Work Text:
“I could corrupt you in a heartbeat
You think you're so special
Think you're so sweet
…”
(Depeche Mode - Corrupt)
Corrupt
Coruscant, Galactic Core.
“DISTRICT SIX, EXIT ON THE RIGHT.”
“You’re not coming?”
The robotic announcement followed by Siri’s voice pulled Obi-Wan away from the twirls of his own mind and back to reality, if only momentarily. She was smiling at him in expectation, but he struggled to muster sufficient endearment to return the courtesy.
“No, I… you two go on, I’ll go back to the Temple.”
Quinlan’s eye-roll didn’t escape him, neither did the disappointment on his friends’ faces as they prepared to get out of the Coruscanti transporter. It was one of the rare days in which Padawans were allowed to carry the hours as their own, and, as they were always wont to do, his friends used the time to explore the grittier parts of the Capital, despite the uncharacteristically torrential rain.
If Obi-Wan had never been a fan of such exploits before, he certainly enjoyed them even less now. His Master Qui-Gon Jinn had forfeited his training shortly before Obi-Wan’s nameday, opting instead to leave the Order and follow Count Dooku, his own former Master.
Ever since his departure, the Council had not been able to assign a new Master to Obi-Wan. The Order had been left depleted after the war, and countless Jedi were still scattered around the galaxy in undercover missions, trying to gather whispers and prevent the rebirth of the Separatist movement.
That the fate of his apprenticeship as a Jedi wasn’t a priority didn’t come as a surprise. But when his own friends unhelpfully started wondering aloud what would happen if they couldn’t assign his training to a new Master, Obi-Wan was forced to contemplate the very real possibility that he would at last be sent to the agricorps - the very fate Qui-Gon had once saved him from.
It was a small mercy that Siri and Quinlan at least accepted his refusal to join them further in their exploits of Coruscant, knowing well the worries that plagued their friend. So, when the transporter reached their intended stop and its side doors slid open, Obi-Wan simply gave them a nod, finding himself somewhat relieved by their departure.
The truth was, he had only joined them in the first place after Quinlan flouted the bottle of Coruscanti whisky he had been gifted after accidentally stumbling into a young girl being chased by a group of smugglers. Her father had been particularly thankful when Quinlan delivered her back, and thus his fellow Padawan came into the possession of something which mere Jedi apprentices seldomly could get their hands on.
Obi-Wan welcomed the numbness a few sips of the bottle afforded him, but he’d rather lose his thoughts in it by himself. The grief, the shame, the self-loathing - all were his and his alone, and he saw no reason to give his misery an audience.
When the transporter resumed its movements, Obi-Wan tightened his grip around the cord hanging from the ceiling - all seats were taken, and standing through all the bumps and shakes of the old machine was slowly becoming challenging. He looked forward to arriving back at the Temple - Qui-Gon’s sudden departure meant he was left with their sleeping quarters all to himself. Closing his eyes, he immediately thought of the running water of their shower, and hoped that perhaps with the combination of its warmth and the alcohol in his stomach, he might at last get a few hours of sleep.
“DISTRICT FIVE, EXIT ON THE RIGHT.”
Obi-Wan paid little attention to the robotic words of the announcements - after all, the far sight of the Jedi Temple outside the window was enough an indication that there were still several stops before his destination.
Nevertheless, the train kept getting more crowded, and Obi-Wan was compelled to descend from his pleasant stupor when he felt himself being shoved from both sides by an incoming group of Nautolans. They were impolite and loud, but Obi-Wan had no fight left in him, so he simply moved to the back corner of the wagon.
Other passengers did the same, and thus he paid no mind when he felt a tall man accommodating behind him.
Glancing to the side, all Obi-Wan could tell was that the stranger’s robes were of the same texture of those of the Jedi, albeit much darker, and that his smell was a musky combination of rain, machinery oil and gunpowder.
A man coming back from war, he thought, as so many were, now that the Separatists had surrendered.
