"You're beautiful."

It hangs, delicate and frightening in the air. Like a bird that's escaped its cage. You're afraid of the things it might start knocking over.

"Gorgeous, I think would be the word."

A humanitarian aid mission had brought Obi Wan to your home planet, and from the moment you'd first spoken to him, you'd have given anything just to be near him a little longer - to have him spare a few moments of his time; a few words. And to your surprise, he'd given you much more than that.

As part of an underground rebel network on your Separatist-occupied homeworld, you'd been assigned to work together. Secret meetings and missions had become shared smiles, and long nights together had lately turned to... well, moments like this. Moments where you never wanted the silence to end.

You'd been discussing an upcoming gala, where you would be working undercover to get close to a Separatist leader by meeting him on the dance floor. You'd made an off-the-cuff joke about not being sure you could keep his attention, wearing the dress Republic intel support had given you. Obi Wan had assured you the dress wouldn't matter. And then he'd caught your eye in that way of his.

How is it that his gaze has that sparkle, even in shadow? Even in this barely-lit apartment serving as a rendezvous point in the city center, with its bare walls and cold, sparse furnishings, you feel a glow just looking at him.

"I'd have thought that would be beneath the notice of a Jedi."

He smiles, and it pulls you down with an ache that's been growing steadily all night.

"I'm not a droid. I do have blood in my veins. And I can see what's plainly there."

He says the last part half looking at you, and half glancing down at the holopad on the table.

You clear your throat. "Droids can see, too."

His smile melts into something more serious. "They can see the color in a work of art, but they can't see its beauty."

"Is that what I am? A piece of art?" You ask, voice going soft. You aren't sure how you want him to answer.

He doesn't drop your gaze this time. He holds it, long and steady until you feel a rising in your chest.

"No," he says softly. "No. A piece of art could fascinate me. Could captivate me. Could draw me in with loveliness. And still, it wouldn't..."

You lean closer, waiting for him to finish with something that will snap you back to reality. "Yes?"

He brings his gaze back up quickly from where it had been fixed on your lips. "Still. It could not make me wish to..."

"What?" You ask, not letting him look away.

He brings his mouth to yours, closing his eyes along the way like he's falling into it. He holds you both there, slow and soft, like you've never been kissed before. Like he's reluctant to move, and just wants to hold there. Feeling you.

When he finally does bring a hand to your jaw and start to kiss you deeply, he pulls away, breath trembling. "Stars, if you only knew how long I've waited-"

He kisses you again, cutting himself off as his lips capture yours more and more hurriedly. He slides his thumb beneath your ear, his wide palm cradling you as he pulls you in again and again.

"How long?" you ask, needing to hear it. It can't have been half as long as you.

He breathes his reply along the warmth of your open mouth. "The first day. From the very first moment."

You sigh, wanting to crawl out of your seat and climb atop his lap. "Obi Wan..."

"Yes, call me that."

Not 'Master Jedi'. His name. Something you've only used in private. You hadn't known it had this effect on him.

"Obi Wan, I want you." You suck his lip, and he moans. "I want you so much. Please, can I..."

You pull back, looking down between you and seeing him hard, pulling tight against his pants. A flush colors his face beautifully while you wait for his permission. He leans in and kisses you again, then admits the truth you both already know. "I'm afraid this is all I have to offer. And already it's too much. Too far."

You don't know how to put into words that even knowing he feels the same is enough. Instead, you slide your fingers around the nape of his neck and pull him closer, kissing him until you can hardly breathe.

You revel in every noise he makes. When you suck on his tongue, he sighs in a way that almost becomes a soft growl. He opens his mouth further for you, letting you in, and you listen to his breaths become shorter and sharper with each new movement, each connection.

Before you'd known Obi Wan, you'd never met a Jedi. You'd heard the stories, seen the war footage on the holonet. They were supposed to be like gods. Untouchable and deadly. Something about him has always seemed more than mortal, but in this moment as the heat of your lips turns into a low and harsh-fought whimper in the back of his throat, you can see he was telling the truth: There's blood in his veins. He's man as much as god. And he comes.

The pitch of his moans rise to a fevered, shuddering, "Ah-" and then a following smatter of wide-mouthed syllables, as he tries to get ahold of himself.

You pull back, watching him with concern at first, before you realize what's happening. As his orgasm overtakes him, you feel at once a surge of understanding and the white-hot thrill of desire that comes along with it. The muscles of his neck and shoulders tighten, and he looks at you with such desperate, animal panic that you can nearly feel your eyes glaze over with sheer want.

Lashes fluttering, he groans out a helpless sound when you kiss him again, and it's over. There's a damp spot at the front of his pants, growing as he shifts uncomfortably to cover himself.

"I- ah- I, I haven't- I mean to say..."

You don't give him time to pull back, or turn away. If he hadn't expressly told you only moments ago that you didn't have permission to do so, you'd be cleaning him up with your mouth right now.

"Don't."

He looks at you, panting still. Unable to respond.

"Don't say that you're sorry. Just tell me - would you like to make me feel good too?"

He doesn't reply, but his brow creases in an urgent sort of way that says he's heard you.

"You wouldn't need to touch me. I can take care of that. Would you like that, Obi Wan?"

He takes three long breaths that bear the weight of everything.

"Yes."

And that's how it starts. He watches as you come undone for him, and you do everything you can to pull him apart at the seams without ever getting undressed. Weeks turn to months. Months of creativity. Months of lying to yourselves and each other, promising that it will go no further than this. That you don't need more.

Until one night, the lying becomes too much. One wrong turn in the light, and the cracks show.

"I want to touch you," he'd admitted beneath your ear, voice curled up tight, ready to break.

And that's all it had taken. The saying it - the hearing it, out loud.

That's how it happens. That's how you find yourself in a hotel room reserved with false names. That's why you're sitting at the edge of a bed with a man who is decidedly not Obi Wan kneeling between your legs.

That's why Obi Wan watches, silent and patient, as the man's hands skim your thighs until his fingers are kissing the hem of your dress.

Because Obi Wan can't touch you. Not in the real way.

You take in a slow breath, pressing your palms back against the mattress. The hands on your skin are warm. They invite you to relax. They have so much give. He isn't holding you; just framing you.

Keeping your eyes lowered, you arch your back, shifting under his touch as the man with soft, dark eyes eases his hands up beneath your dress and gently hooks your panties, tugging them down. Your breath catches, and you steady yourself.

"Don't tear them," you murmur, your voice going soft and a little shy.

The man - the stranger - only looks at you with a shake of his head, his gaze wide and unassuming, firm in his understanding. He won't tear anything that you don't ask him to. He's a professional.

When he pulls the thin fabric down your legs, you shiver at the feeling. He slides one of his hands to your upper thigh to hold you in place and the other nudges betwen your legs, teasing at your inner thigh before he drags two fingers over where he's exposed you.

And Obi Wan sits across from you, still as stone.

It had taken a lot of convincing. Obi Wan had assured you that he wanted this. That it would bring him pleasure to see you being pleasured. That it wouldn't bother him, watching another man do everything he wanted to do to you. And eventually, you had decided to believe him. You want anything he's willing to give, and if this is the closest you can get to feeling his hands on your body, you won't deny him.

"Do you like that?"

The man's voice penetrates the silence, bringing his eyes up to yours. He's teasing you lightly, waiting before he makes another move.

You bite your lip, then nod. "Yes."

"Do you want more?"

You finally draw your gaze up to look at Obi Wan. He's reclined in his seat, one hand on the arm of the chair and the other splayed lightly over his mouth. He's draped in his robes, looking as intense and enigmatic as ever.

You answer the question.

"Yes."

His eagerness is... fine. Just that - fine. You wish, knowing it's an impossible thing to ask, that he was a bit more hesitant. That you could picture firmer hands touching you - not soft and smooth, but rough and calloused. Not steady, but unsure.

He sinks his fingers into you, and you sigh into the feeling. It's gentle and slow, and he works up to his knuckles before he stops. Your lashes flutter and you moan, sinking back onto your elbows.

The hand Obi Wan had been using to cover his mouth rests on the other side of his chair, now.

The man hums softly. "That good?"

You nod, melting into the bed with the knowledge that Obi Wan can see everything. Every movment of your hips. Every sigh you let escape.

"Mmhm."

"You like it when I do that?"

You sigh through your nose, but you try to keep your expression straight.

"Yeah," you breathe, urging him to stop talking and continue.

"Good, baby. Lie back and take it."

The corner of your mouth dips. He circles a thumb over your clit, then plays with it, making you twitch. You make a little noise in the back of your throat.

"Mm, did you like that?"

"Yes," you reply shortly.

Yes?

The voice in your mind is accented, silky and inscrutable in its emotion. You look up, catching Obi Wan's gaze. You hesitate, and then you say it again.

"Yes."

The warm, smooth thumb drags in circles over and over, as Obi Wan's words fill your head.

Tell him. Or I will.

You swallow, sparks shooting straight to your center. He could tell. Just from the sound of your voice, he knew.

"C-can you... slow down a bit? Can you just, um... ?"

The man slows, then stops. "Of course."

He softens his touch and strokes you more deliberately, and your eyes slip shut. The wetness between your legs grows as he teases you - slowly, this time. When he slides a finger back inside you, it's coated in your slick, and he pumps his knuckle, then brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks.

"You taste good," he tells you, sliding two fingers back.

Obi Wan shifts in his seat.

You give another moan as he begins to fuck you with both fingers, drawing in and out. He circles your clit again and again, making you squirm. You give yourself over to the feeling. Seeking pleasure, even if he's moving too fast again. You can work with this, though. If only he would...

"That feel good, pretty girl? You like that?"

You give an affirmative kind of noise, nodding.

I should think... The warmth of his voice wraps around your mind again. He would feel that dishonesty.

You keep your eyes shut, not willing to look at him as you whisper, "It feels good."

'Good' is not what you are here to feel.

You whine, knowing that the man between your legs is taking it as a compliment, when in reality it's the authority with which Obi Wan is speaking that's making you buck your hips beneath his touch.

"Use your fingers, deeper. Please? Could you?" The tremble in your voice isn't from being shy. It's neediness, knowing Obi Wan is watching every inch of your body.

"Anything you ask," the man replies, obediently moving his hand. He curls up higher, and you can feel the tension in his wrist while he works to wring out pleasure from you.

The steady rhythm of warm, thick fingers feels good in a mechanical way, pressing into you just enough to... tease. It's like he's just, slightly... off...

And suddenly, everything is so perfectly on.

"That- there, it's-" you snap off the sentence, not even finishing your praise. It's overwhelming, now, the way he's angled and pressing against that perfect spot. Nothing like he was only moments before. Almost as if someone had guided his hand exactly where it needed to be.

Almost as if someone could feel your very pleasure from the source and was bearing down on it with expert accuracy.

You lift your eyes to meet Obi Wan's.

He hardly moves. His only reply is a slow, brief nod.

Your mouth falls open, responding in equal measure to the shock and the way his fingers are moving inside you.

The man between you grins. "Better this way?"

You nod, panting out, "Please don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he assures you, dragging in and out with exactly the pressure you need.

"S-so good. I'm gonna-" you whimper, trailing off. It's all too much. How is he doing this to you so quickly? "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

You whine it out without thinking, surrendering to the build and the heat and the sharp and sudden feeling of bliss that's hinting at the edge of your consciousness-

Just for him to suddenly tear it away.

You gasp, then hold back a high mewling sound in your throat. He's pulled out. His fingers aren't buried inside you anymore, and instead he's using them to stroke you lightly while you tremble. Reflexively, you look to Obi Wan. Any lightness that had been in his eyes before is gone.

"Can't have you coming already, can we?," the dark-haired man soothes, taking off his shirt. He's well-muscled and his arms flex as he reaches down to unbutton his pants. "Not until you get what you came for, right?"

Everything he's doing is off to the side, in your peripheral vision, as you watch Obi Wan. He's still sitting in that same position, a rim of white beneath the blue of his eyes. You have his full attention.

The man strokes himself a few times, still half-clothed and kneeling at the edge of the bed. You let out a soft whine, in response to his question. To remind him that you do want this.

