#&.* o.b. | ch. study

[fvrsaeken]

Olivia Margaret Benson tag drop before i forget again

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 15

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

Come Monday morning, Satine is greeted with a knock on her office door. It’s Anakin, holding a garment bag. “Delivery from Padma’s closet,” he announces.

Satine stands, honestly a bit surprised. “She remembered,” she says. “I just…I know she’s working on several bills at the moment. And she’s pregnant! She’s got a lot on her mind.”

“Clothes are one of Padma’s love languages,” says Anakin, handing Satine the bag. “Gifting them, loaning them out, repairing them, upcycling them. If I had it my way, I’d wear the same jeans every day to work, but she’d be scandalized.” He watches as Satine hangs the bag on the coat stand by the door. “She sent a few options,” he adds.

Curious, Satine unzips the bag, realizing that a few is a massive understatement: she’s sent an even dozen. Some are for warmer weather, and Satine suspects she won’t end up wearing any of those - though spring in the District can be beautiful, it likely won’t be mild enough for the thin fabric. One she suspects will be too heavy unless there’s a surprise blizzard, which of course is a possibility. The others will probably be more likely choices, ranging from a bolero-style shrug to a soft, golden infinity-type scarf.

Satine notices the tags. All are designer.

She tries to ignore the way her hand suddenly shakes. The cost of the garments together is probably more than Satine makes during an entire pay period.

“Thank you,” she says, zipping up the bag again. “I really appreciate it. Truly.”

Anakin grins. “This is how Padma likes to make friends. She also said you’re welcome to borrow a handbag or clutch if you don’t have anything that will match.”

Satine looks up at him. “She wants to be friends? With me?”

Anakin crosses his arms against his chest. “Believe it or not, it’s kind of isolating being a Congressional representative, from what I’m told. Obviously she has Breha and Bail, but she’s struggling to find people who aren’t fawning over her or wanting to use her to get a voice at the House.”

“Well,” says Satine, “I can’t promise not to fawn over her - I mean her work speaks for itself.”

Anakin bumps her shoulder lightly with a closed fist. “Hey, she’s familiar with yours as well - she knew your name before you started dating Ben! I think the admiration is mutual. I’ll get Ben to text you her number. And speak of the devil…” he trails off, hearing a key in the lock to the office next door. Anakin spins and calls out to greet his old advisor, diving into an intricate question about military history as he leaves Satine’s office.

Satine takes a last look at the garment bag before smiling to herself and heading back to her desk.

---

That afternoon, Satine and Ben are in the library again. She’s stuck in the middle of the chapter she’s supposed to be proofreading, and she wants a distraction. 

She rummages through her bag to find her notebook, and scribbles a note to Ben.

Why did Anakin call you “Obi” this morning? she writes. Or did I misunderstand him?

And she slides the notebook to Ben. He’s on his laptop, composing an email, but he immediately diverts his attention to the notebook.

He snickers, then gestures for her pen.

Two letters, not three, he writes. O.B. Stands for “Old Ben.” It’s something he began calling me last semester when my beard started turning gray. Coincidentally, it was the first semester I had Ahsoka as a student. He refuses to call her my grad student; instead, he says she’s my grand student.

Satine bites her lip to keep from laughing aloud. Her hand brushes his as she takes back the pen. “Grand” as in “granddaughter”?

Exactly.

Satine pushes the notebook to the side. She turns slightly and reaches up to touch the pad of her thumb to the gray hair that has started to come in around his temple. He watches her with interest as her thumb moves to trace the wrinkles at the corner of his eye.

“I quite like the gray,” she admits, her voice just a whisper. “It suits you. Makes you look distinguished.”

“It’s entirely Anakin’s fault,” Ben responds. “There was no gray at all before I took him on as a student. He’s aging me prematurely.”

But he leans into her hand gently, and she knows he’s joking.

“O.B. Kenobi,” Satine says, smirking. “It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Oh, don’t you dare take his side. I’m fairly certain Ahsoka calls me that, too - when she’s talking with Anakin. She has the good grace not to say it to my face.”

“We should all be so lucky to grow old. I hope I do.”

He lifts a brow. “Easy for you to say.” He gestures to her hair. “Are you saying you won’t dye it?”

She shakes her head. “My hair has always been thin. Wouldn’t want to risk damaging what I do have.” She laughs, reaching back to remove her hair band. Her ash blonde hair tumbles around her shoulders. Satine reaches for some strands, teasing them apart, and she leans closer to Ben. “There are bits and pieces of gray already, actually,” she says. “But having naturally cool undertones disguises it a bit more than if my hair were auburn.”

Ben studies her hair, almost as if in wonder. “How did I not notice before?”

She grins at him. But then she notices someone who is within earshot, and Satine reaches for the notebook again.

