Chapter Text
Averting his gaze is all Obi-Wan can do to keep himself from ogling.
Anakin Skywalker is dressed like, well, a schutta—a word that Obi-Wan had learned from Anakin's own colorful vocabulary suddenly seemingly so very fitting in this situation, no matter how many times he has reminded his Padawan to mind his language when it came from his mouth.
Though he isn't bare, his clothes—a generous term as far as Obi-Wan is concerned—leave little to the imagination: a tight bolero covers Anakin's neck, shoulders and arms, but leaves his chest bare; a mesh shirt adorns his torso, though it is far too transparent to hide anything, blatantly displaying his dusky nipples and toned abdomen; even his pants, dark and sleek—made of some sort of synth-leather—look like they are poured on. The addition of thigh-high boots does nothing to disguise the lean muscle of his long legs, instead making them stand out even more.
With Anakin's Padawan braid tucked under the back of the high-necked "top" and a thick choker overlaying it, there is no evidence of him being a Jedi apprentice.
"Well," Anakin asks, the way he spreads his arms inviting Obi-Wan's gaze, his brows raised and full lips (Force, is he wearing gloss?) drawn in a serious expression.
"You look…" Obscene. Beautiful. Like I should never let you out of my sight. "conspicuous," Obi-Wan replies, hoping the heat on his face doesn't translate to a noticable flush.
Anakin rolls his eyes. "That's the point, Master. I need to the target to notice me, after all."
Obi-Wan knows all too well that that is the point. Not for the first time he is almost regretting taking this mission. Anakin is too young, too innocent, to play the part of bait to catch a sex trafficker.
Anakin hadn't exactly jumped at the opportunity when the Council told them that young men had been going missing on some pleasure planet, but when it was mentioned that they were possibly being sold as sex slaves off planet… well, he was suddenly ready and raring to go.
Everyone knows how Anakin feels about slavery. More often than not, that fact has the Council wary about sending Obi-Wan and Anakin on such missions—Anakin is almost too eager to deal with slavers—but this time a Senator's son has vanished (along with the several other young men preceding him that had been too "insignificant" to report off-world until now, as Anakin had complained).
That normally wouldn't have been enough for the Council to select them for this mission, except it had come to light that most of the young men bore a striking resemblance to Anakin: tall and leggy, dirty-blond hair, sun-kissed skin and blue, blue eyes.
In other words, Anakin is perfect bait.
Obi-Wan hates it.
He's not really sure he's ready to investigate why he hates it—except that Obi-Wan knows for all of his Padwan's brashness and mercurial nature, Anakin is young and good and shouldn't be put into such a position. That's it, that's all that concerns him. Nothing more.
But they are Jedi, and do their duty they must, no matter how either one of them feels about it.
"Are you going to be alright, Anakin?" Obi-Wan asks one last time. "If you need extraction for any reason—"
"Yeah, I know, I'll contact you through our bond. Plus I've got the tracker on me," he says, tapping at the little pendant hanging off his choker. He doesn't motion to his boots, but they both know that a backup one is stitched into the interior lining of one of them, just in case.
Obi-Wan sighs and nods. They're both as ready as they'll ever be. "Alright then, I'll see you at the bar."
Meaning the same one that at least a couple of the victims have been abducted from. They had gathered from their intel that, when comparing the dates of disappearances, whoever their kidnapper is rarely hits the same place twice in a row, but they seem to have a circuit of several locations they frequent. It may not exactly be a routine, but the pattern is apparent enough to guess that the one Obi-Wan and Anakin will stake out tonight seems to be the likely location for the next abduction.
Anakin nods, face drawn in a way that could be read as deadly serious, perhaps more than a bit intimidating, but now altogether too pretty with his glistening lips and the kohl around his eyes. Obi-Wan has a bad feeling that his Padawan is going to attract far more than just their target, but hopefully there will be some inkling in the Force when Anakin meets the right person.
After giving himself a little once over in the refresher of their hotel room Anakin takes off, leaving Obi-Wan to his own devices. Obi-Wan will join him soon enough, but they agreed that it would look a lot better for Anakin to arrive alone. It is unlikely he'll be targeted if he seems like he has a date that would notice his absence, after all.
