#10kisses

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Precipice (Obikin; Vaderwan)

(Can you tell I have a weird soft spot for Sith!Ani with a somnolent and domestic Obi-Wan?)

Part of my 10 Kisses series. (Which I’m writing very, very slowly. As inspiration hits.)

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Ever since Naboo, Obi-Wan’s nightmares have him falling. Sometimes down the melting pit on Theed, where he falls and falls and falls into the darkness. Sometimes from the gunship onto the hot sands of Geonosis or into the ocean from the rain-slicked platforms on Kamino.

This time it's from the structures on Mustafar into the molten lava.

The brightness of the flame makes Obi-Wan wake.  He sits up slowly, his head dulled by the thick-fog of paid medication. For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is and then the richness of the colors speak to him, the feminine touch of the room. Padme’s room. Padme’s apartment on Coruscant.

Padme is gone. He knows it. Everyone is gone. Or as good as gone. His hands touch the neural inhibitor wrapped around his neck. There is naught but silence where there was once the warm hum of other Jedi.

He starts to rise and the pain shooting through his leg is enough to make him sit down hard, leaning back into the pillows. His ankle. He’d broken it on Mustafar. In the fight he had not had the heart to win. Already, it seems like a lifetime ago. Especially when he is clean and warm and wearing fresh clothes. He touches the soft black trousers and the silken blue tunic.

“I always thought you’d look good dressed in blue.” A hand grips Obi-Wan’s shoulder, slides down his arm, tracing the seam of the fabric. His padawan was always tactile. “You need to keep this elevated,” Anakin says as he places Obi-Wan’s leg on the bed, propping a soft pillow beneath his heel. “A medical droid will be here shortly

“Prisoners rate bedrooms and medical care?” Obi-Wan asks after a moment, unable to stop himself.  

Anakin smiles, sharp, familiar, strange. “I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to be sarcastic. Welcome home, Obi-Wan.”

In the days following, it becomes obvious his former apprentice no longer exists and that Anakin is more himself than he ever was under the rule of the Jedi Order.

Though Obi-Wan had thought he would be killed in the aftermath of battle, shipped off to parts of the galaxy unknown or worse, he seems to bear something of a status in Anakin’s new household. And though he cannot leave, and he can feel the eyes of droids and humanoid staff alike watching him, he can move around the house as he pleases. Which comes in handy since it seems he’s the sole caretaker for Anakin and Padme’s twins.

A fact that Anakin seems to find alluring. When he watches Obi-Wan feeding or playing with the babies, his eyes light up like the Tatooine suns; when they’re blue instead of that strangely glittering gold, they shine like the noonday sky.

It’s an unremarkable evening when it finally happens, the culmination of this new relationship. Obi-Wan has put the twins to bed, after telling them a story he remembers from the crèche, even though they’re far too young to understand it. As he slips out of their bedroom, pulling the door half closed behind him, he runs into Anakin.

Anakin stares at him like he’s seeing him for the first time.  “When Padme died, I thought it was lost. The chance for a family. But it’s not.” Anakin crowds him, caging him against the wall with his arms, leaning down until all Obi-Wan can see is gold skin, blue eyes, dirty blonde hair.

“Anak—“

“Shh. I’ve got you.”

Anakin’s mouth is hot and tastes strongly of caff. He presses Obi-Wan flush to the wall. Obi-Wan doesn’t fight, doesn’t want to wake the twins or anyone else in the household. This moment is not to be witnessed.

“Come to my bed,” Anakin whispers, suggestion and command all at once.

Obi-Wan stares into those glittering eyes, teetering on a precipice.

With a single word, he lets himself fall.

[dreamers-and-drifters-clothing]

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[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Gift Request

It's Anakin's 19th birthday. A transitional year to be sure. The final year of adolescence before the shift to adulthood. For many padawans, the beginning of the path to their Trials.

Obi-Wan remembers his 19th birthday. He and Qui-Gon had actually been in the Temple and so were a number of his friends, who took it upon themselves to ensure he thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

But Anakin…. He has no close friendships that Obi-Wan knows of. No group of padawans he meets up with after classes or to celebrate the week’s end. Of the few padawans Anakin has spent time with, Obi-Wan only knows of Tru Veld, who is off planet with his master.

