Of Padawans & Perfume

Romin, Obi-Wan decided, had the propensity to be a beautiful planet. It was true, portions of it were being used as a gilded up hideaway for some of the galaxy's most notorious criminals - including, of course, their main target, Janna Zan Arbor, an evil scientist whom he'd first run into during his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon, and whom had proved just as dangerous nearly eighteen years later - while the rest left to wither as its poverty-stricken inhabitants suffered unjustly in the hands of the planet's petty tyrant. But the land itself was hardly responsible for such destruction and greed.

He stretched as he made his way back into the spacious, two-room cottage offered to them - well, to the Slams, the quad of sophisticated thieves the Jedi were impersonating - by Roy Teda, Romin's extravagant leader. The cool night air had been refreshing on his skin, and though his unplanned conversation with Ferus had disturbed him somewhat - particularly, the boy's ability to put into words what his loyalties to his own Padawan would not quite allow - it had done even less to allow him to doze off. He prepared himself for a light meditation session, hoping to stave off some of his restless energy, when -- "oh, Anakin. Still awake?" he noticed aloud, entering their shared chambers.

Anakin sat on the edge of 'his' mattress. "I don't sleep very well on strange planets," he shrugged. He was still wearing the ensemble he'd donned to impersonate Valadon, the sole female member of the Slams, and so the effect was a little ridiculous. "Maybe I can meditate," he continued, and made to pull off the skimpy-yet-complicated garment (barely) serving as a shirt. His gangly elbows got tangled amidst the numerous straps (most of them purely there for decoration), and Obi-Wan snorted, crossing the small distance to assist him.

"Arms over your head," he instructed; eventually, the shirt came up and off, and Obi-Wan tossed it on the ground alongside the shoulder length copper-haired wig that Anakin had already discarded. His Padawan braid fell from where it had been tucked up into the wig's built-in hair net, down past the boy's shoulder where it hung just below his nipple. Anakin kicked off the dainty gold shoes he'd been wearing next, followed by the small amount of matching jewelry he'd added as part of his ruse. The remaining violet-colored, shimmersilk pants were slightly similar to the loose-fitting sleep pants that Jedi donned at night in the Temple; in fact, Obi-Wan thought, if it wasn't for the face full of make-up that Anakin still bore, the differences would have been miniscule.

"Probably best to wash that off," he suggested. "I think there's a small refresher." He watched Anakin rub at his kohl-lined eyes; the cosmetic smudged slightly, but did not wipe off, save for a bit of black residue on the boy's fingertips.

Anakin made a face. "It's a good thing I'm not a woman; I can't think of anything more pointless than caking this on day after day." He glanced up at Obi-Wan. "The least you could have done is agreed to the eyeliner, Master."

Obi-Wan grinned. "That's what apprentices are for, my dear Padawan." He reached out to pat the top of Anakin's head in playful condescension; Anakin wet his still-lipsticked lips and pursed them, just as playfully pouting. Obi-Wan realized how much he'd missed being able to laugh with the boy, how happy he was that things between them had only been strengthened by the hardships they'd mutually endured on their latest slew of missions. With a stab of guilt, he remembered his earlier exchange with Ferus out in the gardens. He knew he had no reason to feel he had done anything wrong, but listening to Anakin's rival criticize his Padawan, however true the observations had been, still felt somewhat like a betrayal.

Anakin seemed to have noticed the change in the atmosphere. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Obi-Wan considered brushing the whole thing off and making good on his commitment to meditate, but he knew he would regret not confiding in Anakin, if nothing else, because it would feel as if he really did have something to hide from his Padawan. "I'm just thinking about the talk I had a few moments ago with Ferus," he replied eventually. As expected, Anakin's face darkened.

"You were discussing me." It was not a question.

"You did come up in conversation, yes," Obi-Wan replied honestly. He sat down on the mattress, purposefully placing a hand on Anakin's bare shoulder; Anakin twitched, eyes carefully diverted, but he did not pull away. From so close, the faded scent of Valadon's perfume was quite apparent, but Obi-Wan ignored it.

