Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If anyone were to ask him, Obi-Wan would say that he was content.

It was probably even true. He knew what discontentment and misery were like, the bitterness he felt about his lot in life—he’d felt it as a pup, orphaned at two and fostered by couples and families that didn’t understand him, didn’t know what he wanted or needed. He’d felt it when, four years old and still unable to find a family that wanted to keep him, Mace Windu came and took him back to Coruscant with little more than a by-your-leave to the most recent unfortunate couple that took him in. He’d felt it when he turned thirteen and still hadn’t been chosen as a Padawan by any Master at the Temple, the year dragging on for so long until there was only one month left before he turned fourteen and became the oldest Initiate in the last few hundred years, at least until Qui-Gon arrived back from a year-long trip and saved him the ignominy. He’d felt it when he turned fifteen and woke up dizzy and uncomfortable, drenched in his own sweat and freshly presented as an Omega, one of the few in the Jedi and one of even fewer of the males in the Temple. He’d felt it when he looked in the mirror, twenty-three and still a Padawan, and saw nothing but a petulant, soft-faced boy, too immature to graduate into Knighthood yet too old to still be treated like a child. He’d felt it a lot throughout his life, all things considered.

Then he was suddenly twenty-five, a man grown and a Jedi Knight, one of the youngest to be granted Knighthood. He operated solely from Coruscant instead of doing missionary work in the Mid and Outer Rims or acting as representative of the Force in foreign lands, which he vastly preferred over his former Master’s responsibilities that had often led to him spending months away from Coruscant. His calling was to work closely to the heart of their faith within the Temple, nurturing their younglings, just as he was nurtured when he was first brought there. If he were still a newly-presented Omega, full of contempt that he’d been assigned the most maternal of the secondary genders, he likely would’ve hated the responsibility, would’ve hated being little more than a Force-ordained babysitter, but Obi-Wan was a man true to his faith. He knew that this was his calling, a privilege the Force saw fit to grant him, so he welcomed it with open arms.

And it led him to meeting his favourite youngling, a sweet nine year old boy from Tatooine named Anakin Skywalker, who’d accepted his handshake with a smile so bright and excitable that Obi-Wan truly had no choice but to care for his happiness. As steward to the crèchemaster, he wasn’t allowed to pick favourites, but Anakin took such a strong liking to him that it was frankly unavoidable. The boy trailed after him everywhere, whether it be the learning chambers or the meditation halls or the refectory or even Obi-Wan’s own quarters, which he’d had to shoo the boy from more than a few times before. The Jedi were not supposed to form attachments to their charges, nor were they supposed to encourage it, but Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to discourage the boy—so bright in the Force and so earnest—from attaching himself to Obi-Wan, especially when he could see that Anakin needed more affection than most other younglings in his care, having been attached to his mother before he arrived with Qui-Gon.

Perhaps the moment Anakin entered his life, Obi-Wan knew he would take the boy on as his Padawan. In him, Obi-Wan found a calling more dear to him than the nurturing of younglings. He knew that this was attachment, something forbidden in their Code, but he couldn’t help himself, doting on the boy like he would his own kin, though they were closer in age to be brothers than mother and son. A memory returned to him, tucked away somewhere deep in the dearest folds of his heart. It was of Anakin, freshly eleven and begging Obi-Wan to take him as a Padawan. “Please, Master Obi-Wan, it would be the greatest birthday present ever! I’ll be a good Padawan, I promise! The very best!”

“You’ve only turned eleven, dear one,” Obi-Wan had laughed, petting the boy on his blond head from beside him in the booth seat. He’d taken him to Dex’s Diner downtown to celebrate his birthday, which they decided two years prior was the day he was brought to the Temple, since he didn’t exactly have a birthday as a slave from Tatooine.

(The discovery that Anakin had been a slave was one that shocked Obi-Wan to his very core, even though he’d gotten the debrief from Qui-Gon a day before he got back from his missionary trip to Tatooine with a boy in tow. Slavery had been outlawed hundreds of years ago, and though Obi-Wan knew that some nations still employed it under the table, to be faced with living proof of its continued existence had shaken him. The first thing he’d done when he met Anakin in person for the first time was shake the boy’s hand and introduce himself as Obi-Wan Kenobi and tell him that there was no need to call him Master, regardless of what Qui-Gon said. He liked to think that was the moment Anakin decided he could trust him.)

“But eleven is the minimum age to be selected for Padawanship,” Anakin pouted, picking at his potato wedges. “Aayla’s the same age as me and she’s already Knight Quinlan’s Padawan.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t have helped himself even if he tried. “That’s because she’s been in the Temple for longer, little one.” He punctuated that with a pinch of Anakin’s cheek, laughing when the boy complained about it, before smoothing the youngling’s hair from his forehead. “Worry not, Anakin. I promise to take you as my Padawan when the time is right, but only then.”

It would end up being his belated birthday surprise, since the processing of the flimsiwork required to apply for a Padawan took some time, despite the fact that Obi-Wan already filed his application the week before. Anakin’s joy at being told the news after Obi-Wan received the all-clear was a memory that he knew would never fade from his mind, no matter how many years passed.

As soon as Anakin was made his Padawan, he stepped down from the role of steward to the crèchemaster to take on the primary role of being Anakin’s Master. From there, he accepted missions that he never would have on his own—negotiations with foreign dignitaries, acting as representatives of the Force, going on missions to other planets, sometimes spending entire weeks away from Coruscant, seeing more of the galaxy around them in six years than Obi-Wan did his entire life before Anakin. He supposed part of it was to expend Anakin’s near infinite energy on worthwhile things, but Obi-Wan had long accepted that it was a particular indulgence of Anakin’s wishes to see the galaxy, to explore and discover the thousands of planets scattered all across the stars, deriving his joy from his Padawan’s awe and wonder.

That starry-eyed amazement began to dim as the years passed by them, beginning at thirteen with the onset of his first puberty. Though Obi-Wan could still see Anakin’s fascination with the new and undiscovered, his easy curiosity steadily became more subdued. Obi-Wan quietly mourned the loss of Anakin’s millions of questions regarding the planet they’d landed on at the time, but he came to terms with it all the same—Anakin was on the cusp of his second puberty which meant many things would change, from temperaments to biology, and he couldn’t be expected to remain unchanged from the curious, excited pup Obi-Wan had known for the last five years.

Then Anakin turned fifteen and presented as an Alpha, which came as no surprise to Obi-Wan. He’d always been a possessive boy, prone to selfishness over his things around others, and his bouts of petulance quickly turned into aggression at the flick of a switch. Obi-Wan had originally misattributed these traits to Anakin’s past as a slave, when he wasn’t allowed to own anything of his own and had to fight to stay alive, but Anakin’s aggression and territorialism had only increased by the time he was fourteen, then worsening when he’d finally presented. It gave him no shortage of grief whenever Anakin got into a spat with others, due to his perceived ownership of something or another. It happened often enough with other Padawans, some Knights, and even a few Masters, but somehow never Obi-Wan himself. He’d been rather pleased to learn that Anakin’s territorialism over what he deemed was his didn’t extend to him, likely due to their bond as Master and Padawan and their shared living space. Anakin had even gone so far as to claim that all that was his was also Obi-Wan’s.

He was just a few weeks from turning sixteen when he told Obi-Wan that, the age when most Alphas would start having the most territorial disputes with others, and he couldn’t be any happier. Maybe he should’ve dissuaded Anakin from that, should’ve weaned him off of reliance on Obi-Wan’s presence in his life, but caring for the young Alpha just made Obi-Wan feel so alive and full of love, like he’d gained a pup without all of the complications of mating and pregnancy. Though it belied attachment, Anakin was, in his unique way, like a younger brother and a son to him, and Obi-Wan cared for him deeply in spite of the Code.

It was wonderful. It was perfect. Obi-Wan was happy, not just content, and he’d believed that Anakin was happy, too.

Then Obi-Wan failed him in his moment of direst need. Anakin was sixteen, and he was having terrible, monstrous dreams, the kind of dreams that sent wild feelings of fear and grief and despair through their bond, enough to wake Obi-Wan if Anakin’s screams hadn’t done the job. Obi-Wan thought he had been doing the right thing, steering Anakin onto the right path by trying to convince them that they were just dreams, that they would never come true, that everything would be fine. Obi-Wan was wrong, and Anakin paid the price.

In the months following, Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin could ever find it in him to forgive him. He wondered how he could make it up to him, even knowing he could never replace the irreplaceable, that anything else would be a poor substitute. He wondered how he might celebrate Anakin’s approaching birthday with him, what sort of gift he could get him to begin bridging the gap that had grown between them.

He’d had so many plans. Then, on the night of his seventeenth birthday, Anakin vanished.

Obi-Wan had tried to justify this in all sorts of ways. At first, he assumed that Anakin had been taken or kidnapped and held for ransom before he realised that all of the young Alpha’s personal possessions, anything that belonged to the boy himself rather than the Temple, were gone. The practical things like his clothes and tools, yes, but also the holopictures of him and Obi-Wan and his friends that he kept pinned to the wall of his bedroom, the large map of the known system that he hung above his desk, and the small stuffed krayt dragon that Obi-Wan bought him four years prior. Both his personal and some of his impersonal effects were missing from his room, and all that he left behind belonged to the Temple, no note or letter or anything. It was then that Obi-Wan accepted that his Anakin had run away.

Initially, he wondered if this was part of Anakin’s grieving process, if he just needed time away, but the fact that he’d taken everything he could with him in the middle of the night was evidence enough that this was meant to be more permanent. Then he wondered if he missed something, if Anakin’s hatred of him for his failure had festered and he couldn’t take it anymore and just decided to leave, but that wasn’t much like his Padawan at all. Anakin’s fury was like a swiftly-approaching storm—you had no choice but to stand your ground and weather it, to survive the crackling electricity of his rage and hope that nothing would be beyond saving afterwards. He would’ve forced a confrontation one way or another, instead of running away like a thief in the night—that was more Obi-Wan’s style, anyway.

He could come to no solid conclusion, even days later. The Council sent out a search party within Coruscant to ensure that Anakin wasn’t taken against his will, but the only evidence they uncovered was a holocam sighting of a young man resembling Anakin boarding a cargo ship headed to an entire circuit of Outer Rim planets—no foul play involved. Obi-Wan couldn’t content himself with just that—it didn’t matter that Anakin had chosen to leave rather than be taken against his will, not when it meant Anakin would be out there, alone and far away from his home at the Temple. He’d had half a mind to take matters into his own hands—damn what the Council believed—and begin his search on Tatooine, before working his way out only once he was sure that Anakin wasn’t there.

Before he could get started on his half-formed plans, however, Mace visited him in the middle of the night. He valued Mace’s opinions, respected him as a Master and as a friend, and he’d dreaded Mace’s disappointment once he made his attachment clear and acted on the information the Council discovered regarding Anakin’s disappearance. But rather than rebuke him, Mace simply implored him to look into the Force and meditate upon what he learned from it, so Obi-Wan did. Anakin was the son of the Force to some and an extremely strong Force conduit to others, yet his disappearance didn’t disturb the Force. When he meditated and reached into the Force to know what it thought of its son’s vanishing, he felt only serenity.

So when it came down to choosing between his attachment and trusting in the Force, he knew what choice he had to make, which choice was the right one because the Force willed it rather than he did. He just wished he never had to make it.

A week later, the full Council asked for his personal thoughts on whether they should continue pursuing these leads and begin the search on the twelve planets on the path of the cargo ship or not, and Obi-Wan requested them not to. No one openly questioned his decision, and he’d been grateful for it at the time, but later at night, when doubt had time to creep in, he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

Was Anakin waiting for him to come looking? Did Anakin want him to search for him? Did he think that Obi-Wan wouldn’t look for him? Was he proving Anakin right by calling off the search? Questions upon questions, and no answer beyond infinite sadness.

Three weeks after Anakin’s disappearance, Obi-Wan went into the worst heat of his life. For five consecutive days, he was entirely indisposed, constantly drenched in sweat, his body aching with every movement and his mind thick with misery. Despite the heat his libido was dead in the water, too, the heartbreak too fresh and the loss of the boy he considered his pup killing his capacity for arousal. His subsequent heats after that one were better, returning to the usual odd spacing of one every random number of months, little more than two or three days of over-sweating, nausea, and weak, unsatisfying orgasms.

(His heats were just another reminder that he’d relied on Anakin far too much. Perhaps that was another reason why the boy felt he had to leave, being exposed to an Omega that needed to be waited on hand and foot during his heats. He wasn’t Anakin’s mother and never would be, and he never should’ve assumed their bond was familial enough that Anakin would be able to withstand caring for him when he was in heat. In the broader scale of things, it was probably just another indignity he’d burdened Anakin with.)

But life continued on, as it always did. Five years later, the gaping void in Obi-Wan’s chest had gone from excruciating to livable. He no longer woke with the urge to cry, or fought nightmares of Anakin getting hurt or dying without Obi-Wan knowing, or reached out for someone that wouldn’t be there. Instead, he woke with grim acceptance every morning, drank lavender and sleepflower tea to help him rest, and tucked his hands into his robes whenever he wasn’t using them. He continued to assist crèchemaster Bahani in teaching the younglings and often spoke at the Senate when the Jedi were needed to represent the will of the Force in politics, but he hardly ever stepped foot in the hangar bay, only ever left the Temple when absolutely required to, and stayed on Coruscant. He had no other sights he wanted to see without a young and excitable pup at his side to fawn over every new vista they came across.

Soon enough, Anakin would have been gone for six years, Obi-Wan’s own nameday coming and going like a furtive whisper months prior. The hollow feeling in his chest did not feel like it would ever disappear, and he felt that it was deserved. He’d failed Anakin by pushing him to such an extreme that he had to leave, and this empty feeling would be part of his penance. He built a plain and unassuming life around it: wake up, shower and get dressed, make a light breakfast, drink his morning tea, meditate and fail in his attempts at releasing his grief into the Force, go to the crèche and teach or train the younglings, eat lunch if he felt hungry, attend any Council meetings if there were any, socialise with at least two people (and assist visitors to the Temple with their connection to the Force if he was feeling particularly brave), go home to his empty and cold quarters, eat dinner if he felt hungry, clean up, drink his evening tea, try to sleep, repeat cycle.

Eventually, Obi-Wan settled into contentment. It was enough. It had to be enough.

On one particular night, it was looking to be the same end to every day since he’d established his routine. Obi-Wan was in the middle of brewing his tea when he heard a knock on his door, a hesitant rapping of knuckles. Crossing the short distance between the island counter where his tea was steeping to his front door, he opened it and found Ahsoka standing there, hands behind her back and expression a little bashful.

“Good evening, Ahsoka,” he said with a small smile. “Are you alright?”

“I am, Master Obi-Wan,” the young Beta replied, returning his smile with a bow. She rose and shifted her weight from one leg to another. “I just had a few concerns, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said cordially, opening the door wider. “Come in, and do make yourself at home.”

He was faintly glad that he cleaned up a little this morning, finally convincing himself to wash the pile-up of cups and put away his laundry that accumulated over the course of the last few lazy nights. He hadn’t taken the trash out yet, and he knew the floor wasn’t as clean as it would be in any self-respecting Master’s quarters, and there were datapads and books and loose pages of flimsi strewn all over countertops and tables, but Obi-Wan never claimed to be perfect or self-respecting.

Ahsoka sat down on the couch, settling against a pillow cushion that likely hadn’t been moved in ages. Obi-Wan had very little reason to use the couch, as it was. “Would you like anything to drink? Water, tea?”

“Just water, Master,” Ahsoka replied politely. Obi-Wan returned a few beats later with his cup of tea and Ahsoka’s glass of water. “Thank you,” she said as he handed it to her.

“Of course. Now, you said you had some questions?” Obi-Wan asked, taking his first sip. He supposed he should’ve made some small talk first, but he’d had a long and unremarkable day; Ahsoka was often a pleasure to be around, but Obi-Wan was at the end of his tether and he could feel his capacity for entertaining guests slowly shrinking, so he hoped they could talk about the young Padawan’s concerns and wrap up quickly before the tea kicked in.

“Yes, Master. I wanted to ask about the Trials,” she said, playing with her Padawan beads. Obi-Wan very pointedly did not look at them. “I’m... a little nervous for them, to be honest, Master. I have no idea what they entail, and I find it a little... intimidating to ask people about what you do in them. Master Plo would probably answer if I asked him, but I’m afraid I’ll seem too eager for my Trials, and I thought about asking others as well, but Masters Vos and Jinn are off-world again, and Master Fisto is in the process of helping Nahdar with his own Trials and I wouldn’t want to impose on them.”

So she settled for me, Obi-Wan thought, not without a touch of self-loathing. He knew that the sentiment was warranted—he hadn’t exactly been the model Master since Anakin left, and normally, Ahsoka would’ve been spoiled for choice if any of the Masters she’d mentioned were available. “I understand your worries, Padawan,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “When I was your age, I was worried about my Trials too. Master Qui-Gon probably would’ve lost his mind if he’d been on Coruscant while I fretted all about my Trials.”

“Really?” Ahsoka asked with wonder in her tone, taking a sip of water. “I find it hard to imagine you fretting about anything, Master.”

You should’ve been here five years ago, then you would’ve seen me in a real tizzy, he thought derisively. “I was young and anxious once, too,” he said instead, smiling. “I assure you, Ahsoka, you are not the first Padawan learner to worry about your Trials. What advice I can give you about it is to fully, wholly trust in the Force, to trust that it will guide you to a path when the time is right, even when your mind and heart tell you that you are—or aren’t—ready.”

“I understand, Master,” Ahsoka sighed, with a sort of expression that made it clear that she was still a little uncertain. “I just hope Master Plo doesn’t think I’m avoiding them, or that I’m seeking them out either. It’s... weird. I feel like I’m both dreading and looking forward to them.”

“Ah, yes, the anticipation,” Obi-Wan hummed, sipping his tea. “A word that could be used in either a negative or positive light. You could be anticipating a punch or a kiss, an argument or a celebration. Try not to get too caught up in how you feel about your Trials, and instead think about honing your mind and body to prepare for whatever Master Plo plans to throw onto you.” He sipped his tea again, the floral aroma finally beginning to soothe him. “I trust that he has been a good Master to you?”

“Yes, of course! Master Plo is the greatest Master I’ve ever known,” Ahsoka exclaimed, before physically cringing and smiling bashfully. “Um, no offence, Master.”

Obi-Wan waved a dismissive hand. “None taken whatsoever.” You could not insult me in a way I haven’t insulted myself before. “Master Plo has told you, then, to center yourself and give your anxieties to the Force, to try and release them like one does a breath of fresh air. Your worries are like the first inhale, long and deep, and you must exhale to make way for new, potentially better feelings. So you must also do, for your anxieties over your Trials.”

Ahsoka sighed, nodding her head. Thankfully, Obi-Wan saw a bit of resolution in her eyes—he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself by giving her bad advice. “You’re right, Master Obi-Wan. I have to release these feelings into the Force.” She breathed in deeply, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment.

Obi-Wan smiled, in spite of himself. Ahsoka was one of the brightest Padawans of her generation. She still had a few more years of Padawanship left to her, but she was a witty and smart (and slightly impulsive) beacon of light at the age of seventeen, and Obi-Wan knew without a shadow of a doubt that Plo was proud of her. How could he not be, when she was so intelligent, so kind, so loyal? The last prodigal child among the senior Padawans had run away before his Knighting due to Obi-Wan’s own negligence. That she still remained proved that Anakin’s departure was a rarity—that it was his own personal failure that led Anakin astray.

Ahsoka cleared her throat, dragging Obi-Wan back to the present. “How are...” she trailed off, before rubbing her chin and trying to reword her question. Her lekku jostled as she hunched into herself slightly. “Are you... doing alright, Master Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan blinked for a moment, then took a sip of his slowly-cooling tea. “Yes I am, Ahsoka. I’m doing fine.” Which was almost true. He lowered his hands, resting his teacup atop his lap. “Have I given you cause to worry?”

“No, no, you haven’t,” Ahsoka said, waving her hands placatingly. “I’m just... er... I wanted to ask about... Force, this feels a little awkward to say...”

“Tell me, Ahsoka,” he said coaxingly. “I will not shame you for asking questions.”

Ahsoka looked away guiltily for a moment before saying, “Do... do you think Skyguy—Anakin—will ever come back?”

Obi-Wan felt his shoulders slack slightly, his fingers loosening a fraction around his cup, the surprise flattening the concerned lines from his face. Once, the mention of Anakin would’ve caused him to tense up like a taut drawstring from anxiety, guilt, and shame. Now, it only made him feel limp and boneless, as useless as a strip of fabric in a tempest. Just the thought of him, even five years later, made Obi-Wan feel powerless and weak.

“I don’t know, Ahsoka,” he said calmly, surgically removing the grief from his tone. “I hope so, and that is the most we can do.”

Ahsoka looked up at him, clutching her glass of water in both hands. “He was the same age as me when he left, wasn’t he?” She tilted her head to the side, so young and innocent. “Did he ask you about his Knighting, too?”

Obi-Wan managed a small smile. It wouldn’t hurt her for him to lie, but Ahsoka deserved better than that from him. “He never even got the chance to ask about it. He left the night of his seventeenth birthday, so he had little time to consider it.”

Ahsoka nodded, looking distant as she contemplated his words. Obi-Wan glanced at the clock—it was a quarter ‘til midnight. “Unless you have any more questions, young Padawan, I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day, and—”

“Do you miss him, Master?” She cut in, looking at him with big, searching eyes. Then she bit her lip in mortification almost immediately after. “I-I’m sorry, that isn’t my business at all, I shouldn’t have—”

“Yes, I miss him,” Obi-Wan said softly, exhaling slowly. The tea made him tired, and he became far too honest whenever he felt drowsy. “In a few months, Anakin will have been gone for six years. Yet I find that I still miss him, as if he only left yesterday.” His eyes stung, but he knew that it was because of his exhaustion rather than the threat of tears. He’d already cried his fill, years ago. “What led you to ask that question?”

Ahsoka had the good grace to blush. “Mainly curiosity, Master,” she said, playing with the end of her Padawan beads again. “Skyguy—Anakin was one of the nicer Padawans when I was still a youngling. I, um... I used to get picked on a lot as an Initiate, before Master Plo took me on as a Padawan, but he’d defend me whenever he saw it happening.” She smiled, sweet and a little forlorn. “He was like the big brother I never had. I know Jedi shouldn’t have any attachments—not anything like how I feel for him—but I do miss him a lot, Master.”

He returned her smile, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I understand, Ahsoka. He has that effect on people.” Easy to love and easy to miss. “It’s hard to forget him once you’ve known him.”

He sent Ahsoka off to bed after that, the clock ticking closer to midnight and the tea softening the roughened edges of his psyche. Ahsoka thanked him for the conversation and bid him goodnight before leaving, and he avoided the pitying look in her eyes. As soon as the door shut behind her, Obi-Wan rinsed their cups in the sink and quickly abandoned the prospect of tidying up, instead choosing to go to bed. He was out in moments, the memories of countless exhausted nights with his dear Padawan in the other room echoing in his sleep-addled mind.

The next few days consisted of the same kind of monotonous existence. Centaxday rolled around, then Taungsday, then Zhellday, until it was suddenly Benduday, nearly an entire week passing him by with hardly any recognition. It made him burn with shame when he realised how much time had passed since the last time he did anything of value, that he wasn’t doing even half as enough to be deserving of his place in the Temple. He was a Master, for Force’s sake—what use was he if he couldn’t accomplish the same tasks as Mace and Qui-Gon, who often left Coruscant for weeks and months at a time for missions, or Depa and Ki-Adi, who lived more off of Coruscant than on the planet? He needed to get his act together. Life couldn’t have ended just because his Padawan ran away half a decade ago. Tomorrow, he thought to himself. Tomorrow, he’ll put in a request for an off-planet mission. Perhaps somewhere in the Mid Rim, just to do something.

That day, he was in the middle of his monotonous morning routine when he saw his Council commlink pinging. Pressing accept, Mace’s voice came through—a pre-recorded message. “There will be a Council meeting at eight-thirty in the morning, today. An unprecedented event has occurred, and all Masters are encouraged to attend.”

Encouraged, but not required. Obi-Wan knew how to read between the lines, however, which meant Mace found this situation urgent enough that he was giving the barest minimum amount of time to get out of any entanglements to set aside time for the meeting. Sometimes, when he felt particularly unmotivated to attend, Obi-Wan wished he was on another planet, just so he could actually take advantage of not being in Coruscant and thus be unable to attend the semi-regular meetings throughout the week. Alas, he hadn’t left Coruscant in ages, so he was one of the few that—aside from Grandmaster Yoda—were expected to attend every meeting.

He dressed in his everyday wear, robes upon tunic upon robes, leaving his cloak behind. He was one of the first in the Council meeting chambers when he arrived—the only other members sitting in their seats around the round open space in person were Yoda and Mace.

“Good morning, Masters,” Obi-Wan said politely, bowing slightly before moving to take his place in his own seat by the window.

He felt Mace’s eyes sharp on him, so he met the other man’s gaze steadily, wondering about the look in his eyes. It felt vaguely accusing and suspicious, though Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done to warrant the scrutiny. Perhaps the older Alpha was finally cottoning on to the turmoil of Obi-Wan’s thoughts, or contemplating how much one of the finest diplomats of their Order had fallen from grace.

Soon enough, more Masters arrived. Some came in person, like Plo, Kit, Shaak, and Stass, while some holoprojected in. With all Masters now accounted for, Yoda cleared his throat.

“Discuss something of unprecedented significance, we must today,” he said, leaning against his cane despite being seated. “Seen before, an event like this, has never been. Master Windu?”

Mace nodded his head in affirmation, sitting back comfortably in his chair. “Though it is uncommon, it isn’t unheard of for Jedi to leave and relinquish their connection to the Order,” he said, eyes drifting over the rest of the Council. “Five years ago, Padawan learner Anakin Skywalker disappeared and unofficially left the Jedi. According to our records of the event, young Skywalker left the night of his seventeenth birthday. Is that correct, Master Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan swallowed dryly, finding the reminder very cruel for a brief moment, only to remember that this, to the Jedi, was not cruelty. He shouldn’t be so affected that affirming Mace’s statement aggrieved him, but he was regardless, because he was a terribly attached Master. “Indeed it is, Master Windu,” he said, managing a level tone.

Mace eyed him for another long moment, so Obi-Wan maintained a straight, disaffected expression as he glanced out the window onto the streets of Coruscant below. “Normally, after a year of no contact, Skywalker—like the rest of the Lost Twenty—would’ve been excommunicated from the Church,” Mace said, sounding a little hesitant. “But Skywalker has been... persistent in maintaining a semblance of contact.”

Obi-Wan’s neck twinged painfully from how fast he whipped his head around to stare, unable to keep the shock from his face. Mace met his gaze steadily. “Skywalker contacted me personally, through a private channel, roughly seven months after his reported disappearance and asked that I keep his confidence.” He looked at Yoda. “Of course, my first course of action was to inform Grandmaster Yoda. After some deliberation and meditation, we agreed to monitor the situation and maintain Skywalker’s requested secrecy until such a time came when he was either ready to return or formally leave the Order.”

“Does this mean that you’ve kept this from the Council for the last five years?” Plo asked, his tone polite but his words carrying the slightest sharp edge. He had been one of the very few Masters that Anakin trusted, and Obi-Wan knew that Plo had a soft spot for Anakin due to his treatment of Ahsoka before she became his Padawan.

Mace nodded, not looking the slightest bit shamed or indignant. “Yes, we did. Partially because he was very sparse in his communications, only calling once every year and only ever contacting us the day before his birthday, but mainly because, in our communion with the Force, we could not find a hint of disapproval in our course of action.”

“Familiar, you all are, with young Skywalker’s unique connection to the Force?” Yoda hummed, smiling sagely. “Immaculately conceived, he was. The son of the Force he is, if to be believed the prophecies are. Pleased with Skywalker the Force remains.”

“Has something changed for you to bring this to the Council now?” Obi-Wan found himself asking, feeling impatient. Why were they being told this now? Did this mean Anakin had finally made his decision? Did something happen to him?

Mace’s lips pursed in mild disapproval, which might have stung harder if Obi-Wan was capable of finding it in himself to care. “Yes, there has been a new development. Today, halfway through Skywalker’s sixth year away from the Church, he has asked to be given the chance to return.”

Obi-Wan’s heart could’ve leapt straight out of his throat at the words. His entire world honed in on this very moment, surprise and humiliating, crushing hope coursing through his veins and weighing down his limbs like sedative. Still, he tried to keep a lid on it, attempting to salvage his dignity even as he felt eleven other pairs of eyes turning to look at him.

“Bring this to the Council, we now have. Vote on this, we must. A decision, regarding the restitution of Padawan Skywalker, we must deliberate.” Yoda clasped his fingers together. “Arriving soon, he will be. Postpone the vote, we shall, until those of us at the Temple have judged his character.” He nodded his head. “Dismissed.”

Obi-Wan got to his feet, feeling a little off-balance. He couldn’t believe it—Anakin, his Padawan, returning? Already on his way to the Temple after five years of absolutely nothing? He couldn’t decide on whether or not he should feel relieved or offended that his Padawan didn’t deem him fit to contact. Then again, he knew in his very soul that Anakin’s disappearance had much to do with him. Perhaps Anakin felt that he couldn’t trust Obi-Wan, and instead contacted Mace Windu of all people to maintain a form of contact with the Church. The thought curdled like spoiled milk in his gut just as much as he felt unmatched elation in his chest.

“Not you, Master Kenobi,” Mace said as he began to walk away from his chair.

Obi-Wan stilled, glancing back at him before returning to his seat. The other Masters on Coruscant filed out of the meeting chamber as holoprojections flickered out of sight. He caught Kit’s concerned gaze as the Beta closed the door behind him, leaving only Yoda, Mace, and Obi-Wan in the chambers.

“How might I assist, Masters?” He inquired politely, because he might be shaken to the very core of his being, but he was still a Master of some diplomatic regard.

“Be honest, Obi-Wan,” Mace told him, not unkindly. “Do you believe Skywalker deserves a place in the Church?”

Obi-Wan’s first instinct was to say yes, absolutely, but it never was so easy as all that. It was easy to say that Anakin should return, but harder still to justify why. After all, Anakin might have been bright and diligent in his studies and skilled in many useful ways, but he was also stubborn about getting his way, possessive and obsessive about his things in a way that certainly reeked of attachment, and prone to quickly-sparking bouts of red hot anger—traits more easily understood in a youngling than a Padawan. He showed no real deference to the Force despite being born of it, and often misused his deeper connection to it by letting it guide him to the point of impulse. He had also been—and Obi-Wan could not stress this enough—gone for five whole years.

Despite all of this, though, Obi-Wan found that he couldn’t utter the word no, because it would be a betrayal to everything Anakin was. Obi-Wan knew that he remembered him through rose-coloured lenses at times, the way the boy bent over nearly in half when he laughed, the way he smiled around an eye roll when Obi-Wan would hit him with the driest remark, or the way he hung his head low in shame whenever Obi-Wan caught him sneaking out to go podracing, not because he felt ashamed for podracing but because he felt ashamed that he got caught. But Obi-Wan also remembered the rougher edges to Anakin, remembered his flaws and imperfections, and found that none of them marked him as undeserving of a second chance.

After all, Anakin wasn’t even the root cause of his own departure. It was Obi-Wan.

“I do, Masters,” he said levelly, “I believe Anakin deserves a chance to rejoin the Order. I cannot speak for his character now as a man, but I knew him as a boy. He’d been so lost before he came to the Temple, bright and powerful in the Force but unguided and untrained, and he’d found his place here. It would... please me greatly to see him reclaim that.”

He felt like he’d said far more than he really should have, but Mace only regarded him with cool neutrality as Yoda nodded at him. “Your input, into account shall we take,” the Grandmaster said. “Tomorrow at the earliest, vote on young Skywalker’s fate we shall. Meditate on your decision, you must. Dismissed, you are.”

Obi-Wan stood again, bowing to the two of them before exiting the meeting chamber. As soon as the door shut behind him, he breathed in deep and exhaled for a few seconds, trying to calm himself. The prospect of seeing Anakin again, of discovering all the ways he’d grown from the lanky-limbed seventeen year old he knew five years ago, daunted him—how was he supposed to act? Did Anakin expect him to be welcoming, or angry, or sad? Did Anakin expect him to react in no particular way, to accept his return with careful distance? What role was he to play in Anakin’s life now?

He walked to one of the Temple’s meditation halls, often open to the public for those wishing to commune with the Force. He bunched the skirts of his robes in his hand as he took long strides to the meditation hall, breathing a sigh of relief when he realised that, on a Benduday, the hall would be empty, with most visitors meditating instead in the primary meditation chambers. He passed through the seating areas and sat on the bench closest to the life tree at the head of the hall, sighing as he looked up at it.

The life tree had been here long before Obi-Wan, purportedly since the first Jedi made their home on Coruscant. He remembered how he’d been told of the tree’s birth, many years ago when he was still a youngling—first, there was the seed, crafted by the Cosmic Force; then it was cultivated by the Living Force, blossoming and growing as all trees did; then, it was nurtured by the stewards of the Force, the Jedi, and continued to be nurtured to this day.

Obi-Wan had changed his mind on what he thought of the tale exactly twice in his life. His first thought was that it was an acceptable explanation of its planting, when he was only ten. His first revision to that opinion came when he was fourteen and ordered to meditate in this very hall by a disapproving Qui-Gon for some grievance or another, and he’d decided the story was likely completely made up by the Jedi of the time, as some petty form of private rebellion. His second revision was when he was twenty-nine, on a Benduday just like this one, finding a semblance of peace in his recollection of the tale and finally accepting that perhaps, sometimes, things just had a will of their own, and sometimes that meant rooting yourself to one place or leaving to be free. That particular thought stayed with Obi-Wan in the days after Anakin left.

He thought about Anakin and what his return entailed. Part of him was afraid that Anakin would hate him or had hated him all this time, which would still be more than what he deserved. Another part of him was worried that Anakin would be discomfitted by the evidence of Obi-Wan barely keeping it together these past few years, which he felt must be so evident if even other Masters could tell he hadn’t been giving his all. Overall, Obi-Wan was worried and anxious, as afraid for the future as he was at the mercy of it.

He had to meditate. Only meditation could give him any answers and comfort now.

He’d been meditating on his jumbled, disjointed thoughts for an hour when he suddenly felt a gentle tapping on his shoulder. “Excuse me, mister?”

Obi-Wan fought the spark of irritation in his mind as he turned his head, looking at the young man that interrupted his meditation. His eyes met blue hooded eyes, so achingly familiar that his heart stopped for a moment before he saw the rest of the young man’s face: a straight nose that crinkled as he casually scented Obi-Wan, plush red lips that curved into a soft smile, a jaw with a defined edge that sharpened when he talked. His skin was tanned golden, and his eyes were fond when they locked on Obi-Wan, who felt slightly struck dumb at the sight of the beautiful man in front of him.

He rose to his feet and found, to his chagrin, that he still had to look up at the young man. He cleared his throat, politely not scenting him even though the other man seemed to have no qualms against doing that. “Apologies, you’ve caught me while I was meditating. How can I help you?”

The young man laughed, his voice deep and rich to Obi-Wan’s ears. “Oh, this is legendary,” he said, a mechno-hand clutching his chest, “I spend five years away and the first thing I hear from you is your customer service voice?”

Two things occurred to Obi-Wan at once. The first thought was that the young man had a nice voice, something deep and smoky that settled like a heated duvet or a glass of spiced honeywine. The second was that the young man was Anakin.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened into saucers as he finally allowed himself to scent the man in front of him, damn his manners, and realised that this was indeed Anakin Skywalker in all of his sweet, silly, and disturbingly tall glory. It took every bit of self-control Obi-Wan had to not grab him and pull him into his arms, settling instead for a hand on a very real, muscled arm. “Anakin?” He gasped, unable to fight the surprise and hope in his voice. “Oh, Anakin, I hardly recognised you! I knew you would be arriving today but I had not anticipated...” He trailed off, looking at him all over. Tall, dark, and handsome—he looked every bit the dashing rogue he always wanted to be when he was just a boy. “You’ve... you’ve certainly grown, dear boy.”

Anakin smiled bashfully, tilting his head boyishly even as the rest of him screamed I am a grown Alpha. He was dressed in civvies—a dark thin undershirt that showed the faint outline of his figure, a fraying pilot’s vest complete with an overkill amount of pockets, as well as dark trousers that hugged tightly to his figure and weathered dark boots. His hair was much longer than the Padawan cut he once sported, curly and wavy as it fell to the side and framed his youthful face with dark golden locks. There was a scar over his right eye that sent a current of sick worry through Obi-Wan, cutting from above his brow to the peak of his cheekbone. He was the very soul of the word rugged.

