Subject: Star Wars
Title: Become Silhouettes, Part.II
Pairing: Anakin/Obi-Wan
Rating: R
Description: "He made to move, whether to say something to placate or to leave the situation on its own, go back inside and forget that this ever happened between them, when Anakin’s hands were on his neck and in his hair and Obi-Wan thought in a panic, “He just may break my neck,” before their lips collided."
Status: Incomplete
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but sadly, George Lucas does. 

Chapter II: Lust of Inaction


He met them with terse silence.

Obi-Wan could feel Anakin’s emotions just as palpably as he always had. Shock, confusion, anger. Always anger. It billowed off him in waves and it was the most obvious and disquieting feeling of resentment that Obi-Wan had ever felt before in his life. And it was coming from his former Padawan. His Anakin. His—

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin spoke, the movement of his lips the only thing Obi-Wan understood as he felt Padme withdraw from him, hands sliding down his shoulders and chest until they rested, motionless, at her sides. Her body still faced Obi-Wan as he watched something cross her face—fear—before she turned it off, like a switch to a light and there she was again, that statue.

There was no movement in the room and Obi-Wan felt uneasy, awkward, as if he had just walked in on something compromising or illicit. But this wasn’t something he could just turn his back on, retreat from and play as if he had never seen it. He was in the middle of it, part of it, possibly the cause of it and it stung him roughly, jerking something in his chest that felt like regret but was dangerously close to sorrow.

The door closed softly behind him and he said just as swiftly as he moved, “Padme, you should be resting.”

Before Obi-Wan could react Anakin had moved her away from him, bracing her by the shoulders with one hand and catching her wrist in the other as he led her toward the windows.

Away from Obi-Wan.

Feeling as though he should comply, Obi-Wan turned his back in what he meant to be a casual manner but realized soon after that the abrupt snap of his cloak as he pivoted could have construed otherwise.

Anakin’s voice was barely above a whisper but it was still quite easy for Obi-Wan to listen in on the conversation. Not that he would ever do such a thing intentionally, of course; the boy was simply terrible at concealing much of anything.

Casually, he tilted his head to the side, craning his neck at such an angle that the reflected images of the couple behind him showed clearly through the glass. Anakin still clutched her wrist desperately, but with a kind of urgency that suggested more jealousy than caring. She was angled away from him, just enough so that her face was clear to Obi-Wan against the glass and for a moment he thought she may have wanted him to see her as he was, framed against enough light that every feature of her face was obvious to him.

He watched Anakin’s gloved hand caress her neck as he spoke. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.” The leather of his glove caught the light oddly and Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes as he followed its movements. Fingers at her collarbone, moving gently across her white skin, the black offsetting her perfect complexion like something unnatural and unwanted had left its mark against it.

“Anakin, I’m fine.” Her words were clipped, falsely reassuring as she moved her face up to look at him. There was love in her eyes, Obi-Wan noticed, even through the conflict on her face it was devastatingly apparent.

“I’ve been resting all day. I needed the freedom of movement. Obi-Wan—“ for the first time she turned her gaze on him and he blinked, momentarily caught off guard as she caught his gaze in the glass and held it. “—came by to see if you had returned yet.” Her voice cut off and she bit her lip as if she meant to continue but didn’t know how to without causing dissention.

And it was in that moment that Obi-Wan realized that his presence was unwelcome. Never once before had anything other than admiration, respect, or something akin to love had Anakin ever shown him before. Now he simply felt his indifference, cold and so unlike the Anakin he had once known and trained; cared for. Now he was simply a shell.

But there was something—something that Obi-Wan sensed that he couldn’t figure out. Or perhaps didn’t want to.

“I see.” His hand still rested just where the beads at her neck drew into a line near her throat and the sound of the bells that rang with the rise and fall of her chest, ceased.

In a brief moment, Obi-Wan felt a compulsion to reach for his lightsabre. His fingers fell on the hilt compulsively and he felt that jerking in his chest again—regret. And then the sound of the bells returned as Anakin removed his hand to run it through his hair and he smiled at Padme, the smile of the Anakin that Obi-Wan had always known.

His personality shifted like a cloud of smoke that left Obi-Wan confused and feeling stranded as he turned to meet his old Padawan’s face that was now so open, so trusting. All of Obi-Wan’s apprehension, his regret and doubt, fell from his shoulders so suddenly that he nearly stumbled in its wake.

He turned, caught his foot against the other in his haste and nearly tripped, stumbling to regain his balance as Anakin approached, his hand outstretched and a smile on his face that spoke volumes to Obi-Wan’s troubled mind.

“I’ve returned in one piece, Master, no need to worry.” Anakin’s hand clasped Obi-Wan’s shoulder reassuringly as he smiled down at the older man. Obi-Wan began to wonder just when the boy had ceased to be a boy and had gotten so tall when Padme spoke, her voice sounding apprehensive and tested.

“I think I’ll take Ani’s advice and retire. Obi-Wan,” her eyes caught his and glistened in the light as she turned, the color of her dress giving her skin a flushed hue. “Thank you for coming by. You really must return soon. It’s always nice to receive you.”