"He does not trust me," Anakin continued. "He feels I am reckless and obstinate. And now he has made you feel the same way." His eyes glittered with emotion; Anakin's temper was infamous, and had Obi-Wan not spent practically every waking minute of the past eight years by his side, he might have been apprehensive to see it sparked. As it was, he continued to speak in soft, measured tones.

"Ferus merely worries that your status as the Chosen One means that you are treated differently."

"Yeah," Anakin said bitterly. "By him."

"You do realize the extraordinary strength and connection you have with the Force, Anakin," Obi-Wan chided gently, yet firmly. "You are gifted, regardless of whether the prophecy about the Chosen One is to be believed. But since the title has become so enmeshed in your identity at the Temple, you are watched more closely. Your actions do get weighed more heavily than others'.

"You are not perfect, Anakin," Obi-Wan continued. "And neither is Ferus. Nobody expects either of you to be. And regardless of whether his observations of you are done partially out of your mutual dislike of one another, there is some truth to them."

"And what is that?" Anakin asked, the anger gone from his face, replaced by the pensive, ever-so-slightly curious expression he always wore when his Master instructed him.

"That your actions are more serious than other people's - both your triumphs and your mistakes," Obi-Wan said simply.

Anakin was silent for several seconds, but his face was a caleidoscope of activity. Obi-Wan watched, rather fascinated, as his apprentice appeared to take in and mull over his words. Then he blinked a couple of times, and the hardened expression was gone, the tiny creases of frustration around his still-painted mouth smoothed over. "Let's not talk about Ferus anymore," he said decidedly, drawing himself up slightly, his palms resting on the gauzy material of his pants. He studied Obi-Wan raptly, intently enough that the older man began to feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Anakin?"

"You should really have let me help you apply the eyeliner, Master," he said quirkily. Obi-Wan started to 'tsk', but Anakin leaned over, grasping his shoulders and peering straight into his eyes, close enough now that Obi-Wan could feel the boy's breath against his skin, the cloying scent of Valadon's perfume invading his nostrils anew. Obi-Wan stared back, intrigued by the way Anakin's eyes shone, even in the near-darkness; how his lips were still unnervingly red, plump and inviting; how --

"Anakin," he whispered, desperately, pleadingly, not even really sure why. A finger to his lips silenced him.

"Hush," Anakin said, just as softly. And before Obi-Wan could formulate a response, something suitable to remind Anakin just who, exactly, was the Master here, the digit was replaced with his Padawan's soft, silky mouth. He was too shocked to return the kiss, and in retrospect, it probably would have been needlessly leading the boy on. As it was, he gasped, his own lips parting slightly, and Anakin took it as an invitation to slip his tongue between them. His palms still rested on his Master's shoulders, frozen, barely touching, as if he were afraid to push his luck.

He let up after several seconds, face still only scant inches from Obi-Wan's face. "I --" he began. "Um." He drew his tongue across his own bottom lip, savoring the taste. Obi-Wan still hadn't moved at this point. "Master, I'm sorry," he finally managed.

Obi-Wan simply stared at him. "You're sorry?"

Anakin nodded, his hands folded almost demurely in his lap, now. "I just ... I was curious," he said. "I wanted to know what it was like, Master."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and reopened them, attempting to gaze at Anakin with clinical, detached compassion rather than the unbridled lust his apprentice had haphazardly flung at him only a moment ago. "What it was like," he repeated. "What a kiss was like?" he clarified.

"What kissing you was like, Master," Anakin supplied.

Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath, dropping his gaze. He desperately sorted through his thoughts, trying to find something substantial to draw upon. "It's only natural to be curious about physical intimacy, Anakin," he finally said. "But as a Jedi, it is unwise to form attachments, let alone strengthen them through sexual acts. In time, you will learn-"

"It's unwise, but not unheard of," Anakin interrupted stubbornly.

"It needlessly complicates matters," Obi-Wan insisted. "The nature of our calling, of the Order's devotion to communion with the Force requires us to be as in-tuned to it as possible. Common gutteral interaction of this nature clouds our ability to do this." Obi-Wan felt awkward discussing such matters, to say the least. In the back of his mind, he always knew that it was a Master's job to instruct their apprentices on the, well, stickier aspects of their bond with the Force, but it was, with so many things, one thing to imagine something taking place, and quite another to actually experience it.

