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

Darkest Desires

• Summary: Obi-Wan hadn't planned to see Anakin again. Food was food. An evening meal could never become more. Obi-Wan would never allow it. But it seems that waking up to cold sheets had not been enough to convey the message. Either that or Anakin had refused to accept the truth.

Now staring into Anakin's glowing eyes Obi-Wan knows it is the latter.

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Obi-Wan knows he's being followed. Had known the moment an extra pair of shoes had fallen in step with him. His stalker is smart about it. He keeps his distance without losing his prey in the late night rush of drunk college kids and workaholics returning home. The thought has Obi-Wan's lip twitching, revealing the slightest glimpse of his bone pale fangs. Obi-Wan has not thought of himself as prey for a long time. Years of experience have taught him much. Carved, and sculpted and molded him into a hunter of immeasurable skill.

He takes a sharp turn down a less crowded street. The hunter on his heels follow as Obi-Wan steadily leads them into less populated streets. The shadow trailing behind him remains constant proving of a diligence that Obi-Wan admires.

As the crowded streets thin out Obi-Wan hears a huff of breath as the footsteps behind him pick up speed. Obi-Wan slows his pace. Tired of playing at being chased.

He can sense the figure's approach. The warmth of his skin, a burning inferno, moving closer. His musky arousal, which has become more prominent the longer he's been tracking Obi-Wan, is intoxicating to the Vampire's enhanced senses. Obi-Wan feels his nostrils flare as he desperately sucks in the familiar scent. Feels an inconvenient answering lust uncurl in his abdomen.

He tongues at his fangs. Resists the urge to pierce the soft tissue of his tongue, knowing that the weeping redness that will bloom from the wound would do nothing to slake the burning desire in his throat.

The man reaches out, pushes Obi-Wan into the grimy, shadow sprawling alley. Obi-Wan complies. Knows the man would suffer more than a few injuries should Obi-Wan resist. He allows himself to be pushed into a brick wall. He can feel the sharp edges pressing into his back, ruining the delicate fabric of his suit jacket.

Obi-Wan lifts his head, gazes into a face he had seen less than a week ago. They had met at a local pub close to where Obi-Wan was staying. The pub hadn't been particularly remarkable except for the handsome figure that had greeted Obi-Wan on the other side of the serving counter. Anakin had smiled a charming secretive smile as he stood with a rag thrown over his shoulders. He leaned over the counter to get closer. His voice warm and promising as he asked for Obi-Wan's drink of choice.

Obi-Wan could list a number of reasons why he chose Anakin as his companion for the night. He might have said it was the man's good looks, or the sweet tang of his blood that called to Obi-Wan, almost making him salivate. But in truth it was his eyes, dark abyss beaconing pools that had stared at Obi-Wan unashamed.

Obi-Wan had nursed his drink for the remainder of the night. Waited patiently until the end of Anakin's shift. Then he led him to his hotel room. Had fallen down in the sheets with Anakin braced over him.

Allowed the boy, for that is what he was to Obi-Wan who cradled decades of life against his chest, to touch and kiss. Draped in silk sheets Obi-Wan had layed there, allowing Anakin to sink down on him and use him for his own pleasure. He stared up at Anakin's gasping mouth, the jumping pulse in his neck. Found himself transfixed by the gathered wetness in Anakin's lashes which Obi-Wan then reached for and wiped away with his thumb before guiding it into his own mouth. He sucked away the salty wetness with abandon, feeding it like an offering to his insides.