To remind Obi Wan that you do want this. If this is what he wants.

If this is the closest thing you'll ever have to feeling him inside you.

As the man positions himself above you, you swallow and try to picture what you really want: Obi Wan crossing the room and pulling the man off you in a fit of rage.

You think about Obi Wan finally giving in to his passion and throwing him out of the room so he can have you to himself. Tearing off your dress and forcing you into the bed, jealousy overtaking him. You think about him fucking you with a wildness and fervor he's been suppressing since the moment you entered the hotel. Since the moment the other man dared to touch you.

You picture all of this, and as you look into his eyes, you feel it all fade. Because no matter how long you wait for it, no matter how badly you might wish for it, that simply isn't how he is.

You smile softly. Then you look into the warm eyes just above you.

"I think it's time for you to leave."

He raises his brows. "What, now?"

You give a steady nod, and he's graciously gone with hardly enough time for the credits to transfer.

The door closes, and you cross the room.

"Was it too much?" Obi Wan asks apologetically, as you turn to face him.

You shake your head, gently pressing your fingertips into his chest until he backs up to the chair again.

He sits.

"Do you know what I've learned from spending time with you, Obi Wan?"

You ask it innocently, with no inflection in your voice. As if you aren't slipping your hands beneath his belt and deftly unbuckling it.

His eyes stay fixed on yours. He doesn't look down. "I... would be quite interested to hear."

"I've learned that you're good with your hands." You go on talking, unfastening the top of his pants. "That's a given. You're very clever, of course..."

You have to stop for a moment, taking a breath at the sight of him. He's completely hard for you, shining with precum and twitching when you rest a steady hand at the base, over his clothes. You look up at him, and realize he hasn't looked down once. As if he can ignore what you're doing. 

"And you're self-sacrificing. To a fault."

He parts his lips. "Is... that so?"

It comes out too breathy for him to sound unaffected. You slowly, gently place a hand on the wide arm of the chair, and ease one knee to his side. "So self-sacrificing that you would let another man pleasure me. So much so that you would beg me to allow it. That you would convince me it was what you wanted."

He leans back, giving you the room to bring your other knee to the side of him in the spacious chair. You hover over him like this, both arms extended behind his head and gripping the back of the chair as you lean in to whisper, "The good thing is, I've also spent enough time with you to learn one more thing."

Your pussy is so close that you can feel the heat from him, and you know he feels it too, because his voice goes hoarse when he replies, "And what is that?"

You smirk, grazing his ear with your bottom lip and feeling him shift beneath you. "You're a liar."

He freezes.

"So tell me, Obi Wan - and no lies this time - do you want me to stop?"

He says nothing. He still hasn't looked down. He's been holding you in his wide gaze since you climbed atop him, and though he looks like he's pleading for his life, he says nothing.

"Tell me you want this to stop," you urge, pushing him to say anything at all.

But he doesn't.

And you sink down until the wetness between your legs is swallowing the head of his cock.

Just the head, and the thickness of it is enough to nearly bring you to tears of relief. Obi Wan's mouth falls open, and his eyes finally shut.

You stay like that for long enough that he could push you away. Come to his senses and put and end to this. But instead he brings a hand to your waist and rests it there, making a soft "o" shape with his mouth when he does finally open his eyes again. He looks tortured.

And then you slide, inch by incredible inch, down the length of him until you're sitting in his lap.

He moans like you've driven a knife into him, and at last he looks down. "Please, don't- don't move."

Your pussy clenches tight at the mere sound of his voice, and you nod obediently. "Are you okay?"

"I... can't believe this is how you feel. It's incredible."

You moan, not able to contain yourself, and you lean forward to let him slide out a bit, murmuring into his ear, "Let me show you how good it can feel."

You drop back down, letting his cock slide easily into you again, and start to roll your hips, riding him almost painfully slowly, so you can feel everything you've wanted to feel for so long.

Between broken moans, Obi Wan starts to stammer out soft praises and eventually builds to piecing together sentences.

"I... I must tell you, they're not entirely true- your thoughts on my self-sacrifice."

You whimper as he starts to move his hips to meet yours. "No?"

"I might have thought so," he pants out, staring between your bodies as you grind on him. "Before he touched you."

You stop moving and Obi Wan takes over. He grips your waist, holding you in place as he thrusts.

You have a hard time finding your voice. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says, pulling you in to kiss you, "that if it had gone any further, it may have been... difficult for me to watch."

You moan, a wave of pleasure tingling down your spine as his words hit you at the perfect angle, right along with his cock. "You... You didn't like it?"

He's silent for a moment, and then he gently rolls his fingers under the sides of your dress. He slows his hips, pulling your dress over your head and leaving you naked on top of him. Then he kisses you so deeply it drives every thought that isn't him from your mind.

"I wanted," he admits, sucking softly at your bottom lip, "To tear out his fucking throat."

You groan deeply into his mouth and it's over in an instant. He holds you so perfectly steady, pounding into you to draw out your orgasm like he's done it hundreds of times before, despite never having laid a finger on you. The atomic bomb of his confession forces your body to respond with a blinding, frantic urgency, and you come suddenly and helplessly, all over his lap.

Obi Wan seems to snap the instant he feels you coming down. He cries out, murmuring curses as he spills into you, thrusting up and up and up until he holds himself there, watching his cum trickle down the sides of your legs and onto his robes.

You collapse on top of him, and his arms wrap around you, holding you close. You catch your breath for a long time, just listening to the sound of his heartbeat through the layers of clothing that still separate you.

You sink a hand beneath his outer robe after some time, steadying yourself to push up and off of him. He takes your hand and kisses it.

"Not yet. Stay. Just a moment longer."

You melt into a smile, then shift, his softening cock leaving you and drawing out a groan from him. But you stay, curled up in the chair, on his lap.

"I would have thought," you say finally, after stroking his beard for long enough to enjoy the silence, "that you would have worn something else. That... you wouldn't want your robes for something like this."

You feel his mouth curl up. "Yes, well. I had hoped it would help me remember my ideals."

Your heart sinks. "I suppose we've ruined them tonight."

His smile fades, but doesnt completely disappear. "Self-sacrifice, perhaps."

"Yes," you say, looking up at him from his chest. "And the rest."

"With how many of the Jedi ideals are you familiar?"

"Well..." You hesitate. "Not many, I suppose."

"Then here is your first lesson: The foremost of all Jedi teachings is the art of restraint."

"I'm well acquainted with that one."

"Then you should know, it took a great deal of restraint to let your consort leave with his head intact."

You smile, despite yourself. "Well, what about attachment? That's a pretty big one, isn't it?"

He grows quiet, contemplative, but not sad. 

"Yes. You're right."

He leans to kiss you, and you kiss him back, but you still wait for an answer.

"Well?"

"As I said - I'm not a droid. There will always be certain struggles. And you, darling, are worth the struggle."

--

A/N: This is it - my last fic! Glad I could finally find the time to post it. As mentioned in my hiatus post, I won't be writing anymore after this, but I'll stick around to try and answer as many messages and things as I can this week. Thank you for reading, and for all your support over the course of my longer works. It's been a blast writing for this fandom and I can't think everyone enough!

--

My original plan was to finish at least the first choice from this poll, but after realizing the Joel Miller fandom had a slight edge in numbers, I decided to do both the top two. Just haven't had the time to actually finish until now, sadly. As I mentioned in my post this summer, I hate when authors just drop off the face of the Earth and I wonder if they're doing okay months/years later, I wanted to make sure I gave a real goodbye when I knew I wouldn't have time to write anymore.

So I'll put up the fic Sunday when I have the time to format it, and then spend another week still logging in pretty regularly to reply to comments or messages, and after that I'll be pretty much done. It's been lovely getting to know everyone and I've definitely been missing it, so it's a bittersweet goodbye for sure, but I know I just can't find the time anymore. As always, can't say enough thanks to everyone and if you've sent me a DM or commented in the past couple months I'm terribly sorry for my lateness but I'll try to get some replies in this week.

Finally, here's the (still untitled) final Obi Wan x Reader one off coming Sunday :)

Where the hell does he get off talking to you that way?

You sink into the repeating pattern of frustration, your mind humming the same old bars - Who does he think he is? Why won't he just cooperate like the rest of you? How does he do this to you every time?

As you stalk through the forest, your head is still echoing with your latest bout. He's been shrugging you off, pushing back every time your paths cross. Each time, you think, this will be it - you're going to make him look you in the eyes and answer your questions. You're going to find out what he's doing here. What his intentions are.

It never happens.

Since Joel and his brother joined your group a few weeks ago, you've been on more on-edge every day. It's like the closer you get to Boston, the more reactive you are. The more it feels like there is at stake. And now, here are Joel and Tommy - two unknowns. It's unsettling. And Joel's closed-off demeanor isn't helping.

So, you break the rules, just this once. You've been on the road for months without a moment of real privacy. The group had decided long ago that nobody left camp with less than two people, for safety. But right now, you're tired of the rules. You need to get away, and you already know the area. You'd scouted the location as part of a pair earlier in the day, and you'd seen a few rabbits along the way. It's the perfect excuse to get some time to clear your head.

You hear a rustling in the tall grass and train your rifle on it, only to lose the rabbit as it tears off into the woods. You didn't even have time to think about lining up a shot. Joel is taking up too much space in your head right now. Nothing else is even making a dent.

You all have things you'd rather keep personal, but he didn't have to be such an asshole about it. He didn't have to get up and walk away like you weren't even worth his time.

And he didn't have to tell you off in that smooth, authoritative voice of his, either.

"I just asked where you're from, that's all. What is your problem? The rest of us are open with each other. If I had my way, that's how it would have to be for everyone in this camp - no secrets. No strangers. Just honesty."

"S'a good thing you don't make the decisions 'round here, then, ain't it?"

Your face burns with equal parts embarrassment and irritation.

Shit. Here comes another rabbit that you aren't ready for.

You make a half-hearted effort to raise up your rifle again, only realizing too late that the thing emerging from the grass is much bigger than what you've been hunting.

The creature gurgles, crawling and then lunging at you while you choke on a scream.

Stumbling backward, you throw up an arm against its chest, pushing the gnashing teeth from your face and using your other hand to yank on the tattered remains of a jacket around its shoulders. It does no good, and in a matter of seconds your arms are caught in a too-human grip as it throws you to the ground. The noise in your throat finally escapes as panicked whimpering.

You are about to die.

That's all you have time to think before a gunshot rings out in the clearing.

The infected thrashes wildly, sprawling over you and eventually going still. Hyperventilating, you look around for anything else that might emerge from the tall grass while you're pinned beneath the dead weight.

There's only silence, and your frantic breathing.

When nothing else comes, you try to free your legs, and after struggling to get enough purchase against the ground, you drag yourself out from underneath it, gasping for air.

"Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ...."

You repeat it absently, mind half-gone with fear as you look behind you, searching for the source of the gunshot.

Joel steps through the trees in the distance, reloading as he glances around the area, waiting for more to emerge. As you stumble toward him on shaking legs, he brings his eyes over to you.

"Sh-shit. Thank you," you tell him, hating the way your voice is trembling. You've seen infected before, even killed a few, but this is the closest you've ever come to a bite. You can't hide your fear; can't save face now.

He nods stiffly. "Alright?"

"Yeah." You cough, trying to swallow and nod your head at the same time. "Yeah, yeah, I think so."

"You think so?"

His question sinks in. You force yourself to stop coughing and get somewhat more composed. Then you nod again. "I'm fine."

He looks over your shoulder, still watching your surroundings. "What are you doin' out here on your own?"

"I was... hunting."

You've almost closed the gap between you, and Joel takes one step back.

"Rule is, no less than two."

You blink. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But... I scouted this area earlier. I didn't think it would be a problem."

"Well, now we got a problem."

You stop walking toward him. "What?"

"You've been out here on your own for how long?" he asks.

You're silent.

"How long?"

"Just a little while."

Admitting it's been hours is not going to help your case.

"Any more of those?"

You shake your head. "That was the first I saw."