“Not exactly a boy anymore, Master,” Anakin said softly, staring at him with too-trusting eyes. “I’m a man now, as much as you are.”

Obi-Wan smiled up at him (and really, did he need to grow so tall?) and squeezed his firm arm. “Of course, dear one,” Obi-Wan said just as tenderly, feeling a swell of pride that he knew was, frankly, quite undeserved.

To be the one of the very few Masters in the Order to have lost a Padawan and not see him to Knighthood wasn’t even close to Obi-Wan’s greatest shame. Rather, it was that he’d failed Anakin, had not given him cause to remain, had forced him to make such a dire choice as to leave the only other home he had ever known, after his mother.

He should’ve been there for Anakin. He should’ve been the hand to guide him through to adulthood, should’ve been the man to guide Anakin towards balance in the Force. He was a man of the cloth, his fate long diverged from the path of a natural-born Omegan mother, but Anakin was like a son to him, just as much as he was a brother and a friend.

He would be a fool to see Anakin’s return as anything but a second chance, a chance to make amends, to do right by his erstwhile Padawan.

“It is so good to see you again,” Obi-Wan said, overcome with emotion and unable to stop himself from pulling the young man in and embracing him, his heart full to bursting. One of the tenets of the Order had been to love all equally and without prejudice or bias, but Obi-Wan was only a man, and a weak one at that, so he loved this man above all else.

Something twinged painfully in his chest as Anakin sank into the hug, his body curving to mould against Obi-Wan’s own, arms corded with muscle tightening around his waist as Anakin’s chin rested on his shoulder. “I’m home,” Anakin murmured, turning his head slightly to speak the words into Obi-Wan’s hair, “I’m finally home.”

Oh, Anakin, Obi-Wan thought, his heart so full of love, eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “You are, dear one,” Obi-Wan assured him, petting the back of his head, palm reverently stroking curly golden-brown strands as he blinked the wetness from his eyes. “You are home.”

They stayed like this for a few minutes, once-Master and once-Padawan embracing each other in the gentle solitude of the meditation hall. Slowly, not entirely wanting to pull away from his Padawan, Obi-Wan forced himself to release him. To his private joy, Anakin seemed similarly reluctant to part, but went easily as Obi-Wan put the slightest slip of distance between them. He stared down at Obi-Wan with so much emotion in his eyes, like he was both overjoyed and overwhelmed at the sight of Obi-Wan.

He couldn’t exactly blame him; Obi-Wan felt hilariously off-balance, too. “Come, let’s speak in my office. I wish to hear all about what you’ve been up to since we last saw one another,” Obi-Wan said, resting his hand on the crook of Anakin’s elbow. He knew he was being more than a little cowardly by not being direct with his words, by speaking around the cause of Anakin’s leaving rather than about it, and his Padawan would be well within his rights to call him on it. However, Anakin said nothing as he followed Obi-Wan from the hall and allowed the Omega to lead him.

They came to a stop in front of Obi-Wan’s office, which he opened after a moment’s hesitation. Five years ago, the room was little more than an empty chamber with a chair, a desk, and a chaise for guests. Now, it was still sparsely decorated compared to the offices of most other Jedi Masters, but it contained a few little personal effects collected over the years—a potted succulent from Qui-Gon’s personal garden, a painting of the central plaza of Naboo bathed in sunset, bookshelves lined with various titles both theological and secular, a tea cart stocked with some of Obi-Wan’s favourite blends as well as a few alcoholic beverages, and a steadily growing collection of odd-looking doll-like trinkets gifted by Quinlan upon his every return to the Temple on a shelf situated beside a window, overlooking the busy streets of Coruscant.

Looking at it now and thinking back on what Anakin must remember of his office, Obi-Wan felt his cheeks grow hot. He watched for Anakin’s reaction, wondering if he thought that Obi-Wan must be getting sentimental in his older age, or if he thought the haphazard decor was too tacky, or if he didn’t care at all that it looked so different—

“You’ve finally settled into this place,” Anakin said, interrupting his wandering thoughts. He looked over at Obi-Wan with a bright, handsome smile. “It’s wonderful, Master. I’m glad you’ve made this place your own—it feels like you do.”

There it was again, that twinge of deepest affection in Obi-Wan’s chest. Oh, how he’d missed this boy. “Thank you, Anakin,” he said, trying not to preen at his approval. He scrambled for something else to say, just to get away from the overwhelming joy he felt. “You don’t have to call me Master, you know. We are equals, so you are free to call me Obi-Wan.”

Anakin snorted, hanging his head in such a familiar way that the memory of seeing this sight so many times throughout Anakin’s childhood ached through Obi-Wan’s entire ribcage. “You’ll always be my Master, Obi-Wan, even if we’re equals.”

Obi-Wan tried very hard to not be so chuffed, though he couldn’t fight the smile on his face no matter how hard he tried. He gestured to one of the cushioned seats in front of his desk, taking a seat in his own chair as Anakin nodded and settled down. Obi-Wan relaxed into his seat and asked, “Now, what has my very unruly Padawan been up to lately? Did you finally achieve your greatest wishes?”

Anakin laughed at that, a lovely sound that Obi-Wan was glad to recommit to memory. “Not yet, no,” Anakin said, his eyes intense yet mirthful as he looked at Obi-Wan, “but I’ve been keeping busy. I apprenticed as a pilot and shipwright for a while, and it took me all around the galaxy. It was either that or smuggling, since there weren’t many options because I didn’t technically finish my schooling.”

He said it so casually, like it was nothing to him beyond a fact of life. Like it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault that he didn’t finish his schooling, didn’t get his diploma from the Temple’s schooling program, didn’t graduate with honours like Obi-Wan thought he would with his excellent grades. Like Obi-Wan wasn’t to blame for all of the hardship his boy had faced.

His boy, like he deserved to call him that. Obi-Wan thought the shame would’ve swallowed him whole, had it not been for those wide, trusting eyes. “I’m glad that you found a way regardless, Anakin. You’ve always been very resourceful.” Careful, deliberate distance. Lay no claim, take no credit. His old mantra from when Anakin first arrived at the Church echoed in his head. Distance, let him come to you.

Anakin blushed, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was embarrassed. “Thank you, Obi-Wan,” he said, his voice low. “It means a lot to me that you think that.”

“Of course I do,” Obi-Wan replied, smiling. “I’ve always thought that you were such a bright boy. Yes, you were prone to acting before thinking, and you did often play stupid to get out of situations, and you were a devious little imp—”

“Obi-Wan, please,” Anakin groaned, rubbing his face with his hand as Obi-Wan chuckled. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, unable to fight the grin from his face as Anakin shook his head. “It is still far too easy to get to you, dear one.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, a smile still stretched around his lips. “How about you? How have you been doing, Obi-Wan?” He asked, folding his arms over his chest.

I have been ruined since the day you left, Obi-Wan thought. There is a deep sadness in me and it has been poisoning me for years. I felt like I lost the greatest parts of me, like I was cleaved in two when you left. I felt like I failed you, not just as your Master but as the person that cared for you most. “I’ve been well, or as well as can be,” he said instead, because Anakin doesn’t need to hear all of that.

Anakin’s eyes narrowed like he could hear the obvious lie in Obi-Wan’s words, but he had the kindness not to mention it. “I see. Any... new people in your life? Another Padawan, or maybe a mate?” He asked, his tone a little stilted.

Obi-Wan felt his cheeks warming even as fondness crested over him. It was so much like Anakin to ask, in not so many words, if he was still the most important person in Obi-Wan’s life. “No, no new Padawans,” Obi-Wan said softly, looking down at his clasped hands. “The Council has been... they haven’t been pressuring me about it, but I know they find it strange that I’ve yet to select another one, though I am still in my prime.” Council members weren’t expected to take on a Padawan, but it wasn’t exactly forbidden either, and Obi-Wan was capable of training another apprentice. It just felt wrong to do so, with Anakin still out there.

Anakin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like the Council.” The derision in his tone wasn’t quite as harsh as in the months prior to his departure, but it still had its thorns. “What about mates?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “What about them?” He asked, a little confused. The Jedi weren’t chaste or celibate, far from it—no one begrudged anyone a little bit of sexual pleasure from time to time. It was actually mating that was the issue, binding one’s soul to another through the act of emotional, all-strings-attached sex. It belied attachment and led directly to passion, chaos, and possession.

It was, effectively, anathema. Anakin didn’t seem to think so, based on his eye roll. “Do I really have to spell it out? When an Alpha and an Omega love each other very much—”

“I know what mating is, thank you,” Obi-Wan interrupted, also rolling his eyes. “I simply don’t understand what any of that has to do with me.”

“I’m just asking if you have a mate,” Anakin said, like this was a normal thing to ask a Jedi. “Someone has to have been helping you through your heats. None of them were very pleasant.”

Obi-Wan fought the wave of indignance and embarrassment that rolled through him, even as the tips of his ears began to feel hot. “I can’t believe I have to say this, Anakin, but no, I do not have a mate. Jedi may be allowed to go through their cycles with other Jedi, but I have no intentions of seeking one just to make my heats go by easier.” He sniffed, a touch offended. “And my heats aren’t so terrible, no matter how you recall them. They’re little more than a few days of being sweaty and sticky and irritable.”

Anakin hummed noncommittally. “You used to get angry if I went into your room and invaded your space with my stink—your words, Master, don’t look so offended—but you also used to also get angry if I strayed too far, so I’d end up having to sit right outside your door while I did my homework.”

Obi-Wan shifted in his seat, averting his eyes. “That’s not exactly unwarranted. You were a pup in my care, of course I didn’t want you wandering off.”

“That sounds like attachment, Master,” Anakin drawled. “And you haven’t answered my question on who’s taking care of you during your heats, if not your mate.”

Obi-Wan pinched his nose bridge, sighing heavily. “My Padawan has grown too cruel,” he muttered under his breath. “No one, Anakin. I am perfectly capable of managing my heats, thank you. I’m not some freshly-flowered Omega.”

Anakin nodded his head. “I see. Well, alright.”

“Alright?” Obi-Wan echoed, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Anakin nodded again. “Alright. I’ll stick around to help.”

Obi-Wan spluttered, indignation bubbling over as humiliation washed over him like boiling water. “Excuse me? You’ll stick around just because you don’t approve of the self-management of my heats?”

“Well, obviously not just because of that,” Anakin scoffed, though he didn’t meet Obi-Wan’s gaze, the telltale sign that he did mean that. “I also just missed you, and I don’t belong anywhere other than at your side. I figured that much out for myself while I was gone.”

In an instant, Obi-Wan’s indignance quieted down into solemn understanding. Over the last five years, Obi-Wan had had the time to make peace with the fact that losing Anakin was like losing a part of himself. He’d felt like he’d been divided into jagged, uneven halves and flung half across the galaxy. He didn’t imagine that it was the same for Anakin, though now that he had an idea of what it was like, he saw it plainly for what it was.

Anakin was lonely. Halfway through to twenty-three, Anakin had returned to the Jedi on the mere chance of being allowed back in because he missed his family, his people. Besides that, he missed Obi-Wan, and seemingly without a hint of resentment. What miracles.

“I always wondered if you would ever come home,” Obi-Wan said softly, avoiding Anakin’s gaze, afraid that he sounded too wistful, the ache in his chest spilling over into his words. “When you left, I felt as if... as if a part of me broke away, vanishing into thin air. I wondered, at times, if I could survive it.”

Anakin shifted in his periphery. “Obi-Wan...”

“I don’t blame you at all, dear one,” Obi-Wan said, looking up to smile at him. Despite the sadness that still lingered in his heart, his smile felt genuine, more real than any expression he’d made the last few weeks, perhaps the last few years. “You needed time away from the Temple. I do not begrudge you that. I only wish that you’d told me, however little information you could manage to disclose.” He quirked his lips wryly. “At least when you planned to return, just to ease an old man’s heart.”

“Oh, please, you’re only thirty-nine,” Anakin scoffed, shaking his head and smiling back at him, a little wet in the eyes, “you aren’t so old yet, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan blinked in delighted surprise. “I’m shocked that you remember my exact age.”

Anakin’s smile softened into something tender yet intense. His eyes, usually so blue and bright, were dark and stormy even as he pulled his lips into a warm smile. “I could never forget a thing about you, Obi-Wan,” he said, with such intensity and conviction that Obi-Wan had no choice but to believe him.

It was shockingly easy to get back into the swing of things when talking to Anakin, after that. So natural, so easy to catch up with him, like he’d never left at all and Anakin was simply informing him of his life like it all happened in a day away. He regaled Obi-Wan with tales of his fumbling attempts at finding a source of income on Tatooine—and really, he should’ve guessed that Anakin would go there first, no matter what had happened the last time he was on the planet. He’d settled on signing up for podracing under a false name after a few days of cobbling together a podracer worthy of the name from spare parts, stolen parts, and harder to acquire parts won from junkmasters through more than a few underhanded methods. He raced every competition that popped up during his time on Tatooine and won nearly all of them, save for the last one, which he’d only thrown since too many people had their eyes on the new and mysterious being that won every match.

“This all took place over the course of... less a year?” Obi-Wan asked, trapped between being deeply horrified and outrageously proud of him.

Anakin beamed. “Yeah. No one knew who I was the whole time either, since I never took off my helmet or gear around other people. They only ever called me Starkiller. It got pretty boring quickly, though, since I had to keep to myself a lot.”

“And you left as soon as you fixed up your starship?”

“I did. Didn’t have much reason to stick around, anyway—not my type of locale.”

“Did you happen to name the starship?”

A beat. “Yeah. I called it the J-D41.”

Force, give him strength. “You named your personal starship, after running away from the Jedi, the Jedi?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly call it that any time I went anywhere!”

“No, you simply allowed it to be the written name of your starship, stamped onto every flight manifest of every system you entered.”

“...Well.”

“Anakin. Do you mean to tell me that you’ve been illegally entering star systems? Without presenting your ship for inspection?”

“No! ...Yes.”

“Oh, Anakin. What will I ever do with you?”

“You could let me tell you everything else I did. That was only part of year one, and if you haven’t noticed, it’s been five years.”

“Force. I need a drink.”

Anakin continued his tale, with significantly more fingers of spicebrew in their tumblers (and how strange it was, to no longer have an excuse to deny Anakin a drink, as he had been legally of age for the last four years). The latter part of the first year and subsequently the second and third years of his extended vacation—his words—were spent on Corellia as an apprentice to a loudmouth of an Alpha human shipmaster named Jet, who worked him like a workdroffi but paid him a fair wage, at least compared to other shipmasters on the planet. There, he learned the more intimate workings of many vehicles, from pedestrian hoverplates to pleasure barges to colossal flagships. After finishing his first apprenticeship, he moved on immediately to working with Jet’s wife, Nena, who was also a firecracker of an Alpha and put him to work on increasingly complicated ship calculations. Roughly two months into working for Nena, Anakin had gotten into a rather gnarly accident that ended in a laser-cutter slicing his right arm clean off, which they’d had to amputate and replace with the primitive version of his current mechno-hand. They gave him two weeks to recover and recalibrate his body to accept the prosthetic, but Anakin had gotten back to work in half that time.

“She had me installing altigraphical transmitters—they record altitude changes into a generative system that parses and recalibrates fuel transmission to soften launches into hyperspace—onto ships that were, honestly, way too old and rickety to make any good use of them, and—” He cut himself off abruptly. “Obi-Wan. Am I boring you?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan glanced back at Anakin. Kark. He’d been staring at the middle distance behind Anakin, thinking about the danger he’d been in, how easy it would’ve been for the laser-cutter to have overcorrected and instead sliced through Anakin rather than just his arm. He coughed awkwardly. “No, not at all, dear one. Do continue.”

Anakin eyed him with unforgiving amusement. “Right. What was I talking about?”

“Ships and transmitters, I believe,” Obi-Wan said, taking a sip that burned on the way down. He enjoyed hearing his Padawan’s voice, even though the words flew right by his head. “Please, continue.”

Anakin did continue, though he moved away from discussing the nitty-gritty details of ship transports and instead went into very lurid, very personal details. He talked, with a nonchalance Obi-Wan never thought his Padawan capable of, about the various ways he’d explored his sexuality during his fourth year away. After his apprenticeships with Jet and Nena—who’d apparently invited him into their marriage bed three separate times, though he turned them down each time—he left to explore, never settling too long on one planet. On Naboo, he slept with an Omega senator who taught him how best to please an Omega in various ways and positions (and what a shock it was for Obi-Wan to learn what Senator Amidala got up to in her spare time away from the Senate on Coruscant). On Ruvnan, he bedded a Beta woman who taught him the pleasures of sex without reliance on mating pheromones. Then on Estar, he’d learned what it was like to be dominated by another Alpha, and later on, by an Omega, and—

“Really, Anakin, must you tell me all of this?” Obi-Wan sputtered, his face hot in his hands at the mental image of his dearest Padawan on all fours for an Omega. “I really did not need to know every little detail of your time away!”

“Don’t be a prude, Obi-Wan, it’s unbecoming,” Anakin dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I mean, don’t you flirt with everything with a pulse? And you tell me to put a lid on it.”

Obi-Wan huffed, pouring himself another drink. “I flirt with them, I don’t sleep with them! But I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

Anakin snorted, then paused for too long, glass raising half to his lips. Then his eyes widened. “You don’t sleep with—”

“I am not discussing this with you—”

“Obi-Wan, are you a vir—”

“Please talk about anything else!” It was far too undignified for him to raise his voice so high, but Anakin, as always, knew all the right buttons to press to rile him up.

Anakin grinned like a loth-cat that got the cream. “This isn’t the last you’ve heard of it, Obi-Wan.”

Moving on against the backdrop of Obi-Wan’s indignant chastising, Anakin talked about the latter half of that year, which he didn’t spend in a hedonistic haze, surprisingly enough. Instead, he began planning for his return to the Temple all while working as a freelancer for some of his contacts from his previous planetary visits. Anakin had only originally planned to be away for two years—returning on his nineteenth birthday—but he was stuck in his contract with Jet and Nena, and by the time he was freed from his apprenticeship, his journey of self-discovery still felt incomplete.

In bits of free time during his podracing, apprenticeships, sexual exploration, and actual planetary exploration, he’d learned how to use a blaster, which eventually graduated into learning how to use all sorts of weaponry due to the nature of his bouts of obsessive perfectionism, which Obi-Wan bristled about only briefly as he recalled that Anakin was rather defenceless out there without a weapon. His final weapon-adjacent escapade was to a planet called Ilum, where the Jedi of hundreds of years ago would go to collect kyber crystals for their once-iconic weapon, the lightsaber.

The planet had been effectively picked clean of kyber by the time Anakin stepped foot on it, but he’d felt the Force strongly there. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin had a stronger connection to the Force than any other boy he’d ever met, but to hear the Force described the way he’d described it...

“It was like... a homecoming,” Anakin said softly, his eyes distant as he recalled the feeling. “The Force felt so different there. If Coruscant is the heart of the faith, housing its strongest believers, then Ilum is part of the soul, as important to the Force’s existence but in a different way. When I walk through the halls of the Temple, I feel like I’m taking a stroll by the beach, the water washing over my toes and ankles but never reaching my knees. But on Ilum, I felt like I was floating in the middle of the ocean. Peaceful, but lonely.” He bowed his head, hiding his eyes behind the curtain of his hair. “Like laying down in my bed on my ship and realising I couldn’t feel you in the Force, that you weren’t just in the other room.”

Obi-Wan’s heart ached for his dear Padawan. “Oh, Anakin...”

Anakin shook himself from his distance. “I did say I missed you a lot, didn’t I? On Ilum, where thousands, maybe millions of Jedi used to go to get their kyber crystals, I felt so far away from you.” He took a sip of his spicebrew, lips quirked up into a smile. “It made me wonder, too. If we were born just a few thousand years ago—if you would’ve taken me to that planet to get my own kyber crystal so I could complete the construction of my own lightsaber.”

I would’ve taken you anywhere you wanted to go, if it meant I could’ve avoided losing you for so long, Obi-Wan thought to himself, returning Anakin’s smile. “If you’re a menace now with a blaster and a starship, I’m scared to imagine what grief you’d have given me if you started swinging around a lightsaber at eleven.”

Anakin closed out his recollection of the last few years with the fifth year, most of which was spent in—to Obi-Wan’s surprise—meditation. Anakin had never been over-fond of meditation, finding more peace in moving around and keeping busy than sitting down and letting the Force flow through him, which Obi-Wan believed to be due to the fact that Anakin was more of the Force than anyone else in the Temple. But the visit to Ilum in the latter part of the fourth year encouraged that peace in him more than anything else, so meditation became part of his daily routine during space travel, along with ship maintenance, tinkering with his droids, and keeping up with the news on Coruscant. Aside from meditation, Anakin spent his last year working through all the proper legal processes to be able to return to Coruscant, with a stopover in Naboo to deal with his yearly rut. Then, six months before his sixth full year away from the Temple, he finally came home.

“It sounds like a rather humble way to round out your five year leave,” Obi-Wan said, smiling softly at his Padawan, who had truly grown up away from him. “Certainly with fewer podraces and apprenticeships.”

“And sexual escapades,” Anakin added, grinning at Obi-Wan’s snobbish scoff, his eyes glinting with intense mischief. “I never would’ve thought my Master was a virgin. The way you flirted your way through everything like some two-credit schutta would’ve convinced anyone that you knew your way around... an accelerator shift, if you will.”

Obi-Wan sighed, pinching his nose bridge again. “Anakin, honestly. At least a twenty-credit whore, if you will,” he said primly, eliciting a guffaw from the other man. “And you’re quite wrong, you know.” Though he still couldn’t quite believe he was discussing this with his Padawan, who he first knew as an innocent, round-cheeked nine year old. “I haven’t gotten around as you have—I do have vows, thank you—but I’m not as virginal as you assume.”

“Seriously?” Anakin asked, his voice dropping low as his eyes widened. In an instant, the easy, silly lightness in him darkened into something smokier, edgier to the senses. “With who? And when? Was it when I was away?”

He was projecting territorialism so strongly that Obi-Wan was shocked that the furniture didn’t start bowing and scraping at him. “Pheromones, Padawan!” He exclaimed, sticking his hand under his nose and trying not to breathe in the strong, smoky scent. He knew that scent, knew it dearly from the moment Anakin presented, but after five years of not smelling it, it was a complete assault on his senses, sending a sharp shudder of warmth down the back of his neck.

Anakin cringed and slapped his hand over his scent gland before he took a slow, steadying breath. Upon his exhale, Obi-Wan removed his hand from his nose, trying to ignore that he could still smell the overwhelming scent and taste it on his tongue, his face warm with exasperation over his body’s natural reaction. He was a Jedi Master, for Force’s sake—he was capable of ignoring it. “Thank you. Now, what was that about?”

“Apologies, Master. Time away from you hasn’t exactly fixed all my... attachment issues.” Anakin thinned his lips into a sneer at the word attachment, like he was as disgusted of the word as he was ashamed.

Obi-Wan felt his frown soften, waving a dismissal. “Bygones. I’m... actually surprised that you still feel that way,” he said, setting his long-drained tumbler down on his desk. “I figured that you would eventually abandon your attachment to me. Perhaps if you came home more amenable to the Code. Perhaps, even, if you found a suitable partner, or a mate.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said slowly, like Obi-Wan was being obtuse, “why would I need a mate when I had you?”

Obi-Wan barked a surprised laugh. “Me? Oh, Anakin. You do know how to make an old man feel so special.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Again, you’re not as old as you say you are. And of course, Obi-Wan—I grew up around you, then grew up the rest of the way on my own. But you’re smart, Master—you’ll figure it out.”

“Figure out what? That time away from the Temple has made you more accepting of the Order’s rules on attachment?” Obi-Wan huffed, shaking his head. “If I had known it was as simple as that, perhaps I should’ve sent you on a meditative retreat ages ago.”

Anakin shook his head, chuckling. “You’ll understand when you’re older, Master.”

“Why, the insolence—”

A knock echoed from Obi-Wan’s door, interrupting the very dignified stream of insults that would’ve started pouring out of his mouth. Obi-Wan got to his feet and padded over to his office door, opening it to reveal—

“Skyguy!” Ahsoka squealed, barreling past Obi-Wan in her haste to get to the man she considered the closest thing to an older brother.

“Snips!” Anakin exclaimed, grinning as he coughed out an oof when she collided with his chest, hugging him. Obi-Wan shut the door and smiled at the sight of them, the click of the lock engaging startling Anakin from his and Ahsoka’s embrace. “Snips, that wasn’t very polite, y’know.”

Immediately, Ahsoka straightened and turned back to Obi-Wan, embarrassment clear on the young Togruta’s features. “I’m sorry, Master Obi-Wan. I just got so excited and—”

“No harm, no foul, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, waving a dismissive hand. “I take no offence. I understand how you feel completely.”

“Which is still no excuse to disrespect Obi-Wan,” Anakin added firmly, before he relented and patted Ahsoka on the shoulder affectionately. “Missed you, ‘Soka. How’s it been at the Temple since I left?” He led them both back to Obi-Wan’s chaise, sitting down side by side.

Obi-Wan, for his part, returned to his tea cart and put away the spicebrew he and Anakin had been drinking. He poured Ahsoka a glass of water, assuming that the Padawan likely ran all over the Temple as soon as she received the news to find Anakin.

He hid his knowing smile when he handed the glass over to her and she nodded her head in thanks before taking a long drink. “It’s been alright. Things were already getting easier before Master Plo took me as his Padawan, but things calmed down even more when the rest of my agemates got their Masters too.” She shrugged conversationally. “I guess it’s because we all just got busier—not a lot of time to pick on me if you have to be on another planet.”

“That’s good to know,” Anakin said with a kind smile. Then it shifted into something more mischievous. “And... what we discussed... ever had to use it?”

Ahsoka giggled but tried to keep quiet, despite being in full view of Obi-Wan. “The knee thing? Maybe once, or twice. Got Kreyl really good one time, and he didn’t try to pick on me for a whole month.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything,” Obi-Wan said, averting his eyes with a small smile on his lips.

Ahsoka’s eyes widened and she hurriedly waved her hands. “Master Obi-Wan, I assure you, no one got seriously hurt—”

“Don’t listen to him, Snips,” Anakin cut in, grinning at Obi-Wan, “Master Obi-Wan over here used to get up to all sorts of trouble. You see, I have it on good authority that he used to be a pretty feisty spitfire as a youngling—”

“That’s enough, Padawan, thank you,” Obi-Wan interrupted, feeling the redness rising in his cheeks again. He levelled a gaze at Ahsoka, who was looking between the two of them with a look of mild confusion. “Was there something else to this visit, Padawan?”

“You guys smell like...” Ahsoka sniffed again, scenting the air. “Are you—”

“It’s nothing, Snips,” Anakin said, his posture relaxed even as his tone belied a certain firmness. His eyes were sharp when Ahsoka met them, and Obi-Wan found himself raising a brow at him; he couldn’t remember a time when Anakin had spoken that way to Ahsoka—assertive and protective, though still kind. “I’ll explain it to you one day. Don’t worry about it. Now, answer Obi-Wan’s question.”

Ahsoka nodded obediently. “Well, Master Plo said that he’s taken the liberty to set up some quarters for you to stay in, at least until the Council decides on your status with the Jedi. He’s pretty confident that they’ll vote to let you stay, but he also mentioned that the Temple’s been in need of a senior flight and travel mechanic, so even if the Council decides you can’t stay as a member of the Church, there’s still a reason for you to stick around.”

Obi-Wan rubbed at his beard. “Master Plo gave you leave to say all this?”

Ahsoka winced. “Well. No. Not really.” She nervously played with the end of her beads. “I mean, you would’ve found out eventually, Skyguy. I think Master Plo’s pretty serious about that—especially since Master Dynai’s too old to get under a ship nowadays.”

Master Dynai was the senior shipwright of the Church, in charge of the procurement, repairs, and maintenance of the various ships owned by the Jedi as a collective and as individuals, as well as one of Anakin’s dearest mentors. Obi-Wan didn’t miss the grimace on Anakin’s face at Ahsoka’s words.

“We appreciate you delivering the news, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, flashing her a soft smile. Ahsoka nodded her head in polite acceptance. “Would you mind escorting Anakin to where he’ll be staying? I’m sure Master Plo has given you leave to help him get settled, so I’ll leave you two to it.”

“And you? Where are you going?” Anakin asked, looking up at him as Obi-Wan stood up.

“As much as I’m sure you would love for me to, I simply cannot drop all of my responsibilities just because my very unruly Padawan has returned,” Obi-Wan teased, taking the tumblers with him. He strode over to his door, swinging it open. “Anakin, please tidy up here before you and Ahsoka leave. Thank you.”

He heard the murmur of haven’t even been here for a day, he’s already giving me orders and smiled as he walked away.

Obi-Wan next heard from Anakin when the sun had finally set, as he was in the middle of taking ingredients out of his refrigerator for dinner.

His door beeped open and for a moment, Obi-Wan felt confused because he always kept his door coded and locked. Before he could investigate, however, Anakin strolled on through with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. He was carrying a bag of something decidedly greasy in one hand, as well as disposable cups of fizzy drinks in plasti holders in the other. He walked into Obi-Wan’s quarters as if he belonged here and, like acknowledging an old truth, Obi-Wan thought that he did.

“The code’s still my birthday, I see,” Anakin said, the air reeking of that particular brand of Alpha smugness that always made Obi-Wan both pleased and exasperated. “Knew you were always a softie.”

“Slightly sentimental, Anakin, but not soft ,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just more convenient to keep the code to something I’ve used for years. It is a rather nice combination of numbers.”

“Oh, Master. Only you’d call my birthday a ‘nice combination of numbers.’” Anakin placed the bag on the counter and raised a brow at the laid out ingredients. “Hope you haven’t started cooking yet. There’s too much in this bag for just me, and I’ve already had to bat Ahsoka away from the nerfburgers.” He rifled through the bag. “I got you a nuna-patty one, if you still like those.”

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, touched by the gesture. As he moved to put the ingredients back into the refrigerator, he let the scent of his approval out into the air. “I do, in fact,” he said. “I’m glad you remembered. I assume these are from Dex’s?”

“You bet, and I told you, I’d never forget a thing about you,” Anakin said nonchalantly, eating a salty fry as he laid out the contents of the bag on Obi-Wan’s kitchen island. He crumpled and tossed the empty bag in the direction of the bin, then headed over to the sink to wash his hands.

For a moment, Obi-Wan just stared at him, the fondness in his chest so overwhelming—he felt like a dam that was about to burst, full of love and affection for his young Padawan, now home after so many years away. The ache and emptiness of the last five years felt like the half-remembered emotions of a distant dream. Anakin sat back down on the stool and unwrapped their food, then began to pick the tomato slices out of Obi-Wan’s nerfburger. He stacked them into his own nerfburger and put the buns back on both of them, sliding Obi-Wan’s over to him after.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him as he picked up his nerfburger. Anakin looked at him, mouth full, brow cocked in question. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he said, taking a bite out of the nerfburger, enjoying the texture of the nuna-patty. He hadn’t eaten at Dex’s in too long. “I’m just so grateful I have a Padawan again—one that knows I don’t particularly like tomatoes.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, amused. “I’ll never get you, Master. You like the taste of it, like it when it’s all mushy and gross, but not when it’s crisp and sliced.” He took another bite. “But then again, you hate ketchup. What gives?”

“Ketchup is hardly a substitute for tomato paste,” Obi-Wan said dismissively, “and manners, Padawan. Don’t talk when your mouth is full.”

“I’m twenty-two, not twelve, Obi-Wan,” Anakin huffed, but he laughed goodnaturedly despite it. Obi-Wan joined him with a chuckle, reaching over to take a sip from one of the cups. His gamble paid off—he’d managed to drink from his cup of fizzy iced tea, rather than Anakin’s sugary-sweet drink.

“So you say,” Obi-Wan hummed, wiping his greasy lips on the back of his hand. Anakin was watching him with that intense look in his eyes again, like he always did when he was still young. The familiarity of his Padawan’s oddness brought a small smile to Obi-Wan’s face. “When did you find the time to pop over to Dex’s? I would’ve assumed that you would spend the day unpacking, or fixing up your or someone else’s ship, or catching up with others.”

Anakin shrugged. “Didn’t really unpack much. I figured if there’s even the slightest chance they’ll kick me out, I’d rather be ready to go than caught with my pants down.” He took a sip of his drink, grimacing slightly at the sharp fizz. “And I’ve got no idea what Snips was talking about. Master Dynai’s still sharp and spry—he nearly clocked me on the side of the head with a wrench when I showed up at the hangar.”

“Was it deserved?” Obi-Wan asked, unable to fight the teasing note in his voice.

“Obi-Wan! Are you accusing me of quietly walking up to an old man and asking what he’s up to?” Anakin shook his head, golden-brown curls swaying against the sides of his face as he did. “For shame. I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“You are a terrible person, dear one,” Obi-Wan chuckled, taking another bite out of his nerfburger.

Dinner with Anakin went by as it always did: sweet and nostalgic, reminding Obi-Wan of the days when they were truly Master and Padawan, of nights when either of them were too lazy or tired to cook so they’d instead get takeout and gorge like ravenous robas. Anakin needled him for information about the goings-on at the Temple, and Obi-Wan tried his best to answer, keeping certain things to himself. Anakin didn’t exactly need to know about how much Obi-Wan had pulled away from socialising, how he’d retreated into himself, how much he’d neglected his duties to the Church. At least, that was what he told himself.

He also asked Anakin more about his time away, about the planets he’d been to. Anakin described a few of them, but he didn’t go into as much detail about any other planet as he did when describing Stewjon.

“I’m surprised you went,” Obi-Wan said, after swallowing the last bite of his nerfburger. “As far as I know, Stewjon isn’t exactly a center of commerce or trade, nor is it a tourist destination.”

Anakin hummed thoughtfully, leaning on his elbows. He’d finished eating a while ago. “It’s very out of the way, that’s for sure, but I wouldn’t call it a bad tourist destination. It’s pretty cold, and very mountainous. I thought it was just mountains all over when I flew by, but there’s a lot of lakes and a massive ocean. The capital city was big—not as big as Naboo’s, but pretty big for the planet.” He grinned as he took a sip of his drink. “When I touched down and started exploring, I saw a whole bunch of people that could’ve passed for your cousins there. No one as pretty as you, of course, but plenty of pale redheads.”

That startled a laugh out of Obi-Wan. “Pretty, now, is it? Alright, Anakin,” he said, shaking his head in disbelieving amusement. “Need I remind you that I am a Jedi Master?”

“So what? Jedi Masters can’t be pretty? Who says?” Anakin crossed his arms, the challenge clear in his eyes.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at his Padawan. “Pretty isn’t exactly a word most would use to describe a man in his late thirties. I’ll accept handsome, but really, pretty?”

“You can be both! But fine, sure, there was no one on Stewjon that was as handsome as you,” Anakin huffed with a smile, holding his hands up placatingly. “We should go there sometime, you know? You ought to see it. Reconnect with the homeland a little.”

“Coruscant is my home,” Obi-Wan reminded him, standing to clear the trash from his kitchen island. As much as he loved Dex’s food,  the greasy wrappers had a tendency to leave strong stains on his countertop whenever he left them laid out for too long, and he’d rather avoid it now that he couldn’t order his Padawan to clean it up under the guise of teaching him responsibility.

Anakin appeared next to him, seemingly out of thin air. “Yeah, but don’t you wanna go see what it’s like for yourself?” In moments, he’d taken the wrappers and cups from Obi-Wan, fingers deft in their acquisition. “Come on, we’ll make a trip out of it. It’ll be just like old times! Except without the mission aspect of things, I guess.”

Obi-Wan regarded him with suspicion as Anakin went over and dumped the trash into the bin. “You’re being very insistent,” he remarked, watching the way Anakin’s shoulders tensed for a second before closing the bin and going over to wash his hands in the sink for the second time tonight. “And very... polite. What are you planning?”

Anakin looked over his shoulder, his face almost entirely smoothed of his tells, save for the way his eyes didn’t exactly meet Obi-Wan’s. “I gotta be planning something? Can’t I just want some of my Master’s time again, now that I’m back?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed even further. “Either that or you’ve done something and you’re softening the blow. So, which is it, or will you make me guess?”

Anakin tensed again, before turning off the sink faucet and wiping his hands on his tunic. “Kark, Obi-Wan. You sure do know how to make a guy feel like a kid again.” He turned to face Obi-Wan, leaning against the countertop as Obi-Wan stared at him, eyes narrowed into slits and his hands on his hips. Anakin huffed a laugh. “Would you believe me if I told you I really don’t have anything planned, and that I haven’t done anything wrong?”