Obi-Wan takes his time showering and dressing himself. His outfit a loose and flowing blue shirt—with a v-neck collar cut low to show off his chest hair and a hint of the gap between his pecs—tucked into a pair of black trousers, tight enough to show off his legs and behind, but not nearly as provocative as Anakin's pair. Eyeing himself in the mirror of their refresher he takes a moment to comb his hair with his fingers, making sure it looks tidy in a careless sort of way.
Good enough
He only wishes he could take his lightsaber with him, but there is nowhere to hide it with this outfit. He has left it on their ship anyway. Neither one of them expect to come back to the hotel room if all goes well.
He slips on a pair of knee-high black boots at the door and leaves, a hint of nervousness tingling in his stomach.
***
When Obi-Wan arrives he finds the bar already busy. Maybe not packed to the brim, but certainly lively in the way that clubs on pleasure planets tend to be every night of the week.
There are sentients dancing suggestively on the dance floor and others off in the dimly lit corners and booths in the periphery, doing things better left in private—though he is certain that the 'freshers are just as crowded with those who care for a little more "isolation."
Obi-Wan is casual as he makes his way up to the bar, taking one of the empty stools and waiting to order a drink before he looks around for Anakin. With a Correlian whiskey ("On the rocks, please.") in hand, he turns and leans against the bar, watching the dance floor and keeping an eye out for his Padawan while also tugging gently on their bond to let Anakin know he is there.
He finally spots Anakin, his (young, so very young) Padawan between two bodies grinding on him. A beautiful, purple-hued Twi'lek is pressed against his front, her hands up under the mesh of Anakin's top, stroking over his toned stomach; the other against his back is a handsome Devaronian male, his hands holding tight on Anakin's hips as he grinds himself against Anakin's backside.
Obi-Wan frowns a little, sipping his drink. Anakin seems to be having plenty of fun, though Obi-Wan knows it is best that he acts completely natural to lure their target in, but it still bothers him for some unknown reason.
Anakin is smiling and laughing and looking carefree as he lets the other two press against him, but he disentangles himself when the song is over, finally sending a responding tug on the bond back to Obi-Wan. He goes to the bar and orders a drink, something bright and sparkling that he takes a large gulp of, looking like he is enjoying how cool and refreshing it is. His blue eyes, bright and wild, slide over Obi-Wan and he offers a little smile and even a slight wink as he works on his drink. Obi-Wan most certainly does not blush as he returns the gaze.
The drink must be sweet with how quickly Anakin finishes it, like there is no alcohol in it at all. Still, he sways a little on his feet as he heads back to the dance floor and Obi-Wan wonders if it is just an act or if Anakin is truly a little tipsy.
Another couple of songs go by with Anakin dancing by himself. There are a few sentients watching him with interest, perhaps a bit intimidated at how beautiful he looks because they don't approach him no matter how inviting his swaying body is. He is flushed and nearly glowing under the pulsing lights, skin sparkling with specks of glitter that only add to how ethereal he looks.
But he does not stay out there long, and he sends a fleeting message to Obi-Wan across their bond ("Want to talk. Buy me a drink") as he breaks from the dance floor.
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes a little at how impolite Anakin can be, but as Anakin sidles up to the bar and takes a seat several spaces down from Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan waves the bartender droid over.
"Another whiskey on the rocks for me, please, and something for him. Whatever he had before," he tells the droid, motioning towards Anakin.
"Sure thing," comes the bartender droid's tinny reply and it quickly deposits Obi-Wan's Corellian whiskey in front of him before it mixes up that pretty drink Anakin had had before.
When it is handed to Anakin he has the decency to try to act surprised, his head swiveling to give Obi-Wan a sweet, inquisitive look that for some reason has Obi-Wan's heart beating a little faster.
He tries to calm himself, taking a quick sip of his own drink as he raises an eyebrow at Anakin. Anakin bites his lip a little and gives a small smile, no doubt trying to look flirtatious, but somehow it makes him look rather predatory—especially with how fixed his eyes are on Obi-Wan as he makes his way down the bar.