The man’s arm reached for the same metal bar in front of them which Obi-Wan had grabbed on to for stability. Their arms brushed and a pleasantly heated wave unexpectedly flushed through his skin. And Obi-Wan, who had been shivering the entire hours they spent outside in an unusually rainy day, welcomed the respite, idly attributing it to Quinlan’s liquor finally making itself useful in his body.
“DISTRICT FOUR, EXIT ON THE RIGHT.”
To his relief, a great deal of the passengers in his wagon left the carrier on that stop, at last allowing some fresh air to enter the compartment.
And yet the tall stranger remained exactly where he was, behind Obi-Wan with nary an inch of space between their bodies even as empty seats were suddenly available around them.
The man was a good measure taller than Obi-Wan, and the hot breath on his neck could only mean he was leaning his head forward to reach the exposed skin peaking from underneath his Padawan tunic. Obi-Wan tried to shake off his discomfort - he couldn’t see the man’s face, but surely he was likely merely dozing off or as tired as Obi-Wan was, and just so happened to lower his head as he too awaited his final destination.
But when the stranger’s lips brushed against his neck and a hard exhale spread moist heat over his skin, Obi-Wan finally understood that none of this was perchance, and that this man - like so many in the cheaper levels of the capital - was taking advantage of the complacency and anonymity of the public transporters.
And so, he cleared his throat and tried to take a step away - that is until hard durasteel fingers dug forcefully in the left side of his waist, keeping him in place.
Even though Obi-Wan had the skills to defend himself, his presence in the Force was suddenly paralysed, trapped under a shroud of darkness and heat, making his corporeal self unable to move. The voices around them and the metal sounds of the transporter started to blend into a low volume blur, almost disappearing.
He cursed the drinks inside him - although his time training under Qui-Gon meant he was no longer unused to the effects of inebriation, surely something must have been amiss with whatever hellish liquor Quinlan had presented them with, because Obi-Wan suddenly found himself without the will power to move.
“You’ll stay.”
The man’s voice was a firm whisper, heavy with danger and arousal combined - not quite a threat, but somewhere between an order and an invitation not to be refused.
By the strength of the mechanic fingers still grabbing his waist, Obi-Wan knew that an escape wouldn’t be easy - but not impossible either considering his skills and training. And yet he didn’t move, for this man’s imposing presence had something more than its menacing grip, and his coarse voice carried something beyond the single command it verbalised.
“DISTRICT THREE, EXIT ON THE RIGHT.”
Even though the wagon got emptier by the next stop, with only a few remaining passengers, the air around Obi-Wan and the stranger was heavy, suffocating even, its hold as tight as the fingers on his waist now pulling him closer until his back finally brushed against the man’s crotch.
Whatever doubts Obi-Wan might have harboured about his predicament disappeared immediately once he felt the stranger’s stiff arousal prodding even through all the layers of fabric between the both of them.
“Hm…”
The stranger’s murmur brought goosebumps to his ear, and large, dark robes cascaded heavily from the tall figure, wrapping around both of their bodies just enough that the contained, secretive movements of the stranger’s hand could go unnoticed by their fellow passengers.
The mechno fingers started forcefully rocking Obi-Wan’s waist back and forth as the stranger humped the curve of his buttocks in the same pace, his erection growing harder behind the young Padawan simply from the friction over the layers of clothing.
Without warning, the man’s left hand – warm to the touch, unlike the metal one – impatiently reached for his chest, spreading long, strong fingers over his left breast, alternating between teasingly fondling the soft, pale flesh, and pinching his hardened nipple.
Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back a desperate whimper when the tip of the man’s thumb and index fingers closed again and again on the sensitive protuberance. He kept fighting hard to keep his mind alert, but it was as if the movements of the stranger’s hands were sinking not only over his body but also into his very own consciousness.
The man’s lips let out an indecent, rough grunt as his flesh hand continued moving underneath the Padawan’s tunic, while his mechno-hand slowly dragged across his waist, brushing the trimmed, sparse copper hair below Obi-Wan’s stomach. The metal was hard, but its caresses were light, calculated – just enough to entice an instinct response stronger than Obi-Wan’s fading clarity before circling behind to his tailbone and sliding through the waistband of his leggings and underwear.
