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——
Little one, he said the first time he spoke to you, when you were all but a child, bright eyes and demure nature as expected of soon to be Padawans.
Little one, he says in that tone of voice, when your force signature prickles with irritation at the edges, the petulance of your youth not quite brought under control yet.
Little one, he says, beginning your weekly routine with his storytelling while you sit in front of him as he braids your hair.
Little one, he soothes when you try so so hard to keep your emotions in check, unable to hide from your master as he gently pushes into your broken mind.
Little one, he calls for you, watching you- for the first time of many- turn away a handsome and respectful young boy who thought he could try his luck. The next time it’s a young girl. The time after that it’s an assuming twilek that he doesn’t stop Anakin from punching, the time after that- Obi-Wan tries to stop counting.
Little one, he refrains from saying when you pass your trials, bounding up to him with a beaming smile. Later that night, in the privacy of your apartment, he runs your braid between his fingers for the last time, holding it at an angle before he severs it with his saber. And he feels like he’s severed everything. You’re not so little anymore, you’re not his Padawan anymore, you’re not his anymore. And that hurts more than he’ll ever be willing to admit.
Little one, he thinks when the start of the Clone Wars is made official, when he thinks of you and your green saber sitting among the consulates. You, who had never understood how beings were capable of such evil. You, who would turn to him in tears at the sight of an injured animal. You, who no doubt were utterly disappointed in the war that he would now be fighting in.
Little one, he thinks when he tidies his beard, a brief flicker of forbidden vanity causing him to wonder what you’d make of his appearance now. If you preferred his hair shorter like it was before, if you’d like his beard.
Little one, he groans brokenly into his pillow, knuckles white where he fists them into his sheets to prevent himself from pressing his hips against the mattress to relieve the pressure building in his lower abdomen. He ruts against the mattress and groans again, devastated as he turns onto his stomach to prevent any further action. Oh, my darling, little one.
How he wishes he could say those words to you.
He almost does. The Clone Wars have finally come to an end and you’re in front of him for the first time in years, no longer his young Padawan, but a Jedi Knight in your own right, strong and powerful and graceful, soon to be no doubt selecting a Padawan of your own to train.
He almost whispers little one to you when you approach him, but he catches himself when you smile at him. It’s a controlled smile, a polite one, but still he can see the shine in your eyes. It’s so oddly reminiscent of the first time you smiled up at him, over a decade ago now, that his heart thuds painfully in his chest.
How could he? How could he even consider letting you know, ever consider doing such blasphemous things to you, his darling little one- no, his Padawan, nothing more. How could he stand here and look at you and want to defile you in ways he’s only ever dreamed of doing to you, when he’s taught you otherwise.
He’s jealous of Anakin and Padme, even though he pretends not to know about them, he’s jealous. Jealous that Padme is not bound by the Jedi code, that Anakin did not have to ask her to betray everything she stood for to be with him.
What sort of man would that make him, teaching you that the feelings he felt were wrong and bad for the Jedi, and then ask you to drop it all for him so he could give in to his desires.
Desires. Foolish, foolish desires.
He reels in his signature before you have the chance to unravel it.
“Consular,” he greets instead, his hands behind his back to keep himself from reaching out to you.
“General Kenobi,” you respond, and his insides melt at the lilt in your tone. Years of dreaming of you and yet your voice has never sounded sweeter. “Congratulations.”
He shakes his head, a humble smile on his face. “Thank you, although from what I’ve heard, you had quite a hand in aiding with the negotiations, so perhaps I should congratulate you.”
And he can’t help it. Stars above, he really can’t with the way a bashful smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. He places his hands on your shoulders, taking a step closer- perhaps a little too close into your personal space.
“I am so proud of you, little one.”
And perhaps his indiscretion can be forgiven by the absolutely breathtaking grin he is rewarded with. You avoid his gaze, struggling to contain your glee, and he lets himself smile at the image of you, one he had seen before multiple times when he’d tell you you had done a good job.
You always did enjoy his praise.
“Really?” You breathe, and he hums, lifting your chin up so you meet his gaze. Your lips part slightly, and Obi-Wan realises the extent of your proximity when he can feel the slight of your breath against his skin.
“I’m always proud of you,” he affirms, and he nearly dies when your hand presses warmly against his chest. He wonders if you can feel how rapidly his heart is beating beneath his robes.
