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

I Kissed a Vampire (And I Liked It)

• Summary: Obi-Wan is a Vampire and in a bloodthirsty rage, he sets his hungry sights on his pretty intoxicating new prey, Anakin Skywalker.

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Hunger.

He awoke wrapped in the soothing coolness of the velvety darkness and it was all he could feel.
Hunger so consuming it burned his eyes as his lids scratched open feeling painfully dry.

Burned like a fire, licking as it coursed through his parched veins.
Burned like the heat of the sun that was a only distant memory.
Burned like a thirst that would never be quenched.

He had held out for as long as he could, until now there was nothing else. No conscience, no guilt. Only the burning hunger that would guide him until the moment it was finally sated. In its absence he would finally find peace.

Driven by his hunger, Obi-Wan rose to feed.

Following his senses he was drawn to the dark dingy alleyway where he knew he would find the relief he sought. His heightened hearing picked up on the sounds of a scuffle far before he approached; angry grunts, huffs of exertion, flesh pounding flesh, a vicious snarl.

Then he smelled it, a hint of copper in the air.
Blood.
His mouth watered, his gums ached. The hunger surged stronger still.

As he stole closer, moving through the shadows, the smell was suddenly stronger, flooding his senses. Blood was spilling more freely now. An acidic voice bit out, just barely breaking through the haze of bloodlust, "You think you're so fucking tough? Bringing a knife to a fist fight, you piece of shit?"

Obi-Wan took a slow step into the alleyway. It was so dark the two men didn't notice his arrival, but his sharp vision viewed the scene in crisp definition - his eyes immediately honing in on the source of the intoxicating scent. A trickle of blood ran down the younger man's face, a knife gash, perhaps, not too deep, tantalizing as it glistened from brow to cheek. He could nearly taste it on his tongue as he took an involuntary step closer, his control hanging by a frayed thread.

The younger man was stunning in his beauty, defined cheekbones highlighted by the glimmer of blood, blue eyes rimming with fiery rage as he stepped forward to block the larger, older man wielding a stained knife. He invaded the other's space, not allowing any way out of the fight he sought. That one chases death, Obi-Wan observed, detached, the moment when the hunger would take over fast approaching.

The older man was broader and burly, gnarled and scarred, clearly no stranger to a fight himself. His dark eyes shone dangerously, mouth curling in twisted enjoyment as he licked the blood off the blade and considered where it would carve out first. That one enjoys the kill.

With that the choice of where to begin was made for him. In the times when he didn't give himself over to the ravenous hunger and instead wrestled with his conscience he sought out a particular type of prey in a fruitless attempt to assuage his guilt: the objectively evil, the murderers, those who delighted in the pain of others.

If he was fated to an existence marked by violence, he could at least try to lessen the harm and destruction he left behind. It wasn't enough to release him from his self condemnation. When the guilt had become too much to bear he had begun to deny himself.

He had found that the clawing hunger that tore at his insides felt like penance. It built and built until it became all consuming; finally there was no choice but surrender. It seized control and unshackled him from his constraints, allowing him to fully give into his nature. Moving purely on instinct it drove him to act without thought. He would drink his fill and find release from the gnawing hunger without facing the agony of selecting a victim and consciously deciding who lived and who died by his hands - as if he had any right to act as judge and executioner.