"And you said you're fine."

"Yes," you insist. "It didn't bite me. I swear."

His dark eyes run over your body, and he stands still, clearly listening for anything else that might be out there. The tension grows thick, and when he finally speaks again, it's low, and grave, and final.

"I'm gonna need to see."

Your heart skips a beat. "What?"

He gives an abrupt nod downward. "You're gonna get your clothes off, and we're gonna see if you're telling the truth before we head back to camp."

Your whole face flushes with heat. Something shifts inside you, the gravity of the situation hitting you in the stomach.

"I am not doing that."

"Then I'm not takin' you back."

"I'll go on my own."

When you take a quick step to walk past him, he trains the end of his rifle on you. "No, you won't."

You freeze, locking eyes with him. He shoulders the gun so easily, like it's second nature. He isn't jumpy, hands tense on the grip. Just steady. Matter-of-fact.

"S'like you said before," he tells you. "We're strangers. And you already lied to me once."

You give a questioning look and he shakes his head. "Nobody's seen you since you talked to me. Been out here for hours."

Your breath tightens. He didn't show up by chance. They sent him. And they didn't send someone who knew you well - someone to keep you safe. They sent him because they knew he wouldn't have a problem putting you down if it needed to be done.

Or maybe...

Maybe they didn't send him at all. Maybe you're just alone in the woods with a man who's holding a gun and telling you to take your clothes off.

There's no point in wondering. Your options are the same.

"I-" Your voice breaks on the single syllable. You try again. "I... can't, I-"

You can see from his face that nothing you can say will make a difference.

"Alright," you finally say quietly. You take a breath. "Just- just give me a second."

You slide the pack from your shoulders, slowly. No sudden movements. After you set it on the ground, Joel lowers his weapon, holding it sideways. As you reach for the hem of your thin t-shirt, he lifts his chin just a little - the only change on his face.

You squeeze a blink a little longer than you need to, hesitating, and he just lets the silence grow. It's almost worse that way. You wish he would shout at you - tell you you're wasting time; being stupid. That this doesn't matter.

But it does to you. And his quiet patience is making this feel like more than the cold, clinical thing it should be.

You can't look at him as you lift your shirt up, revealing your stomach. You try not to think about him following your every move, searching every inch of your bare skin. As you toss the shirt over onto your backpack, your arms reflexively move to cross over your chest, to cover yourself up, though your bra is still doing most of the covering.

"Turn around."

He doesn't waste any time, doesn't make any comments. Just gets straight to the point. You turn slowly, trembling despite focusing so hard on pretending this isn't affecting you. When you complete your circle, you meet his eyes for the first time.

You don't know what you expected to see there. Derision? Interest? A bitten lip; a lewd grin? You don't see... anything. He's as reserved as ever.

Your fingers work to unbutton your jeans, and just as you begin to peel the fabric down your hips, he interrupts.

"You're shaking."

You look up at him, trying to make your voice hard. "Yeah. I am."

"Well, why are you shakin' like that if you told me the truth?"

You bit your lip on the inside, staring at him. Would that information be smart or stupid to share? Looking at him right now, you don't know. So you stay quiet.

His finger eases toward the trigger, though he doesn't point the gun at you. Yet.

"Well?"

Doesn't matter if it's smart. You're going to have to say something. And your brain hasn't caught up enough to come up with a lie. Not one that he wouldn't see right through, anyway.

"I've never... done this before."

"Done what?" His voice is harsh.

You can't meet his eyes. "Been undressed. With someone. With a man."

He fixes you with a stare. His eyes don't widen; his face just drops. He doesn't look shocked. He looks frozen. Petrified.

"You're sayin'-"

"Yeah," you cut him off a little too quickly. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

He doesn't reply, and when the moment gets too tense for you to say anything more, you take a deep breath and start to push your jeans the rest of the way down your hips.

"That's enough."

You stop, thumbs pressed inside denim, and stare upward. "You- you sure?"

He nods just once. "Yeah."

You can see him swallow as he steps forward, picking up your shirt and handing it back to you. You let go of the fabric in your hands to take your shirt from him.

"Okay," you answer, half-numb as you put the shirt back on. "Thanks."

The front of your jeans is still open, and he looks away while you zip yourself up, then mutters, "S'get headed back. Gonna be dark soon."

You pick up your backpack first, then your gun, and move to follow him toward the path. You walk in silence for some time, watching his broad frame clear the branches ahead of you.

A long time passes before he speaks up again. When he does, you're emerging from the forest, the last golden rays of the sun bathing the camp in the distance.

"Austin."

You slow down and turn to look at him.

"You asked. Before."

He holds your gaze, then keeps hiking toward camp as he speaks to you without looking back. "I'm from Austin."

And just like that, you aren't strangers.

--

You don't remember exactly when he became the dog at your heel. It happened in pieces; moments.

He'd brought you a hunting knife. Clean and sharp - not rusted at the handle like the one you'd been using. He switched out the batteries in your flashlight without saying a word. He didn't argue anymore when you asked him to move his stuff, or stand in your way when you were trying to work.

One night, when you mention a hunt in the morning, he says, "Wake me when you go." And you do.

Things are different, now. Neither of you wants to look at it too hard. You don't know why he won't, but you know damn well why you won't - he's been all you can think about since that day in the woods.

If you're being honest, even before that.

He treats you unlike anyone else in camp, and they all know it. You both know it. But neither one of you will speak about it.

Not until the night you're sitting in the woods together, alone, and you can't hold back anymore.

Face illuminated by a single battery-powered lantern, you listen to the crickets, and you think about what it could mean to say it out loud.

He holds up his jacket, pulling you from your thoughts.

"You cold?"

You shake your head, then immediately regret it. It's a warm night, but god, it would have been nice to wrap yourself inside it. Smell him on the collar.

You watch him, analyzing his movements. The tightening of his arms as he rolls up his jacket to put it in his pack. The slow way he looks up and out of your campsite, staring into the woods like he can see something you can't. The way he deliberately keeps his eyes from drifting in your direction. Like he can't feel you watching him.

"Do you ever..." You start, then stop, hesitating. Is this too much? Are you about to fuck this up entirely?

When he fixes you with that impatient stare, his big brown eyes holding you by the neck, it doesn't matter anymore. You force the rest of the words out.

"Do you ever wonder exactly where you'd be right now, if it wasn't for..." You gesture vaguely to the state of the world with a flick of your wrist. "All this?"

He blinks, almost flinches, before he answers. "No."

He's lying. You can always tell when he answers too quickly. You wait for more.

"No sense wonderin' about anything besides the here-and-now."

He turns away, looking forward, and you match him. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

You tense up even more, stomach squirming as you fight your nerves. "I... sometimes do anyway, though. Think about the choices I made before the outbreak. If I would have done things differently, would I have ended up somewhere else."

You fiddle with the end of your shoelace. "I always felt kind of stupid for some of my choices. But, now, I..." You turn to him. "I'm sort of glad I ended up where I did."

He looks back at you. Swallows thickly. "We oughta get some sleep."

Your heart is pounding. If you back out now, you're never going to get the courage again. "Joel."

He just stares, setting his jaw.

"I'm glad I ended up here. With you."

You lean in and kiss him.

He pulls in a breath through his nose, as sharp and sudden as if he'd stepped on a nail. Blood is thrumming in your ears, your arm shaking as you hold yourself up, leaning on one hand to reach him. His mouth opens up for you, letting his lips softly meet yours - once, twice, three perfect times - before he pulls back.

He stares at you with wide, unblinking eyes.

"The hell are you doing?"

"Wh-what?" you murmur back, reeling. His response catches you like a slap. You try to speak, but all that comes out is a stammering mess. "I'm sorry. I thought... I mean, I just thought you..."

"You don't have to tell me what you thought," he interrupts. "Just quit thinkin' it."

He had leaned into it. Hadn't he? You'd felt him kiss you back.

Didn't you?

Something occurs to you that hadn't, before. "Is there somebody-"

"No."

"Then why-"

"I'm old enough to be your..." He cuts himself off. "No. Alright? Flat-out. No."

He stands to get his bed roll, walking away.

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions," you say quietly.

He picks up his bedding in a stiff hand, glaring at it. Then he looks back at you. "That don't make it right."

You try to come up with something to say, but nothing comes out.

"Get some rest. We got a long way back in the mornin'."

--

6 Months Later

It turns out, groups that arrive together at the Boston QZ are processed into housing at the same time, which meant that you weren't surprised the first time you saw him across the hall in your building. You were, however, a little surprised when you always seemed to find yourself getting the same job assignments at the same times, and finding the same extracurricular activities as well.

There are only so many smuggling routes in and out of the area, and Joel seems to make it his business to join you on as many runs as his schedule will allow. Somehow, you thought things might be different here. That you might go your separate ways. If anything, he's around more often now that things are quieter. Always finding something in your apartment that needs fixing. Always trailing along with you to one job or another, above-board or below.

And the day you twist your ankle on a sanitation shift, you're glad for it.

"Ah-" You suck air between your teeth, resting your foot on the ground fully for the first time. "Shit, it hurts."

Joel wipes his hand on a rag, brows furrowed. "Put it down flat."

You give him a pleading look, but he stares back harder, and you straighten out your arch, wincing slightly.

"Ain't that bad. You'll be alright."

You huff out a breath. "Well it's going to be a bitch walking home."

He softens.

You were more-or-less complaining just to complain, but he silences you when he spreads his arms, gesturing for you to come closer.

"Come on. C'mere."

He pulls your arm up and over his mountain of a shoulder. Then he wraps an arm around your waist, the both of you facing forward. The feeling of him holding you steady is enough to knock you right out at the knees, and - Christ - how is it possible he smells so good when he's sweating down the front of his shirt?

"Go on and use me like you need to."

He grunts the words simply, and you look over at him for a reaction, but he just nudges his chin ahead. He's telling you to walk.

Oh. You're supposed to be walking. Not thinking about how many times you've dreamed of him saying those words in a different context.

The trip is short; only a few blocks, but you spend every moment of it focused on the weight of his arm and the feeling of his hand gently holding you up. You stumble once, reaching the stairs to your building, and he catches you like a seatbelt across your waist. There's no give, his arm bracing you like a steel bar. He lets out a soft sound, more from surprise than effort.

"Steady," he tells you, his voice a little too tender to be any type of warning.

You catch his eyes, and he glances away first.

"Oughta... take a minute," he says, slowly extricating himself so as not to let you slip.

You nod, leaning against the handle at the lowest section of concrete stairs. "Yeah. Thanks."

He nods in a way that's sort of shaking his head at the same time; the way he always tells you that you're welcome without admitting he did something. Then he looks down. "How's it feeling?"

You sit down, stretching out your foot and rotating it a bit. "Think I'll be fine. It doesn't... really feel that bad after all."

He reaches for his back pocket, pulling out a flask. "Here. Take the edge off."

You look at him in surprise, deciding whether or not to comment on him walking around all day with this. You settle on a glance of silent thanks instead, and unscrew the top.

Tamping down the childish thrill running through you at the idea of putting your lips where his have been, you take a tentative pull, and wince. "Gin?"

His mouth curls up at the edges, not quite forming a smile. "You'll be first to know when we get a good shipment of bourbon in here."

You wipe your mouth, handing it back to him. "Oh come on. Caroline's gotta have something better than this."

He shrugs at the mention of your mutual acquaintance through smuggling channels. Then you watch his throat bob as he takes a long drink. "Does the job."

It must burn him as badly as it did you, but he doesn't show it.

You take a moment to breathe, stretching out your ankle and feeling where it's tender. After the moment passes, you bring your eyes up to Joel again.

"Thanks. For the help."

He holds your gaze a little longer this time. "Aht's okay."

He breaks it off again, to look ahead. "Think you can make it?"

You haven't stopped looking his way. "Yeah."

He gives you a sidelong glance, but doesn't fully turn his head. "Alright, then."

You start up the stairs, slowly, gripping the rail, and you talk as you walk.

"Can I... ask you something?"

"Uh huh," he allows, taking the stairs alongside you and watching as you go.