It's just a bit unnerving… At least, that's what Obi-Wan tells himself as a small shiver courses through him.
"Thanks for the drink, handsome." Anakin leans against the bar next to Obi-Wan, his words a little stiff, eyes roving over Obi-Wan with an over-exaggerated hunger.
It's enough to make Obi-Wan want to snort with amusement, even if his heart does flutter a little—must be from the pounding music (and nothing to do with Anakin's dreadful flirtatious play-acting, he thinks adamantly). Obi-Wan returns the smile with a grin, self-assured that it looks more seamlessly casual than Anakin's own. "Of course, darling. Dancing like that, I'm sure you're quite… thirsty."
Anakin laughs just a little too loudly, though no one else seems to hear it beneath the nightclub's din. He leans forward, murmuring in Obi-Wan's ear, "Well, it's definitely appreciated. Why don't I show you just how grateful I am?" His eyebrows raise in a way that is almost comical, but the expression is rather adorably charming nevertheless. Even Obi-Wan can admit that much.
Anakin places a hand on Obi-Wan's arm, tugging gently at the loose fabric, urging his Master to follow him. After chugging down the rest of his whiskey—glad that it is smooth enough to do so without pulling a sour face other than pursing his lips just slightly—Obi-Wan rises and allows Anakin to lead him over to a pillar at the edge of the dance floor. Anakin places his drink on a tiny, empty table on one side of the pillar, motioning Obi-Wan to follow him to the opposite side.
Obi-Wan startles as Anakin leans towards him, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan's neck. It only takes a moment before Obi-Wan realizes that Anakin just wants to talk, trying to keep up the seductive act while he speaks into Obi-Wan's ear.
"Look to your left, Master," Anakin whispers, his breath washing over Obi-Wan's cheek, mostly sweet, but with the sour tang of alcohol. "That guy has been watching me practically since I got here, but he hasn't made a move."
Looking out of the corner of his eye Obi-Wan can see a rather indistinct human male. He's dressed simply, but not out of place for this sort of establishment. All black clothes, not too form-fitting, not too loose. His hair is cropped short, but not buzzed, and it is a very modest, natural color. He's not tall, nor short, nor too skinny or bulky. Just very… average. Easy to look past, hard to remember.
"Are you sure?" Obi-Wan asks hoarsely, throat feeling a bit dry as he whispers back, his lips nearly touching Anakin's ear.
Anakin shudders against him. "I—uh, yeah. Something is off about him. A feeling in the Force."
His Padawan is always more attuned to those sorts of things, Obi-Wan admits to himself with some pride at how amazing Anakin truly is.
"It's just—he seems wary, like he isn't sure when he should pounce."
Understandable. After kidnapping a senator's son the man must realize he needs to be more discreet, not taking too many chances.
"I think… I think he thinks I'm too alert or something. Not distracted enough. I think I need your help."
For some reason Anakin doesn't look like he regrets admitting it. An expression crosses his face and it is not humility nor shame at needing his old Master's assistance—in fact, he looks rather… excited? Something about the expression makes Obi-Wan nervous and he steels himself for Anakin's plan, knowing that no matter how Anakin feels about it, he wouldn't be asking for help if he didn't need it.
"Oh? And what should I do?" What could Obi-Wan possibly do to make Anakin seem any more preoccupied than he has been all night, dancing drunkenly with strangers who put their dirty hands—
"Kiss me," Anakin tells him, his eyes boring into Obi-Wan, hot and piercing. Obi-Wan feels like he's drowning in his hungry gaze, hardly able to keep his head above water with Anakin's eyes swallowing him whole, those two simple words trying to drag him under.
"W-what?" Obi-Wan is able to keep his voice down, though just barely, as he hisses, "That is completely inappropriate, Anakin!"
Kiss Anakin? Sith's hells.
It's so… so improper! So Wrong.
Anakin is his Padawan. And he is so very young. Though he is a man—already on the on the cusp of nineteen—Obi-Wan is far too old for him. And there is no way that Anakin would enjoy kissing him. Obi-Wan is sure he wouldn't enjoy it, either.