“You’re not being very convincing on either front,” Obi-Wan said flatly, though he did close the distance and cross his arms over his chest.

Anakin held his hands up in surrender. “I promise, I am not up to no good and I haven’t done anything, other than catch up with some people here and go out to get Dex’s.” He smiled boyishly. “Shipfarer’s honour.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, for possibly the hundredth time since Anakin’s return. It seemed that he was fated to do this again and again, now that Anakin was home, and what a wonderful thought that was. “The honour of the company you apprenticed for matters very little to me, but fine, I believe you.” He reached up to ruffle Anakin’s hair—and how terrible it was, to have to reach up rather than down—only for the man to intercept his hand’s path by pressing his smooth cheek against his palm.

“Thanks, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said softly, without a hint of humour in his eyes, all raw sincerity. His organic hand came up to rest on Obi-Wan’s hip. “I promise, all that goofing around is in the past. I’m a man now. I’m capable of being mature.” Then he smiled, which Obi-Wan felt from beneath his palm. “When I want to be, at least.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, feeling very warm inside. He had missed Anakin, more than words could ever describe. “Well, I suppose that’s fair,” he said softly, letting his thumb rub against the peak of a high cheekbone. “If you weren’t prone to a little goofing off, as you say, every now and again, would you really be my Padawan?”

Anakin laughed, a low and warm sound. “Exactly.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan forgot himself and stared at Anakin’s face, studying the gentle intensity of his blue eyes, soft with affection and something else. Then he saw Anakin’s nose twitch, the unmistakable sign of scenting, and he suddenly realised how close he was standing, nearly chest to chest with his Padawan, body curved towards his, his palm cradling his cheek. He jumped away with a clearing of his throat, his cheeks burning as he internally reordered his scent back into strict, scentless neutrality, worried for a moment that Anakin had scented the far too deep attachment in him, before making his escape to the living room, leaving Anakin in the kitchen.

He glanced over at the clock, reading that it was nearly nine in the evening. Obi-Wan had completely forgotten to check the Council’s mission roster to assign himself a mission, so the following day would be entirely free save for the meeting to decide Anakin’s place in the Church. His thoughts felt scattered, so he decided that the good part of tomorrow would be spent in meditation and helping around at the crèche.

“It’s getting a little late, don’t you think?” Obi-Wan said lightly, settling easily into forgetting about whatever the hell just happened. He ran his hand through his hair, decidedly not nervous. “I do appreciate the dinner, Anakin. It was delicious, and much easier to deal with than making my own.”

“Don’t go to Dex’s much anymore?” Anakin asked, thankfully following his lead and talking around what happened. Obi-Wan turned to look at him, half-sitting against the back of his couch. “Dex said he hasn’t seen you in a while, when we were catching up. I told him you must’ve been busy.”

Obi-Wan sighed, nodding. It was true, in a sense—he had been extremely busy with being sorry for himself. “I should stop by sometime in the future. I do miss his breakfast hotcakes, more than I ever thought I would.”

There was an awkward lull in the conversation as Obi-Wan considered his next move. He should tell Anakin to go, to give him time to meditate before he slept, but there was a not-insignificant part of him that didn’t want to do that. Some part of him believed that when he woke in the morning, Anakin would be gone. That this was just a dream he hadn’t woken from yet, and that reality would come crashing down on him the moment he fell asleep. But he knew he had to trust that this was real, because he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to deal with it if it wasn’t.

He breathed in, as discreetly as he could, and took hold of those jumbled, complicated feelings, trying to give them over to the Force. As always, it didn’t work, and all he was able to do was manage a half-smile that was only a fraction genuine. He nodded at Anakin. “Well, I’m going to get some rest—”

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin interrupted, staring at him with those big, intense blue eyes of his, mouth parted around his next few words. He drew closer until he was nearly in Obi-Wan’s personal space. For a moment, Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin was going to do something reckless, say something brash, with the way his shoulders were corded tight with tension and his chin rose as he peered down at Obi-Wan, the way his back straightened and his hand moved to reach forward to—

To do what, Obi-Wan thought flatly, eyes flicking over to the durasteel fingers reaching for his arm. His stare proved to be enough to halt their pursuit as Anakin held his breath for a beat, two, then released it. When Obi-Wan met his eyes again, Anakin simply stared back at him, a fond smile on his face and something dark and intense in his eyes, a maelstrom threatening to pull Obi-Wan in. “Goodnight,” Anakin said softly, patting his shoulder twice before turning away to leave.

Obi-Wan watched his back retreat to his door before disappearing through it with a click. He was then left there, standing dumbly behind his couch, thinking to himself, what in the world just happened?

The Council meeting went shockingly well, all things considered.

“A decision, we shall make, through a vote,” Yoda began, nodding sagely at all the Masters that had gathered. “Taken young Skywalker’s measure, have the Masters present here?”

There was a murmur of assent. Yoda nodded again. “Spoken to him through holocomm, have the off-planet Masters?” Another murmur of assent, tinnier than the last. “Good. Concerns, did anyone have?”

“Just one, Masters,” Ki-Adi hummed inquisitively, his holoprojection flickering the slightest bit. Obi-Wan held his breath. “If we were to allow Skywalker to rejoin the Order and retake his position, would we not be setting a precedent and thus encouraging others to do as he did?”

Obi-Wan released the breath as quietly as he could. He’d honestly thought about it in his meditations earlier in the day, but he’d hoped—albeit fruitlessly—that no one would ask the question. He doubted that others would be tempted to do exactly as Anakin did, but he was afraid that even the prospect of this happening again would be enough to steer the Council away from permitting his return.

But Obi-Wan was nothing if not a negotiator. “Respectfully, Master Mundi, though the method was unorthodox, by the definition of the word, Anakin merely took a sabbatical.”

“A sabbatical that he had no clear intention of ending until this year,” Ki-Adi argued. He maintained a solid veneer of disaffected neutrality, but Obi-Wan had spoken to enough politicians to know the subtlest shifts in his expression indicated displeasure.

Obi-Wan kept his tone level. “I believe the intention was implicit, by way of keeping contact with Master Windu throughout the course of his time away, then subsequently explicit, which he confirmed to me in conversation when he returned yesterday. By the end of his fourth year away, he’d already made up his mind to come home.”

Ki-Adi’s holoprojection frowned for a moment, then nodded. “So this five year excursion of his was nothing more than a meditative retreat,” he said, tone sarcastic, “and not young Skywalker gallivanting across the galaxy seeking one violent, hedonistic pleasure after another? Somehow, I find that I doubt that.”

Obi-Wan sighed, feeling a headache coming on. He knew where this frustration was coming from, having been the one to try and mediate between the two parties: Ki-Adi still held a grudge against Anakin for getting into a spat with his Padawan, an Alpha boy named El-Ket. Anakin had insisted that he was defending Obi-Wan’s honour after El-Ket made distasteful comments against Omegas. El-Ket then accused Anakin of only saying that because he wanted his pick of the Omegas in the Temple. Of course, it was a little difficult to understand him at the time through his nasally voice from a broken nose, but Obi-Wan understood it to be a typical Alpha spat. Ki-Adi, however, took it far more personally. “Master Mundi, I can assure you that Anakin did not spend those five years moving from one bed to another.” Ignoring the first few months of his fourth year away, of course.

Mace tilted his head and huffed a dry chuckle. “No, I imagine not,” he said in his typically esoteric way. Obi-Wan, feeling oddly chastised, looked away from him. “Master Kenobi has the right of it, Master Mundi. Skywalker submitted his ship for log inspection and we could find no evidence of him letting others onto his ship. He also submitted his astromech droid for review, and review of its logs show no such foul play.”

Obi-Wan had to give it to Anakin—he was thorough. He knew he was likely the only person to know that Anakin hadn’t exactly remained chaste, if he went so far as to scrub and selectively retain logs and data on both his starship and his droid. He said nothing, because there truly was no reason to bar Anakin from rejoining the Jedi simply because he’d slept around and explored himself as a young man. Obi-Wan might not have done that himself, preferring the uncomplicatedness of relative celibacy, but they’ve always been different in those aspects.

“I also have reason to believe that young Skywalker did not succumb to hedonistic passions,” Mace added, looking like he’d bitten into a sour old lemon. Obi-Wan looked back at him, raising a brow, and met the Alpha’s unimpressed eyes. “He has requested I keep the... sordid details to myself, as it does not affect his ability to serve the Order. But it is knowledge that I hold and have shared with Grandmaster Yoda, and we have determined that it should prove no issue.”

“Ready to vote, we are, with no further questions,” Yoda said, letting his gaze drift over the rest of the chamber. Uncomfortably, Obi-Wan felt like the Grandmaster’s eyes lingered on him longer than on the others. It made him feel a little queasy at the prospect—or perhaps, proven fact—that Obi-Wan would be more affected by Anakin’s return than most Masters with their wayward Padawans typically would be.

His discomfort was soon discarded upon the results of the vote. Nine votes for Anakin’s restoration as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, his own vote uncounted due to the nature of the request, with only Ki-Adi and Master Oppo voting against it. Obi-Wan couldn’t find it in himself to feel upset, not with the landslide victory this was, and not when the proof of his Padawan’s earnest efforts were laid bare like this. He played no part in convincing the other Masters of Anakin’s deservedness to be restored to the Jedi proper—that had all been Anakin, who spent the better part of the day before talking to every Council member both on and off-world, over caf or holocomm.

The Anakin from five years ago wouldn’t have been so successful in convincing the Council to his side, this Obi-Wan knew. He felt a swell of pride for his Padawan, who’d come so far during his time away, and thanked the Force privately that they’d gotten the outcome they wanted.

Later, in the comfort of his own quarters, Obi-Wan tested the frayed edges of their underused, dilapidated training bond. Once, it had been a bright, gleaming gold thread, always in the periphery of Obi-Wan’s mind and impossible to forget, like the vestiges of the sun’s heat from behind shut curtains, a passive and subtle stream of emotions and thoughts, muffled and half-parsed. When Anakin had grown older and learned to shield his thoughts and feelings better, the bond had simmered down to a gently-polished gold, still concrete enough to send the odd feeling or thought to one another but not enough that Obi-Wan saw much of his Padawan’s mind.

When Anakin left, the training bond had given Obi-Wan an idea of the distance between the two of them. It was a sudden thing, waking up one day and realising that the bond had gone black with inactivity, darkened by time and space. With only the bond, he’d known that Anakin was gone, and that he’d been gone for hours. It was one of the first of many despairs of the day.

In the present, he prodded at that bond, a tawny, tarnished brass in his mind’s eye. It reverberated in response, and he lurched with the feeling of another’s touch on that bond after so long sitting alone with its remains, lips involuntarily ticking up into a bewildered smile as his stomach did odd things, a physical reaction to what felt like part of his soul’s homecoming. Training bonds between Master and Padawan were sacred things, one of the few fixtures the Jedi retained from the days of the Old Jedi Order hundreds of years ago, which required a binding of one’s Force signature with another during the course of a Padawan’s apprenticeship. Of course it would feel like part of his soul returning to him, because it plainly was the case, even without considering Anakin’s place in his life.

The warmth filling his chest felt like something else entirely, as pleasing as a sip of his favourite cup of tea while bundled in his robes, with rain splattering against the windows of his bedroom. It was like returning to one’s body after years of drifting disembodied across space—a surge of relief, of unbridled joy, of satisfaction.

Master? Anakin’s voice tentatively called, from somewhere in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind. Is this—

—real, my Padawan? Obi-Wan thought back, letting his eyes fall shut with serenity. Indeed it is. Come to my quarters—I have very good news to tell you.

Immediately, he felt the bubbling sense of running , though he was completely stationary. He laughed at this, blinking open his eyes and letting down his shields, allowing Anakin to track him down by his Force signature alone—despite knowing that Anakin could find his way back to Obi-Wan’s quarters from anywhere in the Temple. Only a minute ticked by before the door flew open and Anakin barrelled in, a grin splitting his face and his curls wild with the wind, betraying how fast he’d been running to get to Obi-Wan’s quarters.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin exclaimed, running up to him. He was breathing heavily, excited and eager, staring at Obi-Wan with stars in his eyes. “You—you revived our bond! Does it—does that mean—”

“That the Council has decided to allow you back into the Order?” Obi-Wan hummed, unable to fight his own grin as Anakin brightened even further. “Indeed it does, Anakin.”

Anakin laughed breathily, then pulled Obi-Wan into a tight hug. Obi-Wan went easily, having missed this kind of contact, especially with the man now standing before him, his arms wrapping around Anakin’s shoulders as his Padawan hugged around his waist. He cradled Anakin’s head to his own shoulder, letting his fingers card gently through his golden curls, and sank blissfully into the contact—Force, he’d missed him so much.

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin murmured into his neck, lips scant inches away from his scent gland, the heat of Anakin’s breath fanning against the tender flesh. Obi-Wan fought the inappropriate shudder that trailed up his spine caused by the intimate position as Anakin pressed them closer. “Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for convincing them. Just... thank you.”

“Oh, my dearest, of course,” Obi-Wan crooned, breathing in Anakin’s unadulterated scent, thick with joy and comfort and warmth, smoky like the smell of heated metal. “I have and will always believe in you, Anakin. Never doubt this about me.” He tucked a few strands of hair behind Anakin’s ear, letting the tips of his fingers graze over the shell of a warm ear. “There’s more we should discuss, too. We’ll need to define the ways you’ll fit back into life at the Temple.”

“Of course, Master,” Anakin said, hugging tightly for a moment before releasing Obi-Wan and taking a slow step back, flashing him a soft smile. “Got any grounds? I hope I still know how to operate your caf machine.”

“I do. And considering I rarely drink caf and Quinlan doesn’t visit my quarters as often as he used to, it should still be in perfect working order,” Obi-Wan replied with a returned smile, moving to sit on a stool as Anakin strode over to the caf machine like a man on a mission. “As I said, there’s more to discuss. Firstly, there is the matter of your living situation.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Anakin shrugged, scooping ground caf into the filter. Obi-Wan watched his back as he worked. “I’ll come live with you again, just like old times. That is, if you haven’t repurposed my old bedroom into, like, a meditation room or a third ‘fresher, or something.”

“What use would I have for either of those?” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes at the petulance in Anakin’s tone. “I suppose I was assuming you would get your own quarters. You’ll be my Padawan for the next few months, as decreed by the Council, but I’m certain you will be Knighted within the year. You’re effectively a Knight in everything but name as it is.”

Anakin hummed thoughtfully, filling the machine with water. “I guess. I like living with you, though,” he said, turning back around and leaning against the countertop. “I’ll spend most of my time around you anyway, right? Why not make it easier for the both of us, so you don’t have to walk all the way over to my quarters when I don’t answer your wake-up comms at the ass-crack of dawn?”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Vulgar boy,” he muttered, but acquiesced with a nod. “I suppose. We can get you unpacked here, then—after your caf.”

“There goes my plan to take advantage of Snips’ goodwill and get her to bring my stuff over here.” Anakin shook his head wistfully as he poured himself a cup of caf, dunking three sugar cubes into the black liquid and stirring. Obi-Wan felt his lips twitch up into a smile—his Padawan still loved his awfully-sweetened drinks. “What else is there to discuss?”

Obi-Wan cocked a curious brow. “Well, that was the most pressing issue. I suppose I had anticipated this to be a lengthier discussion than that.” He mulled over his next words. “There is the matter of how, exactly, you plan to spend your remaining year of apprenticeship. Forgive the assumption, but I doubt you’ll find yourself suitable for the kind of life I lead nowadays.”

“And what kind of life is that?” Anakin asked, sipping his caf and scrunching his face up in that familiar way he did whenever he drank too-hot caf.

Obi-Wan fought a smile, feeling silly. He was over-fond of his Padawan, that he was certain of. “Serenity,” he said, folding his hands into his robes. “I spend more time on Coruscant than off-planet, meditating and tending to the Temple. Most of my day is spent at the crèche, or in the Archives, or having tea with servants of the Republic. You may find it... entirely unstimulating compared to your time away from the Order.”

Anakin laughed, a pretty sound to Obi-Wan’s ears. “You’re worried I’ll get bored and run away again the moment you sit down for tea with a senator?” He asked, tone tinged with amusement. “Don’t worry, Obi-Wan. I’m not that prone to getting stir-crazy anymore, not with the state of the ships in the hangar. I’m not gonna leave with that mess unsolved.” He scoffed indignantly. “I mean, really. How the kriff were you all planning to fly out of here with your starships so banged up? Master Gallia’s personal barge looked like it was one more flight away from losing a wing.”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to laugh. “I’m pleased to know you’ll have something to occupy your time,” he said with fondness, tucking a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. “I’ll be sure to have the Council assign us missions to get out, every once in a while. You never were one for staying on the same planet for months on end.”

Anakin smiled at him, his eyes intense and querying. Silence befell them for a few beats as Obi-Wan drank in the sight of his Padawan, returned to the Order, returned to Obi-Wan, a fact that still hadn’t really sunk in yet. He wondered if the pleased surprise would fade in time, or if he was destined to look upon Anakin with wonder every day, for the rest of their lives.

“I like it, you know,” Anakin said, apropos of nothing. Obi-Wan tilted his head in question, and Anakin nodded at him. “Your hair. It suits you. Not that I didn’t appreciate that mullet you had for a while...”

Obi-Wan flushed, mortified at the feeling of shyness he felt. “I doubt I’ll return to that particular haircut for a while,” he said, fighting the urge to touch his hair again. “I received significantly more pitying looks with that haircut than I do now, and I much prefer to keep it at this length. More manageable, that way.” Force, why was he trying to defend his haircut? Vanity was not the way of the Jedi.

(He, pointedly, did not think about the fact that he surely had more hair, skin, and beard creams and ointments than the average Master. Nor did he think about the thirty minutes he allotted to his morning routine that consisted of looking into the full-body mirror he’d hung up on the wall opposite his bed, making sure he looked exactly as he wanted to seem on that day. Nor did he think about the little box tucked underneath his bed, filled with tools to maintain his nails and intimate hairs. Those were beside the point.)

“Pitying? Master, I can tell you for sure that they weren’t pitying you,” Anakin said mirthfully, his lips quirked into a smile. “Pretty sure they were just thinking about how nice it’d feel to touch your hair, maybe even pull it.”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, feeling his cheeks grow even warmer. He shook his head disapprovingly. “That is entirely inappropriate—”

“Hells, you don’t even know, do you?” Anakin’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “Do you know how many times, as your Padawan, people asked me if you were available? Asked me who you were, if Jedi were celibate, if you liked Alphas or Betas or even other Omegas?”

Obi-Wan’s horror won out over his indignation and embarrassment. “They asked you, an underaged Padawan, about my—my preferences in partners?” The thought curdled in his stomach like three-day-old blue milk.

Anakin waved his hand dismissively. “I always looked a little older than I actually was. They probably just assumed I was an adult. They never asked me what my preferences were, anyhow—they just asked after you.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. If he’d known that people were harassing his Padawan in that way... “How is it that this is the first time I’ve heard of this? Have I truly been so irresponsible and blind to others intruding upon you?”

“Don’t take it so personally, Master. I always told them to kriff off whenever they asked,” Anakin replied, like it truly meant nothing to him that fully grown adult beings were asking after Obi-Wan when he was a teenager. “And you’re pretty oblivious when it comes to people that want you. The number of times I’ve stood by and watched someone flirt with you like their life depended on it, only for you to hit them with that polite, durasteel-wall no-nonsense attitude... no wonder you never knew.”

Obi-Wan huffed indignantly, choosing to focus on the most egregious of those statements. “I am not oblivious, my young Padawan. I know full well when others make their attraction to me known.” It was mainly a matter of not wanting to acknowledge it, since that would mean giving them an opening he didn’t want to offer. He’d had that happen with more than a few Alphas, who saw his obstinance as a challenge rather than a refusal.

“I don’t think you do, Master,” Anakin hummed, sipping the last of his caf. “I don’t think you know what attraction to you really looks like.” His eyes were dark with that same intensity from before, the one that made the thin hairs of Obi-Wan’s spine stand on end for no discernable reason. Yet another reminder of how much his Anakin had changed.

He banished the darkening edges of his thoughts. Anakin was here, now, in his kitchen, taking advantage of the caf machine that he only bought for his caf-addicted Padawan’s sake. There was no point lingering on the past when he lived in the present. “Disregarding that this is a very inappropriate conversation to have, what makes you say that? I’m quite certain I can tell when others... desire me.” Even just the words felt sticky and uncomfortable in his mouth. He wasn’t one to be repulsed by wants and needs of the sexual kind, but the thought of another feeling that way towards him, when all he truly wanted was the comfort and safety of the Temple with his Padawan at his side, settled poorly within him.

Anakin smiled mysteriously, placing his caf mug in the sink behind him. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” he said, repeating his words from earlier. “Thanks for the caf and the news, Master. It’s good to be back.”

The insolence in this silly man, Obi-Wan thought to himself as he rolled his eyes. “Of course. You may have the rest of the day off, but at some point today, I’ll come find you and we can take your things and get you situated back here.” He smiled, a little cruelly. “Or better yet, you can take your things and do it yourself. Since you’re so old and wise, I’m sure you can figure out how to fit your worktable in through the door.”

He turned to leave then, smiling to himself at the groan of aw, Master, come on behind him as he shut the door and made his way down to the crèche.

Anakin settled back into Obi-Wan’s life in the same way he always did with everything else: in a flurry of chaos, tempered only by his earnestness in how happy and content he was.

Obi-Wan was surely getting more and more sentimental with the years, as he found himself singularly incapable of reprimanding his unruly Padawan. Lectures no longer came as easily as they did before, instead being replaced by fond exasperation and an eagerness to help right whatever wrong Anakin had done. A week into Anakin’s return, Mace had chided him for being far too lenient with his Padawan, particularly after Anakin nearly toppled Mace while landing his speeder after the Master returned from an off-planet mission and all Obi-Wan had done was demand that Anakin apologise. Obi-Wan neither confirmed nor denied the accusation and simply apologised for the recklessness of his Padawan before returning to his quarters, the exchange summarily forgotten halfway down the corridor.

It wasn’t befitting of a Jedi Master, but Obi-Wan hadn’t felt like a Master in years, anyhow. Besides, it was Anakin—even if he lectured his Padawan on safety in speeder-handling, he had little faith that the words would be taken to heart. Nothing got in between Anakin and his love of flying, not even Obi-Wan.

Months had passed since Anakin returned, and life began to slowly slip back into place, like a wound finally scabbing over. Anakin involved himself in everything to do with the maintenance and upkeep of the ships in the Temple, as expected, but he’d also slotted easily into Obi-Wan’s own responsibilities, like helping with the younglings of the crèche (who took a liking to Anakin’s particular brand of boyish whimsy) and accompanying Obi-Wan to the Senate building whenever he was invited to speak or have tea (though Obi-Wan forbade Anakin from coming along for the latter after having tea with Chancellor Organa—one of the few Alphas in the Senate who Obi-Wan actually found agreeable company—wherein he postured and guarded Obi-Wan the entire time). Aside from that, they’d gone on three missions together off Coruscant, first to oversee peace talks between the locals of Ryloth, then to negotiate for resources from the government of Tevastia on behalf of its people, and lastly to requisition more materials from Corellia for ship maintenance.

Visiting Corellia had been Anakin’s idea, which he only suggested after his motley crew of ship mechanics had already burned through most of their supplies for the maintenance of the various ships and droids in the Temple. Obi-Wan’s only real contribution to the mission was proposing it to the Council (who all knew why Obi-Wan was proposing it in the first place) and securing the necessary budget for the materials, as well as providing Anakin with company for the journey, which Obi-Wan knew was hardly necessary, but Anakin had asked for the company.

It only took a few minutes after landing for Obi-Wan to see how much Anakin was in his element. He’d spoken in perfect Corellian upon entering airspace, announcing their arrival and going through the complete legal process of landing, then he’d rattled off a string of instructions to the protocol droid that greeted them as soon as the ramp was down. In less than forty-five minutes, Anakin had already secured them a meeting with some of the most influential shipwrights of the planet. By lunchtime, Anakin and Obi-Wan were eating and drinking merrily with them, discussing mechanics and life on Coruscant and Anakin’s brief stint on the planet.

It was a negotiation, plainly put, and Anakin excelled in it. Obi-Wan found himself staring at Anakin for long stretches of time, smiling to himself as his Padawan spoke confidently, knowledgeable in every word in that lilting Corellian tongue. By the fourth hour of their visit, Anakin had secured enough materials to last them three years, rather than their budget’s estimate of nine months.

The thought that it was his Padawan who’d accomplished this brought him so much warmth and pride that he could hardly stop himself from rubbing his forehead affectionately into Anakin’s hair as soon as they were alone, like he used to do when Anakin was much smaller, though now he no longer needed to kneel down to do it. Anakin had frozen up in surprise when Obi-Wan did it, but before he could second-guess himself, Anakin had already turned around and embraced him, cradling his face to a  broad chest.

The latter half of their stay on Corellia consisted of Anakin visiting the Alpha pair that he’d apprenticed to, Jet and Nena. They welcomed Anakin and Obi-Wan with open arms, especially when Anakin introduced him, quite bashfully at that.

“So this is your Obi-Wan? I think I get it now,” Nena had said with a considering once-over, much to Anakin’s sputtering. Obi-Wan had wanted to ask what they meant, but by then Jet returned with caf and tea, and the conversation moved on like it never happened.

It was fascinating to watch Anakin interact with people outside of the Order who knew that he’d run away from them, as they spoke freely about it and without judgement. Obi-Wan could also see that Jet and Nena cared for him, with how they joked with him, recounting their past and ribbing him, which Obi-Wan delighted in. By the end of their visit to Jet and Nena’s home, Anakin was a steady shade of red from embarrassment, which Obi-Wan found exceedingly endearing. They bid them farewell, with Anakin exchanging a few more parting words with the couple that had taken him under their wings, and took their leave not long after.

On the way back to Coruscant, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder if Anakin would be better suited to life like that, outside of the boundaries of the Order, free to love whoever he wished and work as a shipwright or a mechanic, or even as a freelance pilot. The thought came just as quickly as it went—if Anakin wanted that life, he would’ve stayed gone. Still, some part of Obi-Wan—perhaps the part of him that felt some maternal sense for him—wished that Anakin would be free to pursue whatever life he wanted of his own accord, a wish that stayed with him long after he’d given his report to the Council on their—or rather, Anakin’s—success in negotiating for more materials.

Everything had felt so right that, for a while, Obi-Wan forgot what it was like for something to feel wrong. Then, nearly three weeks after visiting Corellia, he felt a strangeness in the Force, strongly enough that he shot awake with his heart thumping in his chest like a war drum, eyes adjusting to the dark in search of an unseen threat. It took him a shamefully long time to realise that the fear and panic he was feeling wasn’t his own, but Anakin’s.

Tucking his sleeping robes to his body and grabbing his cloak, he slipped it on before exiting his bedroom. He walked up to Anakin’s door and tried to listen in for any sound, only to hear nothing. He knocked twice after a moment. “Anakin?”

No response. He swallowed dryly and repeated himself, only this time, through the bond. Again, he received no response, so he gently slid the door open and entered Anakin’s room.

Even in the dark, he could see that it was a mess. In one corner of the room, Anakin’s astromech droid, Artoo, sat in stasis. The rest of the room had droid parts littered all around much like it did years ago, as well as rolls of flimsi full of schematics and blueprints for various projects. The acrid scent of fear clung to every surface in the slightly cramped room, thick enough that it sent a shard of fearful sadness through Obi-Wan at the obvious signs of his Padawan’s distress. In the corner of the room on his bed lay Anakin, back pressed up against the tattered stuffed krayt dragon, dead to the world but flinching in his sleep, thrashing every once in a while.

Making his way over, Obi-Wan called his name again. He kneeled down on the ground next to Anakin’s bed, laying a hand on his Padawan’s shaking, heated fist. “Dear one, you have to wake up,” he cooed, using his gentlest tone, much like when Anakin had nightmares as a child. “Wake up, Anakin.”

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin croaked, blinking open his eyes sluggishly. In an instant, the maelstrom that was the Force quieted, the nightmare chased away by the waking world.

Obi-Wan stroked his wrist gently, exuding a calming scent that he knew worked like a charm each time. “Yes, dear one. I’m here.”

“‘M sorry,” Anakin whispered, slowly coming to. He still reeked of fear, and in the quiet of night Obi-Wan could hear the racing of his heart, but he was steadily calming down, both from the gentle touch and Obi-Wan’s scent. “Did I wake you?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Obi-Wan replied, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “I felt your fear through our bond. I couldn’t let you face that alone, dear one.”

“Sorry,” Anakin replied, looking ashamed. “It doesn’t—it usually isn’t so bad, hasn’t been for a while. I... I don’t know why it’s come back.”

“What came back, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, stroking tense biceps in an up-and-down motion. In the privacy of his mind, Obi-Wan briefly appreciated how strong Anakin had gotten, likely from hours of hard labour.

Anakin chewed on his lip for a moment, seemingly conflicted on whether or not he wanted to answer, before relenting. “The nightmare about... about my mother. The one I used to have all the time, as a kid.”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to feel the sting of shame. It was inevitable, every time his mind drifted back to Shmi Skywalker and how the Jedi had failed her after taking her son from her. It was one of his deepest regrets, that he hadn’t accompanied Qui-Gon on the mission that resulted in Anakin’s indoctrination into the Jedi. He couldn’t have swayed Qui-Gon into also paying for Shmi’s freedom if his former Master wasn’t set on securing her freedom, but Obi-Wan knew him and knew that he had a tendency for single-minded focus on the littlest details, often neglecting the bigger picture and those that stood on the sidelines of the details he’d fixated on.

Yet it wasn’t entirely Qui-Gon’s negligence that had failed Shmi, but also Obi-Wan and the Council’s own. Obi-Wan, who had heard the tale of how Qui-Gon discovered Anakin and didn’t ask after Shmi, even when the boy asked after his mother. The Council, who’d heard the same tale and decided that Shmi needed to be out of the picture if Anakin was to truly become a Jedi, faithful to the Order and the Force, as unattached as the rest of them. Obi-Wan again,  a scant few years later, when his Padawan began dreaming about his mother meeting a terrible end, all while Obi-Wan convinced him that they were just dreams.

Anakin was sixteen when Shmi died, killed by Tusken raiders only a few years after her freedom was bought and paid for by a vapour farmer named Cliegg Lars. Anakin had begged Obi-Wan to take them to Tatooine, and Obi-Wan had relented only after days of pleading. Days too late for Shmi, who died just as they arrived in the cradle of Anakin’s gangly arms.

Obi-Wan had held him for a long time after, whispering apologies and cooing softly at the boy shaking apart in his arms. For a long time after that, Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin hated him for it, for being so immovable that it led to his mother’s death. Anakin turned seventeen four months later, and took any chance of asking that question with him.

“I’m sorry, dear one,” Obi-Wan said lamely, unable to look into Anakin’s eyes. Even now, the shame felt too strong to bear. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Anakin shook his head, rustling his damp pillow. “There isn’t anything I could say about that day that I haven’t said already,” he said quietly, sending another flush of shame and grief through Obi-Wan. It was true enough—Anakin had cried himself hoarse through the aftermath, shattering in Obi-Wan’s arms and only surfacing long enough to carry Shmi out of the Tusken hut, with Obi-Wan securing their swift escape under cover of night. After her burial, Anakin had locked himself in his room on the ship, and Obi-Wan left him alone, piloting them back to Coruscant and trying not to listen to Anakin crying for his mother in his sleep.

How naive he was, to think that Anakin was dealing with her loss well. The first month was rough—Anakin was a shade of himself, more subdued and more distracted, sometimes dead-eyed when he thought no one was looking—but he began improving the next month. On the third month, Anakin had gotten closer to him in a way he hadn’t before; when they were alone, Anakin would rub his wrist to Obi-Wan’s scent gland, decisively scent-marking him as if it were second nature, and when they were out around others, he would stand or sit much closer than he used to, almost clinging to Obi-Wan. At the time, Obi-Wan thought that perhaps Anakin was replacing his mother with Obi-Wan, perceiving him as the next-best mother figure in his life, though even the thought felt wrong in the Force. It wasn’t until Anakin left that Obi-Wan wondered if it was simply revenge, if Anakin had actively chosen to lay claim to him as an Alpha did to their closest Omega to make the grief of losing him harder, nearly impossible to bear.

He couldn’t think of that now, not when his Padawan was hurting. “Is there anything I could do?”

Anakin stared at him for a while, and Obi-Wan met his eyes. The grief and longing in his eyes was as clear as transparisteel, and even before he opened his mouth, Obi-Wan already knew what he would ask for. Quietly, as if speaking forbidden words, Anakin asked, “Could you... could you hold me? At least until I fall asleep.” His eyes shuttered shut for a moment, his young face mournful. “It... I sleep easier, knowing you’re there.”

“Of course, dear one,” Obi-Wan murmured softly, letting his palm stroke a bony shoulder. His heart broke at the sight of Anakin’s relieved sigh, tension loosening just from Obi-Wan’s words. He stood up, assessing the size of Anakin’s single. “But we won’t be able to fit together here. You’ve grown quite big, my Padawan.”

Normally, Anakin would preen and laugh, maybe even ask if he’d grown or if Obi-Wan had just gotten shorter. This was not a normal time. “Oh,” Anakin said, a low, gutted sound. “That’s... that’s fine. Forget I—”

“What I mean to say is, it would be best if we used my bed,” Obi-Wan interrupted, fighting the urge to roll his eyes fondly at his Padawan, so prone to over-thinking Obi-Wan’s words. “Come, dear one. It’ll be easier on your old Master’s back for us to have enough space on the mattress.”

“You’re not old,” Anakin argued for a moment, before rising from the bed. His blanket slipped from his shoulders revealing his naked chest, all lightly-bronzed skin and lean muscles, proof of consistent exercise and hard labour. His nipples, only slightly darker than the rest of his skin, visibly pebbled quickly in the cold air.

Flushing, Obi-Wan looked away as Anakin searched for a shirt. Disgust at himself for ogling his Padawan threatened to drown him as he made his way to the door, trying not to let that self-loathing show on his face or in their bond. What was wrong with him? That was his Padawan , for Force’s sake—his Padawan, who was sixteen years his junior, who he’d known since he was nine, who saw Obi-Wan as like a brother, a mentor, a mother.

And now he was going to hold him for hours, well into the break of dawn, knowing how clingy Anakin was. He was a horrible, horrible man.

As soon as he was in his bedroom, he sat down on the edge of his bed and took a deep, long breath. He summoned those conflicted feelings and calmly let them go, releasing them into the Force with a deep exhale. It was a momentary lapse in judgement, an intrusive thought that only occurred because his mind wanted to punish him for his failure of Anakin. There wasn’t any time to self-flagellate or ponder the origin of those thoughts—Anakin needed him, and so Anakin would have him.

As if summoned by Obi-Wan’s thoughts, Anakin slipped into his room. Obi-Wan leaned back and laid down on the bed, patting the space beside him gently. Like a kicked dog, Anakin slumped into his arms, immediately clinging to Obi-Wan like an octopus from the depths of Mon Cala, his arms winding around Obi-Wan’s waist and his legs twining with his. Though he was taller, Anakin settled until he could press his face up against Obi-Wan’s scent gland on his neck, which he encouraged by merely cradling the back of Anakin’s head and continuing to release that calming scent.

Their position was a direct mirror of all the times they had done this. The only difference now was that Anakin was older, taller, and bulkier, harder to fit in the cradle of Obi-Wan’s softer, shorter arms.

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin murmured, his breath hot and his lips brushing against the warm skin of Obi-Wan’s throat.

Successfully fighting a shudder, Obi-Wan pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Anakin’s head. “Sleep, dear one. I’ll be here.”

Anakin exhaled against him, and soon enough, his breaths got longer and more relaxed. Obi-Wan, for his part, laid there with his eyes shut, his body lax, and his mind racing a parsec per minute.

An intrusive thought, he told himself, ignoring the indignance of the Force around him. Just an intrusive thought. Nothing more, nothing less.

Six months after Anakin returned, Obi-Wan got to celebrate his birthday with him again.

The thought of celebrating Anakin’s twenty-third birthday pleased him beyond words, enough that he’d prepared for it days in advance. At the stroke of midnight on the Taungsday on the week of Anakin’s birthday, in order to get his pick of the tickets, he bought tickets for the upcoming podracing tournament—not the front-seat, because they’d hardly see anything, but nothing so far back as the thirteenth row, so they still felt suitably close to the action—and spoke to Dex over comm to cash in a personal favour to keep stock of his best-selling options, which made up the vast majority of Anakin’s favourite choices at the diner.