But then he’s reminded of the reason he is wearing those specific robes, he’s reminded of the people around, of reality. His smile dims slightly when he pulls away from you. He can see the question begin to form in your mind before you push it down, plastering a fake smile of your own on. If it were anyone else, perhaps he would not have noticed.
But it’s you. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attuned to every part of your body that he was able to let himself indulge in.
But then your name is being called by someone else, and you offer him an apologetic smile before you turn away. Of course, he thinks bitterly, fisting his robes at his sides as he sees you walk away. You had a job to do after all.
——
Little one, he thinks, undoing his robes and letting them fall to the ground.
Little one, he thinks, letting the warmth of the water of the shower soak into his skin. It’s been a few weeks since he’s had a proper warm shower, and yet he can’t seem to enjoy it.
Little one, he thinks, groaning as his hand slips between his legs to grasp his cock, already painfully hard and leaking, begging for attention. He shouldn’t, he tells himself, squeezing to relieve some pressure. He shouldn’t even be doing this let alone doing this thinking of her. Of his little one.
Little one, little one, little one, little one, little one, little one, li-ttle-one—
Gasping, he tears his hand away from himself, leaning heavily against the wall. A wave of disgust courses through him when he finds himself searching for your signature, a cool, gentle wave that has him scratching his nails against the wall. He’s careful to hide his own signature, letting his head thump back against the cool tile of the shower.
This time, when his hand moves between his legs, he finds that unlike every other time before this, he can’t stop himself.
And then he’s staring at his hand, cheeks flushed and panting, barely being able to hear the sound of the shower through his heart pounding in his ears.
He stares. His breathing slows.
An image of you- young and innocent and wild, having just put together your own lightsaber and proudly presenting it to him, toothy grin and all, placing it in his palm.
An hour later he’s bullshitting his way through an excuse explaining the shattered glass panels in his bathroom.
——
Fuck.
He can’t look at you. How the hell is he supposed to look at you now?
He feels as though he’s taken advantage of you, of your affection, manipulated it in his mind till it was something it was not. He takes to avoiding you.
It’s easy for a few hours. The temple on Coruscant is busy, and you are no doubt wrapped up in the aftermath of the end of the war. While his job was mostly over, you were unlikely to get rest any time soon.
That’s probably why he lets his guard down, leaving his force signature exposed. You find him. Of course you do. You were always strong in the force, stronger than he was at your age. He knows it’s only a matter of time before you surpass him, and he knows when that day comes he would be the proudest.
You find him after waiting for him to find you. He would have sought you out if not for… if not for the way he ruined the memory of you last night.
“General Kenobi?” Your voice is hesitant, a side effect from the uncertainty and guilt you feel radiating off him. His head snaps towards you, and he’s scrambling to his feet. Your signature reaches out to him gently, and he blanches at the familiarity of it. You physically flinch as he all but slams his walls up, leaving you alone. He avoids your gaze, turning and intending to just walk away from you.
He doesn’t expect you to touch him.
Your fingers wrap around his wrist, skin against skin, and it jolts him to turn to face you, eyes wide and afraid. Your own expression nearly mirrors his, worry overwhelming you.
“Obi-Wan, are you alright?” You whisper, and that jolts him again. He snatches his wrist away from you as if he’s been burned, backpedaling to put more distance between the two of you.
“Get-get away from me!” He gasps, and it didn’t matter how fast he turned his back on you, not when he could see your face completely shatter.
Obi-Wan thinks he’s going to be sick. He slams the door to his room shut, leaning against it and breathing heavily, tearing at his robes.
It’s too hot and too loud and too much, and he can barely stumble into the bathroom before he’s emptying his stomach into the toilet bowl.
The torture endures for a few agonising seconds, before he feels a cool hand smooth his hair away from his face, another hand rubbing his back soothingly. It helps, barely, but he’s more focused on the fact that his body seems to be trying to evict itself.
He gets a short break from himself, just for a few seconds, and his vision spots black as someone- he figures the owner of the hands- tugs his robe off his shoulders and pushes it somewhere away. The hands disappear for a millisecond, but then he’s throwing up again and they return.
Time blurs, and he thinks a damp cloth is being pressed to his forehead and a cup of water being gently tilted into his mouth, but nothing seems to make sense anymore.