Oh, but you would, wouldn't you?
No, of course not.
Obi-Wan wants to scowl at that horrible, invasive thought, but he tries to keep his expression neutral even as he gazes at Anakin's full lips, still shiny with gloss.
"Come on, Obi-Wan. Just something to keep me occupied for a couple of minutes. I bet he'll slip something into my drink while I'm not looking."
It makes sense, Obi-Wan supposes. Under normal circumstances such an act would be very distracting; two men getting lost in each other's embrace, lips (and tongues and teeth) melding together and… Well, Obi-Wan really doesn't want to follow that image any further.
He exhales with a shuddering sigh, trying to regain his balance, trying desperately to push all his untoward feelings into the Force. Anakin licks his lips, undoubtedly anxious. Obi-Wan mentally reprimands himself as the simple action shoots heat straight to his groin, undoing his efforts to calm himself.
"Master, I need your help." It isn't a question. Anakin isn't pleading with him, he is stating it as fact. And yet, Obi-Wan can pick out a soft whine undercutting his words.
Even if Obi-Wan had only planned on supervising this part of the mission, how can he deny Anakin this if he thinks it will work? Especially when he's putting aside his pride to ask for it? It's for the greater good… isn't it?
Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, forcing his body to relax. Keeping his voice steady he says, "Alright, Anakin," nodding at his Padawan.
If he didn't know any better, he thinks he sees Anakin grin before his Padawan's lips are pressed against his, his arms drawing Obi-Wan closer.
It makes Obi-Wan freeze.
Anakin's lips are so soft as they move against his mouth, the motion smoothed by the gloss coating them. Anakin's tongue—Force, his tongue!—darts out, lapping at Obi-Wan's lips. Obi-Wan shivers at the feeling, his heartbeat picking up.
Obi-Wan must be doing something wrong because Anakin makes an annoyed grunt.
"Kark, Obi-Wan! I know you don't want to kiss me, but you could at least pretend you're enjoying this."
His whisper is sharp.
Obi-Wan thinks he sees a bit of wetness in Anakin's eyes, but maybe it's just how the strobing, multi-colored lights reflect off of them.
Truthfully Obi-Wan does like it.
A lot.
Far more than he should, which is to say he shouldn't like it at all—and he hates himself for it, another emotion that is thoroughly unbefitting of a Jedi.
He should stop this now, let Anakin believe his own misconceptions, but Obi-Wan is weak. He doesn't want to embarrass his Padawan or worse, hurt him.
And Obi-Wan does want more.
He checks his shields, making sure none of his emotions are leaking through and exposing his perversion for Anakin to see, before he replies, "I… I apologize Padawan. It's been a while—" a long while "—since I've kissed anyone. I'm a bit out of practice…"
It's not a lie. Obi-Wan hasn't really kissed anyone since he himself was a Padawan and had rarely ever ventured away from chaste pecks. Maybe there had been a sloppy, uncoordinated make-out session here and there, but it hadn't been enough for him to learn how to kiss well.
He thinks he sees anger flare up in Anakin's eyes, but it dims, turning into something more calculating, curious. For a long, strange moment he thinks Anakin can see through him—see every thought in his head—but Obi-Wan knows that isn't actually possible, not with his shields so firmly in place.
"Okay. Just try to make it convincing," Anakin mumbles. "Put your arms around me and follow my lead."
It feels strange to have Anakin instructing him. Of course Anakin's apprenticeship has been a learning experience from the start for Obi-Wan, but never has Anakin actually ordered him around, correcting Obi-Wan's movements like he is teaching his Master a new form.
It's… exhilarating.
Obi-Wan's pulse picks up and he nods, letting his arms slide around Anakin's torso, resting his hands on the small of his Padawan's back. He thinks he hears Anakin's breath stutter, but somehow Anakin is doing a very good job at keeping his expression in check other than his startlingly intense eyes staring at Obi-Wan like he's seeing him for the first time.
"Good, Master." Anakin's voice comes through, thick and low.