Days ago, he’d asked Anakin if there were anything he wanted to do for his birthday and the boy had shrugged.

And today, he seems content to spend his time in the mechanic rooms, tinkering on the speeder he’s rebuilding and making some upgrades to Artoo’s equipment.

Obi-Wan takes it upon himself to at least make one of Anakin’s favorite meals, begging a few ingredients from the kitchens to put together a starblossom tart that filled their rooms with a distinct and delicate sweet scent that has Anakin, when he returns, cocking his head to the side and smiling when he recognizes it.

Obi-Wan pours them both a glass of Toniray. Anakin won’t be of legal drinking age on Coruscant until next year, but Obi-Wan had his first official glass of wine with his master at the same age. “Happy Birthday, Anakin.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Conversation is mostly set aside in favor of eating, though they talk about their upcoming mission, Anakin’s coursework (“All caught up, Master.”) and Artoo’s newest upgrade.

“Rocket boosters?” Obi-Wan asks.

“You never know when a flying droid will come in handy.”

“As you say.”

It’s as Obi-Wan’s finishing up the dishes and Anakin’s preparing tea for him (and, really, the offer to do so should have been Obi-Wan’s first clue) that Anakin speaks.

“Master.... I know what I want for my birthday.”

“And what’s that?” Obi-Wan sets the last dish aside and turns, finding Anakin directly behind him. He takes a step back. The boy is taller than him, has been for the last year, and Obi-Wan suspects there might be one more growth spurt right around the corner, but he’s not thinking about that right now as Anakin steps closer, gait strangely predatory. Obi-Wan has to stop himself from taking another step back and into the wall.

“Just this.”

Obi-Wan has an inkling of what the boy’s going to do, right before he does it. His hands frame Obi-Wan’s face, one sliding back into his hair, catching and holding the back of his head with a finesse that surprises him, the other cupping his jaw. Then Anakin’s mouth is on his and the kiss is…good. A little rushed, a little nerve-filled, but adept, Anakin’s tongue flicking across his lips and sliding into his mouth when Obi-Wan can’t stop his gasp, stroking against his own tongue, tickling over the sensitive and tender inside of his lower lip.

Obi-Wan jerks as he’s pushed into the wall, as the hand that had been cupping his face slides to the small of his back and Anakin’s body presses into his, the firmness of an erection against his hip. And that’s when he breaks the kiss, side steps Anakin’s grip.

“Anakin.” He makes his tone soft. “This is very flattering but also very inappropriate. It’s certainly not uncommon for padawans to develop certain feelings for their masters—“

“It’s not a phase,” Anakin says, mouth turning down, eyes narrowing.

Obi-Wan nods, unwilling to argue the point. “All right. It’s still not appropriate. Any other relationship between padawan and master confuses the initial one and—”

“And when I’m a knight?” Anakin asks and Obi-Wan is very familiar with the set of his mouth, the accompanying tone that suggests this isn’t a subject he’s going to drop. And perhaps it’s selfish or perhaps Obi-Wan doesn’t want a fight to mar an otherwise nice evening, so he cedes ground.

“Then,” Obi-Wan says, “we can talk about it. But don’t worry about it until then, eh? Before that time, you may just find someone more interesting to you than your old master.”

“You’re not old,” Anakin says immediately. “And you’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful.” This last is almost whispered as Anakin turns and leaves the kitchenette, leaves their rooms.

Months later, when they’re tasked with seeing to the safety of Senator Amidala, Obi-Wan watches Anakin’s eyes light up when he sees her, watches the nervous dance his padawan does, the posturing and heroic assurances, and while he’s thankful someone else has caught Anakin’s attention—though he does have to remind the boy of their duties as Jedi—there’s the smallest part of him that aches, just a little, at how quickly his place of affection has been given away.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Drunken Kisses

He's 17 and drunk on Corellian Ice Brandy when he kisses his master for the first time.  

His friends had thought it would be a good idea to do a late birthday celebration while they were all planet-side, invading his room, decking him out in civilian clothes and dragging him to the clubs, where he let himself be lost in the music and the lights and the throng of bodies. And then one body in particular. A young man–older than him, still–tall, lithe, with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, a crooked nose and a warm smile.