He wants to tell the person to go away, to leave him alone, to just fuck off because they’re not helping. How can they be helping, when they say “Oh, Obi-Wan,” so gently, in a voice that’s too much like yours?
But still, he’s too exhausted and drained and dehydrated to process anything properly. He lets the person tilt him slightly so he’s leaning against them. He lets the person pry another glass between his lips so they can get another sip of water in. He thinks he threw up the rest of the water a few minutes ago.
He lets the person help him into bed, and take off his boots and his robes until he’s lying shirtless in bed, the room too hot and too stuffy for him to breathe.
“It’s alright, Obi-Wan,” he hears you say, and he wants to hide from your voice. Actually no, he doesn’t, and that’s what makes it worse. He vaguely registers the person push his windows open, a gust of cool air flooding through the room.
And Obi-Wan closes his eyes.
——
He’s disoriented when he wakes up.
His throat is dry and his stomach hurts and his head aches, and you’re sitting on a chair at the foot of his bed half-asleep in a position that in no way looks comfortable.
He says your name without meaning to, and it startles you awake. You blink blearily at him for a second before your eyes widen, and then you’re scrambling to your feet and hurrying towards him. He watches you press your hand against his forehead, and your frown subsides.
“‘M sorry, I dozed off for a sec. Were you waiting long? You need water? Food? Although you probably shouldn’t eat just yet. Does anything hurt? Your fever has gone down- Obi-Wan would you like water?” You babble for a second, flustered and panicked as you try to cater to him. His hand shoots out to grasp at your wrist, so tiny in his hand.
“Water,” he rasps, throat burning. “Water would be lovely.”
And then you’re pouring a glass of water for him and helping him sit up and tilting the glass to his lips to help him drink. Obi-Wan is fairly certain he can do all of this by himself (he can’t), but he doesn’t dare to give you any impression he does not want you here, not with what happened last night.
He doesn’t have the heart to, not when you’re laying him back down and placing a damp cloth on his forehead and manueving to rub soothingly at his scalp.
It doesn’t take long for his eyes to droop shut again, and the last thing he remembers thinking is I love you.
When he wakes up again, there’s a bowl of soup, still quite warm, but the room is empty. Obi-Wan finds himself missing you.
There’s something different inside of him. Not want, no, that’s not quite it. It burns inside of him, twisting away at his insides and he’s sure that it’s making him physically sick. It’s… it’s longing.
Obi-Wan thinks he lasts without you a fairly long time. He does not. And then he whimpers, shutting his eyes as he tries his hardest to project out, reaching for you, looking for you, hoping you’ll feel him and come back.
When he feels the steady thrum of your signature, he almost sobs in relief. The physical pain literally subsides as he reaches out for you. His own signature practically slams against yours with no warning, desperation and hopelessness and desire wrapping around you and tugging, tugging at you to come back to him, to hold him, to love him-
and then suddenly he can’t feel you anymore.
——
It seems you’re avoiding him now, for what reason he cannot fathom.
He says he will not push. He wanted this, after all. He wanted you away. That’s what he tells himself, refusing to acknowledge that the only thing on his mind now is you.
It’s ironic really. For being someone renowned for his patience and his abidance by the Jedi Code, Obi-Wan breaks surprisingly fast. 25 hours and 13 minutes from when he opens his eyes to an empty room. That’s how long he lasts.
And then he’s stalking through the dark Jedi Temple, not caring that it’s well into the middle of the night and that you’re more than likely asleep. He all but flings the doors to your room open, slamming them shut behind him.
Your bed is empty. The sheets mussed a little, pillows positioned just so, and Obi-Wan knows without a doubt that you tried to sleep and couldn’t. He also knows where he’ll find you. He doesn’t reach through the force because of that confidence, that and because he doesn’t want to scare you away.
One of the balconies in an older section of the temple. A section rarely used now except to keep old records and documents, making it one of the most isolated places in the temple on Coruscant. Obi-Wan first discovered it when he was a young padawan. Years later, you found it too.
It sort of became your spot, the spot Obi-Wan knew to return to whenever you’d disappeared and shut off your signature from him.
He knows he will find you there, and he does. What he doesn’t expect, however, is what you’re wearing.