He mulled over wrapping the distraction gift he’d picked out for Anakin before deciding against it, simply tucking it into his lowest drawer. Anakin wouldn’t be returning to Coruscant for a few more days from what would likely be his final solo mission as a senior Padawan, so Obi-Wan had all the time in the world to prepare. He wanted to make this birthday as perfect as it could be, to bring Anakin joy and remind him why he so loved his birthdays before the last one they’d celebrated together. He wanted to make Anakin happy, and he knew that there was one surefire way that he could do so, even beyond podracing tournaments and lunch at Dex’s.

Which led him to requesting a meeting with the Council, regarding Anakin’s apprenticeship. It was a shockingly painless affair, one that had him hopeful but cautiously thorough in the beginning and glowing with pride in the end. Initially, he thought he might have to explain and defend his stance that Anakin was ready for his Trials, that he’d proven himself prepared and that he had all the evidence to prove it (which Obi-Wan actually did, printed out in flimsi, tucked into the crook of his arm).

Instead, other Council members did the work for him. Plo praised Anakin’s work on the ships, claiming that his ship hadn’t flown the way it did since it was first commissioned. Kit agreed, and added that Anakin was a skilled pilot, the kind you trusted to know exactly what he was doing, mostly because he cared so much more about the lives in the ship than actually damaging the vehicle. Adi concurred and briefly told the tale of one of Anakin’s junior mechanics—a Force-null Mando’an named Rex, personally trained by him—almost instantly diagnosing a fault in Adi’s ship that could’ve proven catastrophic had she flown into hyperspace without addressing it. Shaak chimed in with an anecdote of Anakin’s gentleness and care with the younglings, which led other younger Padawans to also take an interest in helping out at the crèche after witnessing Anakin’s example.

Even Mace offered up approval for this course of action, stating that he believed Anakin was ready for Knighthood, partly due to his actions but mainly due to the Force’s reaction to the prospect, which led them to a ten minute communion with the Force. It wasn’t often that they did this, especially since so many of them were often off-planet, but even with some away, they attempted a form of shared meditation to see into the Force’s intent. What they felt was pure enough to warrant an utterly unanimous result to the vote: Anakin Skywalker was ready.

Two days after that fateful meeting, Anakin returned from his mission to escort Knight Aayla to and from Felucia. An easy assignment, one that Obi-Wan had urged him to take due to its simplicity, but also due to the fact that it would take Anakin away from Coruscant (and Obi-Wan’s side) for a time. Resolved to meet him in the hangar bay to swiftly deliver the news of Anakin’s Trials, Obi-Wan made his way over just as the ramp of the cruiser they’d taken dropped down to the ground.

Out came Aayla, bouncing excitedly in her usual bubbly and lithe fashion, followed by Artoo hurriedly rolling away, squealing a series of beeps and woops. Anakin came striding out afterwards, exchanging a few more words with Aayla, before the young Knight smiled brightly up at him and kissed him right on the cheek, patting the other one appreciatively as Anakin held her close with a smile on his face.

Obi-Wan watched this with a prickling sort of fascination. It was inevitable, he supposed—Anakin and Aayla were friends long before the former ran away, partly because Obi-Wan and Quinlan being close friends meant their Padawans spending more time with each other, but mainly due to Aayla’s general magnetism. It was natural that something would occur, and Obi-Wan could admit to himself that there were far worse Omegas in the Temple who would be terribly incompatible with his Padawan. Aayla was a good, smart, and young Omega with a Lightness in the Force that no one could deny, and she would make a terrific mate for a headstrong Alpha like Anakin.

So why did he feel so utterly wretched at the sight?

It would be any Omegan mentor’s joy to see their Alpha pup find a worthy mate, just as it would be a Master’s joy to see their Padawan grow into a fearless Knight. He should be proud that Anakin was searching for a mate within the Jedi; attachments were forbidden, as it led to greed and envy and pride, but the Force would not have granted them the needs of their secondary genders if they were not meant to follow them, so Jedi were only encouraged to seek out others to share their cycles with from within the Jedi if the need arose, so they could both serve not only themselves but also their Order. He should be happy that sharing cycles with Aayla would give Anakin yet another reason to stay, as Aayla was a loyal Jedi dedicated to the Church of the Force.

Instead, all he felt was cold disappointment. Like a failure, somehow. Like he’d failed Anakin, and this was the consequence.

As if he could hear Obi-Wan’s thoughts, Anakin turned to look at him just as he and Aayla parted ways. His eyes widened with surprise and—oddly—shame as he trotted over to where Obi-Wan was standing, arms tucked into his robes and his face definitely making an odd expression, based on the worry on Anakin’s face. “Obi-Wan, it’s not what you think—”

“It’s good to see you home, Anakin,” he interrupted, not wishing to hear his excuses or reasons. He had no need for them—Anakin had no need to make excuses. He would be twenty-three in two days, he was well within his rights to begin searching for someone to share his cycles with. He cleared his throat, disliking the hoarseness that had wormed its way into it. “I trust that your mission with Knight Secura went well?”

Anakin looked at him strangely, eyes searching and brows curled in what looked like distaste. “Yes, it did,” he said slowly, hesitantly, “the mission was basically over by the first few hours. Aayla just suggested that we stay over a little longer because—”

“There’s no need to divulge that particular anecdote to me, Padawan,” Obi-Wan cut in with a feigned smile, feeling the hollow chasm in his chest grow wider. Anakin blinked at him, confused. “What you and Knight Secura get up to is none of my business. The Council awaits your report, once you’ve had time to settle down and discuss with her.” He swallowed dryly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I assume... congratulations are in order?”

“Congra—Obi-Wan, nothing’s going on between Aayla and I,” Anakin said, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him lightly. Obi-Wan stared up at him, eyes wide with Anakin’s vehemence. “Where’s this all coming from? I thought I made it clear that I was waiting for y—for the right one.”

Obi-Wan felt his cheeks warm. He supposed that he did jump to conclusions, but it wasn’t as if it was unreasonable. They were practically scent-marking each other right before his eyes. Was that part of why Anakin’s scent had changed recently, why he smelled more and more like a content, satisfied Alpha? The more he thought about it, the more likely it was the case—Aayla was also a favourite of the younglings, and she visited the crèche frequently whenever she was on Coruscant. Perhaps that was the real reason why Anakin started visiting it more, to give him more than a few glimpses of the Omega he was courting.

Every newly-uncovered piece of evidence sent sharp shards of ice through Obi-Wan. There was a chance he was simply overthinking things, but it wasn’t the most unlikely scenario to turn out to be true. Aayla was everything an Alpha could want from an Omega that would be his equal, and Obi-Wan didn’t have to scent her more than once to know that she smelled like a bouquet of freshly-bloomed Rylothi blackroses. She was a fine choice, and Obi-Wan was no choice at all.

Stop it, he thought to himself angrily, fighting the urge to grit his teeth. Those were improper, inappropriate thoughts to have, entirely unbefitting of a Master. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a catch, thirty-nine and without anyone to share his cycles with. This was about Anakin and Anakin’s happiness. He had no place in this story other than to wish him well and give him his everlasting approval and support.

Assuming the role of supportive Master once more, Obi-Wan plastered on a smile, careful to make it look authentic. “Of course, dear one,” he said gently, bowing his head slightly. “If you say so.”

Anakin looked at him, bewildered, before scoffing and releasing his grip on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “Great. Now you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you, Anakin, I’m sure you have your reasons—”

“Listen to me,” Anakin interrupted loudly, his tone sharper and heavier. Obi-Wan flinched back, entirely unused to hearing an Alpha’s Voice from this close, taking a full step away from Anakin. For his part, the Alpha softened his gaze and put up two placating hands. “I’m sorry. I need you to listen to me, Obi-Wan,” he said wearily, taking a slow, steady step forward to close the newly-formed gap as Obi-Wan stared up at him with wide eyes. “Aayla and I are just friends. We’re not courting each other, and I don’t want to share my ruts with her. Alright?”

Obi-Wan tried not to nod so dumbly, but Anakin’s usage of his Alpha Voice had unsettled him. Not particularly because he was affected by these things—all Omegas of the Temple trained to be able to resist the Voice, which even Force-null Alphas could use due to it being entirely of the Force, just as much as their secondary genders were—but because Anakin had used it on him . A strong sense of hurt overcame him for a moment, before giving way to a strange feeling, something that made his organs feel liquid hot in his belly, his hands beginning to sweat and his neck feeling prickly with searing warmth.

He had no desire to study that feeling, especially not now, with Anakin standing there and waiting for a response. Obi-Wan sighed, hand reflexively going up to play with his beard. “I understand, Anakin. I won’t press the matter further,” he said, keeping his voice soft and low. He had no desire to cause Anakin any further distress by pushing the issue. Instead, he redirected. “I have news from the Council.”

Anakin raised a brow, dark and pretty. Stop it, Obi-Wan thought to himself. “Is that so? Tell me, what are my crimes this time? Five more years of exile?”

“Self-imposed exile, you mean,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes and trying to banish his wandering thoughts. “No, nothing so dire. Merely the matter of your Knighthood.” He levelled a meaningful look at his Padawan, allowing himself a small smile. “Your impending Knighthood, rather.”

“Impending—” Anakin’s eyes widened in realisation, his lips splitting into a large grin, excitement dripping from every pore. “Seriously?! They want to Knight me?”

Obi-Wan’s smile grew wider, which he hid behind his hand. “Don’t be so smug, Padawan mine. It’s unbecoming.” He gestured for them to walk, and Anakin followed. He glanced up at his Padawan, who was staring at him. “There is still the matter of your Trials, but aside from that, yes. The Council has agreed that you are ready for Knighthood upon their completion.”

“Force, that’s...” Anakin trailed off, his grin boyish and youthful as his long strides kept to Obi-Wan’s pace, hands clasped behind his back. “Thank you, Master. You don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words.”

“Roughly fourteen years, I’d wager,” Obi-Wan said, feeling overly fond. “I was planning on saving the news for your birthday, but the news will be spread around by the end of the day. I’d rather you heard it from me, so we could begin preparing for it.” They came to a stop at their quarters, which opened with a deft pressing of familiar buttons.

Immediately, Anakin walked over to the couch and sank down as Obi-Wan made his way over to the kitchen. In the back of his mind, he thought it was probably reminiscent of most traditional pairs—Alphas lounging while their Omegas prepared dinner—but that fantasy had no place in Obi-Wan’s mind. His heat must be fast approaching, Obi-Wan thought to himself, if he was losing himself to intrusive thoughts like this, and so frequently. Entirely uncivilised. You’re better than this, Kenobi.

A voice startled him from his disappointment in himself. “Obi-Wan?”

“Hm? Apologies, I was distracted,” Obi-Wan hummed, turning around to suddenly see Anakin standing behind him. He tried not to jump or flinch away, but it was a very near thing. “What did you say, Anakin?”

Anakin looked him over, likely searching for any signs of distress. His nose scrunched slightly, once again scenting Obi-Wan, though he was careful with not letting any of his thoughts bleed into their bond or into the air. His eyes darkened with whatever it was he discovered, which Obi-Wan hoped—rather hopelessly—that he’d have enough tact to keep to himself.

Unfortunately, it was futile. “You smell... different,” Anakin murmured, leaning into Obi-Wan’s space like getting any closer would solve the mystery of his scent. “You look good, too. You always do, but it’s—different, this time.”

Obi-Wan shuddered, his fears confirmed. He laid a gentle palm on Anakin’s chest, pushing him away as he moved away from his kettle of boiling water, abandoning the prospect of making tea. Now, all he wanted was time to himself, to meditate and begin preparing. “I apologise. As you might recall, I have rather irregular heats, due to the nature of my... heritage. I believe my heat is fast approaching, though I should still be over a week away from it.” He forced a laugh, disliking that he had to explain himself to someone again, after five years of not having to do so. “Worry not, dear one—this will have no bearing on your birthday celebration. If you’re beginning to notice the change now, then I should still have eight days—”

“You wouldn’t have to go through it alone,” Anakin cut in, still looming over Obi-Wan. His gaze was piercing, rooting Obi-Wan to his spot. “I’m here now. I wasn’t for the last few years, but I’m here for you, Obi-Wan. I can help you through it—the right way.”

Obi-Wan’s first instinct was to consider it. It would help to have an Alpha that he trusted around, would likely stave off the more painful parts of his heat, when he’d burn from the inside and beg deliriously to be filled. Anakin would be far more preferable than Quinlan, as much as he loved his friend, entirely because his quarters already reeked of the two of them. And Anakin was a man now, an Alpha capable of consent, capable of giving Obi-Wan what he needed.

His second instinct was to balk in horror at the direction of his thoughts. Pfassk, he was a horrible, disgusting old man. What was wrong with him? These weren’t thoughts he should be having about Anakin, who trusted him most above anyone else in the galaxy, who’d come to him as a tiny, snot-nosed nine year old, in all his petulance and silliness and wildness. If it were possible for a man to go straight to the hells just for what he thought, Obi-Wan was sure he would already be halfway through the trip by now.

“Absolutely not, out of the question,” Obi-Wan hissed, disgust and shame painting his cheeks a humiliated red as he pushed away and put significant distance between them. He couldn’t bear to turn and look at that open, trusting face. He put durasteel to his words, cladding them with a will he didn’t entirely feel. “I will manage this heat as I have managed all the rest. I will be... indisposed for a few days, and you will focus on passing your Trials. Leave my heats to me.”

“Obi-Wan—”

“That is final, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sharply, turning to glare at his Padawan. “If you will fight me on anything, let it be everything else. This is my choice for my needs.”

Anakin met his gaze, his face twisted into indignant anger, while Obi-Wan didn’t look away, refusing to submit with a firm set to his lips. After a few beats, Anakin scoffed and looked away, his glower dark and petulant. He looked every bit like a kicked Alpha, his shoulders hunched and high, lips pulled into a sneer. “Fine, Force, do what you want,” he muttered.

Obi-Wan let out a quiet sigh of relief. He wondered how they’d gotten here—arguing about how Obi-Wan was going to spend his heat, when all he’d wanted was to tell Anakin about his Trials. He could understand Anakin following his instincts, seeking to help the soon-to-be vulnerable Omega in his presence, but he couldn’t understand himself . He was not a slave to instinct, to baser desires, to deviancy. Anakin was, for all intents and purposes, the closest thing to a son, a brother to him. He was sure other Omegas didn’t feel any untoward urges for their Alpha family members. So why him?

Was there just something wrong with him? Was it just in his nature? Was it intrinsic to him, Obi-Wan, rather than him as an Omega, a Jedi, a man? Was he broken, or made wrong?

He needed to meditate. That much, he knew. “Now, if there is nothing else, I will be retiring to my quarters. I must meditate.”

Anakin huffed, handsome features still pulled into a tight scowl. “Sure, whatever. Do what you karking want.”

Obi-Wan bit back his retort, too tired to argue, and promptly fled to his quarters.

The next day arrived with a greater sense of ease, the silence of their quarters and the coldness of Coruscant at night cooling their tempers.

Obi-Wan still couldn’t comprehend Anakin’s reaction to his refusal, and Anakin still evidently thought his decision was unwise, but they didn’t speak of it. They simply greeted each other in the morning, when Anakin emerged from his bedroom at nine, just as Obi-Wan sat down to read on his datapad over his tea. For a moment, he wondered if Anakin would bring it up again, try to convince Obi-Wan to share his cycle with his Padawan like it wasn’t a complete betrayal of their bond, but all he did was ask if there was any caf left. Even when he was cross with him, Obi-Wan wouldn’t leave his Padawan without his wake-up caf, so of course there was.

His mood bettered later in the day when Anakin apologised for his behaviour, admitting that he was acting foolish—rather, ‘like a total knothead’—which Obi-Wan had graciously accepted. Anakin truly was too old to be acting that way about Obi-Wan’s choices with his own body, but he could understand him, in a way. They’d gone five years without seeing each other, with only the memory of each other and their bond, so it was natural that a few wires would get crossed.

At least, that was what Obi-Wan told himself. It was better than the alternative, that his inappropriate feelings for his Padawan were the product of any conscious change in his perception of him. It was a horribly disarming feeling—simultaneously seeing Anakin as the gangly-limbed teenager he was a few years ago, and also seeing him as the tall, handsome Alpha man he was now. It made Obi-Wan feel like a lecherous old priest from those tragic holonovelas about the abuses of a church institute. The sole comfort he had in his thoughts was that he was sure these inappropriate thoughts only began occurring after Anakin’s return, as if the Anakin now was a completely different man from the Anakin of five years ago, but even that comfort felt like an admission of his feelings regarding his Padawan.

Still, there was comfort to be had that these were thoughts he kept securely to himself. He was a prisoner in his own mind more often than not, but at least it affected no one but his own psyche.

The day passed unremarkably, spent mostly working from the couch then his office when he needed a few holotexts from his library. Occasionally, Anakin would drop by, reminding Obi-Wan of lunch and asking a few questions about his Trials, progressively smelling more and more like oil and ship-grease throughout the day, before finally collecting Obi-Wan from his office for dinner at the refectory like a child being picked up from school.

He returned to their quarters after making a detour to the delivery collection counter, tucking it away just as Anakin exited the refresher. “Hey,” he greeted, securing his towel around his waist. “Where’ve you been?”

Obi-Wan tried very hard not to stare at all the exposed skin he was able to see. This boy is going to be the death of me. “I simply picked up a personal delivery,” he said, looking away and resolutely not turning back to look at Anakin. He strode over to the kettle, eager for something to distract him from those accursed temptations.

“Alright,” Anakin said, sounding amused. Obi-Wan felt his cheeks warm as he filled the kettle with water. A door opened and shut as he made his tea, and after a few minutes as he let his tea steep, Anakin came back out again. “Hey, do you wanna watch this new holomovie that just came out with me? It looked pretty interesting.”

Obi-Wan turned to look and privately thanked the Force that Anakin was dressed in proper sleepwear this time, rather than his occasional sleepwear of the rattiest shirt he had and boxer-briefs that left little to the imagination. He stirred his tea and made his way over to the couch, where Anakin had plopped down and turned on the holoscreen. “That depends. Does it look any good?”

“It looked like hot garbage,” Anakin admitted easily, stretching out his long legs from where he sat in the middle of the couch, as he always did. Obi-Wan took the corner seat to his left, as he always did. “But fun garbage, not the bad kind. I like a good trashy romcom.”

“‘Good trashy’ sounds like an oxymoron,” Obi-Wan said, taking a sip. “Play it. Let’s see if it’s as terrible as you think it’ll be.”

It was. Obi-Wan was actually quite impressed with how awful it was. The plot revolved around the most irritatingly posh Upper Coruscanti man Obi-Wan had ever had the displeasure of seeing. He was the CEO of some large investment company, and a truly awful man for the first twenty minutes of the movie—as in, kicking dogs and spitting on beggars kind of awful—before he was run over by a speeder while on his morning jog. He woke up with no memory after being rescued from the street by a young, beautiful woman who was evidently his love interest, and the rest of the movie consisted of her teaching him how to be a person again. Obi-Wan stopped caring halfway through, when the woman taught the man how to pee standing, which was the most horrendously awkward segue into a sex scene. Anakin was nearly crying with laughter at how bad it was once the credits started rolling, after it ended on a strange, unfinished note, as if baiting for a sequel.

“He kinda looked like you, a little,” Anakin said thoughtfully afterwards, which Obi-Wan nearly shoved him off the couch for after threatening to beat him with his teacup. Then, through his gasping laughter, Anakin asked, “I wonder what else he’s been in?”

Which was how they ended up watching another holomovie by the same actor, a theatrical drama-comedy piece about love and writers and courtesans. This one was rather good, Obi-Wan had to admit to himself. It was definitely a comedy, and it had a lot of musical numbers, and though he wasn’t typically an enjoyer of either genre, it was still a good holomovie. He felt a genuine sense of grief watching the man cry over his deceased lover’s corpse after she died in the final act, which was truly a feat for a holomovie.

Anakin didn’t fare any better, arguably faring worse. There were tear-tracks down his cheeks when he turned to look up at Obi-Wan from where he’d cuddled up to his side. “That was beautiful,” he said shakily, sniffling. “How can that guy do a shitty holomovie like that then turn around and do something like this?”

“We contain multitudes, my dear Padawan,” Obi-Wan cooed softly, petting Anakin’s curls as his Padawan leaned into the touch. Obi-Wan glanced over at the digiclock, smiling to himself as the hour inched closer to midnight. “Let me up, dear one. I need to use the refresher.”

“But I’m not done being sad about Christian,” Anakin whined, even as he pulled away. Obi-Wan chuckled, ruffling his Padawan’s hair before getting up, stretching slightly (and ignoring the quiet cracking of his joints) before walking over to the refresher.

Obi-Wan fixed his hair and robes, not truly needing the refresher but needing the excuse to stand. After a minute, he flushed the toilet and washed his hands before exiting, quietly heading for the kitchen.

“Obi-Wan? Could you get me some jawa juice?” Anakin called from the couch, flicking through the rest of the actor’s holofilms. Obi-Wan hummed an affirmative, opening the refrigerator and completely ignoring the jawa juice, instead retrieving the small, ribboned box.

He looked over at Anakin, making sure he wasn’t looking, then opened the box. Inside was a dark chocolate birthday cake, decorated with those little dark chocolate pebbles Anakin loved so much. Retrieving the single candle that was plastitaped to the box, Obi-Wan poked it right through the center of the cake and retrieved a lighter from one of the drawers in the kitchen. He quietly lit the candle before putting the lighter away and picking up the cake, walking over to Anakin just as the clock struck midnight.

“Anakin,” he called tenderly. His Padawan turned, a question about to tumble from his lips, before his eyes fell on the cake and the lit candle. A smile immediately broke across his face as he sat up while Obi-Wan rounded the couch, presenting the cake to him with a soft grin. “Happy birthday, dear one.”

“Obi-Wan, you sap,” Anakin laughed wetly, his eyes shining with mirth and happiness. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of his wish, before blowing out the flame. “Thank you, Master. You really are the best.”

“Do try to remember that for when we next argue,” Obi-Wan joked, feeling overwhelmed with fondness. He placed the cake down on the coffee table before getting up to grab plates and utensils.

Anakin grabbed his wrist as he made to leave, causing him to look over at his Padawan in confusion. Flashing him a smile, Anakin kissed the back of his hand, a gentle, dry press of lips that seared his skin like a brand. “I never forget it, even when we argue,” Anakin said, looking up at him with that intense gaze, the one that had become part of their new normal.

Obi-Wan pulled his wrist back, shocked speechless for a moment. “Well, I-I’m glad to hear that,” he said stiltedly, feeling his cheeks warm as he made his quick escape to the kitchen, the back of his hand burning all the while.

He returned not long after, plates and forks and knife in hand, and sat down. He cut two slices of the cake, placing them on the plates before handing one to Anakin, who grinned and immediately started eating ravenously. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes fondly as he took his first bite of the cake, after Anakin had likely already eaten four.

It was closer to three in the morning by the time they went their separate ways, dishes left in the sink for tomorrow and the rest of the cake put back in the refrigerator. Anakin hugged him before bidding him goodnight, and Obi-Wan fell asleep to the lingering warmth of his Padawan’s touch.

That day, later on at lunch, they’d gone out to eat at Dex’s, making friendly conversation with the besalisk who insisted they take home a slice each of the pie of the day, before returning to the Temple and resuming the preparation for Anakin’s Trials. They were largely a formality—Anakin had already completed three of the five necessary for Knighthood during his time away, and one was considered complete by way of the negotiations on Corellia three months prior, leaving only the Trial of Courage, which necessitated a private session with Grandmaster Yoda. The day after his birthday, Anakin went to the Grandmaster for his Trial, and emerged six hours later looking harried and pale but surprisingly satisfied.

So it was that, the same evening, Anakin stood in the middle of the Council chamber, with Obi-Wan at his side and the other Masters standing around them in a circle. Smiling up at Obi-Wan, Anakin knelt and retrieved something from the pockets of his robes.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said softly, touched beyond belief. In his mechno-hand lay his old Padawan braid, slightly bleached by the sun and only half-finished but there, real and genuine. Centuries ago, this would’ve been sliced off with a lightsaber, the weapons of the Jedi of old, but from what Obi-Wan could tell, Anakin had simply snipped them off with a pair of clippers. The overwhelming sense of tender affection that washed over him would’ve sent him toppling over had it not been for the eyes of the other Masters on them.

“Rise, Knight Skywalker,” Mace’s voice echoed, and they all watched as Anakin got to his feet, standing tall and proud, his eyes steadily trained on Obi-Wan. “May you serve the Force with all that you are, and all that you will be.”

Mindful of the Masters watching them, Obi-Wan pulled Anakin into a half-hug, a simple clap on the shoulders from the side, before his—former—Padawan tugged him into a proper hug. He felt his cheeks warm as Kit let out a whoop! right before Anakin pulled away, cheeks flushed with joy as the other Masters passed on their congratulations, with Plo touching his shoulder and Shaak patting him on the back.

Obi-Wan watched on with pride as Anakin thanked the Masters around him. His wonderful, insolent, sweet, mercurial boy was now a Knight of the Church of the Force, and Obi-Wan could not be any prouder. He briefly wished Qui-Gon had been here to see it, though the man was gone once more for one of his months-long missions away from Coruscant, and resolved instead to send him a message when he next had a free moment. For now, his attention was utterly captivated by the man striding over to him, his joy plastered all over his face and stature.

They said nothing as they left the Council chamber, walking side by side back to their quarters. Well, it would be just Obi-Wan’s quarters after today—though the thought was bittersweet, happy in that Anakin would be moving out to claim his own quarters as a Knight and sad in that he would lose that presence in his quarters once more. Thankfully, Anakin wouldn’t be lightyears away this time, and would instead only be down the hall. Still, Obi-Wan hoped Anakin would intrude upon his hospitality as regularly as he did as a Padawan, if only to provide his old Master with some company.

He regarded the young man walking side by side with him and saw that he was already looking at Obi-Wan. He willed away the blush threatening to colour his cheeks. “If I had known that Knighthood would finally grant me my peace and quiet, perhaps I would’ve pushed for it earlier.”

Anakin laughed at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Obi-Wan smiled—his dear one had gotten so free with his joy in recent years, enough that lines were beginning to form even with his fountain of youth. “I guess this time, if I disappear for another five years, you wouldn’t have to worry about me so much anymore. I wouldn’t be your responsibility anymore.”

“Oh, Anakin, if you truly believed that, then perhaps I have indeed failed you as your Master,” Obi-Wan sighed dramatically, grinning sharply as Anakin expectedly began sputtering to correct himself. “You will always be my responsibility, dear one, even when your antics make me withered and grey.”

“You’re terrible, Master,” Anakin chuckled, bumping his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s, “but you’re also the best. Never doubt that I think that.”

“I am, also, no longer your Master,” Obi-Wan said softly, smiling fondly, if a little sadly. He’d gotten so used to hearing Anakin call him that over the years, but at least he’d still get a year or two of Anakin calling him that by accident. He’d done the same with Qui-Gon for months after his Knighting, anyway.

Anakin shook his head emphatically. “You’ll always be my Master, Obi-Wan. Even if you aren’t, even if you take another Padawan, you’ll always be my Master.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his heart so full of warmth. He bumped his shoulder against Anakin’s, fighting the urge to maintain the contact further. “And you will always be my dearest Padawan.”

They walk the rest of the way to their quarters in comfortable silence. Somehow, he felt the sense that they were standing on the precipice of something, the Force harmonic around them as Obi-Wan inputted his code. Anakin hung back as Obi-Wan went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle, before heading over to his bookshelf, wishing to spend the last night of Anakin’s stay in that same warm serenity. Perhaps tonight, he’d sit with Anakin as he packed up his belongings, pretending to read all while watching his Padawan—now a Knight—properly tidy up his bedroom for likely the first time in his life—

“Obi-Wan.”

Turning around, he found Anakin standing close behind him. Obi-Wan had grown used to Anakin’s complete disregard for his personal space, but even so this closeness felt... different. It felt like that night only a few days ago, when Anakin had him cornered while they were discussing his approaching heat. And just like it had then, molten warmth spread through his limbs, closely followed by his mind’s mortification at his body’s response.

“Yes, Anakin?” He asked steadily, trying not to squirm as Anakin crowded closer, nearly pinning him to the bookshelf. The wood dug into his back as he met Anakin’s eyes, trying to not feel afraid, or worse, aroused.

Anakin stared at him, eyes searching his face with that same searing intensity, irises a thin blue nearly swallowed whole by black. Obi-Wan swallowed nervously, rapidly growing to dislike their closeness, though it was rare that he did so, as the feeling of being caged in became increasingly hard to ignore, just as it was difficult to ignore the way Anakin stared into his very soul. The Force around them throbbed with anticipation, with excitement, with fear, until—

Anakin leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Obi-Wan’s, lips full and slightly wet and insistent. Obi-Wan’s mind stuttered to a complete halt, entirely disarmed by the rightness of it all, of the feeling of Anakin’s lips moving against his, sweet and tender enough that he felt the tension leaving his shoulders. It was so easy to sink into it, to let him in, to close his eyes and let his instincts take over, to let his mouth fall open slightly at the tender press of a venturing tongue, to grab on the lapels of his Padawan’s robes.

His Padawan.

Obi-Wan ripped away viciously, quickly enough that he knocked the back of his head against the bookshelf. The sting of the impact barely even registered amidst the rushing of his blood, the rabbiting of his heart in his chest, the gasp that tumbled out of his lips. Only one word echoed in his mind as Anakin held his waist with one hand and cradled the back of his neck with the other:

What?

Chapter Text

Anakin was thirteen years old when he first learned what a crush was.

He learned what it meant from Aayla, who was probably his only other friend aside from Obi-Wan. They’d been talking about very inane things—nothing of import, which was par for the course for thirteen year olds—when Aayla brought up that she had a crush on Tyrus, who was Knight Ceri’s Padawan and was two years older than them. Anakin had asked her what a crush was, unfamiliar with the word; he’d only been a Padawan—and a Jedi as a whole—for two years, unlike Aayla who’d been a Jedi youngling in the crèche since she was three, so there was a lot he didn’t know. Even less than others, because he’d been a slave with only other slaves for friends for all nine of the years before Qui-Gon found and freed him.

Aayla had to think about it, because she was nicer than any of the other Padawans and didn’t think that he was stupid because he didn’t know how to read Basic or how to swim or how to choose when to feel the Force rather than feel it all the time. Then, she’d said, “A crush is like... when you feel very happy to see someone, and they make you feel warm inside, and you want them to look at you all the time.”

“Oh,” Anakin had said, twirling his Padawan braid around his finger. “I feel that about my Master, Obi-Wan. Does that count?”

“I guess so,” Aayla shrugged, then giggled. “Or maybe it doesn’t. I don’t feel that way about Master Quin.”

“Maybe that’s because he’s Master Quinlan, but my Master is Obi-Wan. That makes it special, because it’s Master Obi-Wan.” Anakin felt very strongly about this and even crossed his arms to make himself look more serious. The same way Obi-Wan did whenever he wanted to be taken seriously.

Aayla giggled again, slapping Anakin’s arm. “Then maybe you do have a crush on Master Kenobi, because Tyrus is very special to me like that, too.”

Anakin didn’t believe that he was all that special to her, and was proven right when the next month, she claimed she had a crush on Knight Ceri instead. Every few months, she’d claim that she had a new crush, and every time, Anakin didn’t feel like anything changed. There was no one else he felt fit the label of a crush for him other than Obi-Wan, which he’d decided to keep to himself, because he knew that he had a tendency to be too much, and he didn’t want to be a burden to his Master.

He’d been a burden when he was nine, and still was at ten, then eleven. Obi-Wan was very kind to him about it, but looking back, Anakin was a terror to him. Always hounding him, following him everywhere all over the Temple, sometimes even following him when he went out. Obi-Wan always found him even when Anakin tried to hide, and every time, he worried that Obi-Wan would get mad at him. Without fail, though, the worst treatment that Obi-Wan had given him was a reprimand one time for following him all the way down to the levels below the surface of Coruscant. Obi-Wan had been too distracted to notice him past the Temple, and Anakin had gotten good at hiding and keeping his distance, so it wasn’t until Obi-Wan was about to enter a loud, bright establishment that he got caught.

“You shouldn’t be here, dear one,” Obi-Wan had fretted, red with what Anakin thought was anger at first. He didn’t sound angry, though, but rather, he seemed embarrassed. Anakin had no idea why, at the time.

It wasn’t until he was fifteen that he realised that Obi-Wan had been a few steps away from entering a pickup bar—a hub for finding a good lay for the evening, and only ever for the evening. At the time, he’d been so caught up in apologising and trying not to cry because he’d angered Obi-Wan, and also had no idea what a bar even was. At fifteen, after his first visit to the same bar where all he did was watch and pretend to be older than he actually was, he felt smug with pride at his younger self unknowingly cockblocking Obi-Wan and preventing him from sleeping with some faceless stranger, instead spending the rest of his night keeping Anakin company and assuring him that Obi-Wan wasn’t mad at him, just disappointed.

He tried very hard to not be a burden after that, though. He still had one more year to go before he could convince Obi-Wan to take him on as a Padawan, because he really didn’t want to be Qui-Gon’s Padawan, even though the man was nice to him and had been the one to free him. It wasn’t anything against the guy; Qui-Gon was fun to be around, and he seemed to want to take Anakin on as his Padawan, which the Council had only denied since Anakin was still too young for apprenticeship. Anakin, for his part, was really glad that the Council stopped him, because the moment he laid eyes on Obi-Wan, he knew Obi-Wan was meant to be his.

Anakin knew he had a weird relationship with the Force. He mostly gathered this from conversations with Qui-Gon and Mace Windu, who had no idea what he was talking about when he said people glowed a certain way. Qui-Gon glowed very softly, like a warm fire a few steps away from his cot in the cool of a desert night, while Windu glowed the twin suns of Tatooine sinking below the horizon, though he put it in less poetic terms at the time. All the Force-sensitive people he’d met glowed in some way from the inside, but no one glowed like Obi-Wan did.

He was like the suns at their peak, right at noon, white and blinding, the kind that left spots in your vision if you looked too long. It wasn’t literal—he’d be blind by now if it was, with how much he stared at Obi-Wan—but it was the best way he could describe it. He felt like one of Qui-Gon’s plants whenever Obi-Wan was around—limp and cold without him, then warmed and brought to life around him. Being around Obi-Wan made him feel happy and alive, and he felt it in the Force that Obi-Wan was who was meant to train him. All that remained was to convince him that he should pick Anakin.

The next two years of his life since coming to the Temple were spent, effectively, trying to crawl into Obi-Wan’s skin and live there. He wanted Obi-Wan to only see him, to only want him for a Padawan and no one else. It was his motivation for the days when he felt like he wanted to just sit around and do nothing, his goal that he wanted to work towards. He asked Obi-Wan to teach him Basic, how to swim, how to feel for the Force of his own accord, then he asked him how to tie a knot, how to sit and meditate in a way that didn’t completely cut off his blood flow to his legs, how to properly say complicated words, like complicated. He went to Obi-Wan for everything, even though he wasn’t the crèchemaster, even though he wasn’t Anakin’s Master yet.

And because Obi-Wan was a good person, he never discouraged Anakin. For every question Anakin asked, Obi-Wan had an answer, even if it wasn’t the right one or if it was about a topic he didn’t know much about. Obi-Wan never passed him along to someone else if he didn’t know the answer, and instead took Anakin to the Archives to look for answers (even if it bored Anakin to death to be there) or looked it up on the holonet if he had his datapad on hand. Anakin was afraid he was making himself into a burden for Obi-Wan, but the Knight never once told him to stop or to go away, never made him feel like he was too much.

He was so happy when Obi-Wan asked him to become his Padawan, only two days after his eleventh birthday. He was so happy that he couldn’t sit still and told everyone he came across that he was going to be Obi-Wan’s Padawan (which startled more than a few people, who didn’t expect a little boy underfoot), only sitting still long enough for Obi-Wan to cut his hair into the customary Padawan haircut for human boys. Becoming Obi-Wan’s Padawan was the happiest day of his life.

Then, at fifteen, he presented as an Alpha.

He’d heard from his mom and Qui-Gon that he was born without a father, that one day his mom had just woken up one day and realised she was carrying a baby in her belly. Because of this, his only exposure to things like moms and dads had been what his mom explained to her when he’d asked about his dad, or lack thereof. Then he’d learned at the Temple that most humanoids had two genders: the primary gender, whether you were born a boy or a girl, then the secondary gender, which determined whether you were able to carry a baby, able to give someone a baby, or only able to do either of those two through technology. He’d learned that the Cosmic Force determined the first gender, based entirely on nothing at all and completely random, while the Living Force determined the second gender, based on what the galaxy needed to continue thriving. Thousands and millions of years ago, entire peoples died out because the Force decided it, while others thrived because the Force wanted it.

