew angry in the way gods so easily did. “I say what you deserve and not deserve, I say what life you live and what words you speak.” Anakin declared. “And I say now you will come with me.”
There was nothing to say to that. “Very well…” Obi-Wan conceded, but he could not help the trepidation in his step as he shackled his very own chains to his wrists and feet. “I will come you, my great Anakin.”
Obi-Wan was never seen again. He slipped into the crowd like a breeze through tall grass, leaving no trail behind. The temple heard nothing more. Even Grand Master Yoda and Qui-Gon searched in vain. It was as if the sky had taken him, quiet and final, the stars choosing to keep his story for themselves as they disappeared, and the sun rose the next morning all the same.