Obi-Wan wants to moan, but he doesn't, knowing how inappropriate it would be to show such susceptibility to a little praise. Instead he waits, tense, for whatever comes next.
"Just relax," Anakin whispers, tilting his head down so that he can press his mouth against Obi-Wan's again.
With one deep breath through his nose and then a slow exhale Obi-Wan does relax, letting his mouth slacken under Anakin's lead. Anakin hums softly, moving his lips over Obi-Wan's, tongue flicking out to lap at them. His fingers tangle in Obi-Wan's hair and this time Obi-Wan does moan, his mouth falling open to allow Anakin's tongue inside.
Anakin is surprisingly gentle, slow, as he explores Obi-Wan's mouth. His tongue maps the crevices of Obi-Wan's teeth—taking his time like he wants to memorize every detail—before he gently prods at Obi-Wan's tongue, swiping at the tip, swirling around it. It's almost overwhelming, easy to get lost in the heady sensation of Anakin devouring him ever so slowly and sweetly.
Without realizing it Obi-Wan pulls Anakin closer, his stance widening minutely to allow his Padawan to slot a thigh between his legs. One of them rocks into the other, Obi-Wan isn't sure who, and suddenly he realizes how very turned on he is as Anakin brushes against his hardness.
It makes Obi-Wan gasp, his fingers gripping the holes of Anakin's mesh shirt to pull him back, but he can't get a proper hold on him. Anakin either doesn't notice or doesn't care, instead taking Obi-Wan's arousal as a cue to increase his intensity.
His thigh grinds up against Obi-Wan's groin—or perhaps Obi-Wan grinds down—his tongue now sloppy and utterly obscene as it thrusts into Obi-Wan's mouth in time with how he rubs and presses against his Master's growing need. Obi-Wan wants to pull back, to tell Anakin to stop, but all he can do is mewl and whine at the motions, utterly powerless against the barrage of sensation.
"Kark, Master," Anakin growls, his mouth now sliding wetly past Obi-Wan's beard to latch onto his neck, biting and licking just under his jaw. "You're doing so good, sounding like a kriffing schutta… So sensitive, I'd almost think—"
Obi-Wan can feel his Padawan's words more than hear them and a distant part of him wants to admonish Anakin for saying such filthy things, but all he can do is lock his thighs around Anakin's leg, thrusting jerkily as he spills inside his trousers. His soft wail drowns out whatever Anakin had planned on saying, leaving him stunned as he now blinks at Obi-Wan.
There is no disgust in Anakin's eyes, just curiosity and surprise. He looks like he wants to say something more, but suddenly his attention is behind Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan knows their target must've struck, dropping something into Anakin's poorly attended drink.
Gathering his composure, Obi-Wan tries to catch his breath and straighten up a little, the cooling wetness in his trousers making him wrinkle his nose.
"Go on, Anakin," he whispers, glad his voice doesn't tremble as his body seems to want to.
"But Master," Anakin nearly whines, chewing on his bottom lip, obviously having something to say, but he is seemingly hesitant to do so.
Obi-Wan watches that plush lip pop out from between Anakin's teeth, swollen and a bit red, though that is likely every bit from their kissing as it is from him biting it.
The gloss is gone, he notes dazedly.
Not important.
"Now, Padawan."
Anakin huffs, his eyes dragging down to Obi-Wan's groin with some interest before he looks back into his Master's eyes. Obi-Wan can feel himself blushing and he's glad that the bar is lit in a way that Anakin can't see his embarrassment. Obi-Wan doubts Anakin can even see the wet spot that has formed on his crotch in this lighting, but he still feels entirely too exposed with his Padawan's eyes looking at him like that.
Anakin surprisingly doesn't complain and instead pushes against Obi-Wan's shoulders, a grimace of disgust appearing on his face all of a sudden.
"Pervert," he growls, slipping away and leaving Obi-Wan to slump against the pillar, a spike of pain and humiliation lancing through his heart.
It's all meant to be part of their play-acting—Obi-Wan is sure of it—but a part of him is a little scared that Anakin means it. Obi-Wan does feel like a disgusting lech being so easily affected by his Padawan's attention…
Familiar guilt swells up inside him, his stomach writhing with shame.
