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

Straight to Lover's Paradise

• Summary: “Is that,” Obi-Wan paused to swallow the sudden excess of saliva in his mouth, “mine?”

The way Anakin’s head remained bowed over the bright screen of the Switch made it obvious he wasn’t really listening. “Mmm?” He rubbed the tip of his cold nose—being from a warmer climate, Anakin easily grew cold even when Obi-Wan kept the thermostat at a moderate temperature—with the sleeve of the tan sweater he wore.

Which wasn’t his; it was Obi-Wan’s. And on Anakin’s slender, nineteen-year-old body, it fit in distressingly interesting ways.

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“Is that,” Obi-Wan paused to swallow the sudden excess of saliva in his mouth, “mine?”

The way Anakin’s head remained bowed over the bright screen of the Switch made it obvious he wasn’t really listening. “Mmm?” He rubbed the tip of his cold nose—being from a warmer climate, Anakin easily grew cold even when Obi-Wan kept the thermostat at a moderate temperature—with the sleeve of the tan sweater he wore.

Which wasn’t his; it was Obi-Wan’s. And on Anakin’s slender, nineteen-year-old body, it fit in distressingly interesting ways.

It was too short, for one, to cover Anakin’s flat stomach in the half-curled up position he was in on the armchair, sweatpants pulled low on his hips, revealing that he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. All Obi-Wan could see winking at him was an adorable belly button with each breath Anakin took.

Along the top, the sweater was too broad on Anakin, the already-steep collar baring half a shoulder, and a glimpse at the sweep of a collarbone had Obi-Wan questioning whether it was possible to be so captivated by something so chaste.

The evidence strongly pointed to yes.

“Anakin,” he tried again. “We talked about this. If you’re going to be living here, I’d appreciate it if you occasionally did as I ask. Taking things out of the laundry room simply because you’re feeling a bit chilly—”

Anakin’s mouth curled in distaste. “I was freezing.”

“Regardless.”

Finally, Anakin looked up at him, and Obi-Wan realized he’d made a grave tactical error, having approached during the exchange. Now he could stare right down the neck of the sweater, and he could see more than just a clavicle.

Anakin blinked at him through his eyelashes, and Obi-Wan’s gaze shot to his face. He would not blush like a schoolboy caught leering at a woman’s breasts. He would not.

“C'mon, Obi,” his former stepbrother whined. “I’m so cold all the time, I’m dying!”

“May I venture to suggest it might have something to do with the fact that you refuse to wear shoes? Or that you seem to have forgotten to put on a shirt?”

The curve of Anakin’s mouth turned sulky. Few people could pout quite that aggressively and still come off attractive.

Much to Obi-Wan’s consternation, Anakin counted among those few. “I don’t like shoes,” he said, and Obi-Wan could think of a thousand other times he’d heard the same argument, down to the petulance.

“And… What's wrong if I wear your stuff? We’re brothers, aren’t we?” The sudden switch to innocence was jarring.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed in warning.

“Aren’t we?” Anakin quirked a brow, betraying the act.

And suddenly, it was a year ago, when Obi-Wan had returned home for the holidays, because even though their parents had separated, Shmi and Qui-Gon were strong believers that one never divorced stepchildren. So when he turned around and the first thing he saw was a mop of brassy curls and a lush mouth made for biting, the difference that a year could make in a teenager, a switch had gone off in his brain, taking Anakin out of one category—brotherly, safe, annoying—and putting him into an altogether new one.