He’d been very confused about the whole thing at the time, but when he turned fifteen and presented as an Alpha, it all came back to him and clicked into place. He was part of the group that could put babies into the group that could carry them, and in the haze of his rut, he’d decided that the Force wanted that for him. Then he remembered his Master, who’d gently corralled him to his bedroom, helped him out of his topmost layers, laid him down onto his bed, and left him a few wrapped sandwiches along with a large thermos of ice cold water before sealing the door. His Master, who was an Omega, a fact he’d known the whole time he knew Obi-Wan, a fact that was so important to him that it broke through the painful arousal as his organs changed and shifted from under his skin.

When his rut finally ended, he came out of it with a sense of enlightenment, clarity in what the point of everything was. Why he was conceived from nothing by the Force, why he could see the way people glowed, why he was found by Qui-Gon who had no business going to Tatooine from Naboo, why he needed Obi-Wan to choose him as his Padawan, why his body put him through the pains of rut so he could present as an Alpha. The Force, quite literally, made him for Obi-Wan.

It was a shockingly lucid thought, after a full day of nothing but hot fog and steam and excruciating arousal, and he wanted and needed it to be true. He’d already decided a long time ago that he was Obi-Wan’s, but now he knew: he needed to make Obi-Wan his, too.

Despite this, the first actual time that Anakin could actually pinpoint his more-than-innocent attraction to Obi-Wan was when they were on a mission to the planet Myranus in the Outer Rim. It wasn’t often that they were sent so far out, especially in non-Republic territory, but they were following a trail or another of an ancient Jedi artefact and ended up on the oceanic planet of Myranus, which had breathtaking waterfalls and lakes that Anakin felt he could get lost in forever. Of course, Obi-Wan then informed him that that was the point—Myranus’ lakes sang a siren song that few could ever deny, leading them into the depths as prey to the indigenous species there, named the Myr. As it was, they were relegated only to the shallows, no matter how much Anakin wanted to swim in the deeper waters.

“Trying to get you to try your luck with swimming in their lakes is their goal, my young Padawan,” Obi-Wan had told him with a sigh, only seconds before he lost his footing on the way back to their ship, the artefact secured in a bag Anakin carried on his back.

Anakin had laughed himself sick when Obi-Wan emerged from the treeline caked head to toe in mud and shrubbery, but the sight of Obi-Wan stripping off his robes the moment they reached the shallow mouth of a river had silenced him swiftly. “W-what are you doing?” He’d asked, voice still cracking, only weeks after his first rut.

Obi-Wan levelled him with a chastising glare. “You cannot possibly expect me to return to the ship looking like this,” he told Anakin, in between untying the bindings keeping his undertunic secured. “Mind our surroundings, Padawan mine. I’d like a semblance of privacy, and I’d rather not get caught with my trousers down by the locals.”

There were no locals, not in this part of the forest and far from deeper waters, so Anakin had very little to mind after all. He did turn away to give Obi-Wan some privacy, knowing his Master would kick up a fuss if Anakin kept staring at him. He left Obi-Wan alone for a full minute, just long enough that his Master wouldn’t think to check if his Padawan was perving on him, then he turned to look.

Glancing back at Obi-Wan spelled his doom. Over his shoulder, he glimpsed Obi-Wan’s backside and felt all the breath leave his body. He was gifted with the sight of the smooth planes of a lightly freckled, unmarked back, the curve of a slim waist, little divots in his hips that belied dimples if he stretched, and a plush, round ass to top it all off, leading down to meaty thighs and calves that disappear into the water. From where Anakin was standing, his Master was an absolute vision, a backside that belonged on the filthiest holoporn videos, a blank canvas to fill with all sorts of marks and bruises and bites.

Anakin swallowed thickly, unable to tear his eyes away. Based on the reading his Master made him consume over the years, his libido should’ve been shot to shit, and even the most virile and lively of beings experienced a brief loss of—how had Obi-Wan put it?—the desire to copulate after their first rut after presenting. That didn’t stop the flood of arousal that pooled at the base of Anakin’s stomach, his prick twitching to life in his thankfully loose pants, all from the sight of his Master’s naked back.

Then, because the universe wasn’t done tormenting him, Obi-Wan bent over to dunk his head under the stream in front of him. From that moment onwards, Anakin was haunted by the image of his Master’s two holes, both likely unbreached and virginal, darkened ginger pubes neatly trimmed around his ass and his cunt, dripping with the water of the river. Anakin might’ve snapped his own neck with how fast he turned his head to look back at the treeline, so hard in his pants he thought he might pass out, throat working to swallow the sudden influx of spit in his mouth.

“Is everything well, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked him later on the way back to the ship, suspicious and concerned all at once, assuming that Anakin had seen something to put him on edge based on his silence. He was—thankfully—fully clothed again, slightly cleaner and a little damp.

“Just peachy, Master,” Anakin said, trying to ignore his stiff cock in his pants as they trekked back. He’d seen something, alright, and it put him on a different kind of edge from the one Obi-Wan was thinking of.

The urge to make Obi-Wan into his mate only grew stronger after that day, and all of his sweet, innocent fantasies of his Master holding him like Omegas held their Alphas were sent to the very back of young Anakin’s mind. Instead, he’d rubbed himself raw to the memory of that furred pinkish cunt, imagining the sight of Obi-Wan’s back as he took him from behind with his head thrown back in ecstasy, how his ass would jiggle with every thrust and smack. Then he’d imagine Obi-Wan on his back on the ground, legs spread wide and his thighs pressed to his chest, his hairy tits heavy with milk and bouncing every time Anakin fucked into him, mouth perpetually drooling and crying his name. Gone were the nights he’d go to sleep with a smile on his face, dreaming about marriage and romantic breakfasts and holding hands in public. Something darker had taken root in him, a desire to love Obi-Wan in both the purest and filthiest of ways. He wanted all of it.

He’d decided he needed a more concrete plan to woo Obi-Wan. He knew he hardly stood a chance as a newly-presented Alpha, underage and entirely untested and inexperienced. He was also competing with other potential Alphas that had taken an interest in his Master, like Quinlan Vos and Siri Tachi, who were the most prominent threats as they were Jedi, but then there was also that Beta Duchess from Mandalore, Satine Kryze, and one of the Separatist dignitaries they met with often for futile diplomatic talks, Asajj Ventress, an Alpha that Obi-Wan never failed to flirt with. On top of that, he knew that Obi-Wan loved him, but as an Omega did his pup, rather than his mate.

The odds were stacked heavily against him, but Anakin was nothing if not determined. There were ways to deal with all of this—it was just a matter of time.

By the time he turned sixteen, he’d formulated a plan. He knew that it was about as airtight as it could possibly get, based on what he knew of Obi-Wan and what he knew of himself. Then the nightmares started again, and he begged Obi-Wan to take him to Tatooine to make sure his mom was safe.

A part of him died that day, when he found his mom tied to a post, beaten and tortured and raped within an inch of her life by Tusken savages. He wanted to rage, wanted to run out there and beg the Force to kill them, to kill everyone in the encampment. It was only Obi-Wan’s gentle touch and the slowly cooling skin of his mom’s corpse that shook him from that hate-filled haze, enough to render him able to sneak out of the camp and find a place to bury his mom.

The memory of his mom’s death was simultaneously clear as transparisteel and hidden behind thick layers of canvas. He remembered finding her, her breathing her last in his arms, and burying her by the Lars’ homestead, but he couldn’t remember what the colour of her rags were, or if she had a deep cut across her eye or on her cheek or not at all, or if she’d seen that Obi-Wan was there or not. Did she die thinking he was alone? Did she die thinking he was a dream? Did she die crying or dry-eyed? Anakin could and couldn’t recall.

Obi-Wan kept him together enough to be able to fully break down in the ship, rather than in front of the step-family he’d only met a day prior. Once his body exhausted itself of its tears, Obi-Wan had held him, putting aside his anxieties regarding leaving a ship on autopilot while unattended just to hold Anakin. It would’ve touched him, if he’d been capable of feeling anything other than deep, gutted grief at the time.

The weeks after were... rough. Anakin would crawl into Obi-Wan’s bed and silently plead to be held, and Obi-Wan would hold him like he’d expected him to come. He wasn’t proud of it, not even for his selfish purposes—he wanted to be perceived as a mate, not a pup, but loss made the edges of his mind jagged with grief, and he couldn’t bring himself to even think on his plan. Not when Obi-Wan was there, holding him through every teary terror-filled dream, petting his head when they both stirred awake, sitting with him in silence even when it cut into the time Obi-Wan usually set aside for freshening up for the day. Not when Obi-Wan quietly whispered about how proud his mom would’ve been of him, if she knew what her son had become.

Then, three months after her death, clarity struck once more. He hadn’t been thinking about his plan, hadn’t really worked on it past ‘seduce Obi-Wan real good’ due to the... everything. Then his Jedi History class covered the topic of the Lost Twenty, a group of Jedi throughout the Church’s long history going as far back as a thousand years ago, who’d all turned their backs on the Jedi. At first he found it difficult to believe there had only been twenty that left, which he’d been partially proven right; there have definitely been more than twenty that left the Jedi in the last few thousand years, but all of those people eventually either returned or continued to align themselves with the ideals of the Jedi, merely operating outside of the Code.

That had given Anakin an idea, and the more he thought about it, the more it made complete sense. He had to leave, needed to get out, needed to take a hike. Two years, at minimum, to give Obi-Wan enough time to forget him, though he’d find the prospect inconceivable if Obi-Wan were the one to leave. He’d always loved too strongly, that was his issue, but Obi-Wan didn’t experience that sort of thing. He cared for Anakin, he’d never suggest otherwise, but it was a familial sort of care, the kind his mom had for him before she died. Obi-Wan was the model Jedi—loving everything and everyone just the right amount, keeping modest attachments to things like tea and quiet mornings and proper beard care, always thinking about the Code even when he’s at his most vulnerable—so it wouldn’t take so long for him to start detaching himself from Anakin, giving him the space to become his own man outside of Obi-Wan’s purview.

It was a little stupid. It was a lot risky. But Anakin knew it had to be done, and it had to be done as soon as he could. He started planning in increments, beginning with saving his meagre allowance for the first month of survival. He decided his first course of action was going to Tatooine—it was the one place Obi-Wan wouldn’t think of first, despite Anakin’s history with the place, entirely because Obi-Wan would think that it would hurt Anakin too much to return. He wouldn’t be able to go back as Anakin Skywalker, so he had to pick out a suitable false name. He wouldn’t settle for too long, just in case Obi-Wan and the Council came looking for him, but he knew the Jedi enough that the chances of that were fairly low. He just had to get away, become his own man, and then come running back into Obi-Wan’s arms and prove himself as a grown and worthy mate. It would work. He knew it would.

It had to.

Of course, he hadn’t considered how fucking hard it would be to leave Obi-Wan behind.

Anakin knew he was a man of instinct. For nine years of his life he followed his gut feeling alone, until Qui-Gon found him and informed him that he wasn’t just a preternaturally intuitive kind of boy, but rather, the Force was supplementing his intuition. It wanted him to know things, to be able to judge what behaviour would make Watto lay off on him for a few minutes, what connector fuse needed cranking and by how many degrees, what kind of hug his mom needed to get her through the night. It also wanted him to know what kind of feigned hurt would get Obi-Wan to dote on him more, what kind of excuse he could make to get Obi-Wan to change his plans for the night and just stay with Anakin, what kind of sitting position would get him to press up against his Master to wrap him up in Anakin’s scent.

The Force had always helped him figure out these little nuances, so he trusted in it. Some might call it manipulative, which was what that knothead Quinlan Vos called him when he begged Obi-Wan not to go out with him while he was so close to his heat—and really, what sort of grown Knight looks at a fourteen year old and says he was being manipulative to his and his Master’s face? If he wasn’t so happy that Obi-Wan had told Vos, in arguably nicer words, to kriff off then maybe Anakin would’ve had the mind to get angry about it.

He had to trust in the Force now, even when his Alpha whined and pleaded for him to stay, to go into Obi-Wan’s room and sleep there rather than pack up all his belongings into his Temple-grade pilfered rucksack. The Force was calm and peaceful that night, like it was choosing to keep quiet to give Anakin the focus he needed to pack efficiently, using up all the space in the rucksack for all his things. He was lucky that he wasn’t the kind of guy to keep trinkets and knicknacks from everywhere he went, like Qui-Gon or Aayla, otherwise it would’ve taken him much longer to get everything to fit in his bag.

He’d gotten lucky about a lot of things that day, truth be told. Obi-Wan had just come back from a Council meeting that lasted two hours past the allotted time, so he was exhausted and dead tired by the time he came slinking back into his and Anakin’s shared quarters. Obi-Wan had asked him to wake him up an hour before midnight so they could celebrate Anakin’s birthday, which he’d assured him he would yet had no intention of actually doing. Because of Obi-Wan’s tiredness, Anakin had all the time in the world to set everything to rights. Once he’d dressed in his dark, muted colours and secured the bag on his back, Anakin took one last look at the mirror and nodded.

He was really doing this. No turning back now.

Expectedly, the first thing he did was look at Obi-Wan’s door and sigh. He wanted to go in there and take one last look at his Master—at least for the foreseeable future—but he couldn’t risk it. There was a non-zero percent chance he’d take one step into the room and never want to leave, which would put all his carefully-placed plans in jeopardy, and an even higher chance that Obi-Wan would sense him somehow. His Master always had a good sense for him, like knowing from one look that Anakin was about to throw up, or knowing that Anakin had done something he shouldn’t just from one unmet gaze or a near-silent exhale of breath. It’s the mother in him, Anakin thought to himself, which pleased and upset him all at once—pleased because Obi-Wan having maternal instincts meant that he was an extremely compatible mate to Anakin’s Alpha, who wanted pups like a dog wanted a bone, but upset because that meant Obi-Wan’s maternal instincts were attuned to him as a pup rather than a mate.

That was neither here nor there, not at the moment. Anakin needed to leave before he did something stupid like say goodbye to Obi-Wan, and his time was running out. In a few hours, the sun would rise over Coruscant, and Anakin needed to be gone before Obi-Wan woke up. Mind made up, he made his way out of their quarters, as silent as the grave.

At least that part was easy. Anakin had snuck out enough times under cover of night that he knew what kinds of squeaks of a boot or a heavy stride would alert others to a Padawan out after curfew. He was even certain that Obi-Wan was entirely oblivious to it, especially since Anakin was extremely careful about it—never getting too drunk, never sneaking out when he knew he had to be up early, never stinking of another person’s scent. In this sense, he was the exact opposite of Obi-Wan, which he was sure they would’ve laughed about if his Master knew that he was sneaking out; Anakin was just too attuned to Obi-Wan to not notice whenever Obi-Wan came home from a night out, unable to hide the occasional scuffle of his boots when he took an uncoordinated step into the living room and leaving the acrid scent of some faceless Beta all over the places he’d bumped into on the way to the ‘fresher.

When he was a newly-presented Alpha, the urge to get on Obi-Wan’s case about it had grown tenfold almost seemingly overnight. He never did, though—he knew his Master, knew that he’d just hide it better, and Anakin preferred knowing when to drape himself all over Obi-Wan like a towel to overpower a stranger’s scent on his Master’s skin. Sometimes, he even encouraged Obi-Wan to let loose for the night, that he’d be fine in their quarters if his Master wanted to go out with friends for the night, just so he’d have the perfect excuse to rub his scent all over his Master’s bed while he was gone, then on his Master the morning after.

Okay. Maybe he was a little manipulative. He could hardly be blamed for it though—it was Obi-Wan.

He’d made it to the hangar in record time, barely ten minutes since he left his and Obi-Wan’s quarters for the last time in a long while. This was familiar, but it was the intention behind him sneaking out tonight that made it a little more exciting and a lot more melancholic. He wouldn’t have to sneak out for a while, because he’d be his own man for a few years. No Jedi, no Council, no disapproving glare from an older Knight or a Master. It also meant no Obi-Wan, but this was for his sake anyway. In every negotiation, concessions have to be made, but you must never sacrifice what you stand for, Obi-Wan had taught him. Leaving Obi-Wan behind was his concession for the freedom to grow up and prove himself to him.

Leaving Obi-Wan had been the hardest part, in retrospect. It was really a marvel how terrible Temple security was, with no one on nightwatch wondering why an unsupervised Padawan was making his way to one of the Temple-standard speeders and taking it without any mission clearance at two-thirty in the early morning. No one asked questions at the warehouse just on the outskirts of CoCo District either, one of the shiphands simply accepting his credits with a nod and gesturing over to one of the empty storage containers on the cargo ship.

Twelve hours later, he was back on Tatooine like he’d never left in the first place. They docked at Mos Eisley rather than Mos Espa, which was rather lucky; Watto would’ve recognised him, since he and Obi-Wan had to get him to tell them where his mom was only a year ago, and Anakin might be a little taller and a lot broader now than before, but Watto had spent years yelling obscenities at his face—he’d recognise him in a heartbeat.

Speaking of recognition, he needed to hide the obvious tells that he was a Jedi. One unpacking and switching on of his vibroblade later, Anakin tucked away his Padawan braid into one of the less-dense pockets of his rucksack. With that out of the way, the next step of Anakin’s plan was in motion: keep busy for the next couple of years.

It was not just a couple of years.

At first, he’d been sure that going back when he was nineteen was the best course of action. He wasn’t a patient guy, he couldn't stand being separated from Obi-Wan for so long, except a year and a half had come and gone and he was much too stubborn to leave his work with Jet unfinished, especially when the Alpha implied that he expected Anakin to get gone the moment he got his busted hyperdrive part fixed, and said it with such disappointment that Anakin really had no choice but to insist he would stay, it was the least he could do since he couldn’t pay for the part, he had a lot more to learn, really. Then Jet had been so happy to keep him on as a more-than-temporary employee that Anakin was barely paying attention to when he signed the contract in his name—his real name, because he was a karking idiot—and only noticed he’d signed on for two years of apprenticeship at Starstruck Co. after the ink had dried.

By the time he was on his way off of Corellia (missing an arm and one last futile offer of a threesome politely declined) Anakin had been gone for three years and four months. He considered going home, came as far as getting on the hyperlane to Coruscant and inputting the coordinates for the planet before he stopped and reconsidered. He was twenty, a year older than his estimate for going home, but what did that really mean for him? He’d been so busy and caught up with winning races and concealing his identity on Tatooine that he’d hardly talked to anyone that weren’t the bookies his first year, and he’d turned down every offer of sex in his second and third because he really just didn’t have the time for it between his written and practical tests, along with being on-hand for every ship that came into Corellian airspace, which was a karking lot.

And honestly, he was a little pent-up. Sure, he’d jerked off whenever he wasn’t dead tired and had more than five minutes of free time, but it was mainly for stress relief rather than any real sexual need. It wasn’t difficult to act on the impulse when he’d felt it, now that he had nothing holding him back, so before he knew it, he was on the hyperlane headed straight for Naboo.

He had met Padmé when he was nine, by way of Qui-Gon. Padmé was disguised as one of the handmaidens to the Queen of Naboo at the time, though she was actually the Queen all along. She was nice and sweet to him, and she didn’t look at him like he was stupid, and she laughed at his jokes, so Anakin had decided he was in love. Of course, that didn’t last long at all because he met Obi-Wan a few days later when they arrived on Coruscant, but Anakin still felt a semblance of attraction for the once-Queen-now-senator of Naboo. It was that mild attraction that led him to comm her and meet her at her home.

“Ani!” She called out, smiling so brightly that Anakin couldn’t help but grin back. “Oh, how lovely it is to see you! I can’t believe it—you’ve grown so much!”

“It’s nice to see you, Padmé,” Anakin murmured, accepting her embrace easily. Her scent flowed freely in the air of the lakehouse; Naboo was a little more liberal in some ways than Coruscant, so everyone walked around without any restriction on their scents, and unmated Omegas like Padmé were often encouraged to wear their scent freely to make it easier to find a mate.

She smelled of fragrant wildflowers, fresh ink, and something milky-sweet. It was a lovely scent, but it wasn’t oak bark, minty leaves, and spiced wine. The thought was slightly sobering.

“Tell me, what have you been up to?” Padmé asked, smiling up at him softly. She led them to the seating area, tucking her curly brown hair behind her ear when they sat down. She really did look like an angel, with her golden hairnet and golden dress. “Are you a Jedi Knight now, Ani? You sure look like you are.”

Anakin smiled at her, glad that even eloquent Senators were capable of slightly awkward complements. “No, I’m not a Jedi, at the moment,” he said, and explained after she raised a brow at him. He left out the details behind his leaving—no need to let an obviously-interested Omega know that he was only on extended leave because he was deeply in love with his Omega Master—but didn’t skirt around the topic of Obi-Wan either. By the end of his explanation, she was looking at him with fondness and something a little more meaningful.

“It’s rather admirable, leaving everything behind to better yourself,” she said a little wistfully, looking out the open balcony. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to leave behind a life of politics. I wouldn’t be very suited to it—there’s so much work to do, and I have a duty to the Republic, and I truly love what I do—but I can’t help but wonder.” She sighed, a pretty sound that has Anakin leaning slightly forward. “It would be just playing at domesticity, rather than anything real and concrete, but it’s nice to entertain the fantasy once in a while.”

Anakin hummed, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. He hadn’t even realised they’d started holding hands until that moment. “I get what you mean. I needed a break from the Jedi, but I’m sure it’s harder to take time off from the Senate.” He wasn’t, because he wasn’t really listening very well when she was explaining her role as a senator, but he wasn’t going to say that when she was looking at him like he’d said something deeply romantic. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be a break like mine. Maybe it could just be a few stolen days, where you can play a little bit of pretend. Concessions, you know?”

Padmé laughed sweetly, laying her other hand on top of Anakin’s. “What’s happened to that silly little boy, Ani? How’d he grow up so world-wise and knowing?”

I have the best Master and he makes me want to be perfect because he deserves nothing less. “He grew up into a man, angel,” he said instead, smiling boyishly and looking into her eyes. She blinked at him, cheeks blushing red as she met his gaze, her smile shy and definitely interested.

As Anakin leaned in and closed the distance between them, he allowed that to be the last thought of his Obi-Wan for the night. He might just be doing this for the learning experience, but Padmé deserved his singular attention regardless.

Sex with Padmé was good. There was a bit of a learning curve—he didn’t know there was another spot inside her that made her toes curl and her scent go wild with arousal until he’d fingered her, and he’d played with her clit like he’d seen in holoporn but she much preferred that other spot over the one Anakin could reach easily. He was also a little prone to coming too quickly, but at least that was less of an issue with a condom on and his recovery period was that of a virile Alpha’s, which Padmé found very endearing.

They fucked in all sorts of positions the first few days of Anakin’s stay, but he’d decided his favourite was when he took her from behind, her hair pulled down by gravity and leaving her pale back exposed. Some part of him wished he could say it was because he liked looking at her back, but if he was being honest with himself, it was probably because it was easier to imagine someone else when all he could see was pale, smooth skin. It was a bit of a leap in imagination to replace the image in his mind with freckled skin, a broader back, a bit of fat around the hips, and scratchy ginger hairs all over, but Anakin was a very imaginative guy. He thrusted and came so hard that he worried that he’d hurt her when she seized up, but it turned out that he wasn’t the only one enjoying a little bit of roughness, he realised when she leaked down their joined thighs.

The day after that, Padmé petted his face and said, forlornly, “I’m sorry, Ani. I had a lot of fun, I really did, but I don’t think I can give you the love you want.”

Anakin, still sticky and sweaty with their most recent coupling, had laughed in relief. “Oh, thank the Force. That makes everything easier for the both of us.”

Which led into another very enthusiastic third round, one where they talked, and quite a lot at that. Padmé described the man she’d been thinking of—some other senator named Clovis—while Anakin slid into her, and Anakin moaned Obi-Wan’s name as she started riding him, so it really turned out very well for the both of them.

The aftermath was a little bit more awkward, mainly because Padmé was a very curious sort of woman. “So, your Master?” She said, trailing her fingers up his chest and down again. “From what I’ve heard and seen of the Jedi, that doesn’t sound like something they’d approve of. Didn’t he raise you?”

“He did, which is exactly why he’s the only one for me,” Anakin said, confident in his words. He’d justified this to himself and imaginary-Obi-Wan many times before. “He raised me to be the way I am, so I’m perfectly compatible with him. It’s just a matter of convincing him I’m ready, honestly.”

“Ani, I’m going to say this very nicely because I know you love him,” she said seriously, her nail digging into his pectoral, “but you make it sound like he groomed you to be his mate.”

What? “What?” He asked, looking over at her with wide eyes. “Groomed—he wouldn’t even look at me whenever I got naked! He doesn’t touch me unless I touch him first, and when he does touch me first, it’s always, like, a head pat or a shoulder tap. He gives me privacy when I want it—I’m the one that infringes on his privacy!” He huffed petulantly, feeling a little bit like a chastised pup. “Groomed, really—he treats me like his pup, not like his mate! It just turned out that I want to be his mate more than anything else in the world. That’s not his fault.”

Padmé sighed, long-suffering, which was unfair because Anakin had only been here a week. “Then say that. The way you talked about him at some points, I started to wonder if I had to draft up an inquiry into the Jedi Order for abuses of power.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Anakin muttered weakly, batting away her finger. “Obi-Wan’s the best thing that ever happened to me. He doesn’t want me the way I want him—at least not yet—and he wouldn’t ever... groom me, or whatever. He never did, he’s too good to do it.”

“How am I supposed to trust that that’s the case when you’re the one saying it? You’re not exactly an unbiased party,” she replied in that tone that made him feel like a criminal on trial.

He winced. “Because I love him?”

“Not good enough. Try again.”

“Because... he’s the best of the Jedi?”

Padmé glared at him. “That’s only going to encourage an inquiry into the Temple more than it’ll defend Obi-Wan.”

Anakin groaned, then sighed. “What does it even matter? I don’t need to defend us against you.”

“But what if you do? If—or when—Master Kenobi does accept you as his mate? Do you really think you guys could hide this from the Jedi, from the law, from your friends?” Padmé levelled him with a serious look. “You have to be ready to defend your love against others, Ani. I do trust that you love him, and I can tell from the way you talk about him that you’re a victim of lovesickness, not a victim of grooming, but others won’t be able to tell from just a glance.”

Anakin mulled over this in silence, considering her thoughts. It made sense—the optics wouldn’t look good for them. Anakin didn’t care about what others thought of him, but Obi-Wan did; it showed in his vanity and self-maintenance, the way he held and carried himself, the way he spoke as politely as a politician but without all the poison barbs, the way he always hid away for his heats or illnesses. Obi-Wan deserved to be defended, especially when the relationship made him look like the aggressor, even though Anakin was the only one between them that had been all-in since day one.

“Obi-Wan doesn’t love me the way that I love him,” he said after a while, staring at the ceiling. “He can’t, not yet. He does love me—I’m sure of it—but he loves me like family. He would’ve been heartbroken to discover that I loved him like something more, if I told him that before I left, when I was still a kid. He would’ve blamed himself, turned all the same accusations you made against himself.” He raised a quieting hand when he felt Padmé begin to argue, and continued. “But it isn’t his fault. It’s my fault, because I shouldn’t want this. I should see him like how he sees me, like a little brother or even a son, but that’s just impossible. All I see is him, how he is when he’s happy, when he’s sad, when he’s afraid, when he’s got a hangover, when he’s worried about me, when he’s drinking tea and pretending he doesn’t care about the holomovie we’re watching.”

He sighed to himself, feeling heavy with tiredness all of a sudden. “If I were any younger, I’d get it, I’d be worried too. But he’s not the one that did this to me. I fell in love with him all on my own.” He smiled, closing his eyes. “It would’ve been easier if he wanted me back, but Obi-Wan’s too good for that. I don’t deserve him, but I want all of him anyway.”

Padmé was quiet for a while, her finger returning to its trail. Then she sighed and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, catching his attention. “Alright. You’ve mostly convinced me,” she said with a soft smile, laying her palm over his heart. “You could do with a little bit more finesse, though, the son comment might get a lot more than a few eyebrow raises—”

“You sound just like him,” Anakin laughed, shaking his head and pressing back against her. It felt good to talk about this, about all his sticky feelings for Obi-Wan, with someone who didn’t judge him, who accepted how he loved and only wanted him to defend it for the sake of its existence. “Thank you, angel. I’ll work on it, I promise—I don’t want to finally get my chance, only to lose it because I couldn’t protect him.”

It was certainly an enlightening conversation. He decided to leave the next day, which he told her over breakfast, and then had embraced her for a long while before he got moving. She’d offered to share her heats with him if he shared his ruts with her until he went back to the Jedi, and she spoke so refreshingly about it—she’d never been with an Alpha in rut, and he’d never been with an Omega in heat, so it was a learning experience all around—that he’d accepted without a second thought. It was a good kind of arrangement, and he left Naboo with a sense of added clarity.

The rest of his time away was relatively straightforward. Every day, he missed Obi-Wan more and more, even as he slept in others’ beds, talked to all sorts of beings, picked up all sorts of new skills, went to all sorts of new planets. Learning how to shoot a blaster was more of a necessity than anything else, and going to Ilum made him feel a good kind of unbalanced, but it was all worth it. He knew it was, because he got to experience the galaxy all around them, got to meet so many different beings from so many cultures, got to live his life as a man without any restraints, and still came out of it as in love with Obi-Wan as he’d been when he left, perhaps even more. His only true regret was that he couldn’t have experienced all this life with him.

It was that feeling of regret that led him to finally getting on the hyperlane to Coruscant and inputting the coordinates, a few months before his twenty-third birthday, and the rest was history.

All of that led to this beautiful, bright moment, and Anakin knew that it was all worth it.

“What?” Obi-Wan breathed, staring up at him with wide, panicked, and slightly dazed eyes. Like just a bit of kissing was enough to completely rock his careful balance.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Anakin murmured, pressing up against him and letting his eyes droop as he sighed. “So karking long, Obi-Wan. You don’t even understand how long I’ve wanted this, wanted you. I was so patient the whole time, but I can’t help myself now. Not when there’s nothing stopping us, stopping me.”

“Anakin, this is—Force,” Obi-Wan choked out, his eyes squeezing shut as Anakin licked the sweat from his throat, nosed close to his scent gland. “Please, Anakin, this is wrong, I-I am your Master—”

“Were my Master, Obi-Wan,” Anakin interrupted, smiling as he grazed his canines against Obi-Wan’s throat, relishing his sweet Omega’s shaky gasp. “I was just Knighted, remember? I’m not your Padawan, not anymore. I’m nothing to you now.” He tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s waist, firmly enough that he knew his palms were going to leave bruises on his pale skin beneath those shapeless robes. Good, he thought to himself, I’ve waited long enough to mark him up.

“Y-you’ll never be nothing to me, dear one,” Obi-Wan croaked, his voice hoarse with harried shock. “Is that what this is about? My dear, you will always be important to me, you don’t have to do—Anakin!”

Anakin grinned wickedly, his thigh pressing against Obi-Wan’s warm dampness through his pants. It was a much bolder admission of his Omega’s desire than anything that could ever tumble out of his mouth, a part of his body he couldn’t control or wield perfectly like a blade. This part of Obi-Wan’s body was completely honest and would remain so, even when every other part of him tried to lie to Anakin.

“Please, no,” Obi-Wan whimpered, trying to sink back into the bookshelf as Anakin ground his hips against a shaking thigh, “Anakin, dearest, don’t do this—you don’t know what you’re—”

“And you do?” Anakin bit out, something ugly rearing its head in him, patience running thin. “You think you know what I want, Obi-Wan? Tell me, how? I became a man without you, Master. I grew into myself, grew into this body, and knew I wanted you the entire time. I’ve known this for as long as I’ve known who I was.” He pressed himself impossibly closer to Obi-Wan, speaking by the shell of a beet-red ear. “Do you wanna know how I figured it out? When I was thirteen, I touched myself to the thought of you and blew my load so fast I saw stars behind my eyes. When I was fourteen, I snuck into your room and stole one of your tunics and jerked off onto it, hoping against hope that my scent would stick to it. At fifteen, after I first presented, I rubbed myself karking raw to the memory of you bathing under that waterfall on Myranus.”

Obi-Wan was shaking now, crying and sniffling wetly as Anakin ground his hips against Obi-Wan’s own, his cock pressing into the crease between Obi-Wan’s thigh and his damp cunt. Anakin kissed his red, tear-tracked cheek gently and spoke his next words softly. “When I ran away, the only thing that kept me from turning around and running back into your arms was the thought that you would never accept me as your Alpha if you watched me become a man. I would’ve given you my body, my mind, my soul, but you never would’ve wanted me as anything other than your Padawan pup.” He angled up slightly and pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s temples, basking in that sweet, minty scent. “Can’t you see, Obi-Wan? I’ve been yours this whole time; since I was taken by the Jedi, since I came to the Temple, since you shook my hand and smiled at me like I was the only boy in the world. Not the Jedi’s, not the Force’s, not even my own—I’ve always been yours.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan gasped wetly, a pathetic noise that only served to send shivers of flaming hot arousal down Anakin’s spine. “I-I raised you. I am... I am like a mother to you. You cannot possibly—”

“But I can, Obi-Wan, I did, and I do,” Anakin murmured, kissing the other man’s wrinkled forehead like a benediction. He pulled Obi-Wan in by the back of his neck, cradling his face to Anakin’s scent gland by his throat, petting his hair as he sobbed and clutched onto Anakin like a lifeline, every gasp of breath leading him to inhale Anakin’s scent. “You raised me, and what a wonderful gift that was. To grow up so loved, to have so much love in my heart for you. It was everything to me, Obi-Wan,” he said, kissing the tip of his ear, “but I still wanted more. I’ve always wanted more than I could get, and you made it so easy to want you so much.”

Obi-Wan crumpled against him, so suddenly that Anakin thought for a moment that the Omega had fainted. “The fault is mine, then,” Obi-Wan whispered a moment later, thick with shame and self-loathing, speaking through tears, “I did this to you, I planted the ideas of—of this deviancy into you, loved you too much and corrupted the—the very core of your love, corrupted and ruined you.” His grip on Anakin’s arm tightened enough that he thought if Obi-Wan were any stronger, he might’ve snapped Anakin’s forearm in two. “I am the monster that debased you, a predator—”

“Oh, shut up, Obi-Wan,” Anakin growled, unable to take it anymore. He couldn’t care less if others moaned and complained about themselves, about their insecurities and their fears, but to hear Obi-Wan do it was nothing short of an insult to his very soul. “Stop talking and listen to me.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth shut with an audible click. Anakin rewarded his Omega’s compliance with a gentle pet of the back of his head, fingers carding through silver-specked strands of auburn hair. “You were the best Master any Padawan could ask for,” Anakin told him, speaking softly like he would to a frightened youngling, “the best partner, the best brother, the best mother. You were the best in so many ways, Master, an exemplary Jedi who never demanded more than was necessary and gave more than what anyone asked for.”

He turned his head slightly, kissing the top of Obi-Wan’s jaw, the hairs of his beard tickling his lips. “You were the very image of propriety. Never once acting out of line, never overstepping boundaries, never making me believe you saw me as anything beyond a pup, a brother, or a son. It was so kriffing frustrating, to know you loved me as much as you could, and that I still wanted more.” He bit the lobe of Obi-Wan’s ear, swallowing the surge of want he felt at the sound of Obi-Wan’s shuddering gasp. “You frustrated me so much by being so perfect, so infallible. Sometimes I wished you were a worse man, just so I could finally get my chance.” He kissed the reddened lobe, very gently. “I’m glad you aren’t, Obi-Wan. I want you—need you—exactly as you are.”

Anakin nuzzled against Obi-Wan’s cheek, holding him as the Omega’s sobs began to subside, his hysterics slowly dying down. Anakin knew that he had to employ his dirtier tactics to get the result he wanted most, so he dropped his voice impossibly lower, softer than a whisper against Obi-Wan’s ear. “Please, Obi-Wan. Let me have this. For all the love you have for me, if you love me at all—won’t you let me have you, the way I want you?”

“Of... of course I love you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan told him, sniffling slightly. “I just... I don’t understand. I thought I was like a brother or a mother figure to you. I thought... I never would have imagined...”

“How are we, both of us only-sons, supposed to know what brothers are like, Obi-Wan? And you never knew your mother, but I did—and I never, ever acted the way I do with you with her, even when I was so much younger and could’ve gotten away with it more.” Anakin let his lips trail over the sensitive skin of the space below Obi-Wan’s ear, revelling in his shivers and quiet gasps. “Of course you never would’ve imagined this. You’re too good, too pure, too perfect to see the depths of my love for you. But I’ve always loved you so much, Obi-Wan, needed you so much—the only difference from when I was seventeen to now is that I’m a little older and more sure of it, more sure of you.”

