Braid | Obikin

1.

What my Master says and what he thinks rarely coincide.
When he declares that 'the kid will be ready for his trials soon' he's suggesting I should be already.
Stating he will thoughtfully consider my opinion, he's telling me he has never heard anything this stupid.
'You need meditating' means 'calm the kriff down'. If he exhorts me to patience, he wishes I could just shut up.

We're sparring, and he shouts 'guard up!' meaning 'I'm kicking your ass again'.

I do as he says; fend and counterattack, forcing him to recede.
People are watching. They like the way we fight - and probably enjoy our bickering.

Our conversations tend to end up in arguing, lately.
Well, I argue. Obi-Wan just sighs and lowers his voice until it can barely be heard.
His efforts to conceal his disappointment make his shields grow ticker every day.

"Shield!" My Master orders, echoing my thoughts.

He foresees where I will strike and ducks.
His low kick sweeps my ankles.
I hit the ground, and he's astride me, his training blade so close it warms my neck, my 'saber in the dirt.

Some clap hands.

"Dead," he whispers, unable to hold back the spark of a triumphant smile; holding me down with his weight, sweated, panting.

I'm so hard it hurts.
His mouth opens. He blushes.

I profit of his confusion to Force-push him away and dash on him, my weapon flying back into my grip.
He disengages before I can reach him, but my momentum makes me crash against his body anyway.
I step back and mutter an apology, my cheeks burning.
Bystanders do not clap, this time.

"Well done, Padawan," Obi-Wan says, flattening his tunic without looking at me.

Five minutes later, I'm in the 'fresher, banging my forehead against the tiles.
I stroke myself roughly, and want to cry.
For a second, I see his hands, his lips.
I get off too quickly, cursing under my breath.

I play the dutiful Padawan in the afternoon, studying, cleaning, and meditating on the topic of what the kriff is wrong with me.
A lecture on self-control is both dreaded and anticipated, as I can't even imagine my Master addressing the matter.
I set the table for two, peeking at my comm with increasing frequency. When it gets dark, I eat leftovers out of the conservator alone.

The following morning, Obi-Wan is at the kitchen table, drinking Sapir tea and reading the news in his pyjamas, as he does any given day.
He greets me with a heap of his eyebrows toward last night untouched dishes, and comments he should've let me know he wasn't coming.
As usual, he even denies me the privilege of remonstration.

I shrug and pour myself some caf.

Breakfast is my favourite meal; his reading grants me the freedom of staring and I dwell on the exclusive benefit of seeing him dishevelled and a bit crumpled. Specifically, I'm developing a fixation on that lock of hair that only covers his eye when he's unguarded.

"I got you at the arena, yesterday." I grab a cookie from the jar, both disappointed and relieved he can't see my grin. "It felt good."

His eyes slowly raise from the holopad. Something that resembles discomfort flows through our Bond.

"Yes, you did," Obi-Wan admits before his focus gets back to the device.

Then, in spite of my vexed munching, he doesn't give me another look. Loudly clearing the table can't pull his attention either, and I must give up.

"It's perfectly natural," he declares when I'm already in the doorway.

I turn on my heels.

He clears his throat. "Action and reaction, you know. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just... Mechanical."

Mechanical my ass; I'm confident Yoda wouldn't have elicited the same response.
It's clear my Master would gladly dive into a Sarlacc Pit to avoid this conversation, so I appreciate the effort. Still, he's a karking idiot.

"I'm not ashamed," I lie. "You?"

"Neither I am, of course. I'm a man myself if you didn't notice, I'm well aware of how these things work."

I desperately try not to form a mental picture out of his words and fail, with disastrous consequences.

"Good to know," I tease, forcing myself not to fidget.

He pinches his nose and vaguely moves his other hand toward the door. "Go now. I'm sure you have more urgent business than mocking your Master."

"You read sarcasm everywhere..." My eyes purposely widen as his own emerge from behind his hand. "I genuinely assumed Obi-Wan Kenobi hadn't these inconveniences."

"Like he's some cardboard figure? A lecture vending machine? I foolishly expected you to know I'm human without the need to remark it."

So bitter.
I do wonder if he realises we're actually discussing his erections.

"I didn't mean to be disrespectful, Master; it's fair you're not supposed to share every aspect of your life with your Padawan. However, this means I can only guess and, during all these years, not even once I had the feeling you were..." I cough. "Interested in someone, so..."

"We weren't addressing 'interests' but physical responses. I've never..." He heavyly sighs, turns his pad off and stands up. "Nevermind, Anakin. This is not what I intended to discuss this morning. I just wanted to make sure you weren't embarrassed. It's no big deal. These things happen."

"Do they?" I taunt, and bite my tongue immediately afterwards.

Obi-Wan lets out a quiet huff. He turns around to rinse his mug in the sink, grumbling about lost causes and wasted time.
For once, his words match his thoughts.

This awkward chat brings consequences, though probably not the ones my Master was aiming for.

First of all, I give up.
I resign to my inappropriate feelings and accept I can't change them.

"It's just a phase," I tell myself. "It will pass."

But it doesn't.
Surrender means daydreaming is permitted, and I do it all the time.
In my most abused fantasy, Obi-Wan just does what he incautiously implied stating he's a man himself. This alone brings me near.
I add the idea of his Padawan being somewhat responsible and picture him searching relief in the shower, or in his bed, just like I do.
I rarely last enough to find out how this tale ends.

Second, my Master's shields are thicker than ever. Perfectly natural or not, he apparently pays attention not to create further 'action and reaction' occasions.
This painfully confirms me I disgusted him, even if I truly don't know how I could have expected differently.

To conclude, sex gets weird.
The long pining hours I spend with him every day make me arrive at 500 Republica too hungry. Often, all I bring back to the Temple is a lingering, frustrating dissatisfaction.

Note from the author:
When a fic gets long and serious, I take a break starting a short, light one that soon becomes long and serious so I start another one and so on.
Do not yell at me, English is not my language and I have no beta for this.
Alcalina