"When we made it here, to Boston, I kinda thought you... might not be around anymore. I figured you'd go with Tommy and..." You trail off. "Well, I'm just... happy you're still here. Happy, and surprised."

He turns the corner, looking at you as you reach the second floor. "Tommy... doesn't really need me anymore. Not the way he used to."

"And I do?"

He glances down at your foot, and you're forced to concede his point. "Fair enough."

The But part of your sentence draws out while he reaches his arm out, letting you grip onto him as you turn down the hallway. You rest your hand as lightly as you can on his arm. Truthfully, you hardly need it. But you aren't going to turn it down.

"But..." you continue, holding onto him. "I'm sure there are plenty of other people who could use someone like you around."

He lets the silence grow, and it's not until you reach his door that he gives a response. "What's your point?"

"The point is..." You bite your lip and slow down, forcing him not to walk any further; not to reach your door. "The point is, why spend all this time helping me out if you're not going to get anything in return?"

You hate the way it sounds; like you're accusing him of being selfish. You've rehearsed asking him this countless times, but it always comes out wrong.

"I don't want anything in return."

"I know that," you say quickly, frustrated with yourself. "I know. I just..."

You meet his warm gaze and get lost in it, the way he always looks at you - soulful and bitter, all at once. Like there are a million things he wants to say to you and blame you for.

"What if I really, really want to give you something in return?"

An exhale. A warning.

"I can't help it," you murmur softly, a little self-pitying. Maybe it's a little of the liquor helping to loosen everything you constantly have to hide behind your teeth. Maybe it's just the way he's letting you hold onto him, for once not distancing himself. "I just... really..."

You close your eyes and softly brush your lips against his. He just stands there, rigid and silent as a brick wall. Unyielding. But not moving.

When you bring your hand up to his chest, you force yourself to pull back and look at him. Your head feels lighter than air, and you can hardly stammer out, "I- I'm sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn't have done that."

He swallows, eyes accusatory and darker than you've ever seen them. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks.

"Got that right."

An explosive ringing in your ears drowns out all of your thoughts in an instant as he presses you up against the wall and crushes his lips against yours.

He cradles your neck in his hand, steadying your mouth with his thumb so he can press into you again and again, hungry and reckless. You moan quietly against him, and he hasn't even dipped his tongue inside. He's just methodically, ruthlessly tearing you apart with the softness of his mouth.

"Fuck," you whine, breathless. "God- Wanted this so bad..."

"Quit," he grinds out. When he pulls back to nip at your jaw, he wraps his hands tight around your waist. "You don't listen to me. I said no."

You nod, whines turning high and throaty as he drags his teeth along your neck. "Told you to leave it be." His teeth sink in. "Told you I can't give you what you're askin'."

He kisses you again, pulling all the breath from your chest and sending every thought of arguing flying from your mind.

"Joel..."

He draws in a deep breath at the sound of his name spilling out of your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck and draw him in closer, tasting him as deeply as he'll let you, and he groans. The sound goes straight between your legs.

"Please," you whisper against his lips. "Touch me, please-"

He looks at you with those sad brown eyes, and whispers back achingly, "Jesus, girl..."

And then he does.

He presses you back against the wall, teasing you through your jeans with two fingers. Your brows squeeze together, soft whines pouring out of you, urging him not to stop. Your legs are already shaking, ankle long forgotten as sharp pleasure mixes with the thrill and terror of him opening you up and pouring you out in the middle of the hallway.

He slides his big, warm hand between the fabric and your skin, and suddenly he's there. Just stroking you like it's where he's meant to be. Slowly drawing his middle finger through what he's done to you.

"F-ffuck-" you gasp, half-relieved and the rest of you already overwhelmed. "Oh my god..."

He pushes his hand deeper into your jeans and you can feel yourself gushing an embarrassing flood around his fingers.

"Christ," he breathes, knocking his head forward against the wall and closing his eyes, resting there for a moment. "You're so fuckin' wet. This all from just..."

You nod your head frantically, and he swallows, suddenly looking even more wracked with guilt.

"Shouldn't be doin' this," he tells you, even as his thick fingers curl up and push inside you.

A moan escapes you before you can stop it, and he covers your mouth, holding you tight beneath his palm. He looks down the hall, as if waiting for someone to step out. He slides his palm from your mouth once you've quieted, and you follow his line of sight, then glance at the door beside you.

"Take me inside," you pant out, helping him make the decision you can already see behind his eyes.

He hesitates only for a second, then pulls his hand from you to get his keys.

As he forces you backward through the open door, it's like his muscles don't even have to work to make you step in time with him. His shoulders are strong and steady, and you're on his bed before you can even think to catch yourself.

"Don't know the first goddamn thing 'bout what you're askin' for." His voice is plaintive, broken. Like he's lost a fight.

His hands find your waistband and he gets your jeans open faster than you'd have thought possible. His big palm cups you, not wasting any time. His middle finger paints circles over wet fabric and he leans right up against your ear. "You want me to take care of you, I'll take care of you."

His arm has you pinned down hard, and you're gripping it as he plays with you.

"But there's nothin' more I can do than that. You hear me?"

You nod, hiccuping instead of talking. Air is coming in choking gasps. He isn't going slow, giving you time to get used to the sensation. He's rubbing you wetter and wetter with a pace that shows his experience.

"F-fuck," you bite out, all of your senses overwhelmed. You want to tell him exactly how badly you've wanted this, and for how long. To beg him not to stop. But you can't get out anything but gasps. And it only worsens when he tugs your panties to the side.

"Shit. Joel-"

He's kissing down the open neckline of your shirt, skipping deliberately over your chest and stomach before he kneels at the edge of the bed. Slowly - achingly slowly - he slides his middle two fingers into your pussy and watches it like it's tearing him apart.

"This what you wanted, babygirl?" he asks, eyes drawing back up to your face. His thick fingers work you open, getting slicker each time he drags them in and out.

Your voice snaps in half, a whine turning ragged as your head falls back. Then he curls his knuckles, sliding deeper, and you feel him lean forward.

He pushes his tongue into you, and you feel the Earth shift.

"J-Joel!"

You can only think his name - nothing else exists. You reach for his temple, threading your fingers through his soft hair, and you lose yourself completely.

He groans and laps up the river of slick pouring out of you, fingers moving in perfect strokes. He's crushing you into the bed, like a punishment for asking more than he's willing to give, as he buries his face deeper into you.

He pulls his mouth off you long enough to pant out, "Taste so fuckin' good," like it's a confession he doesn't want to make. You see yourself glistening on his lips and all you can do is make a high, pathetic noise in your throat. He's fucking stunning - all hard angles and fury and guilt as he presses into you again.

He flicks his tongue over your clit and you can't last. It's too much - the feel of him being so close, touching you like no one else has. The hurt, angry glares that are seeping out of him despite his desperation to drink down every bit of you...

You come suddenly, pulling tight and unwinding the thread he's wrapped around you all at once. Your legs shake, pussy spasming as he holds you down and rides you through it.

And after you've drawn out the wave of your orgasm, he holds you there, still.

And his mouth softly starts to move again.

"Hah! Ahh-shit sshhit, stop! Stopstopstop," you hiss out between your teeth.

"You're not done."

You whimper, high and throaty. Yes, you are. It's going to hurt. You're going to-

"I am, Jesus, please, Joel-"

He spreads you with his fingers, mean and quick, looking between your legs to line up his mouth again. He swallows, then pushes his tongue hard into your swollen clit, rubbing it like he's trying to make you cry. It keeps you held up, floating on this slick plateau, and soon enough he shows you that he's in control here for a reason.

Your thighs squeeze around him without your permission. One of your hands grasps helplessly at his thick curls, and you come a second time. So fucking hard that it's embarrassing.

The tightness between your thighs snaps, bursting into a relief that settles, lighter than air, inside your chest. Panting, you hear your own voice breaking, murmuring praises, curses, half-formed words.

He keeps his mouth right where it is, resisting your hands at his shoulders until your frantic pushing turns weak, distracted and spent. He only lets up when you crumple, a whimpering mess beneath him.

And then he crawls up the bed, still dressed, to collapse beside you.

--

The next morning, everything's cold. The apartment, the sheets, your skin.

Joel's gone.

After some time wandering his kitchen, you give up on looking for a note. That isn't his style.

Neither are explanations.

You don't really need one, though. It's clear he hates himself for what's he's done. Maybe hates you, too.

A week passes, and you don't hear from him. You knock at his door without response. You take a different work shift to try and cross paths, but he's always somehow on a different schedule. Eventually, slowly, you begin to run into him again. He gives you sullen, empty nods when you see him in the hall. You give him hopeful glances that go unmet when you find him working across from you.

The whole thing should be awkward, but it isn't. It's smoldering. It hurts, and the worst part is, you're leaning into the pain.

Finally, one day, you have a good enough excuse to knock on his door and stay there until he answers. It takes a long time. But you know he's waiting for you to leave, and you aren't budging.

After some time, he opens the door, bleary-eyed and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. You've never seen him quite like this - less of a force of nature. Now he almost seems like just... a man. You weren't prepared for his salt-and-pepper curls to look so soft and touchable, matted up at the back of his head. He's been sleeping, you realize.

And he's waiting for you to say something.

"Caroline," you blurt. Then you pause, trying to remember the excuse that's put you in front of him. "She uh, found a job for me, uptown. Area Two."

He stares. "Alright."

"It's worth twice what we've been making on those tunnel runs."

He says nothing. You can't interpret this quiet, so you keep going.

"And, well... I was kind of hoping you'd help me out for half the cut."

"Caroline..." he drawls, shifting his weight, "Ain't exactly reliable."

"No," you concede. "But the pay is worth it. And it's easy work. Just have to meet a couple of guys and get around one checkpoint. That's it."

"Who are the guys?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't, uh, get names..."

Joel looks off to the side, clarifying, "Who do they belong to?"

You bite the corner of your lip. "Robert."

His posture changes, and you know the conversation is over. "Forget it."

"It's good money."

"Sure is," he replies easily. "But Robert's people are dangerous. Unpredictable. It ain't worth the risk."

"It's worth it to me."

"Don't," he warns.

"If you won't go, I'll find someone else who will."

"Then you're a damn fool. And so's Caroline for sendin' you."

It stings, but you push back. "I really think you should consider it. This run could... could change things."

"Listen." All the tiredness leaves his expression and he stands up straight. "I am tellin' you. Don't take this job."

You bite your lip. "I already took it. Guess I'll just have to find someone else."

He stiffens, looking like he's going to say something else, but doesn't. You watch him fall back into a familiar, blank expression.

"Well, have at it, then."

He moves to close the door, and you hand him a slip of paper before he can get it shut. "The address. In case you change your mind."

He looks down at the paper, then back up at you.

"Good luck," he says.

And for a moment, he actually seems to mean it.

Then the door closes, and you're on your own.

--

"You said you weren't coming."

Only hours later, and you've spent half the evening running for your life.

Joel had been right. In a way. The job was dangerous, but no more so than you'd expected. It might not have been so dangerous, though, had he not emerged from the darkness with guns blazing as soon as you seemed a little out of your depth.

He's taken you to a sort of safe house, at the midway point near your usual tunnel routes. There's an old hotel here that has some relatively cleaned-up rooms, and he's locked the door behind you after doubling back to make sure you weren't followed.

"Are you going to answer me?"

"What?" he snarls, bolting the door and not looking at you as he crosses the room.

You're still reeling, trying to keep your voice steady. "Two men are dead, Joel."

He faces you. "Two men who put their hands on you."

"I had it under control. Then you showed up in the middle of things. Why?"

He avoids your eyes for as long as he can, and finally answers, "Caroline sent me. Didn't want you going alone."

That makes you freeze.

You weigh your options, and then you lower your tone. "Did she?"

"Yes." He leans into the word.

When a deep silence pervades the space between you, there's only one thing left to say.

"That's interesting. Because this isn't Caroline's job. It's Jonathan's."

"Who the hell is Jonathan?"

"Caroline's new partner. It's kind of a messy situation. One you would have known about if you'd let me tell you. If you'd agreed to come in the first place."