Anakin crossed his arms, eyes narrowing as he tilted his head slightly. "Master Qui-Gon never seemed to stray far from the Living Force," he smirked.

Obi-Wan nearly choked at the implication. "Anakin --!"

Anakin snorted. "I may have been young, Master, but I was hardly that naive." He sobered again. "And I'm hardly that young anymore, either --"

"You're still extremely young, Padawan," Obi-Wan interrupted contrarily, emphasizing the title to help prove his point.

Anakin scowled, all seventeen years of him obstinately ready to argue this point. "How old were you the first time?"

"That is none of your --" Obi-Wan stopped. This was hardly the way to go about taking control of the situation, such that it was. "Even if you choose to engage in such activities on your own time, and assuming it does not interfere with your training, it is hardly appropriate to do so with your Master."

"You did," Anakin reminded him again.

"There is a certain dynamic in any Master and Padawan relationship," Obi-Wan continued, ignoring Anakin for the time being. "A balance that may be irrevocably led astray by adding this sort of copulation to it. It is simply too dangerous of a possibility to explore." It was hardly an appropriate choice of words, and not nearly firm enough of a rebuttal at that, but Anakin stopped arguing for a moment, appearing blessedly contemplative as he took this all in.

"Do you think your bond with Qui-Gon was led astray, Master?" he finally said.

"I don't know," Obi-Wan answered softly. His mind filled with images of his late Master, memories that occasionally drew up and threatened to choke him with the all-consuming emotion they brought with them. He took a quavering breath and let it out slowly, relieved to find it calming. "So much of what we had," he murmured, "was left unfinished."

Anakin nodded slowly. "Well," he said, "we won't be like that."

"How do you know?" Obi-Wan asked curiously.

Anakin smiled, his hands moving to clasp his Master's warmly. "Because you believe in me," he answered. "You defend me even when it's only to yourself. You see my faults and you're not afraid to urge me to correct them. I'll be a great Jedi Knight someday," Anakin continued. "And you will be there to see it. Master."

Obi-Wan returned the smile affectionately. "I would be honored to witness this, Padawan. And I will. I have no doubt." He didn't want to, at least; perhaps if he told himself as much enough times, it would be true, he thought.

Anakin squeezed his hands slightly. "There is always intimacy without emotional involvement, Master," he said; and suddenly, the bubble Obi-Wan was in popped, the air in the room seemingly growing colder all of the sudden.

The shock must have registered on his face. "I could never do that," he hissed, eyes widening as he realized what had just slipped out. "I mean," he said, "I didn't -- you're --". The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he felt Anakin draw closer.

"Okay," his apprentice said huskily once their faces were inches apart once more. "We won't do that." One of his hands found the back of Obi-Wan's head, fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth descended upon his Master's. Obi-Wan made a small moue of protest in the back of his throat, but the small pressure of Anakin's hand, and the simple and amazing feeling of Anakin's mouth on his squelched it.

He gave in, and began to kiss Anakin back.

The boy squirmed closer, shivering as Obi-Wan's hands descended graciously upon his shoulders, kneading the now goosebumped flesh they'd been yearning to for what seemed like an eternity. He groaned into Obi-Wan's mouth as the older man rubbed his back with softly calloused palms, then gasped when teasing fingertips danced playfully up and down his sides. He broke the kiss with a sharp intake of breath as Obi-Wan found one of his nipples, already hardened from the brisk temperature and his own arousal, and tweaked it.

Anakin kissed his Master again briefly, thrilled by the new texture of Obi-Wan's beard rubbing against his face. "You're wearing far too many clothes, Master," he announced, reaching over to unbutton the gawdy purple cloak that Obi-Wan was still wearing as part of his attempt to impersonate the foppish gang leader, Slam. Anakin eagerly assisted in stripping Obi-Wan from the waist up, then motioned for him to scoot further onto the bed so he could pull off his boots.