Obi-Wan jolted, the intrusion finally enough to make him snap back to reality once he felt durasteel fingers caressing the back part of his thighs while slowly moving up. With his temper rising, he finally found the focus in his arm flexing against the metal rail to try and shove the stranger with his back, so that he may gain enough time and distance to move away.
Obi-Wan centered all his remaining strength in making himself heavy enough to collapse into the man behind him - only to realize that he couldn’t move so much as an inch from his current position, as if invisible tendrils took hold of his legs, arms and torso in a tight grip.
“Stop- p-pleas-”
“We’re not done yet.”
The voice behind him was breathless, and the mechno fingers moved with ease over the sweat latching on to the skin between Obi-Wan’s thighs and below his cheeks.
When the fingertips rubbed back and forth over the moist skin of his perineum, all Obi-Wan could do was close his eyes. Whatever fight he had left slowly evaporated before the impossibility of moving – and by his own senses gradually being defeated in reaction to the stranger’s calculated touch as one of his fingers moved up, drawing small, teasing circles around his hole.
To his shock and horror, Obi-Wan’s body instinctively gave the stranger the response he seemed to demand, for the faintest moan left his lips as his back subtlety arched, as if seeking the man’s touch.
Obi-Wan was not new to such an intimate violation, but this stranger’s touch was unlike everything Obi-Wan was taught to accept and to expect.
The single finger now rubbing around his hole moved with intent - but not the brusque intrusion of his old Master. It didn’t push inside at once and with abandon, but rather teased slowly, entering and pulling back, gradually deeper with each push, until finally sliding all the way inside.
The air around them trembled as Obi-Wan’s sensitive flesh clenched around the man’s finger, and a low, heavy moan landed shivers on his right ear. The movements inside him were languid and precise, until finally the finger pushed softly against the bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves down his thighs. Had it not been for the invisible dark ropes that seemed to hold Obi-Wan still, his legs might have failed him already.
Mustering what little focus he still had, Obi-Wan dared to glance around. The few passengers in the wagon seemed completely oblivious to what was transpiring thanks to the stranger’s dark robe covering them just enough to conceal the almost imperceptible motions of the finger working its way inside Obi-Wan.
Despite the faint whisper of his own shame deriding him in the back of his mind, Obi-Wan mewled when the man pulled his finger out - but his emptiness was short lived when two fingers entered him instead, this time with even more ease after the stranger’s lips silently spit on them.
Obi-Wan still had his arm up, his hand firmly holding on to the rail in front of them to keep him from collapsing, although it was clear that some unspeakable power would still keep him in place.
The fingers inside him started scissoring their way against his walls, still determined and steady, but without the hurtful, brute impatience he was familiar with. And when the flesh hand that had been fondling his chest and nipples moved towards below his belly and slipped inside the front of his damp trousers, Obi-Wan barely contained the suppressed moan that partially escaped his lips.
“Be quiet.”
It was an order, but one that carried not a hint of the impatience or annoyance he was accustomed to, but rather a breathless note of amusement. The pleasant wave of heat swirling around them vibrated in satisfaction, and he could almost sense that the stranger behind him was smiling as his fingers closed around Obi-Wan’s hardened cock.
Obi-Wan quivered when the man’s thumb pressed heavily at the leaking tip and the two mechno fingers inside him started picking up speed. His entire length fit perfectly inside the man’s tight grip stroking him in the same rhythm as his fingers slipped in and out of his hole.
Loosened from the stark restraints he usually kept on his memories, Obi-Wan’s mind slipped away to the last time he had been breached like this. He remembered his Master’s touch well enough – missed it, even, to the point of not being able to pleasure himself alone since Qui-Gon had left. For all his disregard, his old Master’s hands had been the only touch he had ever known – and the only one Obi-Wan was taught he deserved.
But the stranger’s was different - his fingers weren’t rough, calloused like those of his old Master, whose touches had shown no intention other than opening Obi-Wan to receive him. No, this man’s movements were precise, calculated, and unlike with Qui-Gon, his sole focus seemed to be in claiming Obi-Wan’s pleasure.