His gaze shifts away, and then he takes in a breath as if to say something, but you cut him off.

"Why do you keep doing this?"

"Doin' what?"

"You say you won't show up, and then you do. You say you don't feel anything for me, but... do we really have to keep going like this?" Your voice goes soft, though you don't mean to let it. "What is it about me that makes you lie?"

He shakes his head. He doesn't answer.

You drop the pack you've been carrying from your shoulders to the floor, and sit on the end of the bed.

"You keep pushing me away and dragging me back all at once. Like..." you raise your head up to look at him. "Like what happened between us."

"We don't need to talk about that."

"I do."

He glances over at the door. At the bedspread. Anywhere but you. "I shoulda never let that happen. I knew better."

Your brows push together. "Knew better? Better than what?"

"Than..." he trails off. "Doesn't matter."

You exhale, tired of dancing around things. "I've been honest with you from the start. I don't understand why you can't be honest with me."

"'Cause I'm not..." His face suddenly holds a pained expression, and he doesn't finish.

You stand up, closing the distance between you slowly. "Not what?"

"Damn it, M'not gonna ruin the one good thing left."

You stop, stunned. "That's... that's what you think?"

"Yes."

"You think I'm..." Heat flushes into your face as you try to put the words together. "What, just this innocent girl who's- who's gonna be ruined as soon as I fall into bed with somebody?"

"No," he answers quickly, then takes a step toward you when you back away. "No. Not somebody. Me."

You blink. "What?"

"You wanna talk about it? Fine. We'll talk. You think I... got something to offer you. Some kinda life. But I don't."

"Joel..."

"I wanted you from day one. 'Course I fuckin' did. That don't mean anything."

The wind knocked out of you, all you can think is to softly reply, "Even if I want you back?"

He doesn't reply. His arms stay stiff at his sides as you come closer.

"Even if it's what I want, more than anything?"

"You don't know what the hell you want," he says softly, almost a whisper. There's no bite in his tone; he's only trying to convince himself.

You study him, pieces finally fitting together where they never had before.

"The thing is," you tell him, starting slowly and finding your way, "you think you have to keep me safe. Protect me from the big, bad, world out there. And you keep fucking it up."

His eyes flash, like you've punched him.

"You fucked up today, just by showing up. You fucked up a few weeks ago when you left me alone in your bed. You're gonna fuck things up right now when you break my heart again."

Joel's jaw is set, stiff. He looks like he hasn't breathed since you started speaking.

"You think I have any kind of future in this world without you? I need you, Joel. And I need you to stop fucking up."

There's a silence that seems to go on forever. You've either wrecked things irreparably between you, or...

"You need me?"

The words come out of him like each one has climbed out of his chest, fighting all the way.

You nod, holding his gaze and reveling in the way he looks back at you. He crowds you up against the bed, until your knees are at the edge, and slowly draws his hands up to cup your jaw.

"I need you. More than you know."

When he kisses you, it's completely new, like you've never kissed him before. All the hesitation is gone. It's just want. Raw and seething. 

"Goddamnit," he murmurs at the corner of your mouth. "Knew from the start you'd make a fool outta me."

He pushes you back, spreading you over the bed, and holds you down with the weight of him. Between gasps as he sucks at the skin of your neck, you grip at the nape of his neck, ruffling his hair and begging him for more - for everything he'll give you.

He sinks his fingers beneath your clothes and finds you soaked. He stops kissing you long enough to husk against your ear, "Alright, then. Gonna give you what you need."

"Mm- Joel, please."

You're prepared to plead with him all night if that's what it takes, but it doesn't take more than a few seconds of him feeling how wet you are - how ready you've been since he started kissing you. He jerks off his belt, the buckle clinking as he fits his knees around the outside of your spread legs.

He's only rucked down your pants enough to feel you. The fabric is bunched around your thighs, and he settles over it to slide his two center fingers inside you. "Gonna make it feel good for you, sweetheart. Gonna take things slow."

You whimper something, and he makes you repeat it.

"I said, I can't take it slow," you pant, as he kisses up your jaw and draws his fingers in and out of you. "Been waiting too long. Need you inside me."

You're ready, again, to beg, but he doesn't make you. Just growls and curses in between telling you how perfect you are; how good he's gonna make you feel.

When he pulls down his jeans, he doesn't break away from your mouth. You don't even see him. You just feel him - hard, heavy and big, pressed up against you when his fingers leave.

"Fuck," you sigh, relieved and nervous all at once. You've waited too long for this moment to let it show on your face, but you're intimidated just from the size of him. You meet his eyes, and he pushes in.

Just the head is already so much. The stretch is nearly unbearable, and you know you're not doing a good job of hiding it, because he stops.

"Hurts?"

You hesitate, then nod. "Feels... I don't know."

He kisses your cheek. "S'okay. We'll slow down."

He pulls out a little, then fills you up again. His thumb finds your clit, steady and slow. There's no search for it. He just reaches down and starts to ease the tension, using your pussy like it's always belonged to him.

"S'right, babygirl," he praises softly. "You can take it. Relax."

He starts to move again, and you start to crave more of the stretch. The feeling of his head catching each time he pulls out and pushes back in is starting to build a steady warmth inside you, making you close your eyes and seek it out until you recognize it as pleasure. You give him a little whine to show you want more.

Even with your eyes closed, you can hear the little half-smile he's holding through a huffed breath. "That's it. Tell me what you need."

"More," you plead, barely able to get the word out.

It's enough. He bends down harder into the mattress and pushes deeper, opening you up a little more with each slow, slick thrust, until he's filling you all the way. On the last couple of strokes, he wrenches out a groan that makes you snap open your eyes.

"Je-sus," he moans. Seeing him overwhelmed at the feeling is almost better than him being completely inside you. His hand slides to your stomach and he presses down gently as he thrusts in and out, watching himself disappear inside, over and over.

Your eyes roll closed again with the new pressure making sure you feel every inch of him. "Fuck. So- so good..."

His pace picks up at hearing you say it. Like he's been waiting for permission, and now the leash is off. He pulls back his fingers, stops playing with you. He needs both hands to hold himself up as he finds a rhythm so smooth and deep that you can feel it rolling in waves from your center to your toes.

"Thought about this so much," you confess, something wicked curling in your stomach at the sight of him fucking into you, chasing his own pleasure. His hand isn't at your clit anymore because this isn't about pleasing you. It's about taking what he needs, even if just for a moment.

"I fucking... touched myself dreaming about this, Joel."

"Fuck, baby," he groans, then drops his head, slowing for a moment as if to let your words sink in. He sits up slightly, pressing his knees down beside you to tear off his shirt. He fusses with the top two buttons of the dark green flannel and then rips it off the rest of the way, shucking off his t-shirt underneath.

And god, it feels like heaven when he sinks back into you. Letting you feel him - really feel him, wrapping your arms around the soft skin of his broad shoulders. There's something so beautiful about him spread over you, bare-chested while you stay almost entirely clothed. You want to stay like this forever.

He grinds into you, spitting out your name like it's been held inside him for too long, and after he's felt you as deeply as he wanted to, he pulls back to sink his hand between your bodies again. "Got no damn idea how bad I... fuck... how bad you were teasin' me."

"Shit." What he's saying, along with what is hand is doing, is too much. You can't take it. "No-no, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

"Come on, baby, that's right..."

He coaxes you right over the edge with his gravel-dark voice, and you sob out his name, pressing your face into the warm side of his neck as you come. He wrings every last drop from you, fucking you through it and waiting until you go limp before he changes the pace again.

When his hands tighten around the soft inner skin of your knee, he tells you soft and low - "Gonna come inside you."

It isn't a question, and he buries himself a few more times before he's already filling you up. You wouldn't have asked for anything else, letting the remnants of your orgasm spread a delirious smile across your face as he comes, letting it drip down the sides of your legs as he just keeps thrusting and thrusting and thrusting. When he slows and stops, it's only with the sounds of sheer exhaustion. 

Joel isn't a hurried man. He's impatient, sure, but he doesn't do things by halves. He stays like this, with his cock sunk deep inside you, for so long that you catch your breath and have plenty of time to stroke his hair, his cheek, his brow.

He kisses down your face, and up the other side, telling you how well you took him. Promising you didn't come too soon, and you have the rest of the night to come again. Begging you not to move yet; just let him feel you a little longer before he pulls out.

When he finally does, Joel cleans you up like the gentleman he's always been. You give him a smile after changing into the extra set of clothes you keep in your pack, lying back down into the bed and letting him wrap his arms around you.

"So that's what all the fuss is about?" You tease, kissing him lightly and stroking your hand along his collarbone. "Could take it or leave it."

"Uh huh," Joel answers, grunting from deep in his chest, sleep already half-swallowing him. "Sounded like it."

"It was sweet of you to take me to a nice hotel for our first date, though."

He mumbles something through the pillow that you don't quite catch.

"Hm?"

"Motel. Said it's a motel," he corrects. "Means we don't get room service."

You're so surprised at him making a stupid little joke that you just silently stare at him and smile. Then you settle back down into the crook of his arm.

"Well. I'm gonna need a wake up call," you tell him.

Then, more softly, you add, "So I guess you're gonna have to stay until morning."

You feel his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, and hear the rumble of his voice against your ear.

"Don't worry. I'll stay."

--

A/N: Finally managed to get this posted, in response to this post from forever ago. I hope it meets expectations, for the four people who remember that poll! 😅

Thanks for reading!

--

Coldplay - Shiver

So I look in your direction, but you pay me no attention, do you?

Foster the People - Static Space Lover

Hold on, hold on, we'll get by as static space lovers / And we'll be fine, just circling each other

Chairlift - Moth to the Flame

Every little pull at the end of the golden rope fills my foolish heart with foolish hope / That maybe you might feel the same / As if feeling the same was the name of the game / The name of the game I shouldn't be playing

Hailey Kiyoko - One Bad Night

You make me feel like I wanna be bad / Let's have a good time and never look back

Muse - Undisclosed Desires

You may be a sinner, but your innocence is mine

The Vaccines - Want you so bad

Don't care for what I got or what I am / cause I want you, want you so bad

The Arctic Monkeys - 505

Oh when you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect?

The Last Shadow Puppets - My Mistakes Were Made For You

Innocence and arrogance entwined / In the filthiest of minds

Jeff Buckley - Lover, You Should've Come Over

So I'll wait for you, love / And I'll burn / Will I ever see your sweet return? / Oh, will I ever learn?

The Beach Boys - God Only Knows

The world could show nothing to me / So what good would living do me? / God only knows what I'd be without you

Charlotte Gainsbourg - Deadly Valentine

From this day forward, for better / For worse, until death do us part

Van Morrison - Sweet Thing

And you shall take me strongly in your arms again / And I will not remember that I even felt the pain / We shall walk and talk in gardens misty wet with rain / And I will never grow so old again

"I'm sorry," Obi Wan murmurs against your lips.

He says it even as he continues to kiss you. Even as his thumb nudges against your jaw, rubbing up the soft skin of your cheek. His hot breath is still inside your mouth as he whispers, "I don't know what came over me."

It's been over since it began. He's pulled away repeatedly, humming variations of denials and apologies against your lips, your cheek, your neck. But stopping still seems nearly as impossible as starting did.

The two of you don't do this. You don't kiss. You flirt, and you fight, and you share stolen moments that you can later pretend never happened. You touch him in the dark, and you don't talk about your feelings. You don't look at one another with heady desire coursing through your veins anymore. You just don't. You just can't.

And that's why, when he leans in again, instead of melting into his touch the way you want to, you glance up from his lips, catching his eyes. It's the barest of hesitations, but it's enough to make him slow down, swallow, pull back.

"Sorry." He says it low, stuck in the back of his throat, and it makes you feel like you're drowning.

It fucking kills you to hear him like this - quietly losing his air of formality. His hair is mussed where you'd grabbed onto it, and as he pushes himself up from the bed, he grazes thumb and forefinger over his short beard, like he's trying to wipe the taste of you from his mouth.