"What a relief to be rid of this ridiculous disguise, if only temporarily," Obi-Wan said, leaning back on his elbows, intrigued by the way Anakin's deft fingers unlaced the red leather boots, another article unwittingly supplied by Slam. Anakin set them swiftly on the floor, careful not to make any loud noises that could potentially arouse suspicion from Siri and Ferus, who were only rooming right next door. He carefully maneuvered himself up and lay across Obi-Wan's prone frame, letting his thigh rub purposefully over his Master's still clothed groin. He leaned in to kiss him again, and was delighted to find Obi-Wan voraciously return his efforts this time around. Their tongues danced, teeth clicking together, and Anakin gave as well as he received, their mouths fighting for dominance with the same energy they usually reserved for their lightsaber duels.

Anakin placed one palm against the overstuffed mattress near Obi-Wan's head to give himself some leverage; he shifted slightly, and Obi-Wan grunted to feel the young man's other hand groping at his crotch. "Anak-" he started, but the word died as a gasp as Anakin's fingers worked their way inside the borrowed pants and Obi-Wan's own underthings, curling around his cock and squeezing gently. His hand continued sliding up and down in an exploratory fashion, and Obi-Wan bit his lip to keep from panting obscenely.

Anakin didn't ask permission - he rarely did - but moved off of Obi-Wan just enough to tug his remaining articles of clothing down and off. Obi-Wan shifted slightly to assist, a little embarrassed to find his cock flush against his belly. It was not as though he and Anakin had never been nude in one another's presence before - on the contrary, clinical immodesty was something a Jedi learned rather early on. But this was different; this was not only being naked in front of Anakin, but aroused because of him. It was, he admitted, swallowing as he felt Anakin's eyes sweep over all of him, the dangerous territory he had only just warned his Padawan about.

Anakin knelt between his legs, hands gently pushing Obi-Wan's thighs apart even further. Obi-Wan's arms were beginning to feel the strain of his propping himself up for so long on his elbows, but he ignored it, finding it rather easy to concentrate instead on his apprentice's -- oh. "Aaahh," he gasped as the warm, wet heat of Anakin's mouth enveloped the head of his cock. Anakin sucked gently, his tongue laving the top, before letting up, only to trail his mouth along the underside and down to the base. His hands found fistfuls of bedsheets and he clenched them tightly, sucking in irregular breaths as Anakin's talented mouth continued to toy with him.

Anakin's lips wrapped around the head of Obi-Wan's penis once more, suctioning, and he carefully slid down the length, grunting as the nest of curls tickled his nose. He did this three or four more times, and Obi-Wan was at first quite content to let the boy finish him off, but realized that it would be quite unfair to disallow Anakin his own release. With great effort, he reached over and gently wrapped a hand around his Padawan's braid, tugging just enough for Anakin's head to snap up. "Wait," Obi-Wan instructed him, and Anakin crawled up his Master's body once more, clamoring for a kiss. Obi-Wan gladly acquiesced, tasting the remnants of smeared lipstick, his own pre-come, and something uniquely Anakin all at once. It inflamed his senses even more, and he took the lead, kissing his way down Anakin's neck and throat and delighting in the feel of the boy's quickened pulse.

"Ohhh!" Anakin arched up as Obi-Wan bit one of his nipples, his tongue swirling around it to soften the sensation. His hands roved freely over his apprentice's strong body, still lithe with the last vestiges of late adolescence, but impressively honed and well on its way to full-fledged adulthood. Anakin's belly quivered as Obi-Wan traced circles on it, and his cock, when Obi-Wan hastily shoved those silly blue harem pants off, was very much aroused. "Please," Anakin murmured, moaning when Obi-Wan's hand cupped and gently rolled his balls.

"Patience, Padawan," Obi-Wan smiled, gratifying in hearing Anakin's appalled sound of protest. He considered reaching down to fish the vial of multi-purpose oil he kept in his utility belt out of its designated pouch, but decided he didn't want to move from his position between Anakin's legs. He Force-moved the bottle instead, swatting Anakin's backside sharply when he heard him snickering. "Learn from what I say, not from what I do," he instructed. Anakin looked as though he wanted to dash off a smart remark, but his expression became shuttered once Obi-Wan's index finger slid inside of him.