Our eyes have been…otherwise engaged much of the time we’ve been together, she writes.

Ben turns his laughter into a cough. He takes the pen from her and writes below her message. Well, it sounds like it’s high time I took a complete inventory of every surface. What else has changed and escaped my notice? Have you gotten a tattoo?

She shakes her head as he hands the pen back to her. There’s nothing I’ve felt strongly enough about to warrant such permanent modification to my body.

And then she quirks a brow at him, silently asking:

What about you?

He grins. You’ve seen me without a shirt, he replies in writing. 

You can get tattoos elsewhere, you know.  And she passes the notebook back to him.

Ben rolls his eyes, taking the pen. I don’t have a tattoo on my ass. Or anywhere else on my body.

How would I know? I haven’t seen your ass. I was genuinely curious.

He shoots her a glare upon seeing her try to hold in her laughter.

“You’re hilarious,” he says out loud, now that whoever was near has now wandered off.

Ben’s phone lights up as a silent alarm goes off.

“I had to set a reminder,” he explains, “so I wouldn’t be late for lecture again.”

Satine grins.

Ben shrugs into his coat and packs up his laptop. He nods to her own. “Send me the chapter you’re working on. I’ll proofread it this evening.”

She abhors editing, and he knows it. Grateful for the offer, she reaches up to grab his tie, pulling him back down so that she can kiss him tenderly.

He groans softly, pulling back. “Getting sidetracked after the alarm makes the alarm moot,” he says, but he’s smiling as he tucks his tie back into his vest. 

Ben turns to look up at her as he descends the stairs. His smile is still wide.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

---

“Calculus,” Satine whispers.

Ben stills over her, and the next second he’s pulled them both up so that they’re sitting upright on her couch. They’re both still half-dressed: his shirt is off, his belt unbuckled, and her skirt has been pushed up to her hips, her blouse unbuttoned, her blue lace brassiere on display.

Things had escalated quickly after their Saturday afternoon date at the National Portrait Gallery and the attached Smithsonian American Art Museum. While wandering along the exhibits at the latter, Ben had grabbed her hand and whispered, “Imagine my surprise to find they let you touch the art here.”

Satine had blushed at his words, cracked a shy smile at his joke. Those few words had given her courage, and she’d pulled him to the couch the moment they’d arrived home.

But now she’s wondering if her courage was real at all.

“I’m sorry,” she manages to get out.

Ben shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for,” he says, as though reminding her. “Do you know what it was exactly that triggered you?”

Satine shivers and pulls her blouse back over her shoulder, where Ben had pushed it off to have better access to her neck. “I don’t think it was anything you said,” she responds. She has to laugh. “I mean, we actually haven't said anything since the moment the door was shut.”

“Probably the longest we’ve been with each other without exchanging words,” he agrees with a smirk.

Satine takes a deep breath, willing her blood pressure under control. “Maybe the position?”

He nods. “You felt trapped.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again before she can stop herself.

He gives her an exasperated look. “Don’t - ” he begins.

“I’m not trying to be a tease,” she says, suddenly worried. It’s not the first time in recent weeks she’s left him aroused, without release. She can feel the pent-up frustration.

Ben sighs. “I’d rather be brought to the edge of orgasm every day of my life by you than cum by any other woman.” He reaches slowly for her hand. “If you’re sensing annoyance, it’s because as long as my body is next to yours, I literally do not care if I climax or not, and for some reason I’m having a particularly hard time getting that message through to you.”

Her eyes flicker down to his crotch and then back up to his eyes.

“Poor phrasing,” he admits, but she just laughs.

The next moment, an idea occurs to her. “Can I…can I try something?” she asks.

His expression softens. “You can try anything you like.”

Satine stands abruptly, extending her hand out to him. Without hesitation, he grabs hold, and she pulls him to his feet. “Follow me,” she says, her grip on his fingers tightening. She leads him up the stairs to her bedroom, where she directs him to the bed. “Sit.”

He does, and she flicks on one lamp, setting it low. Then she returns to Ben.

Satine lays a hand on his bare chest and then presses firmly. “Lie back,” she orders.

“Yes, Madam,” Ben says, and he scrambles back so that his head rests against her pillows, shifting to swing his legs on the bed, clearly understanding where she’s going with this.

Satine unbuttons the rest of her blouse and lets it drop to the floor. Then she crawls onto the bed, onto him, to straddle his hips.

Ben’s jaw is tense. “The view is much better from down here anyway,” he says faintly, and then he’s pressing up into her sharply because her hands have moved to pull his trousers down a few more inches.

He groans, and then groans again when her fingers touch him through his boxers. “Fuck.”

“That’s the idea,” says Satine, and she strokes him.