With nothing more than a glance at Anakin she turned and departed from the room. Her presence still lingered afterward like the chilly reminder of a ghost.

For half a second, Obi-Wan expected Anakin’s pleasant demeanor to drop just as suddenly as it had come about, but it didn’t. He removed his hand from the older man’s shoulders and stepped toward the open balcony doorway. Without having his presence requested, Obi-Wan followed behind him as Anakin stepped out into the cool night air, the wind blowing Obi-Wan’s hair like whispers against his ears.

A beat of silence before, “She worries about you when you’re gone.” Obi-Wan felt the words pass his lips before he could catch them and put them back where they belonged; safe-guarded and locked in his mind.

But it was too late and now Anakin was looking at him with those eyes, veiled and too sharp for a man of his age. Obi-Wan had never taught him to conceal himself in that way but somehow Anakin had surpassed him in many ways without Obi-Wan having realized it.

“She worries about a lot of things.” Anakin spoke and as he did, turned his face away from Obi-Wan. “She worries about things in the senate, how the actions of the Jedi are being received by members of the council.” He gripped the balcony railing and Obi-Wan could see the fake tendons in his mechanical hand flex and contract under his control.

“Sometimes, I think she worries about you.” Anakin said and this time he didn’t turn his face away as he finished. His eyes were dark in the light and they flashed with an intention that Obi-Wan didn’t understand.

“Me?” Obi-Wan asked, genuinely surprised. As an afterthought he added, “Why would the Senator worry herself over me?”

“Padme,” Anakin corrected him, as if Obi-Wan were a petulant child that kept calling his mother by her first name. “And she worries about you because she cares for you. She worries about us, Obi-Wan.”

He wanted to add, ‘Us?’ but felt that to be redundant. Instead he merely furrowed his brow as Anakin took a step toward him, his left hand still resting casually against the railing even as he moved.

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan stuttered and almost reflexively, cleared his throat to cover the misstep. Anakin was moving ever closer to him as he watched, the younger man’s long strides crossing more distance than Obi-Wan ever could have in such a short time. Suddenly Anakin was there, before him, looming and real and irrevocably dominating.

“Certainly, the Sena—Padme,” he corrected himself, “ realizes that we are extremely cautious during missions. There is absolutely no need for her to worry herself in such a manner.”

Anakin’s lips curled upward in what would have been a grin if not for the gleam in his dark eyes; the way they never strayed from Obi-Wan’s lips as he spoke.

Impulsively, Obi-Wan stepped backward away from his former apprentice, away from the look in his eyes that hinted at things Obi-Wan could never allow himself; that the Jedi order could never allow them.

“Anakin--” his voice was low and pitched in a way that resembled a reprimand—something his young apprentice should be quite familiar with.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin mocked, cocking an eyebrow in jest.

Irritated, Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, instead let out a long, heavy sigh, and pinched his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “This can’t--”

“Master,” the title was unnecessary but old habits died hard with Anakin. “There isn’t--”

“Stop.” Obi-Wan commanded, drawing a halt to their half-phrasings. He knew where this was going, what Anakin intended to convince him of, and he wasn’t having it. He would not be having any of it. Because it was against the order he had sworn himself to, against the people he compromised his life for, against the foundations of everything he had been taught and in turn, had taught his apprentice.

His conniving, talented, young, disgustingly attractive apprentice.

No.

Obi-Wan spoke the word in his mind without realizing that he had unintentionally directed the thought straight at Anakin. The shock of the word passed through their bond and hit Anakin, clearly jarring the younger man enough to wipe the wicked smile from his crooked lips. The conflict inside was evident on his face, as was Anakin’s way. Everything going on inside his mind could be read clearly in his expression—in his narrow, dark eyes.

There was hesitation and something built from both anger and despair that loomed like a storm cloud over him, clouding Obi-Wan’s ability to feel his thoughts through the force-bond they shared. Anakin bowed his head, and Obi-Wan caught—

Defeat. Confusion. And just a hint of resentment. All of this flooded his mind from the bond before it was severed so severely by Anakin that Obi-Wan nearly stumbled in surprise. Absently, he gripped the railing for support.

For a moment, Obi-Wan thought that he had truly lost Anakin. The severity of Anakin’s retreat from their bond shocked and overwhelmed Obi-Wan in a way that he couldn’t allow himself to break down more clearly in his mind.

He made to move, whether to say something to placate or to leave the situation on its own, go back inside and forget that this ever happened between them, when Anakin’s hands were on his neck and in his hair and Obi-Wan thought in a panic, “He just may break my neck,” before their lips collided.

The kiss was rough and Anakin’s lips were wet and slippery as they met his. The leather of Anakin’s glove slid through his hair effortlessly and gripped the back of his neck, pulling the two of them closer together than Obi-Wan would have thought was physically possible to accomplish.

His arm came up and pushed the boy back, elbow to chest and Anakin slid back awkwardly, his teeth catching Obi-Wan’s bottom lip as he moved. Without his consent, Obi-Wan’s body reacted on its own and he moaned as the warmth of the other man was removed. He caught the glint of triumph in Anakin’s eyes even as Obi-Wan’s other arm came up to block any attempts at another go.