Obi-Wan had seen the man across the room and might have sent a tendril of the Force outward, seeking, brushing against him to get him to look up as Obi-Wan came near, smiled and put the shimmer, sheerness and cut of his civilian clothes to his advantage.

The guy dances up behind him, big hands sliding over Obi-Wan’s hips, fingers tickling up his sides, his rib cage, coming up to slide over his shoulders, his neck, grasping his braid and turning Obi-Wan around with it, tilting his face up.

The light glitters across the man’s face, makes his eyes shine green, gold, then blue. Then the man’s mouth is on his. Obi-Wan’s not sure who moved first. Teeth nibble at his lips, then a tongue darts over his mouth and pulls back, replaced by a plush bottom lip and the taste of brandy.

He lets the man buy more drinks and feed them to him, makes faces at his friends laughing at him from a corner booth. He lets himself be pulled back to the dance floor in between drinks, for a slow song, a fast song, then a mid-tempo beat and more slow, warm kisses.

He doesn’t let the man take home, despite the ache growing between his legs, the warmth curling in his belly.

Obi-Wan’s friends take him back to the Temple, leave him at the door to his quarters, Garen with a wink, Bant with a smile.

Qui-Gon is in the common room when Obi-Wan comes in, sitting in his chair, cup of tea at his side, reading something on his data pad. Though muted and hazy through the alcohol, he can feel Qui-Gon’s mind coiled, considering and Obi-Wan thinks it’s a mystery novel he’s reading. Qui-Gon’s hair is pulled back in a tight plait, the warm light of the room making it shine. Obi-Wan can smell the oil Qui-Gon uses to groom his beard, heady with the faintest hint of citrus and he follows it to the chair.

“Did you have fun, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asks without looking up

“Yes. Only…” Obi-Wan trails off, considering.

“Only?” Qui-Gon looks up then, data pad coming to rest on his lap.

“Only, there was something missing,” Obi-Wan says, voice a whisper.

Then he kisses Qui-Gon. Or tries to. He misses Qui-Gon's mouth by a hair's breadth, placing an open mouthed kiss against the curve of his master’s lower lip, the coarse hair there scratching against his tongue. But he corrects easily enough and – yes – his master tastes like black tea and spiced honey

And Obi-Wan thinks he’s being kissed back. Then he’s sure he’s being kissed back as feels the flicker of Qui-Gon’s surprise fade to a rush of warm arousal. Qui-Gon cups the back of his head, fingers tangling in the short hair, holding him steady and it’s so different from the kisses earlier this evening. Qui-Gon’s mouth moves with purpose over his, tongue sliding between Obi-Wan’s lips, curling against his palate, stroking the rough rag of his own tongue and then pulling away. The warm arousal is tempered by responsibility.

Qui-Gon pushes him back, keeps his hands on Obi-Wan’s forearms.

This is not the time, my Obi-Wan.

Then they’re in Obi-Wan’s room and Obi-Wan’s not quite sure how they got there, but Qui-Gon’s helping him into his sleep tunic, tucking him into bed like he hasn’t since Obi-Wan was 14 and sick with some new strain of Dantooine flu. The last thing he remembers before he slips into sleep are lips brushing his forehead, the warmth of affection flooding through the bond he shares with his master.

[ilcuoreardendo-fic]

Do I work on my Vaderwan story? (Acquisition) Do I work on the epilogue for my pre-Sabriel Nothing Like a Little Deus Ex Machina fic? Do I work on my Obi-Wan 10Kisses collection? The various Star Wars drabbles that keep popping into my head? Or do I finish laundry and make some food for the week so I don’t have to cook after getting home from work?

Or do I play video games and forget about the world outside for a while?

Decisions, decisions.

[attractiverandomness]

Theme ❤❤❤ You traded your ship for me? ~ #KillianJones #love #kiss #fun #Amazing #10kisses #epic #sweet #EmmaSwan #Emmian #perfect #CaptainHook #CaptainSwan #cute #OnceUponATime #OUAT #otp #abc