Two Halfs of One Warrior • Obikin/Vaderwan One-Shots

Burn

• Summary: Anakin's hair pulling kink brings him back to the light (or back to Obi-Wan, which is good enough).

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Obi-Wan doesn't think at all as he fights Anakin. His mind perfectly blank, his body moving without input through the dance of a duel to the death with the closest person he ever had. It's a horrible mockery of their spars, half the strikes he blocks he taught himself, perfected through the years into something more, something deadly. They're perfectly matched, each move predicted by the other, not through their bond, blocked and clouded as it feels, but through sheer experience, knowing each other better than themselves. It feels like he's fighting himself, and he is, against the part of him that's shouting, how can you do this? How can you raise your blade against him, of all people? Anyone but him. If he sees an opening, he's not sure if he could take it, and if he thinks about it for even a second he might just give up, drop his guard and let Anakin kill him. And he would, he can see it in his eyes, dark and yellow. So he doesn't think at all, just moves.

Until suddenly they're locked, sabers slammed together and still except for the sparks flying off them, and his mind catches up. He looks right into those horrible (beautiful, still beautiful) eyes, and he knows he couldn't. If it comes down to it he'd die before he'd ever kill Anakin. And so he reaches out to the force, throws their weapons across the room, and kicks him in the stomach instead. He doubles down and falls down to his knees. Obi-Wan grabs his hair and shifts his foot back intending to knee him in the face, hopefully knocking him out and ending this, taking him away from here alive, so they can talk, understand, do something. And save Padme. Innocent, sweet Padme, who came here even after she knew, hoping to save Anakin from himself. He'd thought her weak, in the long hours tucked away on her ship. Weak and blinded by love, but now he understands, because he's the same. What Anakin did is unforgivable, but he'd rather hate him for the rest of his life than lose him.

He looks down and sees an awful rendition of the security recording, Anakin kneeling in front of his new master. But his face isn't vacant and nauseated as it was then. He's angry and confused, and terrified, but he's here, all of him. All the gnarly, broken bits that Obi-Wan's been ignoring for years until they couldn't be hidden anymore. And then he feels Anakin's hands wrap around his hips to keep his balance, squeezing hard, crushing skin between metal and bone, but he doesn't try to get up, just whispers, voice breaking.

"Master."

They're on a table, he notices absentmindedly. In a room with windows all around but it doesn't even matter because there's no one here except for them and Padme, lying broken and dying in front of the ship. There's no one here because Anakin killed them all. Like he did the younglings. But that doesn't matter either, when Anakin presses his face into his thigh, soaking the fabric of his pants with tears and warm breath. He tightens his hand, still tangled in golden curls, and Anakin's entire body sags, boneless and full of regret. His head lulls, brushing against his groin and Obi-Wan realises he's half hard. From the adrenaline, or emotions, or maybe just the image of Anakin on his knees before him, the same image he's been trying not to think about for years, but he is. Anakin notices immediately, his lips moving to mouth at him through the scorched linen of his pants and it's wrong, so deeply unlike anything he's ever let himself imagine. His wife is dying, because he killed her, just like he killed children, and he doesn't care at all, down on his knees and drooling over his master's cock. Because Obi-Wan is still his master, and always will be, that old caricature from the recording already fading like a bad dream.

Anakin's hands scramble to open his pants, and he doesn't stop him, even though he should. But this is better than fighting him. Anything is better than trying to kill him and so he lets him wrap his mouth around his cock.

It's all teeth and no finesse, dripping with saliva and tears. It's obvious he's never done this before, but that doesn't matter, because nothing really matters right now, or possibly ever will again. He looks down, astonished, right into wet golden eyes, and the bond slams open, all the pain, the anger, the helplessness, the war and death, everything flooding his mind. And he's felt all of it himself, how could he not, but Anakin feels everything so much more intensely, always has, and it's unbearable like this. It's unbearable to think, to wait, to do anything when one feels so much so he doesn't, just thrusts forward and feels it all start to fade slowly on the choked sound Anakin lets out. One of the hands leaves his hips, and he looks down to see Anakin squeezing himself through his clothing. He shoves him away then, savors for a moment the horror and shame on this beautiful face he knows better than his own. Good, he thinks. He should suffer. But there's no punishment adequate for what he did, so he doesn't wait long before pushing him down to the floor, dragging his pants down and slipping his cock between his thighs. Anakin whimpers then, a twisted, but sincere apology ringing out clear in the stunned silence of their bond. Obi-Wan laughs, because he can't cry, can't let himself acknowledge why he should cry.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asks, thrusting spit slick and awful between slim thighs. "Is this what you needed, so you wouldn't go crawling to the first sith lord you found?"

"Master, please," Anakin cries, voice nasal through his tears.

"I won't touch you, Anakin. You don't deserve it." Not today, at least, he thinks, and hates himself for it.

Anakin's hand pushes between his legs, and he speeds up, rocking them both in this empty room, on this burning planet, in this burning galaxy, and they burn too, painful and horrid, through an orgasm worse than death.