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

Should You Need To Come Undone

• Summary: "I'm perfectly capable of finding a willing partner outside the Temple-"

"But what if you weren't? What if it was me?"

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The Temple hallway lights had been dimmed by the time Anakin made his way back from the Senate Building. The Chancellor's invitation to attend a special session had been in good faith, but neither party expected it to run so long past sundown. "You may go, my boy," Palpatine whispered as Senator Organa launched into yet another debate. "I fear your fussy, old master may never forgive me for keeping you out this late."

Truthfully, he'd thought of nothing but his fussy, old master for the last two hours of the session. A knot grew in Anakin's chest as he anxiously watched the clock and imagined Obi-Wan walking through their nightly routine- katas in the dojo, washing up before dinner, eating at the kitchen table, putting away dishes, meditating, poring over datapads until bedtime- all alone, or worse, with someone other than himself. The mere idea of Obi-Wan inviting anyone else into their space, occupying himself with someone else's company, incited a fierce sting of jealousy to be soothed only by his master's soft, reassuring smile.

Anakin could barely hide his disappointment once he was certain Obi-Wan had gone to bed, knowing he wouldn't make it back in time to say goodnight and see that smile. Palpatine surely noticed his restless fidgeting preceding his dismissal, as did the other padawans every time training kept him from Obi-Wan for a bit too long.

"He's a senior padawan, but they're still attached at the hip," he'd overheard in the mess hall one afternoon. "Kinda weird. That's all I'm saying."

Anakin tried to brush it off. He couldn't be sure who they were talking about.

Another voice piped up. "I don't care if it's weird. I'd get on my knees for Master Kenobi any day."

"If he'd even let you."

He whirled to find the source of the voices- a group of three human padawans just a few seats away.

"I think he would," said the third, who slyly caught Anakin's eye as he continued, "he seems like the type."

Anakin maintained eye contact and furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. The other padawan gestured to his companions, who looked at Anakin in turn.

"Well?" The first one raised their eyebrows expectantly.

Anakin scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We're not stupid, Skywalker. It's written all over your face."

The second snickered before whispering, "He wishes it was all over his face."

"What- he wouldn't-" Anakin stammered, and all three stifled a laugh. "Don't talk about my master that way!"

"You mean he doesn't fuck you?"

"'My master.' Listen to yourself! He has you whipped."

Anakin mulled over the incident as he approached the dormitory. What did that even mean? They didn't know Obi-Wan, not like he did. Sure, Obi-Wan was no stranger to flirting his way through diplomatic missions, but that certainly didn't mean he would look to his very young apprentice for sexual favors. He wasn't like that.

Wasn't like what, though? Anakin wasn't sure what such a request would even make Obi-Wan. He couldn't imagine his master as some kind of pervert. If anything, he was simply a man with very normal needs. That was all, really. Obi-Wan probably had sex all the time. If he didn't, it was only thanks to the Code- even Anakin, despite being his student, recognized his master's staggering sex appeal.