No, there is no time to worry about that now.
He has to be ready to follow Anakin, to make sure he gets through the rest of this mission safely.
***
Silence stretches between them as Obi-Wan allows Anakin to pilot them into hyperspace. Not that Obi-Wan often denies Anakin the chance to fly, but he is especially deserving of a reward after completing their mission so efficiently.
Anakin has done well, very well.
The senator's son has been rescued (along with several other young men) and there were minimal casualties among the traffickers that had been responsible for the kidnappings. They were brought to the planet's authorities to deal with, the Jedi washing their hands of the situation once the Republic's citizens were safe. That hadn't exactly been Anakin's decision, but Obi-Wan is proud all the same that Anakin hadn't argued about it—or worse, taken matters into his own hands.
Anakin leans back in his seat, turning towards Obi-Wan sitting in the co-pilot's station. Anakin hasn't had the chance to change out of his club clothes, looking a little worse for the wear now that his mesh top is torn in some spots and his boots are scuffed and muddied. Even his scant makeup is smeared and messy.
Obi-Wan is ready to tell him to wash up and get some rest before Anakin's voice stops him—
"You're a virgin."
Taken aback, Obi-Wan blinks a few times, words dying on his lips.
What?
How had Anakin even figured that out? Certainly his kissing had been sloppy, and ejaculating in his pants had been highly embarrassing, but it could just as easily be shrugged off as him being rusty—maybe a bit overly pent up—but a virgin?
He can feel Anakin prodding their bond, wanting an answer, wanting the truth.
Obi-Wan does not let him in. He cannot have Anakin feel the overwhelming pulse of shame-fear-arousal-guilt that permeates behind his memories of that singular horrible (wonderful) moment.
His words will have to do.
Even with a flush rising to his face, Obi-Wan tries to keep his voice in check. "I don't see how that's any of your concern, Padawan."
"I'm right, aren't I? I don't think I have ever met anyone who has come just from kissing."
Just from kissing? Anakin's thigh had been between his legs, grinding on his—no, Obi-Wan isn't going to go there.
What's done is done. And really, it's beside the point.
"Anakin, I don't see how—"
"Come on, Master, it's nothing to be ashamed of, right? Jedi aren't supposed to feel shame, are they?"
Obi-Wan sighs, trying to push his embarrassment and annoyance into the Force. "No, there is no shame in being a virgin, Anakin, but it's not really a Padawan's place to ask their Master about their level of sexual experience."
Try not to get mad, he's just curious…
Or maybe making fun of him, but Obi-Wan won't be baited into snapping.
"So if you are not ashamed, then why won't you tell me?"
Obi-Wan can feel a headache coming on, tension building at his temples as he grinds his teeth. But he won't lose his temper. It's not worth it.
"Fine, yes, I'm a virgin, Anakin," he says, hoping he sounds more relaxed about it than he feels.
He wants to look away, but he keeps his gaze level with Anakin's, whose eyes are so wide that it almost makes him laugh.
Too bad Obi-Wan doesn't feel like laughing. Perhaps Anakin will be the one laughing once the shock wears off.
Except, he doesn't.
"How is that even possible?" Anakin asks, like he can hardly believe such a thing. "You are always flirting with everyone."
"Not everyone, Padawan. And sometimes a little charm can make people more agreeable."
Anakin snorts and rolls his eyes. "Right, whatever. But just, how? Did you take a vow of chastity or something?"
"Of course not."
His Padawan's expression is incredulous. He wants to hear more and Obi-Wan can't believe he is indulging this line of questioning. He doesn't know if Anakin has bedded anyone, even if he does seem light years more experienced when it comes to kissing, and Obi-Wan doesn't want him to think lack of experience is abnormal.
"I suppose there has just never been a right time," Obi-Wan offers with a small, weary sigh.
"Okay, but it's not like there is never time. You aren't busy every minute of the day!"