“Not that I disagree,” Ben manages to say, panting, as she removes the last layer of fabric between them. “But are you good with that? You ready?”

“I had my IUD replaced at my annual appointment recently.”

And she seats herself over his hips, gathering her skirt out of the way, grateful they’ve already made quick work of her undergarment.

“Good to know,” says Ben weakly, “but that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

His hands move to grip her hips, preventing her from sinking down.

“This position is better,” Satine says, her hands covering his own. “I control the speed, the angle. I control everything.” When he nods, trusting her, she says, “I’m ready. Condom?”

He nods, then smirks. “Back pocket of the trousers you just pulled down.”

Satine grins and reaches below him. He raises his hips slightly so she can reach the pocket, and she makes quick work of the wrapper before fitting the condom on him.

And then, together, their hands guide her hips, lowering her to take him into her warmth.

They move her slowly, inch by inch, both breathing heavily. Finally, finally, he’s inside her fully.

“Dear fucking God,” says Ben, and Satine laughs, practically giddy.

“Help me move,” she orders him. “What do you like?”

“You,” he says immediately. “You, just like that.”

She clenches around him, and she can tell he’s preventing himself from bucking his hips.

“Evil woman,” he whispers. “Don’t do that again or this will be over far too quickly.”

“Noted,” says Satine, and she rubs her thumb over his own.

Ben watches their fingers, and then he grips her hips more tightly. “We’ll start slow, okay?”

She nods, and he begins to help move her, even if she’s more in control of her movements than he is. As they find a rhythm, she watches his eyes lock on her breasts.

“Still liking the view?”

He pumps into her, groaning. “It continues to impress,” he grunts out, eyes still on her cleavage.

Satine reaches one hand behind her to unclip the bra, slipping out of it. She drops it behind her. “And how about now?”

Ben’s cadence slips, and his jaw goes slack. “God, Satine,” he whispers, reaching a hand up to palm one breast, his thumb concentrating on her nipple.

She whines, arching into him, and they try to find whatever remains of their rhythm. They succeed, for a bit, moving faster and then more slowly together, climbing, climbing, climbing, and then - 

“So fucking good,” says Ben, his tone clipped. “Satine, I - ”

And suddenly he jerks up, his muscles taut beneath her own, his fingers tight on her hips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. She knows he’s climaxing without him needing to say the words aloud. 

It’s the most gorgeous thing she’s ever seen.

Satine's mind is blank, and then a moment later, he’s collapsed back on the sheets, breathing heavily, eyes soft and sated. The hand he’d had on her breast moves to her jaw, and he cradles her face. He helps her as she slips away from him, moving her from a kneeling position to being seated more comfortably. “What would you like next?” he asks, still out of breath, looking to her for their next step.

Satine shakes her head. “I don’t think I can climax,” she says, matching his tone. “At least, not right now. That was…a lot. Emotionally.”

Ben nods, trusting her awareness of her body’s limits. He kisses her softly. “I’ll be right back,” he says, going to dispose of the condom.

And he returns a moment later, trousers now zipped, belt buckled, a washcloth in his hand. He leans over her, pulling her gently to the edge of the bed and pushing the fabric of her skirt out of the way. As he wipes her clean, he catalogs the skin of her thighs, sinking down to kneel on the floor so he can press butterfly kisses to her knees.

“You good?” he asks eventually, pulling her skirt back down and making her shiver.

Her answer surprises even herself.

“Yes,” she whispers.

---

She wakes up to his lips on her shoulder.

Satine hums.

“It was much too dark last night for me to fulfill my promise of a complete inventory,” he says against her skin. “May I now?”

She nods, still groggy, still blinking against sleep.

Ben pulls her sleep shirt up and over her head, and she shivers at the brisk air. “Sorry,” he says as she pulls her arms beneath her chest, tucking them in from the cold.

“No, you’re not,” Satine says.

He grins. “I’m not,” he agrees, and he pulls the sheet down to her hips.

His first touch is to the center of her back. “I remember this mole,” he says. “Besides the ones on your neck, it’s my favorite.”

“You have a favorite mole of mine?”

“Oh, yes,” says Ben. “I had a ranking system, back when we were teenagers. It was based on your response to my kissing them. I wonder…will the intensity of your responses to attention to particular moles have changed over the years? Another thing I must inventory.”

Satine chuckles. “For science.”

“For science indeed. The one time that quantitative ranks are actually useful.”

At this she laughs more deeply, and he chooses this moment to press a kiss to the center of her back.

“Hmmm,” says Ben. “I think you’re suppressing your reaction because I told you I was going to be watching it. I’ll have to try another day when I haven’t reminded you. That way the data won’t be biased.”

“God forbid you collect data that are not impartial.”