You watch his movements, entranced and silent. He glances back at you, and suddenly the distance between where you lie and where he stands feels like a growing chasm. You lean your weight onto your elbow, about to get up and join him. You don't know what you'll do or say, but you can feel him pulling away, back into himself.

As you sit up, he takes a single step back, and just like that, it's over.

"I-" he starts quietly, eyes meeting yours and then darting away, "I need to... clear my thoughts."

Your mouth falls open, his name about to come out. But you don't know what follows it. For once, he's tied your tongue.

"I'll be in the refresher," he says, turning abruptly. "Excuse me."

Before you can begin to think of anything to say, he's heading toward the refresher, the warm, damp air from your own use billowing out when he opens the door.

He stops only to gather a change of clothes, not even glancing back as he closes the door behind him.

--

When the room is quiet, and all you can hear is the soft sound of water flowing in the distance, you roll onto your back, closing your eyes. That had been too far. That had been looking for trouble.

And fuck, you're still aching for it.

You're still reeling at the things he'd said. His walls had dipped for the briefest of moments, letting you in, and somehow, you'd managed to blow it, snapping him back to his senses at the worst possible time.

He'd caught you off guard. If only you hadn't hesitated, he would have found relief. Instead, you have to lie here, just thinking about the way his mouth felt against yours. Thinking about the way he'd instantly started to pull you apart at the seams, from the moment he'd gotten his hands on you.

You're practically throbbing under the soft fabric of your sleep clothes as you slip your legs beneath the covers. Stars, what you wouldn't give for some privacy right now. Years of discipline are failing you spectacularly as you squeeze your eyelids tight, trying to think of something - anything - besides the way his beard had brushed against your neck when he'd been talking in your ear.

Your hand is flat against your leg, rubbing thoughtfully, when you hear the door open again, Obi Wan emerging fully clothed.

You try not to be obvious, glancing over at him only once, then returning your stare to the bunk above you. When he shuts off the light, you listen to his bare feet as he crosses the room, then vaults gracefully up the short ladder to his bed above you.

It almost feels like you've been caught at something, even though your hand is still resting at your side. You try to focus your thoughts, calm down, and go to sleep. But all you can think about is how big and warm his hands were when they'd held your waist. How hungry his kiss had been. How deep and dark his voice had gotten against your ear.

"I should thank you..." A softer, more subdued shade of that same voice drifts down from above you.

You nearly flinch at the break in silence.

"For keeping your promise," he adds.

The hum of the ship is the only sound as you process his words. It's the last thing you'd expected him to say, though you really hadn't expected him to say anything. Usually, you don't have trouble spotting his sarcasm. This time could be an exception. You aren't certain what would be appropriate to say back.

"You're welcome," you venture.

You fight the urge to admit that it had never been your intention to stop. That despite your better judgement, you still want to take things as far as he'll let you.

After a few long heartbeats, you speak up again. "I uh, thought you felt it was a mistake. Asking me."

A soft exhale. "I should never have said that. I've put you in a difficult situation. Forgive me."

Your eyes search the darkness. As usual, he leaves so much up to your interpretation. Another long moment passes. Suddenly, you want to keep him talking. Something about the way he's holding you at arm's length tells you that if you let things end here and go to sleep, your friendship is going to shift in ways that can't be undone. So you try to think of something else to say.

"How was your shower?"

"Cold," he answers. "Very cold."

Your eyelids flutter. You try not to picture his rigid body, his hand braced against the shower wall as the cold water pulls him back from whatever might have been on his mind.

"I'm sorry if I've made things more... difficult for you."

He doesn't answer for a long time. Then you hear him slowly shift in his bed. "I suspect that by this point, things would be difficult regardless of anything you had done."

"You mean going this long would have been hard for you no matter what?"

"No," he says quietly. "I mean that this was a terrible time for us to be assigned to a joint mission."

"Oh?" you reply, your heartbeat kicking up as you try to keep your tone casual. "Why is that?"

His hesitation is palpable, almost like you can hear him holding back his response.

"You can tell me," you encourage, letting your voice grow soft and breathy.

"Well," he lets out slowly, "I spent the majority of our conversation in the galley thinking only of taking you against the wall. If this was a solo mission, I would like to believe I could avoid such thoughts."

For a moment, all you can hear is the white noise of all the remaining blood in your head rushing to your center, and you ignore the urge to make an embarrassing noise. Instead, you swallow, replying, "It's a good thing I wouldn't have let that happen."

Another pause. "Can you be so sure?"

Your face is growing hot. It's like you can feel him toeing the line, waiting for you to pull him back. You open your mouth, words coming out tentatively. "It's, uh... it's my 'sacred duty', isn't it?"

"I might have tried to coerce you," he responds.

If he keeps offering up blunt confessions wrapped in his soft, chaste delivery, you're going to lose your mind.

"I'm well acquainted with your tactics of persuasion, Obi Wan," you say lightly, as if you aren't seconds away from touching yourself. "What would you have done to coerce me into letting you fail?"

"I think the question is better asked, what wouldn't I have done?"

Shit, he's doing this on purpose. He must be.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I might have appealed to your sense of decency; tried to convince you to have mercy on me."

You should stop the conversation here. You should laugh and give him some clever quip about him never showing you mercy in training matches. You should tell him it would never work, and leave it at that.

But instead, your throat going dry, you simply ask, "How would you do that?"

It's an opening that shouldn't exist; a lit path that should have remained dark.

He answers, slowly, "I would have held you against that wall, rather than let you leave."

"Mm-hm," you hum softly, listening intently as his words become quieter.

"I would have ended that foolish argument."

Your fingertips graze the side of your leg again. "How?"

"I'd have kissed you. Properly."

"Yeah?"

"And I would have shown you exactly what you do to me."

It's hard not to let your words come out as an airy whine. "What- what do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean."

Your chin tilts up. Your hand slithers below your waistband. "Obi Wan..."

"I might have pulled your clothes off, then and there. Would you have stopped me?"

You shake your head, though he can't see it. "No."

"If you'd let me, I would have touched you. Stars, I wanted to."

You can't answer. You're circling around your clit, wetness soaking your fingers.

"I wanted to ask for what you'd offered me before."

"Wh-what I'd offered?"

"Your mouth," he answers, sounding like the very thought is painful. "Though I couldn't. If you had said it, I would have had to refuse."

"Refuse?" you breathe, reduced to repeating his words. "Why?"

"Because I-" He cuts himself off. "I would have..."

You try to keep your panting quiet.

"With the way you... use your mouth on me, I couldn't have stopped there. I would have fucked you... I..." he grinds out. "I would have-"

A moan escapes your lips, and he goes suddenly silent.

The recycled air hangs still for an eternity.

He'd heard you.

You can do nothing but wait. Wait for the question. The confusion. The accusation.

But it never comes.

Then, finally, movement.

He rolls in his bunk, and you freeze, pulling your hand up and lying still as you hear him shift.

You want to say something, to make an excuse, to pretend nothing had happened. But the sound had been unmistakable. And your breath is coming too short to even speak.

You have no idea what he intends to do, but for some reason, he seems to be getting out of bed.

You can barely make out his form when he slowly steps down from above you, crowding into your bunk in the darkness. He comes closer, whispering your name, and when you don't reply, he leans down, giving you plenty of time to pull away.

You don't make a move; don't say a word. His mouth finds yours, and you sigh softly against it.

He kisses you, slowly this time, exploring you carefully and precisely. He waits to feel every movement that you reciprocate, brushing his bottom lip delicately across your top lip, waiting for you to spread open for him, which you eagerly do. Minutes pass before he finally slides his tongue into your mouth and drags a needy sound out of you.

He passes a hand down at the same time, reaching under your clothes and between your legs with a quiet certainty. Pressing his first two fingers down, he sinks into your wetness and draws them out again. His lips pull apart from yours.

"You were touching yourself," he says, the faint light in the room dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His hand drops to the bedding, evidence smearing across the fabric as he looks to you for answers.

"I..." You're obscenely embarrassed, but you try to keep from dropping his gaze. "I didn't mean for you to... to notice."

His features have taken on an emotion you can't quite place. "How long have you felt... like this?"

Your face flushes. It must be a joke, but you have no idea how to respond. "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "I had no idea you..."

"What?"

"When you offered to help me, I hadn't thought..."

You look at him for a long time, taking in his blown-out pupils, his kiss-swollen lips, his undeniable sincerity.

The truth washes over you, slowly sinking in.

All this time, he'd thought you'd been simply putting up with his request. That you were being a good friend. That you'd only offered to help him out of obligation.

His gaze falls off to the side, then drags back to you. "I had thought it was for my benefit alone."

You try to find the words to express how fucking mad with want that he's been driving you this entire time, but you come up empty. Instead, at long last, all you can say is, "No."

"No?" he whispers.

You shake your head softly. "No."

For a moment, he looks as if you've punched him. Then his wide eyes flicker down to your lap. "Show me, then," he breathes. "Will you?"

When he lowers his hands to your hips, resting his thumbs inward, awaiting your permission, it's like his touch is scorching you; boiling you over, even through your clothes.

You suck in air, trying desperately to clear your head. There's a reason you can't just give in and let him sink his fingers back in exactly where you need them. There's definitely a good reason. If only you could think of anything beyond how good his hands would feel on your skin...

But, no. Biting your lip, you shake your head and use every remaining shred of your willpower to say, "If you want, I'll show you. But not like this."

His face falls, confusion staining his features as he pulls his hands back. "What do you mean?"

You try to keep your panting quiet enough that he can't hear it, pressing back on your elbows and lifting your chin to look past him, over the side of the bed. "Could you get my pack for me?"

His uncertain look lingers, but he pulls your pack up and hands it to you. Digging inside, you find what you need.

His demeanor shifts the instant he catches sight of them. "You packed them anyway."

You give him a shy shrug, looking at him coyly through your eyelashes. "Never hurts to be prepared."

He swallows. "Those would not be necessary for what I had in mind."

He gives a pointed downward look, and you try not to shiver. Steeling yourself, you answer, "If you want to watch, we should put certain... assurances in place. As your witness, I think it's best to be safe."

It's a lie, of course. A lie to finally get what you want, after all this desperate trying.

His reaction earlier had shown you that the only way you can be sure to finish what you start is to literally hold him in place. You can't risk him losing his nerve again. Despite the fog of sex clouding your thoughts, you know this is your final chance, and you have no intention of wasting it. You aren't just going to offer him simple, straightforward relief. You're going to draw it out until it's the only thing he can think of. Until he can do nothing but give in.

"So," you ask, dawning your best false bravado and sitting up to encircle one of his wrists in the first of the binders. He doesn't pull away, but he hardly looks pleased. "What's it going to be?"

As you ask the question, you activate the first binder and meet his eyes. The uncertainty is still there, but it doesn't completely mask the excitement beneath. He exhales, then tucks his other arm behind his back, allowing you to chain him to the handle of the durasteel panel at the end of your small bunk. His shoulders are pulled into a hard line and he rests in a kneeling position, looking down at you as you slowly lie back on the bed.

"Thanks for trusting my judgement," you tell him, getting comfortable in the soft covers, but hesitating before slipping your hand beneath your clothes again. His eyes follow your movement, and your fingers rest just shy of where they should be going.

"You left me few other options," he replies, settling back against his restraints.

Looking up at him, you suddenly feel self-conscious. Has your coercion gone too far?

"You had options," you clarify. "You still have them."

He smirks. "Hardly. Remain a free man, or watch you pleasure yourself. To call that a choice would make me a fool."

You give a soft breath, then your fingers drop low. You can see his smirk falling away just as your eyelids flutter shut.

Your hand glides easily to where it had been only moments before, listening to the sound of his voice as you'd touched yourself. Your chest is tight with the anxiety of knowing he's watching you, but it's equal parts unnerving and thrilling at the same time. You start to play with yourself and the mix of adrenaline and desire shoots through you like lightning.

"Undress for me," he instructs. "Let me see."

It isn't said with anything resembling a demand, yet you shake your head, leaning back against your pillow. You're in charge. He has to know that.