“He is not coming back. Ah… I made sure of it.”
Obi-Wan barely heard the words, and even if he had, he couldn’t process the low whisper on his ear.
“DISTRICT TWO, EXIT ON THE RIGHT.”
His stupor momentarily turned into panic – what if while they moved to exit the wagon, enough passengers noticed the two hands still moving inside both the front and the back of his trousers?
But to his utter shock, once the doors opened, the few remaining occupants all stood up at once. He glanced at one or two of them – they had glassy eyes and blank expressions as they moved robotically towards the exit, as if controlled by invisible hands pushing them away from the transporter.
And even more absurdly - the doors abruptly closed shut and the train resumed its movements without anyone boarding.
The stranger did not give Obi-Wan any time to ponder on this bizarre turn of events. His touches persisted, expertly searching for the Padawan’s pleasure, as if the man had known his body better than Obi-Wan himself.
And when the familiar sensation of ecstasy started pooling around Obi-Wan’s groins, the fingers inside turned to tree, mercilessly hitting the same spot with relentless pace while the flesh hand around his cock increased the strength of its strokes.
“Bend over.”
With the wagon completely empty if not for the two of them, the stranger abandoned any pretence of secrecy, and Obi-Wan followed the order as the mysterious grip that had been keeping him in place loosened slightly.
He bent clumsily over one of the empty seats, holding tightly to the window behind it while the man immediately placed himself behind him again, his fingers still buried deep inside Obi-Wan when he resumed their movements.
The rhythm was relentless, and the three fingers were enough to make Obi-Wan impossibly full, stretched around them. But the pain was joined by waves of arousal every time they entered him again, and his heart was pulsating in his chest in anticipation for the first time since Qui-Gon had informed him of his impending departure.
Everything that had transpired since then had been but a steady blur of emotionless steps and bleak realizations.
So what did it say about Obi-Wan, that the first time he felt alive in weeks was when an imposing stranger decided to use him as he saw fit?
Lost in the motions of the hand stroking his cock and the fingers pushing in and out from behind, Obi-Wan finally opened his eyes to see that the transporter had reached a tunnel, turning the darkened windows into mirrors under the shadows.
He looked up to see the reflection behind him – reclined over his body with both arms moving in relentless speed before the stranger too raised his gaze and met Obi-Wan’s through the image on the glass.
The man’s face was mostly covered by the shadow of the hood of his robes, but even in the darkness Obi-Wan could see ocean colored eyes, fierce like a spark in the shadows, staring back at him. And when the stranger‘s full lips opened in a panting smile as their eyes met, Obi-Wan succumbed to the savage pace of the fingers inside him, spilling his climax over the man’s strong hand as it kept milking him through his orgasm.
Obi-Wan lowered his head, and strands of his hair latched idly over his forehead soaked with sweat. His entire body was pliant and he could barely hold himself in place when the man’s hand left his twitching member and went directly into the lips whose image had just made Obi-Wan lose control.
The stranger licked each of his flesh fingers slowly, never breaking eye contact with Obi-Wan through their shared reflection. The bright eyes were flustered with pleasure, as if he had never tasted anything so heavenly as the spurts of white he had just claimed from the young Padawan.
Without ever pulling his mechno finger from inside Obi-Wan, the man lowered his other hand urgently towards his pants, and pulled out his own erection.
Obi-Wan’s eyes were moist with tears and sweat, and his mind was overwhelmed. Yet he couldn’t help but turning his head to look behind him when the stranger muttered something foreign under his breath – despite not knowing its meaning, the words made Obi-Wan shiver in the certainty that it had been something unspeakably perverse.
He caught a glimpse of the man’s throbbing cock, the perfect, veiny length of its dark skin contrasting with the thick, red head from which a heavy strain of transparent fluid leaked plentifully onto the hand now stroking it.
The fingers still inside him started to hurt his overstimulated skin, and Obi-Wan involuntarily clenched tightly around them. But that seemed to only increase the stranger’s arousal, and his strokes became faster. His moans and grunts blended into the indecent, wet noises of his hand going up and down his own shaft, using what remained of Obi-Wan’s cum on his palm to facilitate his movements.