Yes, that is true, though Obi-Wan doesn't add that training a Padawan has kept him quite busy and often leaves him rather exhausted at the end of the day, especially after a grueling mission. He doesn't even have the energy to masturbate sometimes (not that he does that often), let alone find a partner that suits him.
"Yes, well… Perhaps I haven't met the right person, either."
It's not a lie.
Had he been ready he no doubt would have lost his virginity to Cerasi on Melida/Daan. They had shared some kisses, finding comfort in each other in the midst of the civil war, but it had never gone much further than that.
Truthfully Obi-Wan had been a bit of a late-bloomer with puberty. By the time his body had gone through its changes, he felt far behind his peers in that aspect. For a teenage boy that was highly embarrassing. When he had met Satine his body was in the early throes of those changes and had left him with a sense of awkwardness too big to overcome, even in the year they spent together.
She had seemed to think him chivalrous, but in truth he had just been too gawky and inexperienced to feel comfortable giving himself to her.
When he had finally been really, truly ready, all he had wanted was his own Master… but he could never bring himself to state those desires out loud and then he had lost the chance. That regret still sent a prick of pain to his heart.
Of course, he had also been left with a Padawan who took up most of his attention afterward.
So yes, never a right time and never a right person.
"Stang… I can't believe it," Anakin murmurs, slumping in his chair, looking like his world has come crumbling down.
Should Obi-Wan be flattered that Anakin can't wrap his mind around him not taking any lovers?
Mostly he just wants to put the discussion behind them and go rest.
As he gets up to do just that, Anakin's hand reaches out to grab his tunic.
"Master," Anakin says, looking up at Obi-Wan from beneath his thick eyelashes, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he searches for his next words.
Obi-Wan feels a shock go through him at the memory of that pink little tongue inside his mouth.
No.
It was for the mission.
Never again.
He suddenly wants to shake free of Anakin's grasp and go take a very cold shower.
"Master, you should let me take your virginity."
Anakin is standing now, his hand still tangled in Obi-Wan's tunic as Anakin hovers next to him. Obi-Wan feels like a statue—unable to move, unable to speak. He can barely breathe, Anakin's words repeating over and over in his head until he can make sense of them.
let me take your virginity.
What nonsense is his Padawan spouting?
Obi-Wan's heart feels like it is in his throat, fluttering, choking him.
"Absolutely not." Obi-Wan's voice cracks a little as he says it and he internally winces at how weak the protest sounds.
"Why not?" Anakin is pouting, his words coming out with a whine, but his grip only tightens.
"Anakin—I raised you! You have said several times that I am the closest thing you have to a father. And it doesn't change the fact that I am your Master and far too old for you!"
Obi-Wan can't even believe Anakin has to ask.
Anakin rolls his eyes, unconvinced. "Well, you aren't actually my father. And you aren't that old, either! More like an older brother, really."
Does that make it any better?
Obi-Wan resists covering his face with his hands. He wants to scream and shake some sense into his Padawan. How are they even having this conversation right now? He cannot—he will not—let Anakin think this is alright.
"I am your Master. You are my Padawan. It is not allowed." Obi-Wan is almost proud at how firm his voice is. He had been certain it would come out trembling.
Anakin's free hand goes to the junction where Obi-Wan's neck and shoulder meet, his thumb extending upward to massage the bruise he had sucked into his Master's neck. "Master, please—aren't you supposed to teach me, to guide me? You couldn't teach me these things, so let me teach you. It's only right! We're Master and Padawan, we should share our knowledge… Anyway, isn't it the will of the Force? You, having saved yourself, for when I'm ready to take you? And you haven't said you don't want it!"
Obi-Wan cannot believe Anakin's words. How can his Padawan say something so absurd so confidently?
Will of the Force.
If he could muster up any amusement he would laugh.
And why is Anakin's conviction in something so ridiculous making Obi-Wan's cock stir, plumping at how intensely Anakin stares at him as he spouts his nonsense?
This is getting out of hand.
He cannot let it go any further.
Obi-Wan grabs his Padawan's wrists, wrenching the young man's hands away. "No."
He doesn't allow for any argument, storming away towards the refresher at the back of the ship.
He will ignore this absolute madness and that will be the end of that.