"Ah," Anakin bit out. Another finger was added once Obi-Wan sensed that he had adjusted to the initial intrusion, and he arched off the bed, reveling in the sensation they produced. His Master's hand was warm, slicked from the oil and their own mingled perspiration, and he found himself mimicking Obi-Wan's earlier notion of holding onto the bedsheets as the third digit was massaged alongside the other two.

"Master, I want you ... inside me," Anakin panted, his eyes blazing fiercely with the declaration.

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat. "Are you sure?" he queried. "We don't -- if you're not --"

"I want it," Anakin said firmly. "I want you. Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nodded, carefully slipping his fingers out of Anakin's ass and watching as he instinctively drew himself up on his knees. Obi-Wan took a ragged breath, quickly slicking his cock with the oil; Anakin watched him over his shoulder, mouth swollen from its previous activities, his eyes full of a myriad of emotions that almost hurt Obi-Wan to see. He was almost relieved when Anakin turned back around, tensing slightly as Obi-Wan rubbed himself against his backside. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Anakin breathed.

The sensation of sliding into that impossibly tight channel was indescribable; Obi-Wan felt Anakin trembling wildly beneath him, allowing him to get used to the sensation for several seconds before sliding carefully past the tight ring of muscle. Anakin's breaths came in short, heated breaths, a bit too loudly for Obi-Wan's paranoia, and he was relieved when the boy bit down on his knuckle to block some of the excess noise. "Mmm," he gasped out in a hard whisper. "More."

Obi-Wan allowed himself to thrust forward, to drive into Anakin, slowly at first and then, as Anakin wordlessly pushed back against him eagerly, faster and faster. A rhythm was quickly established, a synchronicity of movement and heat and skin-upon-skin; Obi-Wan felt the Force dancing around them, infusing the act with light and energy and goodness. It was in them, in their very veins, pulsating as surely as his and Anakin's own rapid heartbeats. He tugged on Anakin's Padawan braid again, thrilled to hear the boy's strangled gasp as he tried desperately to keep himself quiet as instructed. It was hardly a fair command, Obi-Wan knew, but he was heady, realizing that he could coax these kinds of noises from Anakin, that his apprentice enjoyed what he was doing that much.

He felt himself nearing release, and didn't protest when Anakin dragged one of his hands up to pump at the boy's own erection. He rubbed his thumb over the slit, thrusting once, twice, three more times, and felt gratified when his hand was soon coated in Anakin's spunk. His own orgasm followed quickly, and he sagged against Anakin's sweat-sheened body for several moments afterwards. The scent of Valadon's perfume was barely detectable now, drowned out by the aromas of sweat and semen and Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

The boy's wriggling kept Obi-Wan from dozing off completely; shaking himself alert, he gingerly pulled out of Anakin's backside, wiping himself off ineffectually with a corner of the now-sullied bedsheets. "I suppose we'll both be needing to visit the refresher," he remarked ruefully.

"Mmm." Anakin lay on his back, eyes slitted sleepily open, but only just. "Later." He smiled to feel his Master's palm reach up to cup his face, and pressed his cheek against it, nuzzling gently. Obi-Wan watched Anakin drift off, relieved that his apprentice would replenish his sleep reserves; the unpredictability surrounding the majority of their missions meant that such a luxury was never guaranteed.

He considered his own lack of rest, and debated whether or not to attempt a private meditation session out in the garden again. Eventually, he resigned himself to tugging down the covers on the other yet-untouched bed in the room, acknowledging that it would look rather suspicious to Siri and Ferus to find that only one mattress had been occupied. He pushed down the feelings of guilt and confusion that this little ... whatever it had been between he and Anakin had wrought. Plenty of time to address them later, he thought drowsily as sleep began to, blessedly, take him at last. Best, in fact, to leave it all for another time, when they weren't knee-deep into a mission, when both of them were well-rested and coherent.

And most of all, Obi-Wan decided firmly, a more serious discussion of their particular Master and Padawan relationship could wait until Anakin wasn't tempting him with a pretty, painted face and that damnably sweet perfume.