It’s an old shirt of his, one he let you ‘borrow’ years ago. You had made an offhand comment that it was difficult to sleep when he was away, and he hadn’t made any comments on it, not when he shared the same sentiment. It was difficult, being unable to feel your energy in the room beside him. He felt uneasy, vulnerable in a bad way, as if some part of him was missing.
He usually meditated in this shirt- which is why he thought it would be sufficient while he was away from you. He didn’t expect you to wear it nearly every night he was away to bed. And he certainly isn’t expecting you to wear it now, years later.
It’s still big on you, making you seem small and exposed in the dark. If not for the blanket around you, Obi-Wan is sure that your legs would be bare. He tries to push the image of your bare legs out of his mind.
“Can’t sleep?” His own voice is grating against his ears, throat rough and sore and mouth dry. He sees you stiffen, but you’ve grown good at masking your emotions. Not from him though.
You turn your head to him, and he can see the glint in your eyes in the moonlight. You shake your head, and he takes a careful step towards you.
“Are-“ your own voice is hoarse, and it takes Obi-Wan a second too long to realise you’ve been crying. Or, you were, and stopped before he came. “Are you feeling better?”
“Fine, thank you,” he murmurs unsurely, and you nod before turning back to the moon. There’s a look in your eyes, one that he can’t seem to decode, and he tilts his head to study you.
You’ve become so lovely, he thinks, over the past few years. Not that you weren’t lovely before but, oh.
“I uh… it’s late I should probably go,” you say after a long moment, and his heart sinks. Your previous conversation flashes up in his mind and he reaches out to grasp your hand.
“Little one, what I said to you-“
“Yes?” You sound so eager, turning fully to look at him.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says, and he watches in confusion as your features falter, before carefully rearranging themselves so subtly that if he wasn’t studying you he wouldn’t have noticed. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight, and I know that’s no excuse, but if I could take it back I would-“
“It’s alright,” you say, pulling your hand from his grasp. Your gaze has dropped to study your feet, and you pull the blanket tighter around you.
“It’s not,” he tries, struggling against the urge to grasp your arms and pull you closer. “I am so sorry, little one, and I hope you can forgive me.”
There’s a beat.
And then, “There’s nothing to forgive.” You look up at him and give him a brilliant smile and he hates it because it’s not real. You can tell that he can tell.
“Truly, General Kenobi,” you insist. “It’s alright.”
But you’re turning away from him and his world feels like it’s falling apart because something is so clearly not alright. He reaches out to you again, but he’s met with nothing.
——
He meditates.
Then he thinks.
Then he meditates again.
And all he can concentrate on is you.
So, naturally, he goes to you.
He feels a little guilty when his slamming your door shut literally makes you jump awake, struggling to get your bearings in the dark.
He extends his signature out to you as he sheds his cloak, letting it fall to the floor. He feels you touch his signature tentatively with your own before you withdraw completely, and he decides that he absolutely will not have that.
Obi-Wan is moving to kneel on the bed, yanking your blanket off your form and tugging you down towards him. He truthfully has no idea what he’s doing, all he knows is he wants to touch you, hold you, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t before the sun rises on this makerforsaken planet.
“Obi-Wan?” Your confusion is evident when he tugs you closer, pushing you down so he’s hovering over you, his arm braced on the mattress beside you.
“Little one,” he greets. He’s struck with the desire to taste your skin.
And then he’s ducking his head down and licking a long stripe up the side of your neck. Your answering squeal and scrape of your nails against his arms tell him you were certainly surprised. So he does it again, and again, moving to lick smaller and firmer against small sections of your neck, kissing and nibbling until you whimper and try to tug his relentless teeth away from you.
Your fingers are buried in his hair and he catches your other hand, pinning your wrist down against the mattress so he can interlock his fingers with yours.
He then pushes out his signature to you again, let’s it wrap around you, revelling in the way you shiver and arch against him.
“Ma-Master-“ you stammer, pulling on his hair in search of some release.
“I know,” he groans, fingers tightening against your hip at the title. His lips press hotly against the column of your neck, and he wonders why you’re not pushing him away, fighting him, why you’re letting him defile you like this. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“No, no, this is cruel,” you gasp out, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. He falters at the wave of your anguish, lifting his head to look at you.
