Choose Your Words || A Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Story

Chapter 16: Decipher Him

How can this be? How? How?!

How is it that his Master – his all composed and unflappable and not at all affected Master – has just told Anakin that his punishment is over and sent the complete and utter mess that he is right now to meditate in his room? To meditate! After everything that’s just happened!

After he watched Anakin kneel for him in unconditional surrender.

After his fingers pressed possessive purple marks into Anakin’s throat.

After Anakin moaned like a cheap whore around a mouthful of his aura, choking himself on it like he would have on his dick.

After he gripped Anakin’s hair and held him in place and made him take it and swallow it. And Anakin did. Like a good boy. Feeling so full when Master pushed into his mind, making him woozy and overwhelmed. Oh, it was so, so good…

And now the front of his leggings is a sticky mess, and he is lying in a heap of limbs on his bed, trying to either wrap his mind around what just transpired between them or at least cry himself to sleep because… Because why, how is he always like that? Unattainable. Untouchable. Unaffected. Everything Anakin isn’t.

How can he be so cool when Anakin is on fire, burning, blazing with his passion for him?

How could he be so oblivious as to not realize how outright obscene the whole thing looked?

Can’t he see how charged, how painfully erotic their every moment together has become ever since he turned sixteen? And even before that? Was Anakin’s love ever innocent? Was it ever pure and untainted by lust? Or did Anakin take his Master’s tender, loving care for him and twist it in his mind until it was distorted beyond recognition?

An abomination…

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

He doesn’t remember exactly when his obsession with his young, beautiful Master and his greedy desire to possess him turned into lust, but his Master was right when, at some point, he decided to forbid Anakin from coming to sleep in his bed under any pretenses.

“You are a Jedi, Anakin. The Jedi are not supposed to fear anything. Especially not their bad dreams,” he told him one night, gently pushing him out of his bedroom, “so no more of this.”

No more of this.

No more going to his room in the middle of the night. No more watching him sleep, calm and peaceful under his covers. No more calling for him in the dark, his voice whiny and needy – Master, Master – until he woke up, soft and disheveled from sleep, and frowned in concern “Ani?”, and then just sighed in resignation and beckoned him to come closer.

“What is it this time?” he would ask, and Anakin would mutter his carefully prepared excuse, already climbing under the sheets and curling around him like an octopus.

Sometimes he would even cry if he needed to, convincingly sobbing and smearing his tears all over his cheeks, until his Master took pity on him and started to hesitantly stroke his calloused fingers up and down his back, murmuring soothing sweet nothings, voice husky from sleep, and waiting patiently until Anakin calmed down and eventually fell asleep in his arms – or rather, sank into a sleepy meditative trance, feeling a warm, golden wave of bliss wash over him with the soft huffs of his Master’s exhales brushing up against his neck.

“Uma ji muna,” Anakin allowed himself to murmur one night, feeling cozy and content, and knowing that his Master spoke hundreds of languages but – very deliberately, on principle – not Huttese. No, his refined, pleasantly lilting voice would never speak a word of the disgusting language of slavers. However, never doing something doesn’t necessarily equal inability. Anakin knows that now. After his Master suddenly tensed in his grip and told him to go to his own room.