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

Life Imitates Art

• Summary: Anakin has been practicing his art ever since he got top marks in one of his extra courses as a padawan. He's good at drawing two things: faces and hands. He finds he’s even better at drawing these things when they’re Obi-Wan’s hands and face. Anakin’s art turns from simple hand studies to putting Obi-Wan’s likeness in a multitude of sexual situations. Anakin keeps these drawings stashed away until one day Obi-Wan finds them.

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A sweep of his pencil across paper. The scratch of shading and a smudge of his finger for shadow. The light had shone in at an angle that illuminated scars over knuckles, so Anakin made sure to detail those out.

Each lightsaber burn, each split knuckle from years of training. The wooden staffs younglings used hurt when they hit a bone at a particular angle. Anakin would know, having his own scars from poorly healed split knuckles – mostly picking at the scabs that the bacta tried to heal over for himself, and it made Anakin wonder if his master had the same problem when he was a padawan.

Probably not.

His master wouldn’t pick at scabs. No, Obi-Wan probably trained so often that the knuckles split and re-split before they were healed.

Anakin dug his pencil into the crevice of one of those scars now, wanting to capture the detail he remembered from that morning. His master held a datapad in one hand, his mug in the other, and Anakin has been transfixed.

It wasn’t anything different than usual, it was their normal routine. Anakin had sat across from him, trying to focus on his breakfast and not the way Obi-Wan’s fingers lightly held the thin datapad, splayed out without care over the back of it, thumb balancing on the front of it.

Anakin had stared and stared at the hold Obi-Wan had on his mug, wrapped around the cup itself rather than the handle. He’d seen Obi-Wan hold his lightsaber a million times, but this was different. This was casual and held with such ease.

He drew it now, his master’s hand holding a datapad. So mundane, so simple, so elegant.

The light from the sun overhead made it easy to see as Anakin sat on a bench alone, furiously drawing the shadows and highlights he remembered from Obi-Wan’s hands. The notebook was full of drawings like this.

Anakin hadn’t known he could channel his affections for his master into art like this, until he’d taken a class and found he had a natural talent. It was cathartic to use his newfound talent for this. It helped him get out some of his pent-up frustration.

“Anakin, there you are,” the voice of his master made him jump and slam his sketchbook closed. Not that Obi-Wan would know who exactly he was drawing. Obi-Wan smiled at him as he walked up to Anakin, making Anakin’s heart skip. “Not answering your comm, hmm? Are you avoiding me?”

As if he ever would. Anakin almost said that too, but he cleared his throat and tried to think of something normal to say.

“Sorry master,” Anakin murmured, trying to look up at him through his lashes. “I was distracted.” Obi-Wan’s blue eyes shifted down to the sketchbook that was tightly held in his hands. Mercifully, he didn’t prod further.

“The council is sending us on a mission, padawan—“ Anakin groaned and rolled his eyes “—stop that. I think you’ll like this one. We’re going to Mirial.”

“You say that every time,” Anakin grumbled, but got up from the bench and dutifully followed his master to pack.

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