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

Like An Arsonist to a Perfect Match (sequel to EPSIC)

• Summary: Anakin was staring at him again.

Let him, Obi-Wan thought with a well of satisfaction. Sweat dripped into his eyes; he carelessly flipped the start of a fringe away from his forehead and collected his practice staff, entering the second phase of katas. Though Qui-Gon had never demanded that Obi-Wan maintain the standard Padawan haircut, letting him decide for himself, it was now vital that Obi-Wan grow it out.

Vital because Anakin liked the color of his hair, and he patted Obi-Wan’s head when he did a good job, and sometimes he let his fingers linger, and there was a lot that Obi-Wan would do to earn himself just a second longer of attention from the man, to get him to willingly touch any part of Obi-Wan that he saw fit. Letting his hair grow out, purposefully messing up a position and needing to be corrected, always being one step behind his new master—inch by inch, he’d gained ground. He’d carved a place for himself beside the famous Hero With No Fear, the Chosen One.

It’s not a place he’d give up without a fight.

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Anakin was staring at him again.

Let him, Obi-Wan thought with a well of satisfaction. Sweat dripped into his eyes; he carelessly flipped the start of a fringe away from his forehead and collected his practice staff, entering the second phase of katas. Though Qui-Gon had never demanded that Obi-Wan maintain the standard Padawan haircut, letting him decide for himself, it was now vital that Obi-Wan grow it out.

Vital because Anakin liked the color of his hair and patted Obi-Wan’s head when he did a good job. Sometimes he let his fingers linger, and there was a lot that Obi-Wan would do to earn himself just a second longer of attention from the man, to get him to willingly touch any part of Obi-Wan that he saw fit. Letting his hair grow out, purposefully messing up a position and needing to be corrected, always being one step behind his new master—inch by inch, he’d gained ground. He’d carved a place for himself beside the famous Hero With No Fear, the Chosen One.

It’s not a place he’d give up without a fight. The Force saw fit to grant him the opportunity, and Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool.

They were far from the auspices of the Temple, and that simplified things. When away from the watchful eyes of the Order, Anakin lowered his guard. Not that anyone had realized what was happening—once tipped off, Obi-Wan had been careful—it was about Anakin’s receptiveness. The further away from people who would judge them, the thinner Anakin’s defenses. He could mount a half-hearted lesson on the risks of attachment all he wanted, but Anakin was the poster child for attachments. Only due to his fame was his marriage to a Senator treated as a minor political issue, and not a blown open wide scandal. People had adored the handsome, young Jedi who had fought so hard for the Republic, who had campaigned for the rights of his clone troops. They had no problem forgiving his indiscretions; they thought it was romantic.

And the Council, well, they had needed Skywalker, and they had needed Jinn, and they had needed Tano. The trio had been unstoppable, arguably the real reason that war hadn’t dragged on for forever. Once they’d figured out that the true mastermind behind the war was the Chancellor and dismantled his plots, the galaxy had breathed a collective sigh of relief, no matter what side they were on.

But Obi-Wan didn’t care about any of that. When he handed a drowsy Anakin a cup of caf in the mornings, he wasn’t thinking this is the hero that saved us all. It wasn’t hero worship that curled up, syrupy sweet, in the pit of his stomach as Anakin’s lips touched the rim of the cup, unaware that he was pressing his mouth to the exact same spot that Obi-Wan had only a minute ago.