“This is cruel, I wanna wake up,” you’re struggling beneath him, fighting him now and he lets you go. You scramble back till you hit the headrest of your bed, scrubbing your face with shuddering breaths as Obi-Wan ever so slowly reaches out for you.
“Little one?”
“I want to wake up,” you stress, flinching away from his touch and pinching your arm, hyperventilating when his hand wraps around your ankle. You’re repeating your words, chanting them really as you try to shrink back into the headboard.
“Open your eyes, little one,” he calls out to you, and you shake your head. “Don’t wanna.”
“Please? For me?” He pleads softly, tugging your wrists away from your face. You hesitate before raising your eyes to roam over his features, shadowy in the dark, but the moonlight illuminates the room just enough.
“You’re not dreaming, I promise,” he smooths his hands over your arms, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your breath hitches and you curl your fingers into his tunic. He trails kisses along your face, wiping away a few stray tears. “I swear to you, you’re awake.”
“I-oh, please, Master,” you plead, and Obi-Wan realises you’re tilting your head up so that he has easier access to the skin along your neck.
“Please?” He repeats gently, lips dancing along your jaw. “Please what?”
“I- I don’t know!” You all but wail, your trembling body giving you away.
“Little one,” he starts, but you've been lost. “Please, please,” you’re begging, desperate in your need for him to touch you. He can’t touch you yet. He needs to let you know, fully, what you’ll be giving up.
“Little one, you must know-“
“Master, I- I can’t, I need-“
“Padawan.” He says, the order in his voice ringing through your head and stilling you. You’re trembling still, but you’re fighting hard to be good for him, and he can tell. Good girl. But then you’re speaking again before he can tell you.
“I can’t- Master, I can’t get it out of my head,” you sob, and he scrapes his teeth against your jaw.
“What is it that has you so distressed, my darling?” His question is gentle, soft, and it pulls at you to tell him. But you can’t, and he’s coaxing you and you’re almost bare beneath him and you blame the surge of desperation. Because you’re showing him, from your point of view, him telling you with such reverence that he loved you last night, you’re showing him the anguish you felt in knowing that it was just him being loopy and ill, and the aches deep in your bones knowing he would never say those words to you again.
I love you.
I shouldn’t have said that.
I love you.
I wasn’t thinking straight.
I love you.
If I could take it back I would.
Obi-Wan thinks he’s going to cry at the way he’s hurt you so.
You’re showing him- he realises that this is an accident, that your train of thought doesn’t end there and that you’re too far deep into your mind to realise.
You’re showing him the first tendrils of a crush that sprouted up for you when your Master praised you and called you ‘Little One’. He saw the affection bloom and grow when he had let you smuggle a lost baby bird into your apartment to care for until they were able to fly, helping you cover up any traces of the animal so you wouldn’t get caught. He saw you try desperately hard to squash down those feelings when he made a sarcastic comment one day solely to elicit a smile from you, because those feelings were no longer a long-harboured crush.
You’re showing him the guilt and the sleepless nights and the nights you’re sobbing into your pillow as you lie to your Master, clutching his shirt to your chest and knowing it’s the closest he’ll ever get to you. He feels the deep ache when you dream of him, turning to let your tears soak the blankets as you whisper his name over and over, as if he would appear.
He realises you know. You’ve known all this while what you’d be giving up, just as he did, but you thought… just like he thought… oh.
Oh.
Obi-Wan halts all his movements, pushing up onto his palms as he breathes in shakily. His eyes flicker between your own, and you twist away.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I tried-“ you sound so heartbroken, so devastated that you’ve disappointed him, and any remaining reservations unravel.
“Stop it,” he orders, pressing his lips to yours for the first time. It’s warm and soft and hard at the same time, and it has you keening against it. “Don’t apologise to me, don’t you dare apologise, my lovely Padawan.”
“I’ve disappointed you-“
“No you haven’t my darling, look at me, look at your Master,” he coos, and you raise your watery eyes to meet his.
“You are…my pride and joy,” he whispers between kisses, and you flush under him. He nudges his nose along your throat and you stretch to let him kiss you, taste you, mark you.
“Do you know, my little one,” he pushes your shirt up and over your head, pushing himself up to remove his own top. He braces himself with his palms on either side of your head, and he feels you skirt your hands over his arms and his broad shoulders, tugging at them to pull him down. “Do you know how proud of you I was when you passed your trials?”