Obi-Wan sniffled again, still so hesitant, even though the wetness between his legs had begun slowly seeping into the fabric of Anakin’s knee. He’d made the right choice to ambush Obi-Wan the week before his heat, though it wasn’t an active decision he’d made at the time. “Oh, Anakin...”

“Please, Master,” Anakin murmured, trying to be sweet for Obi-Wan. “Let me have you, please? I know how to make it feel good, know how to make you feel good. I can be good for you, if you just give me a chance.”

The way Obi-Wan shuddered in his arms proved to him that he’d won. “I... I don’t...” Obi-Wan stuttered, and Anakin let him, allowing him to arrive at the same conclusion that he had, just at his own pace. “Only... only this one time. Only once, do you understand?”

The way he asked the question made Anakin think that, maybe, he was saying it not just for his Padawan’s benefit, but also his own. Anakin smiled brightly, overjoyed and happy and wanting. “Of course, Obi-Wan,” he lied easily, kissing the space below Obi-Wan’s ear again, close enough to his scent gland. There was no way in all the hells that he’d content himself to just the one time, but it was necessary for Obi-Wan to think he would, for now. “Let me get it out of my system, and I’ll never bring it up again. Okay?”

Obi-Wan nodded against his shoulder, no longer sniffling and gasping, so Anakin let up. He gave Obi-Wan enough space to step away from the bookshelf before scooping him up into his arms, easily shouldering his weight. Obi-Wan’s arms flew to wrap around his neck with an undignified yelp, clinging to him as he marched into Obi-Wan’s bedroom, kicking the door shut before gently depositing his Omega onto his half-made bed.

He glanced around, having not been in here since that night of weakness, when he’d been too out of it to take notice of the place. “Still no decor, huh?” He wasn’t being very critical about it, and he didn’t actually care whether or not Obi-Wan decorated or not, but he knew that he needed to make the slightest bit of casual conversation to give Obi-Wan the space to mentally prepare himself, to convince himself that this was just a one-time thing that he was granting Anakin.

Obi-Wan breathed in shakily and exhaled for a long time. He shut his eyes and inhaled again, much more steadily, before exhaling just as calmly. Moments later, he blinked open his wet, blue eyes and stared up at Anakin. “I don’t have much in the way of decorating anything, as it is,” he said measuredly, settling back against the headboard.

Anakin watched him from the edge of his bed, pressing one knee into the mattress but not moving the whole way. He shucked his boots off first, then his tunic and pants. All the while, Obi-Wan watched him, eyes tracking every movement of his hands on linen and cotton and leather before he exposed himself, the chilly Coruscanti air pebbling goosebumps across his tanned skin. He preened to himself when he caught Obi-Wan’s eyes darting up and down, from meaty pectorals to his flat muscled stomach, before pulling down his underwear.

He was fully naked in record time, clothes discarded to be collected from the floor in the aftermath. He knew he had a nice back and an even nicer ass, so he made a show of getting on the bed with his back to Obi-Wan, whose scent then sharpened at the sight. He turned around to face Obi-Wan then, sitting on the backs of his legs and splaying his thighs out, his cock laying semi-hard and heavy between them. Obi-Wan’s eyes went to them and he squeezed his thighs tighter to himself, to Anakin’s immense delight.

“Your turn,” he said, nodding in the direction of Obi-Wan. The older Omega swallowed and nodded, running his hand through his hair to calm himself as he got to his knees and started removing his clothing. His tunic and undertunic both went first and he exposed his pale, pinkish skin to the air, his light gingery hairs giving his shapely body an attractive fuzziness to it, making him look so wonderfully soft. Anakin felt his cock twitch when his eyes drifted over to Obi-Wan’s chest, pink nubs a little puffier than usual, his chest probably slightly fuller than the usual empty. It wasn’t wholly uncommon for Omegas to suddenly start lactating, even without the presence of their pup. At times, they would even lactate because their bodies could tell their mates wanted it. Anakin knew Obi-Wan’s body well enough to know that was the case, even if his Master didn’t know it himself; Anakin had always been a quick study when it came to his Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan’s hands went to remove his pants next, and this time, Anakin couldn’t help himself. He leaned back slightly on his free hand before using his organic hand to stroke his cock, slow and lazy, only the slightest flick of his wrist on the upstroke. Obi-Wan’s eyes fell to the movement of his hand as he breathed in a sharp, quiet sound, before slipping his pants down his ass, lowering the fabric down to his knees.

“Kriffing hells, Obi-Wan,” Anakin moaned, biting his lip at the sight of Obi-Wan’s soaked underwear, the way his slick made his inner thighs glisten. If Anakin were to guess, Obi-Wan had probably been wet between the legs since Anakin first shoved him up against his bookshelf.

Obi-Wan blushed bright red as he tugged his pants away, depositing them on the floor along with a kick of his boots, and then they were both naked. He sat back against the headboard, moving to keep his thighs pressed together until he caught the dark, suggestive look in Anakin’s eyes. With a shaky sigh, he spread his thighs open, exposing his beautiful, slick-wet cunt, topped with a thatch of ginger-blond hairs. Anakin felt himself salivating at the sight—he couldn’t possibly not have a taste.

Anakin drew closer, releasing his cock and letting it fall heavy between his legs. He moved to situate himself in between Obi-Wan’s legs and pressed their chests together, pulling Obi-Wan in for a kiss—another one of many more to come, he vowed to himself. Obi-Wan pretended to fight it for a moment, keeping his mouth sealed tight, but a lick to his lips and a hand cupping the beginnings of his soon-to-be heavier tits had his mouth parting to accept Anakin swiftly. Anakin forced more of his tongue into Obi-Wan’s mouth and swallowed his moan, licking against his tongue and dragging his mechno-hand up and down Obi-Wan’s sides.

He pulled away with some reluctance, leaving spit-wet kisses all over Obi-Wan’s throat. “I want you to sit on me,” he said, letting his thumbs rub against those puffy nipples, the sounds of his Omega’s pleased moans echoing in his ears and speeding straight down to his cock. “Can you do that for me, baby? Sit on my face, ride it like I know you want to.”

“Sit on—?” Obi-Wan asked breathily, moaning when Anakin pinched a nipple. “Yes, yes, alright,” he said afterwards, already drunk with pleasure and a little dazed. Anakin smiled, leaning down to kiss and suck on the other nipple, resulting in another rippling gush of wetness between his Master’s thick thighs.

Anakin moved back until he was on his back and Obi-Wan was hovering above Anakin’s face and lowering his hips, his soaking wet cunt sweet against Anakin’s lips, smelling so thickly of Obi-Wan that he wanted to bathe and roll in it. Impatient and unappreciative of Obi-Wan’s hesitation, Anakin pulled him down with little preamble, licking into him with abandon as soon as those folds pressed against his mouth.

“A-Anakin! Oh, Force—” Obi-Wan seized up, hands clutching at the sheets around Anakin’s head as he licked into Obi-Wan’s hole, sucking loudly and wetly on his engorged clit, tongue flicking against the plush, velvety skin between his folds. Anakin gripped Obi-Wan by the hips and pulled him down even more, locking his elbows to make it harder for him to escape from the torrent of Anakin’s mouth as Obi-Wan moaned and gasped, leaking slick all over Anakin’s face and chest as he ground his hips back and forth, chasing his own pleasure on his Padawan’s face.

Anakin, for his part, was in paradise. A thousand cunts and a thousand holes wouldn’t have been able to make up even a fraction of the pleasure he got now from Obi-Wan’s cunt, and he knew this to be fact, his body reacting so much to Obi-Wan’s pleasure. When his Master made those little ah, ah, ah! noises while rutting back and forth on top of Anakin, fingers clawing into sheets and nearly tearing them, it took all of Anakin’s self-control to not blow his load at either the sight or the sensation of Obi-Wan’s slick gushing out of him as he reached his peak with a shaky, shuddering moan, soaking Anakin’s chin with delectable wetness.

“O-oh, dear one, Anakin—Anakin, too much, too—” Obi-Wan groaned, hunching over Anakin as he continued to lick into Obi-Wan, who shook and quivered all over from the continued stimulation. “Darling, d-dearest, please, I can’t, enough—”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Anakin said after a few greedy gulps of air as he detached from Obi-Wan’s quaking cunt, licking his lips and kissing the sensitive Omega’s inner thighs. Obi-Wan was a sight—sitting atop him, framed by the dim light of his bedroom, back arched and skin glistening with sweat, his cheeks and ears and chest red all over. His beautiful eyes were a little more than black with a thin rim of blue, nipples peaked and puffy and wet with Anakin’s spit, heaving desperate breaths after just a few minutes of Anakin between his thighs.

There was no other place Anakin would rather be than here. Here, or in any other position Obi-Wan wanted him in. If he died now, he’d die a happy man.

He clapped Obi-Wan on an ass cheek with his organic hand, the sound jolting Obi-Wan out of his twitching daze. Anakin squeezed the flesh he’d slapped immediately after, wondering if it would redden after a few more hits and filing that thought away for another time. “Let me up. I’ll give you what you need, sweetheart, I promise.”

Obi-Wan didn’t move immediately, still catching his breath, but Anakin could see a hint of mischief in his eyes. He bore more of his weight down on Anakin’s chest. “I need a minute, dear one,” he huffed, settling back so his thighs spread out further, not so crushing as to restrict Anakin’s airflow but just enough for the threat to register. “I’m not as young and spry as you. This takes time.”

Anakin grinned up at him, all teeth. He moved his head to kiss muscled thighs. “Oh, I think you’re plenty ready, Obi-Wan,” he said before he surged forwards.

In moments, Obi-Wan was on his back, landing with a soft oomph, auburn hair fanning out on the pillow as he gazed up at Anakin with wide, blue eyes. Anakin hadn’t had the pleasure to fuck anyone in this position before—too hard to imagine Obi-Wan, if he saw his partner’s face so clearly—so it felt like fate that he had Obi-Wan like this now. His Obi-Wan, his Master that he loved so deeply, that he’d wanted since he was thirteen, that he’d loved since he was even younger. The only man he ever wanted below him, on his back, eyes gazing up at him, singularly vulnerable but so strong, so capable. Anakin had him in a position that exuded full submission, but the almost challenging way that Obi-Wan looked into his eyes—

“Anakin?” He murmured, looking up at him through light, wet lashes, lips shining behind that full beard. He swallowed, and Anakin watched the bob of his throat, feeling half-desperate already. Obi-Wan didn’t seem to notice his turmoil. “Having second thoughts?”

“Not even close,” Anakin said immediately, nosing against the line of Obi-Wan’s jaw. He smiled at the small hitched breath that elicited; he’d had his tongue so far up Obi-Wan’s cunt he could’ve lived there, but it was this kind of kiss that flustered him. “Just thinking how lucky I am to have you like this.” He kissed the edge of Obi-Wan’s scent gland. “Even if it’s just the one time.”

Obi-Wan sighed, winding his arms around Anakin’s neck and carding his fingers through his hair. “I understand,” he said softly, eyes hooded and pupils dilated, looking like he wanted to say more but decided against it. He swallowed again and pulled Anakin down, initiating a kiss that tasted all the sweeter for it.

Anakin lost himself in the kiss, so distracted by the feel, the taste of him that his cock, still hard against Obi-Wan’s thigh, lay forgotten and cast aside. It was only when Obi-Wan adjusted the angle, craning Anakin’s head a little to the side, that his damp thighs rub against Anakin’s cock. “Obi-Wan,” he gasped into the Omega’s mouth, the pleasure shooting through him like blasterfire. He moaned when Obi-Wan ground against him, a slow, molten roll of his hips. “Please... can I... will you let me—”

All of his hard-earned confidence gone with the wind, carried away by the scent and sound and sensation of Obi-Wan underneath him. Obi-Wan half-cooed, half-moaned when Anakin slid his cock against the lips of Obi-Wan’s cunt. “Alright, Anakin,” he sighed softly, pressing a tender kiss to Anakin’s cheek. “In me, dear one. Go ahead.”

For a moment, Anakin thought he heard resignation in Obi-Wan’s voice and tried, helplessly, not to feel so crushed by the weight of it. It was only when Obi-Wan ground his hips up, dragging Anakin’s cock against slick folds and whimpering like a schutta, tugging insistently on both his hair and the back of his neck as if to pull him impossibly closer, that Anakin recognised this for what it was: Obi-Wan letting his body speak the words his mouth was too afraid to say aloud. Do what you must, his mouth sighed. Fuck me now, his body pleaded.

With a groan, Anakin reached down to grab hold of the base of his cock, pulling away from Obi-Wan with a lingering kiss. He placed Obi-Wan’s thighs on top of his own, shimmying slightly up until they were flush against each other once more, Obi-Wan settling on his back and breathing heavily with anticipation. Anakin ran his organic hand up and down the span of Obi-Wan’s wispy stomach, trying to keep his thoughts away from anything so dangerous as mating, fighting the mental image of Obi-Wan on his back, belly round with the beginnings of a pup, the physical evidence of their mating.

“Please, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, prompting Anakin to meet his eyes. In them he found his desperation mirrored, his need reflected and reciprocated. Spurred on by Obi-Wan’s obvious desire, Anakin sank his slick-wet, stiff cock into that tight yet pliant heat.

They both moaned low and long as Anakin slid home and bottomed out in one smooth thrust, hips snug against each other. Obi-Wan gasped when Anakin tested the depth, eyes rolling back into his skull and fluttering shut, mouth falling open as wanton moans spilled out. Anakin wondered if this was Obi-Wan’s first time being fucked outside of his heat, which only served to encourage him to slide halfway out before thrusting back in, slow in order to savour the feeling. This was what he’d always wanted, what his lovesick heart yearned for all this time, the itch that could never be scratched—making love to Obi-Wan slowly, passionately, with all the time in the world to themselves.

“I-I can take more,” Obi-Wan moaned, likely mistaking Anakin’s slowness for hesitance or carefulness. Anakin was being careful, wanting to drag this out for as long as he could while making sure it was pleasurable for Obi-Wan as well, so he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Give it to me, dear one,” Obi-Wan murmured, wet eyes blinking open as he reached down to grip both of Anakin’s wrists, “show me what you’ve learned, all these years.”

Anakin couldn’t fight the whine that escaped him even if he tried. He moved his hands as Obi-Wan’s grip loosened and gathered his Master’s wrists in his mechno-hand, using his flesh hand to lift Obi-Wan’s thigh high up enough to make the angle of his thrusts hit all the harder. With that, he set a decisive, brutal pace, one that had Obi-Wan’s bed rocking against the wall with a rhythmic thump, thump, thump, eliciting a steady stream of gasping moans and whimpers as Anakin fucked into him like his life depended on it.

His body was taut like a pulled string as he fucked his Omega, sweat beading on his forehead and on his skin as he sank deep into that plush heat, listening to the beautiful music of Obi-Wan’s gasping moans. “Kark, Master, do you even know what you do to me?” Anakin groaned, hips pistoning in and out of Obi-Wan, who was too lost in pleasure to manage even a hum of acknowledgement of Anakin’s words. “You drive me kriffing wild. I can’t even count how many times I’ve jerked off to the thought of you, the thought of this—how many orgasms I’ve had, dreaming about fucking you like this.” He laughed breathily around a moan. “You—Force—ever wonder why I stopped coming to you after every night terror? It wasn’t because my nightmares stopped, Obi-Wan.” He pressed a kiss against the side of Obi-Wan’s calf, letting his teeth catch on the skin and relishing the stuttered gasp that elicited. “It was because they turned into something else entirely, and I’d wake up with my cock hard in my briefs, the memory of you like spicebrew on my tongue.”

Obi-Wan whined, the sound almost punched out of him. “Anakin, Anakin,” he gasped dazedly, like he didn’t even realise he was talking, his eyes sex-drunk and just gone, neck craned up to expose his throat, scent gland so ripe with the smell of him. Anakin opened his mouth to better scent the Omega under him, smelling and tasting his feelings, and grinned when he found nothing but pleasure, need, and desire, no trace of the fear or worry from earlier. He’d successfully fucked his sweet little Master to the point of complete cock-drunkenness, enough that he’d completely forgotten his prior reluctance.

Anakin let go of Obi-Wan’s wrists in order to grip Obi-Wan’s other thigh, hoisting it up enough so he could fuck into Obi-Wan by pressing down on him, aligning his knee with his cheek. The new angle allowed him to, somehow, get even deeper into Obi-Wan, a fact that wasn’t lost on the Omega, who whimpered sharply as his eyes squeezed shut. “Anakin!”

“Keep saying my name, Master,” Anakin whined, pressing down until he was flush against Obi-Wan and kissing his throat. “I want to hear you, please, say my name.”

“Anakin, Anakin, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sobbed, burying his face in Anakin’s hair. They were both sweaty all over and wet from the waist below with Obi-Wan’s slick, and Anakin could think of no better way to drown. “Please, Anakin, Force, don’t stop—”

“Say it,” he begged, panting against Obi-Wan’s scent gland, not so far gone as to leave a mark above the collar but so, so very tempted as he buried his face into overheated skin. “Say you love me, I need to hear you say it, Obi-Wan.” He needed it more than he needed anything else in his entire life.

“I love you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan cried, voice hoarse from all of his noises, “I love you so much—”

Anakin whimpered as he pulled out and spilled all over Obi-Wan’s stomach before releasing the Omega’s thighs from his bruising grip. Obi-Wan whined from being left bereft only for Anakin to reach down and immediately fuck three fingers into his abused cunt, using the warmed pads of his mechno-hand to rub viciously at Obi-Wan’s clit until the man thrashed and sobbed, seizing up with a shout as his orgasm took him, impossibly tight around Anakin’s fingers and soaking them with his release.

Obi-Wan was still shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm when Anakin pulled his fingers out a few beats later, teasing him with his wet fingers against his puffy lips. Anakin smiled at the dazed, exhausted expression on Obi-Wan’s face, loving how relaxed and pliant he was now that he’d been wrung out. Anakin moved carefully as his better motor functions returned to him—he picked up his discarded undertunic and wiped Obi-Wan down as best he could, hardly even registering the loss of one of his favourite undertunics to the fluids. He leaned over and kissed his Master, slow and sweet, and smiled when Obi-Wan kissed him back, heavy and loose with tiredness.

He stood up slowly too, not wanting to jostle Obi-Wan unnecessarily, and padded over to the ‘fresher of Obi-Wan’s room. He retrieved a washrag from the cupboard and let a bit of warm water dampen it before walking back into the bedroom. Obi-Wan watched him with half-lidded eyes as Anakin cleaned his thighs with the washrag, only twitching once when Anakin’s hand scrubbed the spend from his navel.

Deeming Obi-Wan suitably clean, Anakin gave himself a few cursory wipes before tossing the soiled rag with his undertunic. He worked in silence as he tugged the sheet out from beneath Obi-Wan, tossing it over to his growing pile of urgent laundry and replacing the sheet with a duvet plucked from one of the cupboards. It occurred to Anakin that he hadn’t done this for Obi-Wan in ages—the last time being in the midst of Obi-Wan’s heat six years ago, which the Omega spent mostly-clothed but very sweaty and too lethargic to get up and wash his laundry. He only ever let Anakin help him during his heats when he couldn’t find the strength to do the work himself, which Anakin had seen as a rejection of his more efficient ways of helping Obi-Wan in his heats at the time. Now, though, Anakin knew that it was a gift—he could never have proven himself as a worthy mate if he’d helped Obi-Wan through his heats by way of the traditional method, untrained as he was. He knew that the sight of Obi-Wan naked and spent would’ve stirred up the urge for another round in Anakin from five years ago, and so it did now.

But he wasn’t here to do anything more than prove himself, so Anakin gathered Obi-Wan’s lax limbs together and tucked him in under his clean duvet, feeling Obi-Wan’s gaze on him the whole time. He met the Omega’s gaze and smiled softly, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead, smoothing his hair back in a mimicry of Obi-Wan’s gentle touches back from when he was still a pup. “Thank you, Obi-Wan,” he murmured against his skin, pulling away after a moment of basking in that soft warmth. “Sweet dreams.”

With that, he turned to his discarded clothes and put on the ones still relatively clean, consisting mainly of his tunic, his pants, and his boots. The smell of Obi-Wan stuck to his clothes like a musk, and he found himself unable to fight the urge to inhale deeply. He felt Obi-Wan watching his back as he bundled the laundry—along with Obi-Wan’s own clothes—and wrapped them in the sheet, then took one more look at Obi-Wan’s lightly dozing figure before shutting off the light and leaving him alone.

As soon as he closed the door to Obi-Wan’s bedroom, Anakin sighed, a lovesick smile on his face. He knew that this wasn’t the end of it, that this was only another step of his plan to get Obi-Wan to love him the way he wanted to be loved, but the sense of satisfaction that he felt was so perfect that he almost didn’t want this moment to ever end. He rubbed his cheek, scrubbing the stupid smile from his face, and crossed the apartment straight out the door, re-engaging the coded lock and marching the short distance down the hall towards the new apartment assigned to him.

He’d gotten part of what he wanted out of this. Now, it was time for the next step of his plan: give Obi-Wan the space he needed to come to his own conclusions and wait.

Chapter Text

The first thing Obi-Wan thought, when he woke up that morning, was that he felt satisfied.

Of course, the second thing he thought was that he must be the worst man to have ever lived. The despair at his body and mind’s betrayal of who he was as a person was almost as suffocating as the stench of sex that still lingered in the air, even hours after Anakin left and took the worst of the evidence with him. Grappling with what happened was a monumental task from where he was laying on his back, feeling vaguely like a beached whale incapable of moving, but he forced himself to sit up. He closed his eyes as he rested against his pillows and headboard, ignoring the soreness of his lower back and the disgusting sound of his clammy thighs unsticking as he shifted into a meditative state, using his duvet to hide the sight of his legs from himself.

He breathed in, then out, repeating it as many times as it took to calm his breathing—which was quite a lot of times, if he kept count. Eventually, his heart slowed, and he focused on maintaining that stillness, that serenity, the fragment of peace he’d caught for himself.

Here were the facts: he slept with his Padawan. Former Padawan, as of barely thirty minutes before their... coupling, but still his Padawan. His Padawan who he’d known since he was nine and took on as early as eleven. His Padawan who’d only returned after five years away merely six months prior. His Padawan whom he considered his pup, for Force’s sake.

But that wasn’t exactly correct, was it? He’d loved Anakin like his pup throughout his childhood, but he was never his mother, no matter how close they were. Anakin already had a mother, and Obi-Wan’s failure to heed Anakin’s vision had cost Shmi her life. Obi-Wan had projected a familial love onto Anakin that wasn’t reciprocated, not because the boy didn’t love him, but because the boy loved him in another way.

Obi-Wan tried to see it from his perspective. He’d admired Qui-Gon, but certainly not to the point of believing he loved him like a mate did, even though his old Master was an Alpha, so it wasn’t an inherent biological influence. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be in love with his Master and steadily felt more and more horrified by the prospect before promptly banishing it from his mind. He had no desire to scrutinise whatever relationship he had with his former Master, especially when he’d just karking slept with his Padawan.

He recentered himself. He was getting distracted with extraneous things. He must simply trust that Anakin believed that he was in love with Obi-Wan, though he couldn’t understand why when he had the rest of the galaxy to choose from. With that in mind, he had to look into himself rather than try and figure out what was going on in his Padawan’s head.

Objectively speaking, when he had first laid eyes upon Anakin after five years and hadn’t recognised him, he thought that he was good-looking. Aesthetically, he was beautiful, with his dark, hooded eyes, his sharp nose, his full lips, and the last of his baby fat gone. He’d also grown longer hair, a darker shade than the blond he’d left with. Significantly, he’d grown taller and broader, all long limbs and sharp lines, a broad chest paired with a narrow waist, and lean yet prominent muscles. He was evidently used to manual and hard labour, based on his ease in picking up and manhandling Obi-Wan the previous night like he weighed nothing.

He bit his lip. He couldn’t think about that now, not when he was trying to figure all of this out. The worst thing that could happen now was for him to think about this and get distracted, or worse, get wet. He took another calming breath, refocusing himself.

Obi-Wan could accept that he’d enjoyed the sex, mainly because it had been a very long time since the last time he’d been penetrated. He could also accept that the sex was made better by the fact that it was an Alpha who’d had him, since Alphas exuded pheromones that were designed to make copulation more pleasurable for Omegas, which he’d never experienced since he only slept with Betas. Finally, he could also accept that the sex was as mind-blowing as it was because it was with an Alpha he trusted, an Alpha whose scent he knew as well as his own, and Alpha that wanted to please him more than he’d wanted to satisfy his own needs.

What he could not accept was that the Alpha was Anakin.

He blinked his eyes open, self-loathing crashing over him like another wave. He should’ve been firmer in denying Anakin, should’ve distanced himself, should’ve, should’ve, should’ve. There was so much he should’ve done that he didn’t do, and he felt sick with disgust at himself. He was the older of the two of them, it was his responsibility to ensure nothing of this sort ever happened between them. He should’ve stayed a childhood crush, a misplaced attachment, not his former Padawan’s object of affection, not someone he wanted to call a lover or a mate.

He looked down at his body, at the bruises that had begun to form overnight, yellow and purple and obvious. He would need to wear long-sleeved, high-collared robes for the next few days, if he could even make it that far—there was a chance that what had just happened would trigger his heat, his body disregarding his mind’s input and putting him in a state where denying an Alpha trying to take liberties would be near impossible. He hoped against hope that this wouldn’t be the case, that he’d be able to deny the demands of his Alpha while in the throes of heat.

The Alpha. Obi-Wan grimaced and shut his eyes. Kark.

Finally rolling out of bed, he darted straight for the shower, wanting to wash the scent of their coupling from the skin. He blocked himself from his own Omega, ignoring the instincts to rub their shared scents into his skin rather than wash it away, and gave himself an extremely thorough scrubbing down. By the time he emerged, hair and beard put to rights, his skin was only just vaguely pink.

It was a quarter ‘till nine by the time he emerged from his quarters, and he was immediately greeted with the sight of Anakin in his kitchen, puttering around without a care in the world. He jolted to a stop at the sight of him, curls tied into a low ponytail and the sleeves of his everyday robes rolled up as he fried eggs in a pan, humming quietly to himself.

The sight was such a massive difference from the last time he’d seen Anakin the night before that Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder if this was to be his new normal. Would he be haunted by the phantom sensations of that night every time he closed his eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of his Anakin as he usually was in the day? Was the Anakin of that night merely a man reduced to his baser instincts, never to be seen again now that he’d scratched the itch?

“Good morning,” Anakin said, pulling Obi-Wan from his thoughts. He met the younger man’s gaze, misliking the way his heart sped up as it did, and tried searching for any sign of duplicity, of acknowledgement. Would he go back on his word that it would never happen again? Was he lying? Did Obi-Wan want him to?

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan murmured, looking away hurriedly. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying to keep his cool as he walked the short distance over to the kettle. He filled it with water and turned it on, resolutely keeping his eyes and hands to himself even though Anakin was only a few feet away, his hands shaking slightly as he made his tea.

“I hope you don’t mind that I used your kitchen,” Anakin said casually, like it was just another normal day. “I was gonna start moving my stuff over to my new apartment, but I promised the younglings and crèchemaster Bahani that I’d visit and tell them about Ilum,” he continued as he plated their breakfast. “Then Master Fisto wanted to see me about something after that. Probably to do with his starship that he’s been bugging me about the last week or so.”

Obi-Wan took a steadying breath. He could do this. He was a Jedi Master, a skilled negotiator, and a grown man. He could hold a conversation and pretend everything was okay, that nothing had changed. Anakin could do it—why couldn’t he? “It seems you’re in hot demand today,” he said, and mentally sighed in relief. There wasn’t a trace of a tremor in his voice.

“You’re telling me. Aayla wants to throw me a Knighting party at some bar in the lower levels. She wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Anakin muttered, sounding amused. Obi-Wan heard the sounds of a fork clinking against a plate, and he focused on steeping his tea. “We’ll probably be in by six and out by ten, if you wanted to stop by. Vos will probably be there too, since I know you old-heads like to stick together.”

Before he could think about it, Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and levelled a frown at Anakin. “That is no way to refer to Knight Vos,” he said, wishing to add more about Anakin’s insolence, only to lose his train of thought at the look on Anakin’s face.

His lips were pulled into a lazy smirk, eyes hooded as he looked down at Obi-Wan, but that wasn’t the part that drew his attention. It was the way his eyes bore into Obi-Wan’s own, the way he looked at him like he was the only man in the entire galaxy, like nothing existed outside of the bubble of space between them.

Had Anakin always looked at him like this, and he’d just been too blind to see it? The intensity in his gaze was familiar, like he’d seen it so many times over the past few months, and perhaps he had. Perhaps he’d convinced himself that Anakin was just a particularly intense sort of man so he wouldn’t ever have to look too deeply into what those eyes meant. Maybe he should’ve—and then what? What would he have done with his Padawan, his Anakin, his Al—

“Paging Master Kenobi,” Anakin murmured, sounding very close all of a sudden. Obi-Wan flinched and backed away, blinking up at Anakin, whose eyes were still so very intense but now with the added layer of concern. “Where’d you go?”

Obi-Wan blinked again, shaking his head. He looked over at his over-steeped tea and breathed a quiet sigh. He needed to pull himself together. “Nowhere,” he said, trying for firm and instead landing on defensive. “I’ll think about it. Thank you for the breakfast. You should probably get going if you don’t want to be late for their morning class.” It all came out in a rush, but Obi-Wan was already so mortified at himself that the awkwardness hardly added to it.

“Hm,” Anakin hummed, still standing far too close. Obi-Wan caught himself from leaning in and course-corrected by slightly moving away from him. “Right. Well, I’ll see you for lunch, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin lightly tapped him on the shoulder, the barest touch, but it felt like an electric shock to his system. He didn’t flinch, but it was a very near thing. Obi-Wan said nothing as Anakin left, and only released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding when the apartment door slid shut once more.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he let go like Anakin had? He felt like a young Padawan again, waking up with a wetness between his thighs that had nothing to do with the nature of his biology, clinging to the tendrils of a slowly-fading dream and the sticky hot arousal that burned through him at the memory of it. Part of him wanted to say that it was natural—at least, he assumed so, as Obi-Wan wasn’t in the habit of having life-changing sex with the people he loved—and that his body was responding in ways that were completely divorced from what his mind and heart wanted. The rest of him denied that it was a simple bodily reaction with a vehemence and defensiveness that frightened him.

He wasn’t made for strong emotions like vehemence. He was a Jedi, for Force’s sake. He understood, with greater clarity than ever before, why Jedi refused attachment. His life had been blessedly uncomplicated before this, before Anakin.

But that wasn’t exactly true, either. His life wasn’t just uncomplicated before Anakin—it was also dull. Like he was going through the motions of life as a passive passenger, sitting back and letting the galaxy have its way and dictate the direction of his life as it pleased. When Obi-Wan had been twenty-five and freshly Knighted, Anakin came into his life and brought the sun to Obi-Wan’s starless sky. He lit up every room with just a smile, brought Obi-Wan joy with every curious question, made his solitary life feel a little more alive with every passing day. Anakin had given him purpose when he felt purposeless, had been his anchor when he drifted, made his apartment feel like a home rather than simply a space to sleep in.

Anakin had made life feel like it was worth living because he loved Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan loved him back. Love had always existed between them, shifting between forms depending on the day. Was it really so terrible that the shape of it had changed in a new, unique way?

The alarm on his datapad blared and distracted him from his thoughts. He glanced at the time and cursed—it was ten minutes past nine and he’d just spent all that time standing there, lost in thought. He tossed his cold, bitter tea and ate the eggs Anakin left him as quickly as he could, irritable that he’d lost track of time so easily. His mind was a mess of emotions and issues, the kind he struggled to give to the Force on a good day, and he was incapable of the ease that permeated his former Padawan moments before.

Hurrying to leave, Obi-Wan wished, not for the first time, that he was more like Anakin.

The next few days were absolutely miserable.

As expected, his heat arrived two days after The Incident, as Obi-Wan had started calling it in his head, and he was entirely undisturbed for all three days of his heat as well as the day after it. Anakin had insisted on helping him with his pre-heat, volunteering to pick up groceries to stock up Obi-Wan’s refrigerator and not taking no for an answer, very characteristically going overboard and stocking it with so many ready-made meals that the supplies might even last until Obi-Wan’s next heat. He’d admonished Anakin for the excess, for spending far too much on things Obi-Wan could’ve gotten for himself, and resolutely ignored the way his Omega had preened at the thought of the Alpha looking out for him.

Anakin had also made sure to store bottles of water in various easy-to-reach places in Obi-Wan’s bedroom, which was honestly fine and something he’d always done as a boy whenever Obi-Wan went into heat, but it hadn’t been good for Obi-Wan’s nerves to see Anakin—who his body now recognised to be not just any Alpha, but specifically the Alpha that had fucked him into sweet incoherency just two days prior—tottering about in his bedroom. Then, after his Padawan finished helping Obi-Wan prepare his room, because he was simultaneously the worst and best human being in all the galaxy, Anakin left him alone as the itching beneath his skin grew closer to unbearable—but not without leaving his cloak behind.

Obi-Wan wasn’t stupid. He knew what the cloak meant: it was supposed to be a comfort, something to add to his pathetic excuse of a nest to make it more enjoyable to writhe and roll around in. Anakin’s was a familiar and welcome scent, and he’d long accepted his Padawan’s gifts of clothing whenever he went into heat, but that was before he knew what it was like to be fucked by Anakin. That was before the scales tipped and came crashing down on Obi-Wan, his mind wanting one thing and his body needing another and his heart torn between the two like the child of an internal divorce.

He still added the cloak to his nest. If he tucked his nose into it as he plunged his fingers into himself for the first of many times, rocking back and forth like he would on a cock with his eyes shut and his nose buried against brown fabric and his mouth making absolutely wretched noises, then that was between him and the Force. If he rode one of his knotted toys and imagined a tanned golden body beneath him, dark pink nipples and defined muscles and mechno-arm and all, there was no one to shame him. And if he came for the last time on his third day of heat using nothing but his fingers and a hand tugging on a puffy nipple, imagining Anakin breaking down his door and discovering him there, moaning his Alpha’s name like—what had he called him?—like some schutta, then the only person that he could pin the blame on was himself.

It became—pun unintended—an even stickier situation, once his heat had finally passed. It was easy to pretend that it was the heat that did it, that the heat was the reason why he was imagining Anakin in place of a faceless Alpha and his mind was just taking from the already-existing and recent memory of The Incident. It was much harder to ignore the emotional decline after his heat, a new sensation that felt like he’d been abandoned and been left to fend for himself. He felt empty, and not just because he’d fucked himself open, though that was likely a contributing factor.

His knotted toy was good, but it wasn’t perfect—it couldn’t replicate the sensation of a knot inflating inside since it was made of silicone, and Obi-Wan wasn’t so hedonistic as to order one of those fancy knotting machines that expanded and contracted with the press of a button. Still, it was completely serviceable, and it should’ve been enough, but his body was like an alcoholic one week without a drink. It needed something real, something flesh and blood, rejecting the silicone because it wasn’t an actual cock. In Obi-Wan’s opinion, his body was being needlessly picky, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. It was his body, and he had to come to terms with the fact that his body wanted Anakin.

That wasn’t to say his mind would be so easily convinced. The realisation that his body couldn’t content itself with his toys anymore and preferred Anakin hardly mattered to him the days after his heat, because he’d already known that there was a natural, physical attraction there. It was what was going on in his mind that unbalanced him, struggling to reconcile little baby Ani with the Anakin that fucked like he was conducting a cervical examination with his prick. He felt like they were completely different people at times, though evidence often pointed to the contrary, like when Anakin (still living out of Obi-Wan’s home, even though he had his own apartment in the Temple) groggily made himself a cup of caf before he realised he’d forgotten to clean out the filter from the previous night and had almost drunk eight-hour-old rewashed caf, or when he walked into Obi-Wan’s living room and sat on the couch and ranted for hours about how Ki-Adi was horrible at basic care for his ship, all the while playing a holomovie starring that actor he’d gotten obsessed with in the background.

There was so much evidence of these two Anakins being the same person, not least of all that it was just an irrefutable physical fact. Somehow, it neither made accepting the way things were any easier or harder. It was just... there.