“The absolute horror,” he agrees, moving his lips lower. “The muscles are more defined here than I remember, more so than I’d expect from natural age-related processes. Yoga? Pilates? Barre?”

Satine nods. “All of the above. I realized I was running myself into the ground with cardio. The running was just too hard on my joints. I switched to workouts that don’t require as much impact.”

“Interesting,” he says. “The Satine I knew wouldn’t have stayed still long enough for a yoga class.”

“Well, twenty-five year old Satine grew tired of the stress fractures that made her do nothing but sit still, and she had to figure out an alternative.” She shrugs. “It’s probably for the best. My long-distance running friends now have the beginnings of osteoarthritis, and my joints seem to be better off than theirs.”

As he laughs, she feels his hot breath against her skin. His lips begin to move up her spine. “No signs of the remnants of a tan,” he says as he plants kisses between her shoulder blades. “Do you not ever go on vacation?”

“Maybe I’m just particularly careful with my sunscreen regimen.”

Ben snorts. “You always did burn at the slightest exposure.”

“One of the reasons I fit right in in Norway,” Satine agrees.

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

Satine sighs. “You know the life of an academic. It’s pretty similar to the life of a State Department employee. Technically I got vacation time, but there really wasn’t time to use it. There was always some other crisis to address.”

Ben kisses her shoulder. “We should go on vacation,” he says.

Satine glances over her shoulder at him. “You mean for Spring Break?”

“As much as I would love to take you somewhere for Spring Break, I actually am flying out to Wisconsin that week.”

Satine has to laugh at this. “Wisconsin in the beginning of April? Not the ideal time for a visit.”

“I’d tend to agree with you. But this trip comes six years too late.”

There’s sadness in his tone, and Satine reaches out to pull one of his hands so that it rests beneath her, bordered by her own.

“My advisor wrote me into his will. I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with it when I graduated, and I’ve been putting it off ever since. Maybe my way of pretending he’s not really gone? Anyway.”

Satine feels his lips on her shoulder blade, his beard scratching her skin.

“He left me his field notes and his key informant interview recordings. Maybe there was something important in there he wanted me to publish.”

She holds his hand more tightly. “Kind of morbid to include that in his will, don’t you think?”

She feels him shrug. “I thought so at first, too, but…Russia wasn’t a safe place to do field work. He knew that. And Anakin let slip he told you what I thought my advisor was really doing over there, so maybe he had his reasons for being morbid. He had a life-partner, Tahl, who oversaw the will. The two of them were incredibly low profile, so much so that I only learned of Tahl's existence after he died. It'll be the first time I meet her.”

Ben squeezes her fingers.

“At any rate, there’s this incredible woman here in the District whom I’m trying to convince of my emotional availability, and I figure that this trip is a good first step.”

Satine ducks her head to kiss his knuckles, and she feels Ben’s lips return to her scapula.

“But in regard to vacation,” says Ben, “I meant this summer. You’ll have moved in. Now, we didn’t actually talk about this, but I’m assuming that means you’ll give up your apartment, right?”

Satine nods. “If word got around that I still had it, I think it would make people question whether I was fully committed.”

He’s kissing the crook of her neck now. “Well, when you move in, that’s only one location the two of us have to pay rent on, as opposed to two. We should splurge - would you like to go to the beach? I assume you can work from anywhere, and the only class I’m teaching in the summer term is online anyway.”

“You just want an excuse to get me in a bikini and be able to feel me up whenever I need to reapply sunscreen. Which, fortunately for you, is quite often.”

“So is that you giving your approval?” His lips are on the nape of her neck, moving to her other shoulder.

“Perhaps,” says Satine.

His hands suddenly flip her over, and she knows he wants to study her expression. “Perhaps?” he quotes.

But the cold air against her skin makes Satine suddenly hyper-aware that she had neglected to wear a bralette to bed last night. Ben seems to notice at the exact moment she does.

“Let’s come back to this discussion,” he says. “I’m finding myself momentarily distracted.”

Satine quirks a brow. “Oh?”

Ben leans toward her. “Is this okay?” he whispers, watching her eyes. When she nods, he kisses the side of one breast.

Satine closes her eyes, letting herself sink back into the pillows.

He licks her skin, swirling his tongue around her nipple. 

“I told you,” he says, his voice clipped, “back when we met again, that you were more beautiful than ever. And even then, I had no fucking idea how right I was.”

He returns his attention to her skin.

Satine smiles as she feels his fingers move to her other breast, kneading her nipple. “Ben,” she whispers, opening her eyes, and he looks up at her, curious. “Can we just do this? Not go any further. Just this.” She closes her eyes again. “It feels…it feels so good.”

“I’m yours to command,” Ben says, and the reverence in his tone could make her cry.

She reaches out to tangle her fingers in his hair, holding him to her.