"I know you aren't used to it," you reply, wrist slowing as you give him a soft smile, "but I'm giving orders at the moment." Your hand stills. "You're here to watch, nothing more."

You can feel him tense as your movement disappears. He stays quiet, as if waiting for you to continue, and when you don't, he finally speaks up.

"Don't stop, darling."

His soft encouragement nearly makes you pull your slippery-wet fingers over your clit and come on the spot. Even as you begin to drag your wrist in achingly slow circles again, carefully avoiding putting too much pressure anywhere dangerous, you're thinking about it. Maybe you could afford to tip over the edge and bite your lip hard enough to hide it. But not after he's worked you up this much. You're going to be a mess, and you know it.

Instead, you use your other hand to unbutton the top of your bodice and breathe a little deeper, holding your voice steady as you casually reply, "There it is again. You called me that earlier."

"What?"

"Darling," you say softly, trying to let it sound like an offhand observation.

"I used to call you that all the time."

Your brow creases. "I don't remember that."

"Ah," he says, sounding suddenly reserved. "Perhaps it was under my breath, then."

You open your eyes to look at him, expecting a smile, but finding him completely focused between your legs.

Stifling a whimper, you push your pants off with hurried, uncareful hands, staring up at him the whole time. You've given in much too quickly - you were supposed to draw this out. But you can't help it. He's talking you right up to the edge without even trying.

"Oh," he groans, watching you spread your legs for him and delicately begin to play with your pussy.

You lower your lashes and drag your eyes down his still fully-clothed body. You need to keep focused - keep pushing him closer to where you are.

"I should confess, this isn't the first time I've touched myself thinking of you."

He gives a small nod, not tearing his eyes from their spot. "I know. The holos."

You swallow, building your courage. "Not just then."

His eyes briefly flick up to your face, an urgent question in his gaze, but they hang there for only a second before he's distracted back to your center.

Letting out a slow breath, you let yourself ease your middle finger against your clit, the air on your skin chilling the wetness running along the insides of your thighs. "After that night we fell asleep together."

A loud huff of breath escapes him. "You... you didn't..."

Building toward orgasm isn't going to take long. You're practically soaking your fingers as you admit it to him: "Right afterward; just like this."

You let out a little shudder, speeding up your movements when you hear the soft clink of him readjusting in the binders.

"Let me touch you."

You leave it hang, as if you hadn't heard it.

"I touched myself here, too, imagining it was you."

Your free hand lifts to your left nipple, brushing it softly at first and then circling it until it starts to harden. Your bodice is open at the top, but still held tightly together at the bottom. As you near the edge, you study Obi Wan's face, watching his frustration build at each slow, deliberate movement. You pull your other hand up and drag your slick over your sensitive skin, using it to bring your other nipple to a hardened bud.

"Have you ever been touched like that?"

He doesn't answer, jaw tight and eyes fixated on your roving fingers.

"I think you'd like it," you go on, cupping your breasts and lazily drawing your fingertips over your skin. Then, you sit up and crawl the short distance to him.

"What do you think?" you ask innocently, hands spreading under his outer tunic. You rub your hand experimentally back and forth a few times to see if he'll bristle, but if anything, he seems to lean into your touch. Sliding your hand beneath his outer tunic, you brush his nipple through the remaining cloth. Delightfully, you find that it's already hard.

You smile, pushing his outer tunic over his shoulders. "You're a little more indecent than I thought, Obi Wan."

His lips are parted as he stares down your body, then back to where you're touching him.

"You have no idea."

You suck the edge of your bottom lip into your mouth, then take both your hands and trail them lightly against the soft fabric of his inner tunic, from his shoulders down to his stomach, palms flat. Then you bring your thumbs up to his nipples and begin to tease. His eyes roll up, then fall shut. He doesn't say anything out loud, but his chest begins to heave with shallow, harsh breaths.

You go on like that for a long while, drinking in every sharp intake of air, every roll of his shoulders, and every time he opens his eyes to look at you through a glossy daze.

"Let's make you a little more comfortable, hm?" you finally say, reaching to remove his inner tunic as well, but struggling with the resistance of the rest of his clothes, the multiple layers all held tight by his belt. You lower your hand, then stop to look at him before gently tugging at it.

"Can I take this off?"

"Yes," he answers before you even finish your last word.

You grin, freeing his waist and shoving both his tunics back, pushing open his neckline to reveal the bare skin beneath, until he's naked to the waist. With his clothes still draped halfway over his arms, you simply stare. The muscles bound to every inch of his frame are almost too much of a distraction to notice the obscene bulge straining in his pants. Almost.

"You, uh..." Your voice nearly cracks and you carefully clear your throat. "You look... really good like this."

Obi Wan, still gazing at your nearly naked body, barely seems to have noticed you talking. "I can't say what I think of the way you look." After a moment, he adds, "There aren't words in Basic for the things I want to do to you."

You feel a pulse between your legs, then smile weakly. "Let's just focus on you for the moment."

Your thumbs brush over his bare nipples again and he gasps. "That- that feels..."

He dissolves into short breaths, going silent for a long time as you drag the tips of your fingernails up and down his chest with feather-light touches. His biceps flex in time with your hypnotic rhythm as his skin pricks into goosebumps.

"Good, isn't it?" you say softly, not expecting a response as you watch him curl and flex beneath your touch. You go lower, daring to slide your hands low enough that they graze the skin beneath his belly button.

When you can see his stomach beginning to tighten in apparent frustration, you start to tease his nipples again, and he lets out a noise somewhere between startled and relieved. You only tease him briefly, then give him a moment's break to catch his breath, tracing his bare shoulders with your fingertips.

"How..." he manages after his panting subsides, "...did you know..."

You give him a wry smile, flicking your thumbs back and forth softly over his nipples again. "How did I know you'd like this?" you finish for him. "Just a feeling."

He moans in response, hips bucking forward. His face is starting to get flushed, and you suppress the urge to lathe your tongue over his neck.

"Why don't you lie down for me?" you purr into his ear.

He pulls at the binders, making an obvious point. "You've made that rather difficult."

Hesitating, you look him over, trying to let the logical part of your brain swim back to the surface. On the one hand, you know taking him out of the binders is going to lead to a conversation about getting him back into them, which ultimately could put an end to this. On the other hand, the image of Obi Wan lying beneath you, spread out, completely at your mercy...

"Just one hand."

You hold his gaze for a moment, waiting for him to agree. He raises his brows in that charming way he has, not saying anything back. Ever the skilled tactician, even in a moment like this, he's not going to volunteer anything he doesn't have to.

"I'm going to let one hand free, just so you can lie down," you clarify, reaching behind him to use the fingerprint scanner on the pre-programmed binders. You rest a hand on his shoulder, leaning close to the side of his face. "That means you lie down as soon as I press this button, right? Nothing else. Nothing to break the rules."

His eyelashes are hanging low as he stares at your mouth, not answering. It takes him a long time to drag his eyes back up to yours, and when he does, your heartbeat kicks up wildly. You click the button, only vaguely aware that he hadn't yet answered.

His hand finally loose, he doesn't let go of eye contact as he reaches for your chest, lightly dragging his fingertips beneath your collarbone.

"L-lie down," you whisper, not moving as he smooths the side of his knuckle down your bare skin. You arch your back instinctively, letting out a short, soft moan when he grazes your nipple. Your eyelashes flutter closed, despite your efforts. You force them open again.

"My goodness," he says breathlessly, sweeping his hand up to your cheek. "You are beautiful."

Fighting hard against the flush that you can already feel is settling deeply in your face, you force a dismissive smile and lift your own hand over his hand. "The words of a man currently tied to my bed, who would say anything to make me let him loose."

He meets your gaze straight-on. "The words of a man too desperate to tell anything but truth."

"Obi Wan," you murmur softly, not sure if you mean to chastise or encourage him.

He slides his hand to your jaw, starting to lean in for a kiss. That finally pulls you out of your daze. Heart racing, you lean in first. And harder.

Before he can meet your lips in a slow, sensual kiss, you close your mouth over his, plunging your tongue deep and drawing out a moan from him.

Using the momentum to push him back against the panel, you raise his hand up above his head, kissing him with every bit of the passion you've been holding back, ignoring the pulsing need to give in and simply press your body up against him, kiss him, taste him. Instead, you focus on getting his hand into position, and give a satisfied hum against his mouth as you clip the second binder back into place.

He makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat, but he does not stop kissing you.

His lips are ravenous, as if he knows the second he stops, you're going to pull away. He isn't playing with you; isn't going along with your teasing. He's unabashedly trying to feel whatever he can get. You use it to your advantage, pushing his pliant body toward the bed, sucking his bottom lip as you ease him down until he's lying beneath you.

When you finally pull apart, you murmur against his mouth, "I'm sorry."

He's looking up at you, lips parted, looking slightly accusatory but overall like he would very much like to continue kissing. "That was quite unfair."

"I... I couldn't trust myself," you admit, sitting up.

He licks his lips, then answers in an infuriatingly calm tone, "You might have trusted me instead, then."

You sit back, letting your eyes travel brazenly over his body, his arms held above his head and the rest of him lying spread out for you. You swallow, then try to match his unaffected tone. "Well. You never agreed to the terms, did you?"

His chest is heaving, but he still maintains that silky-smooth intonation. "I was hardly given the chance."

You drag your fingers up and down his skin, starting with his arms, which look thick and bracing from this angle. The dark hair of his underarms is inexplicably salacious.

"And if I gave you the chance now?" you ask, fingers drifting lower, brushing over the sensitive skin of his sides. You watch him shiver, skin prickling.

"The terms were... quite restrictive," he retorts, then closes his mouth to breathe through his nose.

By the time you reach his waist, he's visibly straining under your touch. He no longer looks combative. He just looks very, very serious.

You brush your fingers along his pants, taking care to stay above the waistline. After you've run your nails along it a few times, you casually ask him, "Can I take these off?"

He nods his head, ruffling his hair in the back. "Please."

"Mm," you answer, then slide your thumbs back up to play with his nipples again. "Good to know."

He sucks in, letting out sharp, harsh little breaths as you toy with him. You bring one thumb up to your mouth, lick it, and then slide it across his right nipple. Then you lean over his body to blow softly over the wet skin.

He jerks, sucking air between his teeth at the sensation, and meets your eyes. "Wh-why did you ask, if you weren't - ah - going to..."

He trails off as you lightly drag your nails down his chest, not stopping as you brush over his hardened nipples. His back arches off the bed and you can see the muscles of his arms clench tight.

"Because," you reply, forcefully nonchalant, "I want to make sure you won't stop me."

"I assure you," he grinds out, "That is the furthest thing from my mind."

He's dangerously close to encouraging you. Should you remind him that he can't technically ask for this, or you will have to stop?

No. He knows the rules. He said it himself.

You tease a finger beneath his waistband, then go back to stroking him lightly over the chest, humming approvingly at every little panting breath he gives in return.

You try to think of a way to re-frame things, giving him a careful reply. "Besides... it's not like you have the means to stop me, if you wanted to."

He nods along vigorously, watching you get closer and closer to his straining cock with every brush of your hand.

"You're right," he breathes.

You palm him through his clothes, his head falling back in relief when you finally touch him. The weight of his cock in your hand makes you want to moan. He's leaking through the fabric, so hard it must be painful. He gives a small whimper at the contact.

Your mouth already watering, you continue to give him soft, slow strokes, watching his face contort beautifully. Enjoying the sensation, you intend to draw this out as long as possible. The thought suddenly makes you shake your head a little.

"I can't believe you thought I was doing this all for you," you say softly. "You really thought I wasn't enjoying myself? That I wasn't into this?"

"Believe me..." He pauses to catch his breath, opening his eyes to look down at you. "If I had thought that those holos you sent were anything but instruments of torture, I would have taken your door off its hinges getting into to your quarters."

"What?" you blurt out, hand stilling on his cock. "But... you wouldn't have been able to do anything."

His brows furrow slightly. "On the contrary. Giving myself pleasure is strictly forbidden. Giving you pleasure..."

"...would have left you even worse off," you finish for him, trying to be reasonable.