Anakin was also just there. He didn’t push Obi-Wan, didn’t try to corner him, didn’t rub his scent all over him. He kept a respectable distance any time they were in a room together, and he was as friendly and personable and sweet as he usually was, but he wasn’t viciously territorial like before. He made no inquiries or comments about how Obi-Wan spent his heat, and he didn’t act one bit out of line when Quinlan finally came back from his most recent mission and brought Obi-Wan in with a shoulder hug.

It was odd enough that even Quinlan had something to say about it. “Seriously, Skywalker?” Quinlan asked, baffled at the way Anakin hardly reacted to the contact. “I spent the last decade keeping my distance from my best friend because I didn’t wanna get mauled by his extremely touchy Padawan, and now you don’t care?” He whistled lowly before leaning in conspiratorially. “What, trouble in paradise?”

“Quin,” Obi-Wan warned, levelling him with a chastising gaze only undercut by how he held Quinlan’s latest doll-creature gift in his hands. He really didn’t need Quinlan rocking the boat right now, not when Obi-Wan was finally beginning to figure things out in his head.

Anakin chuckled, casual in the way he held himself like it really didn’t bother him. “Yeah, I was a terror around him growing up, wasn’t I?” He asked, sounding warm and content. “I’m sure you get it. Obi-Wan always needs somebody to watch his back. Even if that meant trying to threaten a Knight seventeen years your senior.”

“Your milk-teeth weren’t all that scary, Skywalker,” Quinlan said with an easy smile, the kind that didn’t fully reach his eyes. Obi-Wan looked away, instead focusing on Anakin—he didn’t need to look at Quinlan to know that the other man was deeply suspicious of what changed between them.

“I did say try, didn’t I?” Anakin shrugged. From one instant to the next, his eyes steeled and his smile had more of an edge. “But to answer your question, no, no trouble at all. Just working through some stuff, that’s all.” He looked over at Obi-Wan, somehow both soft and sharp at the same time. “I’ll see you when I see you, Obi-Wan.” He nodded at Quinlan. “Knight Vos.” Without another word, he turned and left, striding away easily.

“What the hell was that about?” Quinlan asked immediately, bewildered beyond belief. Obi-Wan could sympathise—Anakin was never nonchalant about anything, least of all Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sighed, already tired even though it was only noon. “I’ll tell you over drinks tonight.”

That was how Obi-Wan ended up spilling the beans to someone for the first time, sitting at a table at a bar, punctuating some of the ends of his sentences with a shot of some teal drink that burned on the way down. By the end of his recollection, Quinlan was almost doubled over in laughter, banging his fist against the table and nearly jostling Obi-Wan’s newly purchased shots. He was a little tipsy, courtesy of the six shots he’d consumed thus far, but not enough that he instinctively understood whatever was going on with Quinlan.

“What are you laughing about this time?” Obi-Wan groaned, cradling his head in his hands. He felt too sober yet too drunk to talk about this.

Quinlan let up, laughing around his shot. “Oh, nothing. I’ve just been waiting for Skywalker to finally make a move for the last few months since he’s come back. It’s just so much like the kid to pounce on you the moment they made him a Knight.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t hide his grimace in time. Whenever his contemplations regarding his relationship with Anakin reached a fever pitch—usually ending in Obi-Wan shoving a hand down his trousers in the privacy of his room, trying to replicate the feeling of Anakin between his legs from memory—it was the reminder of the fact that he’d raised Anakin and considered him his pup until recently that sobered him in the aftermath, poisoning the afterglow with his guilt and shame. He’d somewhat accepted—though Anakin was only recently Knighted and had harboured these feelings for Obi-Wan since even before he presented—that the large age gap between them was less of an issue since Anakin pursued him as an adult, at least in comparison to the issue that was the power imbalance between them as Master and former Padawan. Still, hearing Quinlan refer to Anakin as the kid made him feel every bit like the predator his mind convinced him he was.

“Oh, come on, Obes, I didn’t mean it like that, you know I don’t judge,” Quinlan crooned, pawing at his arm. “I mean, yeah, he’s young, and nearly two decades younger than us, but even I can tell he’s pretty serious about you. Well, he’s always been serious about you, but it used to be a friendly kind of serious. It wasn’t until he was sixteen that I thought maybe there was something else going on, when I walked in on him jerking off and calling your name, but—”

“I want to die,” Obi-Wan despaired, banging his forehead against the table, “I want the floor to swallow me up and die.”

Quinlan snickered meanly next to him. “You sure you don’t want something else to swallow you? A certain former Padawan, maybe?”

“Correction. I want the both of us to die.”

Hanging out with Quinlan made him feel horridly vulnerable, but he had to admit, it felt like a weight off his chest to talk about it. They drank some more, Quinlan mocked him for falling in love with Anakin Skywalker of all people, Obi-Wan defended Anakin’s character first before his mind caught up to Quinlan’s words and he poorly denied any romantic involvement with Anakin, and Quinlan laughed so hard at him that he spilled his drink all over their boots. Obi-Wan was seeing double by the time he stumbled back into his apartment, and he swayed here and there, but at least he made it as far as his couch before he shut his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

He woke up in bed that morning, stripped down to his undertunic and his underwear, groggy and hungover and faintly nauseous. He managed to keep his stomach in check as he rolled over and looked at his nightstand where a full glass of water and a hangover pill sat, beckoning him like a siren’s call. He greedily drank the pill and water before sitting up, feeling a smidge better, and taking account of his surroundings.

He was definitely in his room, even though he was sure he’d fallen asleep on his couch. His clothes were hung on the hook next to his mirror, while his boots sat in a row by the door. His wastebin had been moved from the corner of his room to beside his bed, and his door was opened only the slightest amount. He could hear someone moving around in his kitchen cooking breakfast and knew without a doubt that this was all Anakin’s work.

He hadn’t informed Anakin that he was going out, mainly because he was a grown man capable of making decisions without another’s permission, but also because he couldn’t decide if he felt appreciated or humiliated whenever his Padawan inevitably took care of him while he was inebriated. Without fail, throughout Anakin’s apprenticeship, even when he was only thirteen and certainly smaller than Obi-Wan, he would manage some way to care for his irresponsibly drunk Master.

The thought filled him with renewed fondness and a mild dose of shame. His sweet boy, corrupted by misplaced affection for his Master. Or perhaps it was Obi-Wan that was corrupted all along, filled with aching longing, now that he’d had a taste of what he could have. Not for the first time, he wondered what he’d done to deserve this.

“I’ll be heading out for a mission tomorrow,” Anakin said very carefully a couple of days later, as if clued into Obi-Wan’s tense energy. “I’m escorting Qui-Gon to Naboo, then Dagobah.”

Obi-Wan tried not to startle, but he hadn’t been sleeping very well recently, so he jolted in surprise. Anakin always had a tendency to materialise out of nowhere, like he got a kick out of making his old Master jump—which he probably did, now that Obi-Wan thought of it. Of course, there was also the fact that Obi-Wan’s jumpiness the last few days had been primarily because he’d been sleeping poorly, since his body decided the best way to spend REM sleep was to concoct all sorts of depraved fantasies involving Anakin, which always had him waking up at some indeterminable hour with his thighs wet and a throbbing between his legs. Though the guilt of fingering himself in the dark lessened after the first few times, mainly due to the frequency with which he brought himself to completion, the embarrassment of having to resort to that kept him up longer than he meant to stay awake.

Force, he felt like a teenager again. It wasn’t good for his nerves, or his cool, or his general temperament. But Anakin was waiting for an acknowledgement, and he had enough dignity to not let his thoughts spiral down to his nighttime self-abuses. “Dagobah? What could Qui-Gon possibly find in that swampish wasteland?”

Anakin shrugged, sitting across from him on the kitchen island. Maybe he should change his apartment code after all—at least Anakin would be forced to knock and announce himself that way, once he got over the betrayal he’d inevitably perceive it as. “Kark if I know. I’m just the pilot.” He fetched a screwdriver from his toolbelt with a little flourish—and honestly, it shouldn’t have looked so attractive, because it really was nothing at all, but Obi-Wan’s mind was rapidly proving itself as treacherous as his body. “That does mean I’ll be gone for a week or two, maybe more if Qui-Gon gets all... naturey with the place.”

“And the stopover at Naboo?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but ask, as his mind had very helpfully offered up a particular bit of information: Anakin’s senator would be on Naboo, as the Senate was on a one-week adjournment due to Chancellor Organa taking a paternal leave. An Omegan senator, who could be in heat, for all Obi-Wan knew. Not that it mattered, of course.

Anakin shrugged again, unscrewing a plating on his mechno-arm and digging into it with a finger. “From what I can tell, Qui-Gon just wanted to stop by, since it’s in the way. He’s friends with Pad—Senator Amidala and Senator Binks, since he helped lift the trade blockade on Naboo and assisted in negotiations for peace talks between the Nabooians and the Gungans.”

That dragged Obi-Wan out of his distracted musings as he snorted, sipping his tea and dragging his eyes away from dexterous fingers tugging on delicate wires. “Is that what he says happened? Funny. It’s exactly like him.”

Now he had Anakin’s full attention, the screwdriver pausing in its turning. “What do you mean? Didn’t it happen that way?”

Foot, meet mouth, Obi-Wan thought to himself. He didn’t know why he was bringing this up after years of letting sleeping rancors lie, but now that he’d been reminded of it, he felt a surge of spitefulness. “I’m sure it was more convenient to let that be the case. It would surely be easier than letting the Council believe that he’d bungled negotiations between the Nabooians and the Gungans so horribly that it nearly caused another all-out war.”

Anakin gripped the kitchen island harshly, leaning over with clear, shocked curiosity in his eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

“I suppose if someone were to get the true story from me, it would be you,” Obi-Wan huffed with a smile, setting his teacup down. “As you know, the trade blockade and the threat on Queen Amidala’s life led her to go on the run with Qui-Gon. At the time, I was on Coruscant, and I pleaded with Qui-Gon to take me along with him, as I was already a rather skilled hand at negotiation and diplomacy, but he bid me to focus on my Trials. The prospect of being benched for a mission centered on negotiation chafed, but I did as I was told and stayed behind. I don’t know the details of what went down when the negotiations started, but I do remember waking up one day and reading on the holonews that war was inevitable between the Nabooians and the Gungans. Incensed, I dialed Qui-Gon on his commlink, but as was customary for my old Master, he didn’t pick up.”

“How don’t I remember any of this?” Anakin asked, bewilderment obvious on his young features. “I mean, I was practically there for all of it! That’s how I met Padmé, anyway.” He cringed. “Senator Amidala, I mean.”

Obi-Wan didn’t deign that slip-up with a response. He’d already had enough time to stew in bitter, shameful jealousy at the prospect of another Omega spending her heats with Anakin the last few days. “It may have more to do with the fact that you were nine than anything else.” He took a sip of his tea, then resumed his story. “Eventually, Qui-Gon must’ve found a quiet moment to return my call, which he did. After sitting in silence as I berated him for leaving me behind on a diplomatic mission that revolved around the peace of an entire planet, he explained his situation and asked that I help him. Hearing my Master admit he needed my help felt exquisite, for a time—until he gave me the full rundown and I realised that my Master, whom I hold in great esteem, was a terrible negotiator and an even worse diplomat.

“Of course, the first thing I did was tell him that. It was a bit of a power-trip, I admit, to be able to give my Master an itemised list of everything he’d done wrong as I often felt he’d done with me. But one holocall many, many hours later gave him enough to salvage the peace talks between the Nabooians and the Gungans.” He rolled his shoulders, attempting to banish the ache from sitting in one position for too long. “I’d wondered where he found the time to be completely alone and write down everything I’d said, especially since I knew Queen Amidala was still aboard the ship, but I suppose you were keeping each other occupied.”

“Probably, I don’t remember,” Anakin said, oddly breathless. “I can’t believe you never told me this, or that Qui-Gon lied to the Council about what happened. You were the brains behind the peace on Naboo! Obi-Wan, that’s amazing!”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to feel a little winded, his cheeks flushing. “I’d hardly say so. Qui-Gon didn’t lie to the Council, he merely omitted certain details, like my involvement since I was on Coruscant and we weren’t allowed to speak about sensitive topics over holocomm. Besides, it wasn’t me at the end of the day, it was Senator Amidala, Senator Binks, and the late Chancellor Palpatine that eventually reached a settlement. I merely accelerated the process in order to prevent the peace talks from crumbling entirely.”

Anakin shook his head firmly. “No, you don’t get to downplay what you did. Force, I can’t wait to tell Padmé about this! She’s gonna lose her mind and probably wring Qui-Gon’s neck for never mentioning you. She thought it was all him!” He exclaimed, as if he was offended on Obi-Wan’s behalf, fourteen years later. A strange look passed over his features as he glanced at Obi-Wan sidelong. “You know, in another life, you were probably a really good politician.”

“Oh, please. It’s too early for insults.” Never mind that it was already past noon. “I’m not brave enough for politics. They’d eat me alive before I could even get my bearings.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Master,” Anakin said, smiling softly, eyes still as sharp as a razor’s edge. Obi-Wan felt himself begin to sweat a little under that too-seeing gaze. “If you ever left the Jedi Order, I could see you involving yourself in politics. You want the best for people, and you’re a good person with strong morals, and you could talk your way out of a krayt dragon’s maw. That’s all you really need for politics.”

Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head and trying to calm the sudden rapid beating of his heart. “Dear one, what reason would I have to leave the Order? Surely not to pursue a life of politics, as you seem to think I could.”

Anakin met his gaze steadily, his smile amused even as his tone carried a certain heaviness to it that made Obi-Wan want to lean in and—nothing. And nothing. “You never know. It’s good to keep your options open, you know?”

Obi-Wan looked away, shifting his attention to the dregs of his tea. This was the longest they’d spoken the last few days, and he was reminded why he avoided these talks. It made his heart do strange, very inappropriate things, and he found himself swaying closer to Anakin like he had his own magnetic field, attuned specifically to Obi-Wan. “I suppose,” he conceded, trying not to shudder under Anakin’s piercing gaze as he looked back at him. “Then indulge me. What would you do, if you left the Jedi?” He paused. “Permanently, I mean.”

Anakin didn’t seem to share his hesitation. “Freelance piloting. Maybe I’d take up spice running, if I ended up back in Hutt space.” He pressed the plating of his mechno-arm closed, still looking at Obi-Wan with those dark, soul-searing eyes. “If I had someone to come home to, I’d open up a mechanics shop wherever we settled down. Somewhere green with a lot of wooded areas and clearings, maybe by a river. I’d work close to home, or set up in the local town, make sure I wasn’t ever too far from my mate. Maybe I’d take our pups to the shop every now and then, teach them a little if my mate could spare them. The quiet life, far from all the noise.”

Obi-Wan felt his throat tighten around an unseen lump. His heart ached in his ribcage, so full of longing that it felt like drowning. He tried to imagine a life like that, imagining being the mate in this situation, and felt the air leave his lungs without his permission. “A pretty dream,” he said softly, unable to keep the hoarseness from his voice. “It sounds... idyllic. Beautiful.”

“It is,” Anakin murmured, sounding so close yet so far away. His mechno-arm whirred back to life, recalibrating after the short stasis of maintenance, loud enough to break them from the odd spell. Obi-Wan straightened and blushed as he leaned away from Anakin, who cleared his throat after a beat of silence. “I should get back to work. I have to make sure Qui-Gon and I’s ship will be fit for travel.”

“Right,” Obi-Wan said, feeling strangely subdued as his heart raced in his chest. He nodded at Anakin, trying for brevity, all while quietly hoping that Anakin couldn’t scent his poorly-hidden desire. “Well, do keep me posted. I should hope that you and Qui-Gon won’t get into any more political incidents.”

Anakin laughed, but it sounded a little forced. “Of course. I’m not ever going to let him live that down.” He got to his feet and, after a moment’s hesitation, laid a tender hand on Obi-Wan’s forearm. “See you when I see you, Obi-Wan.” With that, he walked away and left the apartment.

Obi-Wan held his head in his hands, breathing out deeply. His eyes stung with frustration and a deep sense of yearning. He’d never envisioned himself in the role of the typical Omega, as a mate to a loving Alpha and a mother to their litter of pups, but now that the idea had been planted in his mind, the longing for that pretty dream felt all-encompassing. It frustrated him because he wanted that life so badly, but only because of the man that fed him that desire. He wanted more than he’d ever thought he was capable of wanting, enough that he wondered if it was truly so terrible to embrace it all and finally give in to what he wanted. What they wanted.

His heart ached, feeling trapped in his chest, and though he hadn’t done much of anything yet that day, he felt a bone-deep tiredness that rooted him to his seat. He groaned into the cradle of his hands. Force help me. I don’t know what I’m doing.

Somehow, he got the sense that the Force was laughing at him.

Anakin left the next day, and Obi-Wan managed to not do anything so stupid as to go see him off at the hangar bay like an old wife wishing her husband well.

Instead, he holed up in his apartment, after Anakin dropped by to say goodbye and promise to comm when he could. Obi-Wan told him he didn’t need to, but he also hadn’t exactly dissuaded him from doing so, which led to Obi-Wan receiving a call a few minutes past eight, while he wound down for the night and drank his tea over the faint murmur of a holomovie he didn’t care about.

“Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing?” Anakin asked after a few minutes of conversation, face split around a grin and tinted blue by the holocomm.

“That depends on what you’re hearing,” Obi-Wan said coolly, drinking his tea and only vaguely looking at Anakin. He kept his eyes on the holoscreen.

“I knew it! I knew you watched his holomovies too!” Anakin crowed, laughing all the while. “You can pretend like you don’t love them, Master, but you can’t hide that from me.”

Obi-Wan scoffed, his cheeks a touch too warm. He glanced at the clock. “Oh, dear, would you look at the time. It seems I must end this call immediately so I can get some rest.”

“Aw, no, don’t be like that, Obi-Wan,” Anakin chuckled, and honestly, using that tone of voice should be outlawed. It had no right to affect Obi-Wan so much. “Hey, want me to pick up anything at the Nabooian markets? I think he was from Naboo, he’s probably got tons of merchandise here—”

“Perhaps you should,” Obi-Wan huffed, narrowing his eyes at Anakin’s holofigure. He was capable of being mean, too. “Maybe a shirt with his face on it. I could use the visual aid for my heat fantasies. His likeness would suit my purposes.”

He watched with private delight as Anakin’s face twisted up into a sneer, lips curled in distaste. “Don’t even joke about that, he’d be a terrible Alpha. He’s probably so full of himself he wouldn’t know what to do other than put it in and make you do all the work. Matter of fact, he probably doesn’t have a proper mate—I know their type, they sleep around whenever their ruts come on.”

“And you don’t?” The words spilled out of Obi-Wan before he could process that he’d said it. His cheeks burned at his own boldness, but thankfully the holocomm could hide that little detail.

Anakin regarded him with a serious look. “Only ever with the one Omega, but only because we had a no-strings-attached agreement,” he said, staring into Obi-Wan’s soul. “Emphasis on had. You could say I’m leaving myself available, for the right guy.”

“Is that so,” Obi-Wan said breathily, feeling the ache of the distance between them and his own longing. He swallowed dryly, watched as Anakin followed the bobbing of his throat. “Consider me discouraged from physical merchandise of the man, then.”

Anakin’s lips pulled into a smile, causing Obi-Wan’s heart to treacherously skip another beat. “Good,” Anakin murmured, low and soft. Obi-Wan pointedly ignored the pulse of heat between his legs caused by that deep rumble. “Now, why don’t you tell me about the rest of your day?”

It was easy to fall into that sort of routine over the next few days. Anakin had gone on piloting missions before in the time since his return, but he was usually out and back in two days at most. His mission with Qui-Gon meant that he would be gone for nearly two weeks—eight days, to be precise, which Obi-Wan did not learn from abusing his Council privilege to access the mission debrief, thank you very much—so Anakin had decided he’d call twice a day. Once in the morning, as Obi-Wan ate his breakfast, and once again in the evening, as Obi-Wan readied himself for bed.

It was a comfortable and enjoyable routine. Two days in, Anakin was late in calling that night, so Obi-Wan was already in bed when he’d answered, until that became the norm. Anakin talked about Naboo, how pretty it was in the late autumn, Padmé’s shocked reaction to Obi-Wan’s involvement in the Nabooian-Gungan peace treaty, Qui-Gon’s avoidance of Anakin after he’d revealed that particular anecdote, the bustling markets, the delicious food, the utter drag of listening to everyone talk about politics. Obi-Wan talked about the Temple, the progression of the younglings’ and Initiates’ curriculums as the school year came to a close, Quinlan’s badgering attempts at getting him to get out more often, the latest gossip regarding an affair between a Padawan and a Knight, his relatively boring day, his progress on a book he was reading.

All of it made Obi-Wan feel—strange. The good kind, he decided, feeling vaguely like they were trying to find their footing with each other. Trying to see if this—we—could work, Obi-Wan’s mind provided, with less than the customary shame and self-loathing. He felt like he was really, finally getting to know Anakin beyond their shared history, beyond Obi-Wan’s preconceptions and his memories of him. Like he was finally seeing him for the first time, not through the eyes of Anakin’s Jedi Master, or the closest thing Anakin had to family, or an Omega that was compatible with this Alpha. He just saw him as he was.

After four days on Naboo, Anakin and Qui-Gon set off for Dagobah. Obi-Wan received exactly one holocomm from Anakin before it all stopped.

The first night without a second call from Anakin, Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin had just gotten busy. There were only the two of them, after all, and Qui-Gon was spry for his age but still certainly ageing, so maybe they needed all hands on deck. Obi-Wan called after another hour of waiting and didn’t get a response, so he pushed it from his mind. Perhaps Anakin was just tired, or still busy, or not in the mood to talk. He doubted it was the latter—Anakin had been the one to initiate... everything between them, as it was—but the thought remained regardless.

He slept a little fitfully that night, too nervous and keyed up from Anakin’s unresponsiveness. When he woke, it was closer to seven-thirty than six, so he got himself ready for the day. When eight rolled around, he was dressed and stirring his cup of tea, watching and listening for the ringing of his holocomm, only to give up when forty-five minutes passed with nothing but silence, his own calls unanswered. He kept the device on his person just in case Anakin called as he went about his day, periodically checking his holocomm in case he missed a call somehow, even though the ringer was set to its highest setting.

“Expecting someone?” Bant, one of his dearest friends, asked him over lunch at the refectory. She gestured at the holocomm he’d been fiddling with.

Obi-Wan dropped it back to his belt, feeling a little caught out. “No, not at all,” he lied, which sounded very shallow even to his own ears. His cheeks felt a touch too warm.

Bant’s eyes softened as she smiled at him, patting the back of his hand. Though she was a Beta, her scent more muted than others, he could still scent her exuding calming pheromones. “He’ll be alright, Obi-Wan. Your boy survived five years out on his own—he’ll survive two weeks with Master Jinn.”

Obi-Wan rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. Bant had an almost preternatural ability for reading him. “Am I truly that transparent?”

“No, but I know he’s the center of your universe, in more ways than one,” she said, before laughing softly at the scared look on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on telling anyone, not until you find the courage to say it yourself. I’ve just known you forever, Obi.” She poked the hand she was holding. “You should go for it, you know? I can tell that he makes you happy, and you deserve to have that kind of happiness. You both do.”

Obi-Wan kept quiet, picking at his food. He reached for that familiar voice in his head, telling him that this was wrong, that he shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want Anakin. He searched for that self-admonishment, laying himself bare for another verbal assault against himself.

He heard nothing. His mind was quiet, save for the worry he felt for Anakin’s safety. He felt the Force laughing at him again, but this time, it felt proud.

“Thank you,” he said softly, unable to meet Bant’s eyes. He held her hand though, comforted by the presence of another who knew the truth—if only part of it—and didn’t condemn him for it.

But because she was Bant, she slurped loudly on her drink. “Of course. I get to come to the wedding, right?”

The rest of the day was easier to manage, especially after he’d flicked Bant on the back of her hand, but the worry came back later that evening, another night without a call from Anakin. On a whim, he dialed Qui-Gon’s personal comm and listened to it ring, trying not to feel so disappointed and anxious when he didn’t answer either. Whatever was going on on Dagobah, they weren’t able to reach him, and it made him feel more than a little nauseous.

On the third day without getting a call, Obi-Wan considered asking around. No one but Yoda and Mace would be able to give him a proper answer, so he’d asked them to stay behind after their morning Council meeting.

“Thank you for remaining, Masters,” Obi-Wan said cordially, because he was anxious and worried but he wasn’t impolite. Both Yoda and Mace nodded. “I wished to inquire about a mission that, I believe, you assigned to Master Qui-Gon.”

“And Skywalker,” Mace added, rather unnecessarily. Obi-Wan pursed his lips and nodded, because he assumed it was obvious he was asking after one more than the other. Mace looked at him with a scrutinising glance before sighing. “Indeed. Master Yoda sensed a disturbance in the Force on Dagobah. We surmised that it had to do with the Living Force, so we sent Master Jinn to investigate, as he is the most attuned to it of the Order. Knight Skywalker was to be his escort, but not simply because of his skills as a pilot.”

Obi-Wan frowned, confused. “Then why? Anakin isn’t particularly trained in sensing the Living Force.”

“Sensed it in the Force, I have,” Yoda answered, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Tied to Skywalker, the Force on Dagobah is. Know why, we do not, but send him, we know we must.”

Obi-Wan looked at the ground, pensive and apprehensive. Sending Anakin and Qui-Gon into the unknown wasn’t anything new for the Jedi, but Obi-Wan had never been so in love like this before. He’d always loved Anakin too deeply, been too attached, even when Anakin was merely an Initiate in his charge, but the love had changed at some point in the last few months. It felt different letting Anakin leave now, when they were too joined, two halves of one whole, and he knew he couldn't help that even if he tried. He loved Anakin as a man loved another, as an Omega loved his Alpha, and no amount of guilt or shame or denial could change that.

There was no going back now; perhaps there wasn’t any going back even before that night of passion. Obi-Wan felt as if they’d been hurtling down at breakneck speed for some time, but it was only recently that he realised he truly trusted Anakin to catch them as they fell.

“Troubled, you seem,” Yoda said, sounding gentler than he’d ever been. Obi-Wan always felt like a youngling around the centuries-old Grandmaster, but he felt it more keenly now.

“I am, Masters,” Obi-Wan admitted, sighing to himself. There is no going back now. “I have been, for some time. But I believe I’ve found the path I was meant to follow.”

Yoda and Mace exchanged a meaningful look, and Obi-Wan tried his best not to squirm. Anakin had done his part in trying to convince Obi-Wan that this was the way. It was time he did his part convincing everyone else.

“Would you mind elaborating, Master Kenobi?” Mace asked him, though his eyes told Obi-Wan that he knew. It was just a matter of actually saying it, rather than taking the coward’s way out.

Obi-Wan took a steadying breath, one in, one out. Then, he said, “Anakin and I are in love.”

Yoda and Mace’s expressions didn’t change. Truly, the last person to realise had been Obi-Wan. Still, he continued. “I have grappled with the ramifications of this for many days. I understand that it is improper, inappropriate, and an aberration to the Code. More times than I could count, I lost myself to my own self-hatred, for reciprocating the feelings Anakin had for me, for loving him as my own when he was a child and realising the love had changed when he returned to me as a man.” He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robes. “Yet I could not find the will to give it up. To give him up. Not when I know he is it for me. Not when I know there is no one else I could ever envision at my side.”

Silence fell over the Council chamber. Obi-Wan was glad that he was seated, or else he might’ve fallen to his knees, legs as weak as jelly. He felt whipped raw, like he’d laid himself bare in the most vulnerable of ways, but he also felt free. He felt like he’d taken his first breath of fresh air after holding it for so long underwater. He felt a tremble all over his body that felt like fear, but he also felt braver than he’d ever been before.

“Obi-Wan.”

He looked up, meeting Mace’s gaze with trepidation, expecting judgement or disgust or even hate. He found nothing but acceptance and resignation. “You understand what this means, correct? What this means for your place with the Jedi Order?”

Obi-Wan swallowed to stop his heart from leaping out of his throat. “I do,” he said quietly, clasping his hands together. “I understand. I... I wish to ask that you give me leave to remain, until he returns.” He swallowed again, nervous and excited and afraid and in love. Force, he was in love. “Then we will both go.”

The Alpha studied him for a few beats longer. Then, to Obi-Wan’s surprise, he smiled. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order,” he said, his tone kind and warm. “I wish I could say I didn’t expect any of this, but it was truly just a matter of time and will.”

Yoda hummed from beside Mace, nodding sagely. “Indeed. Conditions to Skywalker’s sabbatical, there were,” he said, lips turned up into a smile. “From informing you of his status, we were forbidden. Take a mate, he did not. Chosen you as his mate, he let slip. Permitted within reason, this typically would be.”

“But we are not a typical couple,” Obi-Wan finished softly, bowing his head. “I understand. It wouldn’t be right to let us stay, not when it encouraged relations between Master and Padawan—”

Yoda barked a loud laugh. “The first relationship between Master and Padawan, you think you were?” He laughed again. “Very incorrect, you are. Time and again, it has happened. By the will of the Force, most were. In hundreds upon hundreds, they numbered.”

Obi-Wan balked at this, not simply because of Yoda’s delivery but also because of that bit of information. He knew he and Anakin couldn’t have been the first Master and former Padawan relationship in the history of the Jedi, but to know that there had been so many and that they’d been accepted... Still, there was still one more question in that thread of thought that was left unanswered. “If that is the case, Masters, why must Anakin and I leave the Order?”

“No future with the Jedi, you have,” Yoda said, and didn’t elaborate further.

From beside him, Mace didn’t roll his eyes, but he looked as if he considered it. “What the Grandmaster means is that you and Skywalker aren’t suited for life in the Jedi, though not by any fault of your own. Skywalker made it clear, during his final comm before his return, that he was only coming back because of you. He had no intention of truly remaining with the Jedi—it was only because he was waiting for you that he stayed.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, a little dumbly. Perhaps he should’ve seen this coming. Perhaps he might have, if he didn’t spend so much of his time denying his feelings. Love makes fools of all of us.

“Additionally,” Mace said, the sternness of his voice lessening, “we’ve monitored you since Skywalker first left the Temple. You hide your feelings very well, and you still put your all into everything you do, but we did not need to search for the truth of your feelings in the Force.” His gaze would’ve been pitying on anyone else, but Obi-Wan had known Mace long enough to recognise that it wasn’t pity in his eyes but solemn acceptance. “You no longer have a place here among the Jedi. Your place is with him, and his place is with you. What you’ll do with that knowledge is for you to decide.”

Obi-Wan nodded, not trusting his voice to respond. He felt very raw and exposed, in the best way possible. He’d known that the approval of his closest friends, like Quinlan and Bant, mattered to him, but he hadn’t realised that Yoda and Mace’s approval mattered to him, too. Even if it did mean he and Anakin were going to be sent away to leave the Order.

After a short silence, Mace got to his feet. Instinctively, Obi-Wan stood as well. “We’ll notify you of any changes regarding Skywalker and Master Jinn,” Mace said, nodding at him.

“Thank you, Masters,” Obi-Wan said softly, smiling at them, “for all of it.”

The walk back to his apartment had never felt so freeing.

Because he was both the best and the worst Master, Qui-Gon called Obi-Wan at four in the morning.

“Hullo?” Obi-Wan murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was still regaining his sight when he fumbled for the button to accept the call.

“Apologies. Did I wake you, Padawan?”

“Qui-Gon!” Obi-Wan shot up to a sitting position, shrugging on his sleep-shirt that he’d shucked off before bed to reclaim a semblance of dignity. “Are you alright? Where’s Anakin? Is he—”

“At ease, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, his face fond, if a little harried. “Anakin is fine. Injured, but alive. I finally convinced him to get some sleep, after promising that I would comm you as soon as we were in hyperspace.”

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Thank you,” he muttered, carding his fingers through his hair. “What happened? How did he get hurt?”

“The wildlife of Dagobah were displeased with our arrival. Anakin fended them off spectacularly, but a dragonsnake snuck up on us.” Qui-Gon huffed a quiet laugh. “He pushed me out of the way of a bite aimed at my face and caught it on his shoulder instead.”

Anakin Skywalker, you beautiful, terrible man, Obi-Wan thought to himself, full of anxious fondness. “That sounds like something he’d do, yes,” he sighed, rubbing his cheek. He flushed as he felt the marks left on his cheek by his pillow case. “Thank you for updating me. I have been... beside myself with worry, to be honest. But he is stable now, correct?”

“All there is left to do is wait for the bacta to do its work,” Qui-Gon said, then stared at Obi-Wan. He seemed to be looking for something—perhaps the words to address the falumpaset in the room. “Obi-Wan...”

“If you have to ask if there is something going on between us, then perhaps your skills in perception have dwindled over the years, Master,” Obi-Wan interrupted sharply, feeling his cheeks redden even more. He’d bared his heart and soul to Yoda and Mace only a few hours ago—he had no wish to have a repeat of that, least of all any time to Qui-Gon.

“Sharp as always, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon laughed goodnaturedly. Obi-Wan relaxed minutely, both glad that he didn’t need to explain and glad that Qui-Gon didn’t seem to have any issue with it. Expectedly, his former Master was also among the list of people he wanted to accept him. “Then I suppose I will ask what your plans are, once we’ve returned. Will you be leaving the Order, then?”

“We would have to discuss it first, among many other things, but...” His mind recalled Mace’s words, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself. “Yes, I believe so.”

Qui-Gon hummed. He didn’t seem very surprised by this, either. “Far be it from me to tell you anything otherwise. Where will you go?”

“I honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Obi-Wan admitted, a touch sheepishly. His plans were very up in the air at the moment, considering the man he wanted to map his future with was currently unconscious on a starship in hyperspace. “He expressed interest in visiting Stewjon with me. We’ll figure out the rest from there, I imagine.”

“A half-formed plan is better than none,” Qui-Gon said sagely, nodding his approval. “I suppose it is not the destination that matters, but the one that will join you on the journey that does.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmured softly, feeling very warm as he did. “When will you arrive?”

“Within a day, perhaps less than that. Our ship is in perfect condition, even if we aren’t.” Qui-Gon shifted, his face tensing with pain for a moment. “I have already informed the Halls of Healing ahead of time that we require medical attention upon docking.”

Obi-Wan felt a burst of sympathy for his old Master. “Good. You should get some rest as well—or, at least, sit down. You’re exhausting me by just watching you totter about.”

“My Padawan has grown so cruel and sharp since we last spoke,” Qui-Gon sighed, eliciting a quiet chuckle from Obi-Wan. His Master smiled, nodding his head. “I’ll comm you when we arrive, and let Anakin know to expect you.”

“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, ending the call with Qui-Gon’s wave.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t have been able to go back to sleep if he tried, so he set about beginning his morning routine, if a few hours earlier. By the time the sun fully rose, Obi-Wan was on his second cup of tea, sickly nervous for a completely different reason.

What if he’d misjudged everything? The likelihood of it was low, especially since Anakin had been the one chasing after him, but what if he’d gotten sick of it? What if, in the near or distant future, he got sick of Obi-Wan? He wasn’t under any impression that he was much of a catch, a thirty-nine year old Omega still technically in his prime but steadily approaching the age when things would become harder for him to keep up with the younger Alpha. If Anakin got sick of him—or worse, grew to resent him—Obi-Wan wouldn’t be able to deal with it. He’d been dead serious when he told Yoda and Mace that Anakin was it for him. To have Anakin then to lose him to his own personal failings and shortcomings would destroy him beyond any chance of repair.

As Obi-Wan sat there in his living room, the hour ticking past ten, frozen with his tea cooling in the cradle of his hands, it dawned on him that love was terrifying. It frightened him more than any bottomless pit or furious crèchemaster or Dark side artefact did. It made him stupid, made him freeze up, made him sweat, made him tear up, made him so sick to his stomach he thought it might consume him from the inside.

Love made him all these things, but it was also the most wonderful thing he’d ever felt. It made him long for a future full of beautiful things, made him feel young, made him feel like he was floating high above the heavens, made him feel as small as tooka cat and as large as a newborn star, made him so karking happy that he’d forgotten what mere contentment felt like. He was simultaneously transformed by it and kept exactly the same, and it was all because of Anakin. Anakin made him feel this way, introduced him to every kind of love that mattered. He took those risks with no assurance that Obi-Wan would ever feel the same, and it made him feel powerful.

He drank the last of his tea before getting to his feet, deciding he’d spend the day clearing his office. There was no time for doubt, no room for despair. Anakin hadn’t doubted, hadn’t despaired, even when Obi-Wan turned him away multiple times over. It was his turn to be just as brave.

The hours passed slowly, even as Obi-Wan took his time meticulously clearing his office of all his memorabilia. It was strange to imagine another Master using this office. He wondered if they would continue to water the large potted plant in the corner of the room, or replace it entirely. He wouldn’t be there to see it, but he hoped that whichever Master turned this into their office that they would be able to make it their own, more successfully than he’d tried to make it his own.