You tilt your head up to press your lips to his, and he moves to cradle the back of your head. “No,” you whisper, and he catches your bottom lip between his teeth.
“I wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to scream to the world that you were my Padawan,” he babbles, dotting little kisses along your cheek as your hands roam the broad expanse of his back.
“I… I am your Padawan,” you say hesitantly, and he chuckles against you. “Mm, you are.”
“My Padawan,” he murmurs, a large hand sliding up to palm at your breasts gently. He lowers his head, his mouth closing hotly over your nipple and you pull at the sheets beneath you. “You did so well. So much better than many others before you and after you.”
He moves to give your other breast the same treatment, thumb flicking over the reddened bud as you whisper his name. “You had the prettiest smile when you finished.”
“I-I was smiling at you,” you insist breathlessly, and he raises his eyes to meet yours. The scruff of his beard scratches against the skin of your chest, and in the darkness you can see his lips quirk into a smile.
“You were smiling at me?” He teases, lips trailing down your stomach, down, down, until his fingers are hooking into the band of your panties and tugging them down your legs. “Yeah? My little one was waiting for my praise?”
“Stop-stop teasing,” you nudge him with your foot, and his grin only widens.
“But I thought you liked it when I told you how good you were for me,” he murmurs as two of his fingers swipe against your folds. You cease breathing altogether, pushing your hips to meet his touch.
“Stay still, darling,” he hums, moving to sit comfortably between your spread legs. He rests his free arm along your hips, pinning them down effortlessly.
“Tell me, what else have you wanted me to do to you?” His presence has surrounded you for the past few minutes, overwhelming you in the feel of him, but when he nudges against your mind, a question, you nearly break.
You let your walls completely tumble down for him, letting him into your mind to sift through your every thought and desire.
Padawan, he says, and it sparks off thoughts of the two of you meditating, training, sparring and his guiding touches straying far from innocent. He sees memories of you messing up on purpose so he has to come up behind you, arm wrapping around your waist to angle you just so and his other arm readjusting your saber. Then his hands do things he’s only ever dreamed of doing to you.
Little one, he says, and you have images of him carrying you, pulling you, caging you in and winning. He was a fighter after all. A Blue-saber. Memories of the two of you sparring, of him winning, pinning you against the wall of the floor with a satisfied smirk that has you avoiding his face for the next few days.
My darling, he says, and Obi-Wan sees images of him making love to you, you making love to him. Him rocking against you at the crack of dawn, slow and gentle as he woke you with pretty words. You, riding him in his bed, wearing his robe and nothing else as he rubbed his hands along your thighs. The two of you, your hands joined and your mouths melding together as if nothing could ever come close.
And it’s all Obi-Wan needs to know. He struggles to decide what exactly to do to you, to do with you, and all he can settle on is pressing his lips to yours.
I love you, he tells you, and you shudder beneath him, a small “oh!” escaping your lips. A gush of wetness spills from you as he continues stroking you, and it takes him just a second longer to realise what just happened.
“Did-did you just-“
“Shut up,” your voice is so meek, so embarrassed, and you register that Obi-Wan just made you cum for the first time ever by barely touching you. Obi-Wan on the other hand…
Oh, Maker, it’s the hottest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard. And you hear that thought of his, causing you to squirm beneath him, hands clawing at his shoulders to press him against you.
But he’s pushing his finger inside you- no, a better word perhaps would be plunging. With no warning whatsoever the man above you plunges a deliciously thick finger into you, your generous slick making it easy for him.
You cry out, the feeling foreign but oh so welcome because it’s him. You try to kiss him again but he keeps his distance, telling you that “I want to hear every pretty sound of yours.”
Your thighs are shaking, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat as Obi-Wan pushes a second finger into you. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, not exactly, but it’s alright because your thoughts and feelings are laid bare for him. He can tell that pushing his fingers just so has your breath hitching in your throat and if he curls them like that you’ll try- and fail- to swallow a moan.
He sets a steady rhythm, slow but unyielding as he draws his fingers out then pushes them back in, relishing in the way you’re mewling.
“That’s my good girl,” he says as you arch into his touch, shivering at his words.
“My gorgeous girl,” his thumb presses against your clit and your legs draw up, thighs trembling as you teeter over the edge. You’re desperate, whimpering and trembling and trying to stay still for him but needing that release. He knows, even if you don’t know, what will push you over.