The stranger’s breathing became erratic just as Obi-Wan started regaining his consciousness enough to realize that the next stop was close. Relief washed over him when the man erupted behind him with a pained, guttural sound, pushing the fat tip of his cock onto Obi-Wan’s ass cheek as spurs of semen painted his skin and dripped down the curve of his buttocks onto the back of his thighs.
When the stranger dropped his forehead over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, he realized that the man was shaking - his gulps of breath were sharp and intense. But Obi-Wan was too spent, too numb by the surreal turn of events and the unexpected, depraved pleasure he took from them, to move at all.
His body had just handed him a betrayal – yet another reason for shame in a growing list of his own failures. He wondered if perhaps that’s what he was always meant to be – an used ragged doll, not worthy of the likes of respectable Jedi Masters but at least good enough to satisfy strangers from the depths of the Capital.
“DISTRICT ONE, EXIT ON THE RIGHT.”
“You’re mine now.”
The words in his ear rang more like a promise than a threat, but the transporter came to a halt and the stranger turned around.
When Obi-Wan at last dared to look, all he saw was the dark robe swept by a gush of wind as the man exited through the open doors swiftly, before they closed without any new passengers coming in.
Obi-Wan looked down, contemplating the dishevelled, sorry state of his pants half undone.
The pale skin of his inner thighs was plastered with white fluids all over, the unholy evidence of not only this stranger’s pleasure but also his own. Still in a trance, he reached down and brushed two fingers over the lines of white leaking down the back of his thighs.
Still warm to the touch.
He tasted the tip of his fingers, softly caressing them with his tongue as the bitter, almost salty taste of this stranger took over his senses.
It was only moments later that he realized he had missed his stop, and that the Jedi Temple was far behind now.
****
“Obi-Wan Kenobi, please report immediately to the Council room.”
Obi-Wan woke up with a jolt at the buzzing screeches of his commlink. He barely remembered entering his quarters and dropping his weight over the bed that used to be his Master’s, before surrendering to a dreamless sleep.
It was the first time since Qui-Gon’s departure that he didn’t meet the break of day with red eyes tired from a sleepless night.
He looked at the datapad by the nightstand - he had sleep undisturbed for nearly thirteen hours. Startled as he was by the summoning of the Council, Obi-Wan was, for the first time in as many weeks, well rested.
Before his mind could wonder back to the stranger with his calculated touches and breathless grunts, Obi-Wan didn’t bother with a shower or a new set of robes, but rather just put back on the very same clothing he had left tossed on the floor before falling onto bed, and left for the Council.
His steps weren’t hurried, for a shadow of dread weighted on his shoulder as soon as he started to wonder what they might want from him. Did someone see or report what had happened to Obi-Wan? Or had they simply pushed forward the moment where he’d inevitably be told to pack his few belongings and make to the agricorps?
None of these options gave any hope to his predicaments - none of it meant the chance to start anew, to be looked after, or to belong. He didn’t care if they knew about what happened to him - the stranger didn’t claim anything that Qui-Gon hadn’t already taken for himself and used as he saw fit, only to unceremoniously toss aside and leave behind.
The truth was, having nothing left to lose, Obi-Wan couldn’t muster the will to hurry his steps across the Temple. So, he chose to seize the freedom that came from hopelessness instead, taking his time to slowly absorb the reality that this could as well be one of his last walks across those halls.
With his mind somewhere else entirely, he was caught unawares when the large doors of the Council chambers opened to reveal an unusually large group of people.
He had expected to be greeted by only one or two unlucky Masters in charge of the unpleasant task of informing Obi-Wan that it was time to go. Instead the room was filled with several Jedi - and not just Council members. They all chatted enthusiastically around a figure he couldn’t see, and for moments none of them seemed remotely aware of Obi-Wan’s arrival.
Feeling invisible was hardly anything new to Obi-Wan - but what happened next when his eyes crossed with those of the tall figure garnering all the attention surely was.