He was on his way back to his office with a third box for the last of his belongings when he felt the holocomm vibrate against his hip. Immediately dropping the empty box, he answered the call as Qui-Gon blinked into view.

“Ah, Obi-Wan. We’ll be landing in a minute or two.” For his part, he looked less pale and sweaty, though still obviously injured.

Obi-Wan nodded, not bothering to hide his urgency. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll be there soon.”

True to his word, he probably set a new record for how quickly one could speed-walk from the Temple apartments to the hangar bay. He had no time to appreciate his swiftness, because the moment he stepped foot past the threshold, a red and grey starship landed on an empty parking space, the ramp descending as soon as it was stable.

Obi-Wan felt his heart do frankly unreasonable things at the sight of Anakin’s astromech droid rolling out with a series of seemingly furious beeps, followed by Anakin himself, favouring his left side, his trousers and boots caked in mud and looking slightly pale. His eyes searched the hangar before landing on Obi-Wan, and with just one look, all of his worries vanished.

Even if Anakin had been the greatest holoactor in the galaxy, there was no faking a look of such deep, immense love. So when Obi-Wan ran to Anakin, embracing him as gently as he could, the first words out of Anakin’s lips were, “So, did you figure it out?”

“Yes, you beautiful idiot,” Obi-Wan said, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was nothing like the kisses from before. It was just as hungry, yes, but also desperate in a new, fascinating way that Obi-Wan wanted to explore and bask in forever. Anakin pressed against him, licking into the seam of his lips, and Obi-Wan felt that it was the easiest thing to yield, to let his mouth fall open and close his eyes, let Anakin take control. A hand snaked around his waist while another cradled the back of his head, all while his own hands remained trapped between their chests, clutching at the lapels of Anakin’s pilot vest. It felt like consuming and being consumed, being kissed this way, and Obi-Wan never wanted it to end. He would have this, have Anakin, forever and long after that.

Someone cleared their throat from somewhere beside them. Anakin growled into Obi-Wan’s mouth, the effect of the intimidation lessened by Obi-Wan’s responding pleased sigh. He broke the kiss not long after, trying to catch his breath like he’d run a marathon, licking his swollen lips of their shared spit and smiling as Anakin watched the motion like a drunkard watching another shot get poured.

“I apologise. I don’t wish to interrupt, but we do require medical attention, and Master Che is expecting us,” Qui-Gon’s gentle voice informed them, sounding genuinely remorseful. When Obi-Wan turned to look, Qui-Gon was smiling.

Obi-Wan turned to look back at his Alpha, who was still staring at him like he was studying every detail of Obi-Wan’s face all over again. “He’s right. You need to see her for your wound.” He sniffed, then crinkled his nose. “And you need a shower. A long one.”

“Will you be there?” Anakin asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes wet. He made no move to release Obi-Wan, planting his feet and holding him like nothing else around them existed.

Obi-Wan cupped his cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over smooth skin, one thumb tracing the scar. “I will be there,” he said softly, wanting to lean in again, but he needed to say this. “I’ll be there until you tell me to leave. I’ll be there, always, waiting for you. Like you’ve waited for me.”

“What if I never want you to leave?” Anakin murmured, pressing their foreheads together. It was so easy to sink into his embrace, to hold on without the fear of needing to let go. “What if I want to keep you forever? What if I wanted to be kept forever?”

“Then it’s forever,” Obi-Wan answered him tenderly, and kissed him again.

Chapter Text

One look out the window into the dark told Obi-Wan that it was going to be a slow morning.

He glanced at the digiclock, the numbering blinking ten minutes past five. He relaxed back against the sheets, glad for a multitude of reasons. First was that there would be no noise in the house for the next two hours, because no one woke up before seven on a weekend. Second was that he had enough time to get ready as slowly as he wanted, at a glacial pace if he preferred. Third, and certainly not least, was that he would have his Anakin all to himself for two hours.

Preheat had made him horrendously irritable for all of yesterday. He’d lost his temper at Threepio for some reason or another, and though he’d apologised, he still felt a little bad for the well-meaning protocol droid. He wanted Threepio to tend to the pups in preparation for Obi-Wan’s heat, but then Luke had fussed so much that it was nearly impossible to get him to calm down after, in that phase of toddlerhood where he clung to his mother’s scent and always wanted it in reach. Leia didn’t fuss, but only because she was so busy rolling around in dirt that she had no time to fuss, fixated on digging up bugs of all things and putting them in little plastisteel boxes, which meant she had to be very thoroughly bathed.

Expectedly, Cal was rather angelic about the whole thing. He spent more time babbling to Artoo than anything else, which made Obi-Wan feel both concerned—he should be talking to other children, not droids—and frustrated for not exactly having a solution to that. Anakin had suggested Threepio, who was apparently also coded to understand and speak baby babble, but quickly dropped the topic when Obi-Wan levelled him with a look.

Obi-Wan sighed to himself, closing his eyes again. Sometimes he couldn’t believe that this was his life—forty-four, mother of three, local Criehill librarian and archivist, ex-Jedi Master, and the happiest Omega alive. Some nights, it felt like a fantasy he was afraid to wake up from. Other nights, he had other kinds of fantasies, some of them being extremely graphic nightmares involving love and betrayal and laser swords and duels to the death on fiery planets. Those occurred the most during nights he’d spent reading too many old Jedi texts, words transferring over into his dreams and only encouraged by his overactive imagination.

(Anakin repeatedly questioned his decision to subject himself to these likely overexaggerated historical texts, but every time Obi-Wan told him he could stop any time if Anakin was ready to give up being fed information regarding the stardestroyers the Jedi of old used to pilot, he’d give up on that line of thought.)

“‘S too early for you to think so loudly,” his husband muttered, rolling over to full-body drape himself over Obi-Wan. “Why you gotta think so much? Shush now.”

“I should’ve smothered you in the cradle,” Obi-Wan deadpanned, even as he buried his face against Anakin’s neck, breathing in his smoky scent. It soothed his itching skin, like it always did.

“Never had a cradle,” Anakin murmured, still slow with sleep. Then the words registered in his mind. “Where did that come from?”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan hummed pleasantly, kissing Anakin’s throat right by the claiming mark he left on him years ago. “You didn’t see it in her birthday letter? Apparently, while you get Skyguy, I get Cradlerobber.”

“Ugh, Snips,” Anakin said with fondness, sighing softly as Obi-Wan licked the sharp jut of his throat. “Mm, somebody’s eager. Is it here yet, baby?”

“Technically, if I’m Cradlerobber, you’re the baby,” Obi-Wan replied, and quietly yelped when he got a pinch on his thigh for it, grinning to himself. “No, not yet, but it’s close—tonight, maybe. I can feel it.” He sighed, lacing their legs together, feeling very wicked about it. “Would you like to feel it, dear one?”

He rolled his hips down, rubbing his clothed and damp cunt against Anakin’s thigh. His Alpha groaned, a low, rumbling sound that sent a flare of hot arousal through Obi-Wan, soaking his thin underwear even more. His skin was prickly with heat, but it was still the early stages, when he still had enough control over his faculties to want this. Not that he didn’t want it when he was in the peak of heat—very much the opposite—but there was just something so much better about making love when the both of them could remember every aching detail of it.

“Kriff,” Anakin breathed, rucking up Obi-Wan’s shirt and lifting his thigh so he could press harder against his wetness. Obi-Wan moaned, reaching under his shirt and directing Anakin to his perky nipples, cupping his tit while Anakin played with the other. “Kriff, you want it bad, don’t you, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan nodded around another moan as Anakin’s other hand, trapped beneath their bodies, reached into his underwear and thumbed his clit, middle finger sliding down his folds. “You’re so wet,” Anakin said breathily, like it was some new discovery and not the default state of Obi-Wan’s cunt once Anakin’s attention was on him. “Let me take these off, baby, I want a taste.”

“J-just one?” Obi-Wan teased, grinning as he moved up enough to pull his underwear down without jostling Anakin’s hand against his mound. “I don’t think I-I’ll be content with just a taste.”

“Always so fucking smart with me,” Anakin growled against his chest as he began moving down, taking Obi-Wan’s underwear from him as he reached his Omega’s cunt. He stroked his thumb featherlight over that engorged clit one more time before diving in, sealing his mouth over Obi-Wan’s clit and sucking.

“A-Anakin!” Obi-Wan gasped, eyes rolling back into his skull as Anakin flattened his tongue against his winking hole and licked upward, collecting the slick and drinking it like it was the sweetest nectar, muffling his moans against Obi-Wan’s cunt all the while. “O-oh, yes, yes, ye-es, Force—”

“Baby, too loud,” Anakin murmured, pressing two fingers in and crooking them just right, completely antithetical to keeping Obi-Wan quiet. He held Obi-Wan’s underwear up to his face, stuffing the thin fabric into his mouth to silence him.

Obi-Wan moaned around the fabric, only somewhat silencing his sounds as he bunched his fingers around the sheets beneath them. Anakin returned to his diligent duty, mouthing and lapping at Obi-Wan’s clit as his fingers fucked viciously in and out of him, filling their bedroom with muffled moans and wet noises as he shoved another finger in.

In mere minutes, Obi-Wan moaned long and low, seizing up as he gushed around Anakin’s fingers, wetting them and the sheets even further as he came, legs shaking and toes curling from where they bracketed Anakin’s head. Slipping his fingers out, Anakin rose up and tugged the sopping wet underwear from Obi-Wan’s mouth, replacing it with his lips as Obi-Wan’s buried his hands in sleep-mussed curly hair, his body still shaking as he accepted Anakin’s greedy kisses.

He pulled away just enough to chant, “In me, in me, now,” before diving back in as Anakin hurriedly shoved his briefs down, barely getting the garter past his knees before he was taking his cock in hand and sliding into Obi-Wan’s wet, quaking cunt, muffling their moans in each other’s mouths. Anakin fucked into him desperately, more akin to a dog than any dignified human being, so worked up from eating Obi-Wan out and fingering him that it was a Force-damned miracle they lasted five minutes of just that, Anakin thrusting in and out almost violently and Obi-Wan gasping around his body’s efforts at coming again.

Then Anakin was coming inside him, wet and hot and so good , groaning brokenly against Obi-Wan’s mouth, eyes squeezed shut in pure ecstasy. For a while, all they did was breathe and pant against each other, a little lightheaded with their mixed scents and post-orgasm haze. Better than any form of meditation, Obi-Wan thought to himself, loose-limbed and relaxed.

“Did you come?” Anakin asked him breathily, kissing his throat where his beard ended and his pale throat began. “Sorry. Didn’t notice if you did.”

“Done and done,” Obi-Wan murmured, smiling at his sweet Alpha. Maybe hundreds of fucks since their first time, Anakin was still making sure Obi-Wan came more times than he did. That simple fact was what inspired his gift for Anakin’s twenty-eighth birthday just days ago—pushing his Alpha’s refractory period to its very limit. They’d gotten up to four before Anakin was crying and begging to be allowed to fuck him, putting number five into him. Fitting, Obi-Wan had said after, since they’d been together for five years.

“I think I’ll actually die if you try to get a sixth one out of me,” Anakin had replied, like he wasn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi-Skywalker, who would never back down from a challenge, especially one worded that way. In the end, Anakin had come one more time in his mouth with tears streaming down his face, blissed out of his mind and completely, entirely spent. The memory had Obi-Wan sighing happily.

Anakin buried his face into Obi-Wan’s neck, right over his scent gland. “D’you think we were too loud?”

“Mmm, by we, I assume you mean me?” Obi-Wan asked, petting his Alpha’s dark gold curls, letting his nails scratch against his scalp just the way he knew he liked it. “Probably. The underwear thing was quick thinking, but the walls aren’t that thick, dear one. We’ve probably traumatised our guests.”

Anakin huffed, sending a delighted shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine, the warm air exquisite against his scent gland. “Kark ‘em. If they can’t appreciate you at your loudest, they don’t deserve to appreciate you at all.”

Obi-Wan tugged Anakin up by the hair, relishing in the brief flutter of eyes the action elicited. “They are some of our dearest friends,” he reminded him, before returning to his petting. “Besides, you were the one to invite them. They’re your responsibility until my heat’s over.”

“I already said I was sorry,” Anakin muttered, dragging out the last syllable. “Really, baby, I forgot you’d be going into heat until the other day. I would’ve never invited them otherwise.”

“I know, you silly boy,” Obi-Wan sighed, chuffed in spite of the reminder of Anakin’s lapse in memory. “It’s not like it happens every year, right after your birthday, as part of your belated birthday gift.”

“My Obi’s so mean to me,” Anakin bemoaned, nuzzling his cheek against Obi-Wan’s bearded jaw.

Obi-Wan laughed quietly, relishing in the rub of Anakin’s shirtless chest against his clothed tits. He clenched slightly, eliciting a sharp gasp from his Alpha, whose cock had softened inside him. “Your Obi can still go another round, if you’re up for it.”

“Fuck, am I up for it?” Anakin huffed mockingly, slowly rocking his hips in a circle, getting himself hard inside Obi-Wan’s soaked cunt. “Am I up for it—do you even know me, baby?”

Half an hour later, Obi-Wan was in the refresher, going about his morning routine. Leaving the Jedi didn’t mean giving up that routine, so he went about it as he always did: pissing, a shower—alone, because Anakin couldn’t be trusted with keeping his hands to himself—then hair care, followed by trimming and brushing his beard, a bit of moisturiser, then getting dressed. By the time he secured his loose robes—again, leaving the Jedi didn’t mean leaving everything behind—around himself, Anakin had already changed the sheets, aired out the room, and dumped their soiled laundry in their hamper.

“Your turn,” Obi-Wan said, kissing his Alpha’s cheek. Then, because he was in preheat and could be excused for anything, he smacked his palm against Anakin’s bare asscheek, causing him to yelp and swat at Obi-Wan’s general direction.

“That’s sexual harassment, mister,” Anakin groused, rubbing his reddening cheek as he frowned at Obi-Wan, all the while leaning into his touch.

Obi-Wan put his palm over his hand, squeezing it. “Didn’t you read our marriage contract? It stipulated that I could do that anytime I wanted.” He gave it another squeeze before walking away, heading for the door. “You should’ve read the fine text.”

“We don’t have a marriage contract!” Anakin called after him as Obi-Wan headed down the stairs, stupid grin on his face all the while.

It was still only a quarter past six, so Obi-Wan had all the time in the world to get the house ready. Softening his footsteps and avoiding the parts that creaked the loudest, he cracked open the door to the twins’ room, peeking his head in. Inside, Luke and Leia were still asleep, their sides of the room cleanly divided in half. On Luke’s side were all sorts of starship figurines and printed flimsi bindings of various comics, courtesy of Obi-Wan’s restored antique printing press, while on Leia’s side were self-constructed (mostly by her father) droids and monster figurines, her toy blaster deconstructed on the carpet in front of her bookshelf of dusty political theories (gifts from Padmé when Leia expressed interest, at the big age of three, in becoming a senator, yet to be touched). By the door stood Threepio, still in stasis, waiting to wake the twins up.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, pulling the door back so only a sliver of space was left. Crossing the hallway, he peered into Cal’s room, where his youngest pup lay sleeping in his crib, Artoo situated on the rest dock at the foot of the crib. Only twenty months old and already fast-outgrowing his crib, which was all par for the course, since Cal drank nearly enough milk for two pups. Obi-Wan made a mental note to talk to Anakin about it, knowing his mate loved a new opportunity to keep trying his hand at carpentry that wasn’t just sanding down the stairs so they could attach carpets.

He went down the last set of stairs, satisfied with his pups and their combined but very temporary silence. He hadn’t expected three children to be so loud, considering all the time he spent assisting Master Bahani with the younglings at the crèche, but it made total sense, considering who their parents were.

He caught the sight of two montrals poking up over the couch, the holoscreen turned on at low volume. “Good morning,” he greeted, still keeping his voice low. He figured that Bant was still sleeping, since she often slept in till nine and he didn’t need a dressing down for waking her up so early in the morning.

“Hey, Cradlerobber,” Ahsoka greeted, smiling up at him. Then she scented the air and frowned. “Aren’t you due for your heat? What are you doing out here?”

Obi-Wan sniffed, making his way to the kitchen. He heard the holoscreen switch off and footsteps following him. “It’s my house, I get to do what I want,” he said haughtily, before cracking a smile. “It isn’t here yet. Perhaps tonight, based on how I’m feeling right now.”

Ahsoka regarded him with a dubious look. “I doubt Skyguy’s capable of not losing his head when you’re this close to heat while people are over.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, because that was the sort of thing he did now. “He shouldn’t have invited everyone over for a reunion today, then.”

“I told you, it was an accident,” the man of the hour huffed, coming down the stairs. Obi-Wan let himself look appreciatively, very much enjoying the way the tight shirt hugged his arms, the baggy trousers framing his legs perfectly. Anakin had taken to civilian fashion like a house on fire, and Obi-Wan had thoroughly enjoyed this particular development.

But Obi-Wan had a reputation to uphold, as the house’s snarkiest resident. “Isn’t that what you said about the twins, dear?”

Ahsoka whistled, laughing to herself. “Low blow, Cradlerobber.”

“What’s up with that nickname, anyway?” Anakin asked, bumping against Obi-Wan as he passed behind before making a beeline for the caf machine. Obi-Wan, for his part, continued stirring the hot cocoa. “It’s undignified. It’s not even true. I wasn’t a baby when Obi-Wan met me.”

“A nine year old is definitely a baby, especially at my age,” Obi-Wan hummed, pouring the hot cocoa into a mug through a strainer. He slid the mug over to Ahsoka afterwards, then put the kettle on.

“Don’t encourage her! She’s besmirching your name,” Anakin groaned, in between scoops of caf. “Besides, you weren’t forty-four when we met. You were twenty-five. Big difference.”

“I’m twenty-five in three years and I wouldn’t get with a nine year old,” Ahsoka offered, sipping her lightly-spiced hot chocolate. Obi-Wan didn’t think he’d ever understand the appeal to spiced hot chocolate, but Ahsoka seemed to like it enough to keep asking for it whenever she came over, so he kept it stocked just for her.

“Nothing happened when I was nine,” Anakin said, audibly speaking through gritted teeth, “the first time anything remotely romantic happened, I was twenty-three!”

Obi-Wan went over to the mug cupboard and patted Anakin’s back on the way. “You’re so cute when you get irritable,” he cooed, plucking his teacup from the growing selection of mismatched mugs before returning to his kettle and tea station.

“Gross,” Ahsoka said automatically, wiping a ‘stache of chocolate from her top lip. “Anyway, what’s the plan today? You didn’t actually tell anyone what we’re going to be doing.”

Anakin visibly cringed. “Uh, I didn’t? I thought I included it in the message.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “This is what happens when you don’t clue me into your plans.”

“It was spontaneous! I just missed everyone.”

“I know, dear husband. But, as the mind healers say, communication is key. Or else you end up with a group of your closest friends coming over with no idea of your itinerary, all while your mate is hours away from heat.”

“When you put it like that...” Ahsoka trailed off.

“This house is a nightmare,” Anakin muttered, pouring himself a cup of caf and immediately taking a swig, barely grimacing at the heat.

Obi-Wan hugged him from behind, slightly awkward due to their difference in stature. “A nightmare that will never end,” he said sweetly, smiling against the dark fabric against his cheek.

“My sweet Omega is gone,” Anakin sighed morosely, eliciting a chuckle from Ahsoka. “He died five years ago and now all that remains is this snarky bastard rubbing all up against me.”

“Gross,” Ahsoka said again.

“Excuse me, I’m not the one that initiates sexual contact in any place other than our bedroom,” Obi-Wan huffed, offended. He detached himself from his ungrateful mate.

“No, you just tease me so much I have no choice but to—”

“Getting grosser, guys!”

“Ahsoka, would you mind helping me clear the landing area? It’s a difficult task when done alone.”

“Sure thing, Cradlerobber.”

“Hey, wait, why you,” Anakin interrupted, turning around to look at them with that kicked dog look he always got whenever he was denied his morning manual labour.

Obi-Wan levelled him with a cool glare. “Bad boys get alone time,” he said flatly, patting Ahsoka on the shoulder, his teacup in his other hand. “Come along, Ahsoka.”

Ahsoka barked a quieter version of her usual laugh as they approached the front door. “Seriously?”

“If it works for Luke, then it works on his father,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring Anakin’s petulant whine behind them. “Now, let’s get that landing area cleared. Padmé does love landing her cruiser as close as possible to the house.”

Ahsoka groaned. “Are you gonna make me do all the work? That’s gonna take forever.”

Obi-Wan smiled coquettishly. He had every intention of doing so. Cradlerobber, really.

Evening fell early, as it often did on Stewjon.

Anakin stepped onto the floor of their bedroom, having completed his rounds. It took a while to put Luke and Leia to sleep since they wanted their mother for their bedtime story, and it took even longer to get Cal to get settled, but he managed. And alright, maybe he bribed the twins with their favourite breakfast of chocolate-chip hotcakes if they went to bed right then and there, but it took all the tricks of fatherhood that got Cal to finally succumb to sleep (and Artoo playing a looping recording of white noise).

Everyone had gone home, with Ahsoka hitching a ride on Padmé’s cruiser, and Qui-Gon, Quinlan, Aayla, Bant, and Rex all carpooling back to the Temple on the barge of Rex’s twin brother, Cody. As happy as Anakin was to see them, he’d been getting antsy and was a little too eager to send everyone home when Qui-Gon mentioned the time, but who could blame him? His Omega was in their bedroom, his first heat-flush hitting him in the middle of dinner and sending him hauling himself up the stairs, all while Anakin had to keep entertaining guests, because he sure as hell wasn’t leaving the twins to chaperone a tipsy Quinlan Vos.

He pushed open the door, opening and shutting it just as softly. Obi-Wan was in their bed—now transformed into his nest, complete with some of their clothes, both clean and dirty. He had his naked back to the door, sleeping on his side, an absolute vision of flushed pale skin and cute moles and light-coppery hair. Anakin undressed, stripping down to nothing and dropping his clothes to the floor. If Obi-Wan needed them, he’d pick them up, but only if he needed them. He wasn’t going to get in between his mate and how he wanted his nest.

The bed dipped under his weight as Anakin snuggled up against Obi-Wan, bracketing him perfectly, chest to back, hips to ass, knees tucked under knees. He pressed a gentle kiss to his Omega’s freckled shoulder, just in time for him to wake up.

“Mm, hello, dear one,” Obi-Wan murmured drowsily, pressing back against him. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, which Anakin took as an invitation to kiss him.

They kissed for a long while, slow and sensual and unhurried. Anakin loved kriffing Obi-Wan, he really did, but he loved kissing him so much more—when Obi-Wan was soft and pliant like right now, or when he was so horny he couldn’t think straight, or when he was in need of attention, or when he was frustrated and nothing else could calm him down, or when he was stuck in his head, in that dark place that he kept all his guilt and shame. They were working on the last one, trying all sorts of ways to get all of Obi-Wan to fully accept their relationship, but some days were tougher than the rest.

Today wasn’t tough at all in that regard. It helped to have Ahsoka as a sort of buffer—whenever it was just the two of them, it was too easy for Obi-Wan to fall back into convincing himself that they were only together because he willed it, all those years ago when Anakin was still a pup. They didn’t normally need a buffer—talking about it was enough, a lot of the time—but it never hurt when they did. (Even if he didn’t approve of Ahsoka’s new nickname.)

They had their other issues to work through, too. The first year of their relationship, Obi-Wan had been so afraid of others’ judgement of them (mainly him) that he hid it from anyone outside of their inner circle of friends, which made Anakin feel like some dirty secret. Anakin had always had problems with controlling his emotions, but fatherhood had tested the boundaries of that—for the first year of the twins being in their lives, two years after he and Obi-Wan became mates, his temper was a nearly uncontrollable thing.

They ironed out the worst of the kinks before Cal was born, but there were more than a few growing pains. Obi-Wan was still worried about telling their pups about their love story, fearful that they’ll grow up thinking that was the norm, that it was okay for an older person to meet them at such a vulnerable age and end up getting groomed into a romantic relationship (no matter how much Anakin denied that version of events). Anakin still had to physically slap his hand over his mouth whenever he felt like saying something really wretched, when his temper got the best of him, having to leave the room to avoid blowing up on Obi-Wan. There were nights where they both laid awake, too exhausted to kiss or fuck but too awake to sleep, where they talked about whether this was what they wanted, if they were really made for the quiet life over politics and piloting and being with the Jedi.

But all the pains and aches were all bearable, survivable. Everything felt survivable, when he had Obi-Wan.

“Missed you,” Obi-Wan sighed against his lips, looking up at him through golden lashes. Anakin kissed the tip of his nose, then his cheekbone, then his forehead. “What was that for?” His Omega asked with soft laughter, turning over so he was facing Anakin.

“I love you,” Anakin said, cupping Obi-Wan’s cheek, his palm stroking Obi-Wan’s thick beard. Obi-Wan had been angelic when he first met him, clean-shaven and long-haired, but Anakin much preferred this version of him, bearded with short-cropped hair, wrinkles in the corners of his blue-grey eyes; the prettiest sight he’d ever seen.

“I love you, too,” Obi-Wan said, his smile so tender and sweet and open. “How are they?”

Anakin didn’t need to ask which they he meant. “Asleep, thank kark,” he said, pulling Obi-Wan in until their bodies were pressed up against each other. He felt the wetness between Obi-Wan’s legs when he pressed his thigh there, but they had plenty of time to deal with that later. His Omega would ask whenever he was ready.

“Are Artoo and Threepio ready to keep an eye on them?” Obi-Wan asked, though they both knew he didn’t need to. Anakin was the type to triple and quadruple check when it came to their pups.

“Good to go, but I promise I’ll check on them in the morning,” he replied, rubbing the warm palm of his mechno-arm up and down Obi-Wan’s waist. Not for the first time, he mourned that he couldn’t get exact and precise sensations from it like he could with his organic hand—he liked stroking and tracing the pattern of Obi-Wan’s stretchmarks, the physical evidence that he’d been round with their pups even long after the fact.

Obi-Wan sighed happily, sinking into his touch. “My wonderful Alpha,” he said, half-lidded with simmering desire and joy. His hand came to rest on Anakin’s waist, tugging gently. “I’m ready, dear one. I need you.”

Anakin grinned, the tiredness of the day sloughing off as easily as his clothes had. If there was one thing that always kickstarted his libido, it was Obi-Wan needing him.

“How do you want me, Omega?” Anakin asked, because sometimes Obi-Wan wanted to call the shots, direct how slow or fast they had to go, what position he wanted, how long he needed Anakin to hold on for before knotting him. Other times, he just wanted to be used, kriffed within an inch of his life, mind emptied of complex thought. On one memorable occasion, he’d asked Anakin to knot his asshole, which Anakin wanted to come back to someday.

Obi-Wan hummed, lazily rubbing himself against Anakin’s thigh. “Slow, I think,” he said after a few moments of contemplation, rubbing his hands all over Anakin’s chest. “I like it when you get rough and fast like earlier, but I want to make love. I want—ah—slow and steady.”

Anakin had reached under Obi-Wan’s lifted thigh to press one finger into him. Wanting to find better purchase, he rolled them over so Anakin was on top, his finger sliding in and out of that tight, wet heat. An idea popped into his head, and he smiled around the tender flesh of Obi-Wan’s chest. “Wanna pretend like it’s our first time?”

It was a gamble, because Obi-Wan could get pretty mercurial whenever the topic of their first time came up—some days, Obi-Wan loved to remember it and thought it was romantic, while other days, he wondered if Anakin had coerced him into sex—but this time it paid off, because Obi-Wan’s eyes have darkened with interest. “In what way do you mean?”

Anakin laid a kiss to the skin beside a puffy nipple. “Not a one-for-one reenactment of our first time, but a first time.” He licked the nub to perkiness, drinking in Obi-Wan’s quiet moan. “Working you open one finger at a time, taking it slow so I don’t blow my load immediately, exploring each other’s bodies like we’ve never seen each other before.”

Obi-Wan gasped as Anakin’s finger rubbed against the spot inside him that had his cunt clenching. “Yes,” he whispered, fingers gripping the sheets. Anakin kissed his navel, just by his happy trail. “I want that, dear one.”

“Me too,” Anakin said, kissing his thigh. Then he looked up at Obi-Wan, let his eyes go all wide and innocent. “Can I... do you want me to put one more in?”

Obi-Wan whimpered, his stomach caving in slightly at the surge of arousal that visibly gripped him. He nodded, sitting up slightly on his elbows and watching Anakin’s every move.

He pulled finger out, only leaving Obi-Wan bereft for a split second before he dove in, licked into his cunt all the way from his perineum to his clit, eliciting a shocked, choked moan. When Obi-Wan looked at him again, eyes a little dazed as the heat began taking over, Anakin blinked at him sweetly. “I’m sorry. I just wanted a taste.”

The echoed words from earlier don’t have an effect on Obi-Wan, only half-listening and completely zeroed in on the pleasure between his thighs, but it definitely had an effect on Anakin. That and the sweet, sticky scent of minty heat, like a strong spearmint pressed against the roof of his tongue, making his own biology work double time to give his Omega what he needed.

He returned to fucking Obi-Wan open with his fingers, slipping two into him. He was so wet that by the time Anakin pressed them all the way in, his palm was drenched in slick. He fought the urge to lick the slick from his hands, trying to stick to his thready, half-formed plot as he curled his fingers just right, sending shudders through Obi-Wan’s body, his Omega’s mouth falling open with shaky moans.

(He was glad that both droids in their pups’ bedrooms were programmed to play soft music and white noise at night, both to facilitate better sleep and make it easier to hide their activities upstairs. That way, Obi-Wan could make all the noises he wanted, without fear of waking them up. It was a stroke of genius that occurred to Anakin after having to awkwardly explain to Luke that no, Luke, daddy wasn’t hurting mommy, he’s okay, give us a minute and you can sleep between us.)

“Can you take another?” Anakin asked, petting the soft, slightly hairy underside of Obi-Wan’s tit, slightly massaging his thumb up and down a nipple. His mechno-arm wasn’t the most advanced it could be, but at least he had enough sensation to be able to feel the slightly leathery texture of Obi-Wan’s nipples, victims of bites from all of the Skywalkers.

“Y-yes,” Obi-Wan moaned, rocking back with little aborted rolls. Not wanting to torment his sweet Omega too much, Anakin complied, sliding a third finger into him and leveraging himself up to swallow his moan, kissing him in a way that was more lips than tongue.

He curled his fingers in at the right times on the upstroke, only stopping when Obi-Wan whined, nearly squealing around his words. “Stop, please, please, I want—on your knot, not your fingers,” he gasped, chest heaving as he shook with a denied orgasm.

The searing hot arousal that burned through Anakin in that moment made him momentarily dizzy with how hard he was. “Yes, yeah, of course, baby,” he got out, biting down on his lip hard—he loved when Obi-Wan was bossy and assertive, don’t get him wrong, but there was just something so satisfying and special for his mate to play the role of dainty virgin, just a complete inverse of how he was in their daily life. This Obi-Wan, the one that begged so sweetly for cock, was just a creation for their marriage bed, for their nest, and Anakin loved it.

He lined his cockhead up with Obi-Wan’s cunt, sighing in relief as he slid in. Obi-Wan moaned with him, gasping for breath when Anakin pressed in all the way to the base, balls nestled between Obi-Wan’s slick-soaked cheeks. “Yes,” Obi-Wan hissed, head thrown back in ecstasy. Anakin kissed his cheek then his throat, biting and sucking marks into the heated skin as Obi-Wan adjusted to him, slightly bigger than usual due to his Omega’s pheromones.

“You can move, Alpha,” Obi-Wan said after a few breaths, voice tight with arousal. “Please, move, make love to me. Make i-it special.”

Kark, his Obi-Wan was perfect. Perfect in every karking way. “Anything for you, Obi-Wan,” he moaned, sliding out nearly the whole way.

He didn’t slam back in like might’ve done normally. Instead, he ground back into him at a glacial pace, inch by maddening inch, feeding his cock into Obi-Wan’s leaking hole. Even taking it slow like this, they both moaned in pleasure, the sounds mingling together in sinful harmony. Anakin buried his face into Obi-Wan’s neck, mouthing over the pink scar of his claim on his mate, just by his scent gland. Anakin inhaled deeply and moaned at their combined scents, smoky and minty, sucking bruises into the skin of Obi-Wan’s collarbone. He whined beneath Anakin, fist burying into his hair and nails digging into the meat of his shoulder, fingertips brushing against his own matching claiming scar.

Anakin sped up his thrusts, growing increasingly desperate with every ah, ah, oh that spilled out of Obi-Wan’s mouth. For all the positions they got themselves into, this would always be his favourite—chest to chest, Anakin hunched over him, Obi-Wan’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Anakin pulled off just enough so he could watch as Obi-Wan’s face crumpled, eyes rolling back into his skull with every hard thrust.

Then Obi-Wan started gasping, hand tightening around Anakin’s shoulder and shoulders tensing, his head thrown back into their pillows as his eyes squeezed shut. “Anakin, Anakin, oh, d-dear one, kriff,” he moaned breathlessly, “I’m coming—I’m coming—!”

Anakin felt a gush of more wetness where they were joined, groaning at how soaked their lower halves were. He moaned as he continued fucking into his perfect Omega, chasing his own orgasm even through Obi-Wan’s oversensitivity, knowing how his mate liked it like the back of his hand.

Surely enough, Obi-Wan’s moans turned high and whiny. “Ngh, f-fuck, yes, yes, Anakin,” he whimpered, thighs shaking against Anakin’s waist. He could feel his knot building, catching on the rim of Obi-Wan’s hole on every stroke as it inflated. Obi-Wan babbled thoughtlessly, lost to his pleasure. “Yes, Anakin, yes, come o-on, dear one, put a p-pup in me—oh—please, kriff, give—I want another girl—ah, Anakin!”

Anakin gasped shakily, burying himself all the way to the hilt and popping his knot past the resistance, spending inside Obi-Wan with a shared moan. His Omega clenched around him, but Anakin knew all of his husband’s tells, so he pulled away and spat on the pads of his left hand’s fingers before reaching down and rubbing Obi-Wan’s darkened clit.

He thrashed with every rapid swipe, so Anakin held him down with his mechno-arm, planting it on the side of his chest as he furiously rubbed at Obi-Wan’s engorged nub until his Omega came with a high, wounded whine. His fingers clenched painfully around Anakin’s scalp and shoulder, but it only caused him to throb inside Obi-Wan’s cunt and moan breathlessly.

Anakin leaned over him and kissed him again, sweet and slow and unyielding, all lips and tongue and their breathy, little gasps. His knot would keep them tied together for the next few minutes, but Anakin knew enough about his own body and Obi-Wan’s to know that they didn’t need any more than just the one knot to give them what Obi-Wan had asked for. He’d never been able to prove his theory, since once Obi-Wan was in heat Anakin wouldn’t be able to let up on him until after he’d knotted him twice and occasionally thrice in the first day, but he knew it like a gut feeling, the Force quiet and approving around them.

He kissed his way down Obi-Wan’s bearded chin to his throat, sighing in pleasure as his cock released another spurt into Obi-Wan. “Did you mean it, Obi-Wan?” He murmured against heated skin, laving his tongue over one of the bruises that had begun darkening on pale skin.

“Mm, every word,” Obi-Wan replied, scratching his fingers gently around the tender spot where he’d pulled a little too hard on Anakin’s scalp in his ecstasy. Anakin couldn’t have fought his purr even if he tried. “I want another daughter. Leia should have a sister—being the only girl in the family sounds so lonely.”

Anakin hummed his affirmative, trying to picture what another Kenobi-Skywalker girl would look like. Would she inherit Obi-Wan’s auburn hair like Cal, or Anakin’s blond hair like Luke? Or would she turn out like Leia did, a near carbon copy of Anakin’s mom, with her dark chocolate-brown hair and equally dark eyes, every bit of her like Shmi reincarnated save for her lips (which were Obi-Wan’s) and her attitude (which was all Anakin)? Or maybe she’d surprise them all, come out with some new, unique combination of their genes.

Whatever she looked like, if she would even be born a she, Anakin didn’t care. Even though she was only a dream at the moment, he already loved her, just as much as he loved all their pups and the man that gave them to him.

“I love you,” Obi-Wan murmured to the top of his head, breaking Anakin out of his reverie.

Anakin kissed his chest, rubbing the side of his face against the hairs there. “I love you too.”

If anyone were to ask him, Anakin would boldly say that he was the happiest man in the galaxy, and it would be true, because he had Obi-Wan at his side. Forever and always.