He leans over you, lips brushing ever so gently against yours. “Let go for me, my darling little Padawan.”
Jedi Oath be damned if this was what you looked like when you let go. It was gorgeous-
Gorgeous didn’t even seem to fully cover the extent of it. No, it was ethereal, heavenly, utterly sublime to watch you draw your eyebrows together and watch your lips part like that, and your legs draw up, and your hand to grip the back of his neck-
For a moment, while he’s in the midst of your mind, Obi-Wan loses all sense of coherent thought.
It swirls up and around him, colours and shapes and beautiful patterns painting all around him- around the both of you- vines entwining and colours melding and the never ending swirls that dotted around. They retreat slowly, calmly, bidding him adieu as they drifted him gently back to his own mind.
He sees you, catching your breath, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you exhale. When you open your eyes, Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to kiss you.
His hands slide over your body, wrapping around you and holding you firmly against him. You hum lazily into the kiss, fingernails scratching against his scalp soothingly.
“I like the beard,” you murmur, mouthing against his jaw. He makes a sound from the back of his throat and you smile, tilting his mouth towards yours again.
He kisses you slowly, gently, drawing you into him and melting into you. Your bare legs hook over his still covered ones, wanting to feel more of him against you. You trail your hands down his back, smoothing them over his waist and tugging at his belt.
He pushes off you with a reluctant groan, fingers hastily trying to undo his belt and fumbling in the process. You sit up, taking over and undoing his belt for him. Obi-Wan is kneeling on the bed, watching you deftly pull his belt off and fling it somewhere else, and he swears he stops breathing. You look so focused, so concentrated, and then you’re practically throwing yourself at him.
He falls back with an ‘oof’, foreheads knocking together but neither of you caring as you chase each other’s lips. He’s fumbling as he tries to kick off his boots, your naked body above his making it difficult to concentrate. You’re straddling him, licking into his mouth and he can feel the heat of your soaked cunt above him.
It seems you’re more impatient than him, however, because you’re pushing off of him and scooting to the other side of the bed, telling him to “Get those kriffing pants off.”
He complies. He’ll always comply when it comes to you. He’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want, if it makes you happy. He’d go to the ends of the universe if it would have you smile at him in that warm smile reserved only for him. He’d go against the entire Jedi Order if you asked him to, without any doubts now that he knows you want him.
So now he’s naked too, pulling you towards him and you’re pulling him towards you and it’s a tangle of limbs and messy kisses that miss the target completely but neither of you care.
“Ow,” you mumble when your nose smacks against his shoulder, and he murmurs a guilty sorry, leaning back to look at you. You’re seated on his lap now, nose turning red and you rub it, frowning.
Obi-Wan holds onto your waist soothingly as you sneeze, then sneeze again, and then a couple more times before letting out an exasperated groan. He presses soft kisses to your shoulder, letting you grumble as you sneeze again. He trails his lips up to your ear, tugging your earlobe between his teeth.
“Sorry,” he says again, and you huff, curling your fingers into his hair with an indignant sniff. He presses a sweet kiss to your offended nose, nudging it with his softly. You smack his face away, turning away from him to sneeze again.
His laugh is muffled by your hand, and you glare at him, flustered and attacked. “Go away!” You whine, pushing at his shoulders in a bullshit attempt to get away from him. He yanks you closer, able to feel the slick of your core against his cock now, but that’s secondary to this moment.
“But I love you,” he shoots back, gripping you firmly as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He lets you go after a moment- you know there's no other way you would’ve escaped- and you try to retreat back into your blankets and stay there for all of eternity.
But then between the giggles his fingers curl around your waist and yank you backwards, and you feel your face heat up at the position you’re in. On hands and knees, his body bent over you, and the hard length of his cock trapped between your bodies. He seems to notice this at the same moment you do.
You still completely when he ruts against you, groaning into your ear. You shiver, pressing back as if to tell him to get on with it already. It’s silent, and you wonder if the sound in your ears is your heartbeat or his.
Obi-Wan is suddenly running his cock through the slit between your legs, coating it in your slick, breath catching in his throat. You mewl for him, dropping to your elbows and wiggling your ass back, presenting for him, and he runs a large palm over your ass.