His other arm came up and he covered his lips for a moment, his eyes on the ground, breath coming in short, rattled gasps.

“I wish you hadn’t done that.” Obi-Wan said once he had regained the voice that abandoned him and had coaxed his arm back to his side.

“No, you don’t.” Anakin retorted, his own lips red and swollen from their contact.

“This isn’t a game Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouted. He was suddenly angry, unrelentingly angry at him for having stolen that moment, for having forced him to choose. Never before had anyone made Obi-Wan doubt himself in the ways that this boy was doing now and it shook him, resonated to his core that he was mortal, destructible, easily undone.

His hand came up in an angry gesture, one he wasn’t sure of until the words tumbled from his mouth. “This isn’t just something you can idly do! We—Jedi—the order would never allow--” He was losing his footing just as quickly as he was losing this argument. He could see that he had already lost it as he looked at Anakin whose eyes still gleamed with a malicious intent that warned Obi-Wan of his all too easy ability to manipulate.

“Padme.” He said simply, the realization of the woman who was merely a few feet away from them hitting him hard.

There was a silence so consuming that for a moment Obi-Wan wondered if the world had dropped away at the simple utterance of her name.

Anakin took a moment to reply, his face concealed by a deft movement of his shoulders that angled him away from Obi-Wan’s view.

“I love Padme very much,” he admitted. And even as he did so Obi-Wan fought back his rivaling thoughts of good—no—it’s better that way—they’re not even—he would never have tried it if he thought—“but that doesn’t mean that--”

“No, Anakin.” His voice was rough and he fought to get the words out of his suddenly dry throat.

“But that doesn’t mean that what I feel for you isn’t real either.” Anakin finished, despite Obi-Wan’s insistence.

He turned, now facing Obi-Wan completely, and advanced. “I can have both of you.”

His movements were predatory and the war going on inside Obi-Wan threw his balance completely; enough so that he was left vulnerable to the other man as Anakin’s hands found Obi-Wan’s neck easily, the leather of his glove caressing collarbone. His smile was devious and full of a darkness that Obi-Wan couldn’t grasp.

Lust he had never seen before on another man’s face but he knew the sensation well, the feeling in his gut that was not the coldness of regret but the heat of intention—of anticipation. It took over his mind as completely as Anakin took over his body, hands moving to grip the back of his neck, almost painfully, and pull him so close that eyelashes fluttered against his skin.

“Yield to me, Obi-Wan.”

It was an invitation with just the slightest hint of a command underlying the tone. His lips moved and he breathed the word, “No,” aggressively but his body did not react as he had intended. Instead of pushing, his hands pulled, smooth leather and soft fabric twisting in his cold grip.

His teeth found Anakin’s lips first, biting hard enough to draw blood but only elicited an enticingly low moan from the now compliant Anakin.

He would let him have this. Obi-Wan would give it to him without regret or indecision before he would end it just as abruptly. The boy could have his sin but he could never own him. Not completely.

Obi-Wan’s hands came up to push against him once again but Anakin, always anticipating Obi-Wan’s denial, fought back by entwining their hands. His own strength pushed Obi-Wan to comply, at least long enough to let Anakin sidle his hip into his own and push them both roughly against the wall.

The breeze caught Anakin’s cloak and it floated around them as momentary concealment. But it wasn’t enough. Obi-Wan was aware of where they stood, aware of the glass windows that surrounded them and the open night air that could easily hold spies. But Anakin’s hips pressing into his, insistent hands at his neck, a skilled mouth working a tongue across his unshaven jaw distracted his attention.

Hands slid up his back and Obi-Wan arched into the touch, his whole body alive, senses reeling at every movement. His nerve endings seemed hyper-sensitive and everything on his body was quickly beginning to burn with a heat that he could barely stand. Anakin’s hands at his belt, working quickly and deftly with a catch that Obi-Wan barely registered he had put on that morning, snapped him back to reality. As Anakin’s long fingers hitched at the loops knotted there, their lips separated just long enough for Obi-Wan to breathe—and to realize his mistake.

He had yielded.

He pulled back but had to twist to escape the captivation of Anakin’s hands. He stumbled to regain his footing and his elbow collided unceremoniously with the wall behind him.

Anakin looked at him sharply, desire in his eyes blinding him so much that he didn’t see the anger in Obi-Wan’s face, the regret that lingered behind his eyes. He made a move to approach but Obi-Wan raised his hand and force pushed Anakin back away from him. The younger man stumbled against the feeling of hands on his chest that weren’t there and an anger that was so complete it alone kept him at bay.

There was nothing for Obi-Wan to say as they stared at one another—Anakin doubled over and panting slightly, his hooded eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s angry gaze.

“That is enough, Anakin.” He spoke sharply but his voice defected and broke on his words. He was angry, so angry, at himself and at what Anakin wanted from him--what he couldn’t take and what Obi-Wan could never bring himself to give.

Without another word he swept past his former apprentice, his old Padawan, his friend, and entered the dimly lit apartment.

He left Anakin outside, his back facing the windows that Obi-Wan refused to watch, and never moved.