There it was - for the second time in as many days, the sounds around Obi-Wan became distorted, and lowered to an almost inaudible volume, as if the dozens of people in the room and their voices were nothing more than the background static.
Obi-Wan blinked as if to try and hold on to his sight, for their forms too began to blur around one another, undefined, dancing in the air like the lost spirits of tales from the Outer Rim.
And at the center of them all, only he stood - tall and imponent, a god around which blurred souls danced.
There was no mistaking the piercing eyes in the color of tropical seas - eyes he had only briefly glimpsed under a dark hood the day before. There was no denying the warm, heavy presence in the Force, slowly embracing his own with tendrils to pull him close once again - and this time, Obi-Wan’s tired heart yielded without any fight.
His feet took steps on their own, conducting Obi-Wan across the room that slowly started to take shape and make intelligible sounds once more. His carefully cultivated manners eluded him, so Obi-Wan didn’t mutter his usual apologies when stepping through the crowd, but rather made a straight, determined line towards the stranger, as if pulled by an invisible rope held by his mechno-arm.
“Ah, here he is.” He heard Mace Windu’s tone somewhere in the distance, even though the Jedi Master was standing right in front of Obi-Wan - and next to the man whose presence was now teasing his own in the secrecy of a bond he couldn’t explain.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi, meet Master Anakin Skywalker.”
Skywalker.
The name itself was enough to make his knees tremble - not only for the legendary Jedi it represented, but also due to the ties binding them to Qui-Gon Jinn.
Obi-Wan had been young - still an initiate, untouched, not yet claimed by any Master and therefore not privy to the comings and goings of Qui-Gon Jinn and his formidable protégé Anakin Skywalker. He knew the legends surrounding them only from afar, but they often blended with tales of other Masters and Padawans - after all, when he still held the spark of excitement and awe, there was little that didn’t catch his curious ears and impressionable mind.
But then there were whispers.
Rumours of a falling out, tales of a Padawan who hated his Master.
And soon enough the whispers were replaced by screams when a furious Anakin cursed his Master during a private training session, his screams so loud that even students outside the closed dojo, Obi-Wan among them, could hear him. The doors suddenly slammed opened, and Anakin stormed through the halls of the Temple and into the Council chambers, with Qui-Gon following shortly after. It was the only time Obi-Wan had seen fear in the eyes of the man who would become his Master.
What transpired after was subject to different tales, but all seemed to agree that Anakin demanded the Council put him through the Jedi Knight trials, and that, to the utmost surprise of all who witnessed them, a defeated Qui-Gon silently stood behind his student and merely agreed.
War was already brewing when Anakin was knighted, and immediately requested to be sent to the furthermost borders of the Mid-Rim, the last lines of the Jedi jurisdiction.
And there he had stayed, a lone wolf acting on behalf of the Jedi Council in the war efforts, known within the Order for his unconventional methods and talent for infiltrating small cells of Separatists.
Or so Obi-Wan had heard on occasion from one or another fellow Padawan.
At that point, Qui-Gon had already chosen him as his next student, and Obi-Wan soon enough had to learn to contend with all that their relationship entailed, including his Master’s stoic silence whenever someone dared ask about his old Padawan.
There was little time for tales of a war he was too young to take part in, and the very secretive nature of Anakin’s work meant that his name remained unknown to the Holonet and its coverage of the galaxy wide conflict.
And now, years later, there they stood, entangled in ways that Obi-Wan’s usual quick thinking could not even begin to unravel.
It didn’t help that the face he had only caught a glimpse of from under the hood was now staring at him, his hair the colour of caramel and a secretive smile glowing under the soft morning light of the room. A luminous apparition, and for all the questions swirling in Obi-Wan’s mind, all he could think of was that this was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.
“Padawan Kenobi, Master Skywalker has returned from his years on the outskirts of the Republic. He requests a Padawan of his own.”
Anakin’s fierce jade eyes never once left Obi-Wan’s face as Mace Windu’s matter-of-fact tones proceeded to enumerate all the skills the abandoned Padawan had mastered while under Qui-Gon’s tutelage. Reaching for the waves around them, Obi-Wan realized that Master Windu’s words were needless, for Anakin already knew everything about him – perhaps more so than Obi-Wan himself.