Eventually, after what you deem as far too long of a wait, the head of his cock nudges into you, barely inching in. He’s just started and you already feel so stretched, but it’s not nearly enough.
“Please, Master,” you plead, and he grips your hips and pushes into you.
It stings. It doesn’t hurt as bad as some people have made it seem, and you assume that’s because he’s made you cum twice already. That probably aided in easing his way into you. He stills, breathing ragged as he waits for you to tell him to move.
You’re gripping the blanket, head dropped forward as you exhale shakily. It’s not a bad sting, you decide after a mindnumbing moment. It’s not a bad thing at all, when you can feel his chest pressed against your back and the lines of his thighs flush against yours. One of his hands finds your hand, moving to hold it as you grip the blanket. It’s not bad, and you want more.
As soon as you settle on that thought, Obi-Wan let’s go of your hand and straightens, pulling out inch by inch before slowly pushing back into you again. He’s letting you get used to him, to this feeling, and you reach out to him through the force. He lets you in immediately.
If you thought your dreams of him making love to you were inappropriate, his dreams are downright filthy. You hear his thoughts about how you’re letting him ruin you, defile you, take away your innocence. You hear how he always knew that he’d never break his oath, not unless he was breaking it with you. You hear how badly he wants to fuck you, to have you begging and gasping and writhing beneath him. You hear how this, this moment, him being closer to you than ever, this moment surpasses any moment he could’ve ever imagined.
“Nngh- O-Obi-wan, stop-stop,” you whimper, hand moving back to pat him away. He pulls out of you immediately, touch leaving you as he shifts back. You turn onto your back to see him, panting and flushed, cock glistening from how it’s been coated with you, worry in his eyes.
“Are-did I hurt you?” He asks, and you shake your head, breathing out as you extend your arms for him. He’s in them immediately, dotting little kisses along your collarbones.
“Wanted to kiss you,” you admit shyly, shifting and spreading your legs so that he’s between them again. Obi-Wan will always do what you want. A second passes before he’s pushing back into you, leaning over you so you can kiss him.
He swallows your moan, hand slipping under your back to push you up and against him. Your legs hook around his waist, and you’re rolling your hips to try to match his thrusts.
But oh it feels so wonderful when he’s fully against you, and you realise he’s barely even pulling out anymore, just pushing against you, wanting to be as close to you as he can.
His hand on your back moves to roughly rub at your clit, and he huffs out a laugh when you gasp into his mouth. His movements stagger slightly, so he hoists the both of you up so you’re on top, and he’s thrusting up into you.
You scrape your nails down his chest, rolling your hips to elicit a reaction from him. He’s panting, groaning, murmuring praises of how pretty you are and how lovely and how you’re his everything. He yanks you forward to press his lips to yours as he cums. You feel it, thick and warm and it feels like there’s so much that’s inside you, and you roll your hips to help him ride out his high.
He angles his hips in a certain way and pushes up into you and then you’re moaning his name, shuddering around him as he presses his lips to every inch of skin you’ll let him touch.
The war is over, he hears you think after a long moment, and he can sense the question you want to ask but you’re hiding from him. The war is over. He can stay here, on Coruscant, with you. There’s a golden hue to the room now, and he realises the sun is rising. How quaint.
“Yes,” he replies, pulling you impossibly closer as he settles into the pillows. He used the force to cover the both of you with your blanket, and you snuggle against his chest, tracing patterns over his heart.
“Obi-Wan?” You murmur after a minute, and he turns his head to press a kiss to your hair. “Mm?”
“I love you too,” you say after another beat, and his grip on you tightens. The warmth of the sunlight slowly creeps into the room, and it swells in his heart.
“I love you,” he breathes again, and you push yourself up to look at him.
“I love you,” you say back, eyes shining when he pulls you in for another kiss. I love you, I love you, I love you.
When your eyes start drooping shut between the kisses, Obi-Wan pulls away from you, still keeping you wrapped in his arms. His fingers move to detangle the knots in your hair that he admits he had a hand in causing.
He knows you’re fighting sleep with the way your eyelashes flutter against his skin. He hums softly, playing with your hair. He feels guilty at this need to indulge, but the guilt fades as rapidly as it arrived.
Obi-Wan finds himself twisting a braid into your hair. And you let him.
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