A second realization dawned on him like a primordial truth, but one still masked to all else in attendance: despite being surrounded by the most senior and renowned Jedi in the Order, Anakin Skywalker was the most powerful man in that room.
His complicit gaze and the warm tendrils of his presence around Obi-Wan silently teased knowledge that was beyond the archives of the Temples and even the old manuscripts of Jhedda. The flickering darkness in Anakin’s stare, combined with the absolute, undeniable control he had displayed in both their encounters so far made it clear enough – in his exploits away from the Order, he had learned much and more than what he chose to report back.
Despite himself, Obi-Wan felt a pleasant shiver of excitement run through his neck at the idea of one day being made privy to whatever secrets and powers this maverick of a Jedi had encountered. For Anakin’s conviction through the Force was stronger, more dominant than years worth of Obi-Wan’s self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy.
And Obi-Wan, who had always feared the dark, now felt himself surrounded by it. But instead of a cold, lonely void, the heated waves of shadows dancing around them, only for their eyes to see, offered a silent but final promise.
Despite having learned to fear eyes upon himself, Obi-Wan returned the gaze. How could he not?
Even when they had been alone, Obi-Wan had never received his old Master’s undivided attention. Neither Qui-Gon’s mind nor heart had ever been truly his, not even when his hands occupied themselves over his Padawan’s body with such abandon.
And yet here stood Anakin Skywalker, a legend within the ranks of the Order despite his young age, unabashedly ignoring the commotion his very presence caused, and choosing instead to stare at Obi-Wan as if he were the indisputable center of the galaxy.
Old Jedi Masters were moving around them, warmly greeting a prodigal son returned home, many even intruding on the matter of who his Padawan should be. And yet Anakin’s attention was on Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan alone.
As the conversation proceeded without either of them speaking, Anakin briefly screened Obi-Wan’s spoiled clothes of the day before, and a heated wave of satisfaction tugged at the young Jedi apprentice through a bond that by rights shouldn’t even be there. But indeed it was, and Obi-Wan could understand what Anakin had been emanating from his tether of this ungodly connection: he was pleased. Pleased that his branding took hold, that he could recognize his own smell on he who would now become his Padawan.
For through the dark waves now swirling in the Force between both of them, that too was clear, inevitable even. Anakin had already chosen Obi-Wan, and the finality of that conviction meant that the choice had been made before he even set foot in the Temple.
Perhaps long before.
“Before you were even born, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan’s lips trembled as he heard his name pronounced in a languid, soft murmur that never left Anakin’s closed lips, but which reached his mind all the same.
As the conversation around them grew livelier, Anakin’s piercing eyes held his gaze in expectation, as if waiting for the young man to agree. To surrender himself, to be claimed and to promise Anakin his all.
Obi-Wan was overwhelmed by the embrace surrounding him in the Force, its grip tight but warm, possessive. Proud, even. And, inebriated in the altogether new sensation of being wanted, of being chosen, the boy who had never been given much of a choice on anything throughout his entire life, made his first one.
He chose silently through the formidable, yet invisible thread Anakin had cast open between them both. A mere look of acceptance and inevitability exchanged with this man who henceforth was no longer a stranger, but whose fate had evidently been intertwined with Obi-Wan’s long before they had met here, under the gaze of the Council.
“Masters.” Anakin smiled and clapped his hands once, immediately ceasing the excited banter around him. “I believe I have found my Padawan.”
He took two large steps towards Obi-Wan and took a knee in front of him.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” The paused way in which Anakin pronounced his name, as if savouring each syllable, was already a prayer in Obi-Wan’s ears. “There is much I can teach you, if you’ll have me.”
“T-thank you. It’s an honour to be your apprentice… Master Skywalker.”
The man in front of him smiled, as if hearing the word “Master” from Obi-Wan’s lips had been the fulfilment of a dream. And under the soft morning glow bathing the Council chambers, Anakin Skywalker’s eyes glimmered in bright gold for a split second, before returning to their piercing jade colouring.
“Are you ready to begin?”