He gives you a rakish grin. "A sacrifice well worth making."

Fuck, you need his cock in your mouth.

You gather fabric tight in both your hands, dragging his pants off his hips all in one slow, deliberate pull. You keep the fabric taut, gripping hard until his cock bursts out, standing rigidly all at once. Enveloping the leaking tip in your mouth, you can't hold back any longer. You take him all in one swallow.

He gasps, shockingly loud this time.

The sound warms your cheeks, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, and you begin to bob your head over the length of him as he lets out anguished sounds from deep in his chest.

You keep your hand wrapped around the base of him, pumping him steadily, drool filling your mouth embarrassingly fast. His hips are bucking to meet every jerk of your hand, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of him filling you up. You lift your eyes to see his face, but from this angle all you can see is the underside of his beard and his flushed, open lips. His head is thrown back in what looks like silent agony.

You slide your lips back to his head, sucking there until he makes a deliciously urgent, overwhelmed sound. Then you pop off of him for a moment, licking your lips and letting him catch his breath. His chest is flushed red, sweat beading at his brow. He looks down at you, eyes wild.

"Fuck," he whines raggedly. "Oh, fuck..."

You smile innocently. "Good?"

He drops his head back, panting. "Unbelievable."

You hum in response, gently kissing the side of his cock. He twitches, and you flatten your tongue, licking a slow stripe from his base to his tip, then spread your lips and take him again in one languid mouthful. You drag several more expletives out of him, gripping his thigh with one hand and starting to tease his balls with the other.

"Oh, yes," he moans, hands dropping limp against his restraints. "That's it. Don't- don't stop..."

Your eyes go wide and you slow down, hesitating. Isn't that... isn't what he just said...

You hold him with one hand, stopping and swallowing so you can speak. "I, uh- um..."

He sits up, pulling at the chain to look at you, eyes glossy and lost. "Your mouth," he rasps. "Please."

That seals it. Damn him.

He's at the edge of coming. You can feel his dick throbbing in your hand, and you could give it to him. You could, but...

"I... I can't," you answer, hating the words. You stroke him a little, not able to move away or let go. Not able to stop entirely.

Breath escapes him in erratic huffs. He sounds like he's almost laughing in disbelief, but his face is all desperate panic. "What?"

"I can't," you say, sounding like you're pleading. "You told me you couldn't ask for it. You made me promise."

His mouth is hanging open. All he says is your name as an obtestation.

Your face crumbles. "I'm sorry. I have to. You... you wanted this."

He shakes his head. "No, no, listen-"

"I should really..." You need to excuse yourself. Put as much distance between you as possible. Lock yourself out of the room if you have to. But looking at him like this... His hair is a matted mess. It's flattened against the crown of his head and jutting up behind his ears where he'd rubbed against his own arms, writhing under your touch. His jaw is slack, his chest ruddy and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You've never seen him like this before. If you didn't know better, you'd think he'd seen battle.

"S-should really..." you repeat, face pinched tight in denial as you jerk him slowly and watch him buck at the slightest touch. "I should go."

"No, wait," he urges, voice cracking a little. "Just- just stay. For a moment."

"I don't think I should." You finally pull your hand away and he sighs roughly.

"Let me feel you," he pleads, eyes meeting yours.

"No, I... I'm not supposed to," you reply, wanting absolutely nothing more than to give in.

He shakes his head. "Please. Let me touch you."

A flush overtakes you, and you sit up to pull the edge of a blanket over your unclothed lower half. "I can't... let you do that."

He looks physically pained at your answer. "You cannot leave me like this. Only a touch. Just one hand. I'll do nothing to break our agreement."

His offer is so clearly going to make things harder for him, and perhaps it's selfish to accept it. Perhaps you should hesitate; let him take some time to reconsider.

Perhaps a better friend would have taken a moment to meditate on exactly what it meant for you to allow this one final concession. Or any of the other little concessions that have led you to this very choice.

But you aren't a good friend. You are a very bad, very fallible friend. And you release just one of his wrists. And he's sitting up, leaning toward you before you've even moved the blanket.

He kisses you, hand dropping down immediately, dragging from your stomach down to your navel. It feels like he's setting you alight. When he goes lower, you bite back a pathetic whine. You're already so worked up, the faintest attention from him is overwhelming.

"Uncuff me," he whispers against your lips, fingers grazing your sensitive skin.

You sigh helplessly. Stars, you want nothing more. You swallow, shaking your head in a feeble attempt to regain control. His fingers slide between your legs and his mouth falls open when he feels how wet you are.

"Oh, darling, uncuff me."

You shake your head again, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers delve deeper, your slick dripping over his hand. "N-no, Obi Wan, I can't," you plead, close to the edge already.

How can you tell him that the binders are now your last shred of self-control and you have no idea what will happen if they come off?

"Mm-" you whine high in your throat, letting yourself give into the feeling of him touching you, if only for a moment. Then you reach down to grasp his wrist, as if to stop him, but making no effort to actually go through with it.

Feeling his wrist move beneath your palm, you can't deny the thrill of letting him do this to you while holding onto his arm. You're acting as if you're holding him back when you're practically guiding him through it.

He curls his fingers up and presses them deep inside you, making you moan. It's such a needy, depraved sound that your eyes widen in surprise and you suddenly realize that you need to stop before you lose control completely.

Obi Wan catches the look in your eyes, though, and it's in that moment that you realize - you already have.

He leans forward to kiss your neck, pumping his fingers faster. "Let me taste you," he whispers against your neck, breath hot and ragged. 

You lift your head, giving him more space to drag his tongue across your skin. "We shouldn't."

"There isn't a single rule you would be breaking."

You bite your lip, unable to focus on anything but the way he feels inside you.

"Please, let me hear you come, or I'll spend my nights dreaming of it until I go mad. Let me taste you. It's all I ask."

"Fuuuck." You drag out the word.

Every other day of your life, you can be a Jedi. You can be mindful and temperate and restrained. But not tonight. Not with his eyes so soft, his deep, accented voice sliding thick around your name, pleading for all these lovely sins.

If it had been anyone but him, you could have said no. But it's Obi Wan.

Obi Wan, whispering soft encouragement when you lean into his side, pressing your finger on the button.

Obi Wan, rolling over your body and wrapping you in his arms the instant he's free, pinning you to the bed and sucking at your neck like you're dripping honey.

Obi Wan, pulling you down to the edge of the bed with the strength and wildness of a man who's been denied far too long.

Obi Wan, kneeling between your legs and sliding his tongue into your pussy before you can say another word.

"Obi Wan..." His name spills out of you like a confession. Like you've been waiting to moan it like this since the day you'd agreed never to do it again.

His eyes are closed, his proud, regal nose buried deep between your thighs. He starts to drag his tongue up the river of slick pouring out of you, over and over and over while you squirm at the warm, unyielding pressure he's giving you. He's nowhere near your clit. This is all for him. Just tasting you, like he'd said.

It takes him a few minutes to gain some semblance of composure, finally pulling back to lick you properly, from the pool of your wetness all the way up. His tongue is flat and firm, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat when you roll your hips against him.

"Shit-" you gasp, pleasure winding steadily through your body with every methodical drag of his mouth. He's kissing you; sucking you - fervent, hungry, almost punishing. When his tongue delves into you again, the bedding twists beneath your hands.

"So good," you urge him on, wishing you could come up with better words to describe what he's doing to you, but your mind is half gone already, melted into a puddle of 'yes' and 'ohh' and 'just like that...'

You fight to open your eyes. It's going to be over too quickly if you keep them closed, letting the heat curl up hard and sudden. You need to stretch this out. You want to enjoy every moment, every detail. But looking down, you quickly realize, is only going to send you rocketing over the edge.

His eyes are still closed, his brows knitted hard together. You can't resist running your fingers through his beautiful golden hair, enjoying the way the dim light plays in the feathery locks. Running your hand along his ear, you sigh without meaning to. You could come just from the sight of him.

"We can... slow down," you force out, trying to make him give you a second to breathe. He just keeps licking you. Same steady pace. Same hard grip on your thighs.

"If you want," you try again.

He finally slows, murmuring warm words against you. "You haven't the faintest idea, do you?"

An electric thrill courses through you at the sound of his deepened voice, hearing and feeling it at the same time. "Mm?" is all you can manage to squeak out.

Then he pulls his mouth from between your legs and looks up at you, beard sopping wet and just the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. "How badly I've longed for this."

As he replaces his mouth with his thumb, rubbing softly at your clit, you gasp and stammer out, "Because of the Nikk-" you shudder, shocks of pleasure rolling through you as he slides the back of his index finger up and down, gathering your wetness. "Th-the trial?"

He slides that finger, along with a second one, back inside you. Your gasp turns broken, choked off in the back of your throat.

His blue eyes are piercing in their intensity, his voice low and a little rough when he gives you his answer before sealing his mouth over you again.

"No."

Your eyes roll back in your head as he plays with your clit, tongue stroking over you as your hands bury themselves in his soft hair.

"Obi Wan!" you choke out, all the heat inside you gathering tightly and ready to burst. "Fuck!"

He gives you perfect rhythm, working you from two directions at once; inside and outside, steady and merciless. You can feel the soft bristles of his beard against the tender skin of your inner thigh as his jaw moves, and you mentally file it away - knowing the memory is going to haunt you every time your own fingers bring you relief when you're alone.

When he finally sends you flying over the edge, your moans turn into ragged whimpers, your body tensing hard as your pussy convulses and twitches around his fingers. You cry his name again, almost in shock at how good it feels. He's wringing every bit of your orgasm from you, dragging his fingers in that perfect curl until you have to sit up, palms digging into the mattress and rocking your body forward as the pleasure starts to flirt with overstimulation.

When you do, though, you can see the motion his body is making. It's dark in the room, but the light coming off the nearby control panel is enough to see Obi Wan's hips thrusting even as his upper body stays pinned between your thighs.

A sudden wave of euphoria shoots through your veins as you realize he's fucking himself against the bed while you're coming in his mouth.

"Fuck," he gasps, pulling off only when you shove back his shoulders. His eyes don't leave your center. "I can't... I need-"

Your mouth is still hanging open as you collapse back on the bed, legs trembling. You blink at him through a daze, watching him where he kneels. His hand - the same one he's just slid out of your pussy - goes straight between his legs and he moans.

His expression is like nothing you've ever seen him wear before. He looks completely debauched; eyes so big and soft and tormented, deep red flush set high on his cheek bones, and mouth dropped open like he's fighting for his breath. Despite your bone-deep satisfaction, you feel a flutter in your stomach from seeing him like this.

"I can't," he repeats, using one big palm to cradle your thigh as he strokes his cock furiously. "Please..."

Your hand slides down to touch his as he grips your soft skin, thumb dragging through the wetness that's spread all over your inner thighs. Your head still in the clouds, you manage to pant out, "You... made me promise..."

"A promise, is that all?" he asks, voice shaking. "Keep it. I just... need to feel you."

Wondering if it's your hazy thoughts or his words that are making no sense, you loll your head to the side. "How... could we...?"

"It isn't against the rules. I swear it."

Technically, many things could be allowed within the rules. The way the Nikkama is worded... though it's been translated so many times...

There's the letter of the law, and the spirit of the law. Which one can you bring yourself to follow?

With Obi Wan staring up at you, stomach smeared with his own sticky mess from rubbing himself against a mattress instead of you, technicalities suddenly sound incredibly tempting.

"Damn," you say softly as you unabashedly stare at him. "You truly are a great negotiator."

His brows knead together. "Negotiating? No, darling, I am begging."

He sinks one knee into the edge of the bed, leaning over you. "This is a cry for mercy."

As he strokes himself, you find yourself spreading your legs.

"Obi Wan..."

"Please, I... a-anything," he stammers hoarsely, hand grazing his cock and then tightening as he looks down. "I need it quite- quite badly."

You watch the way he palms himself, brazenly drinking in every inch of your body. And you realize how truly weak you are.

"You... couldn't put it inside..."

Relief seems to flood him as he shakes his head, leaning into you and stroking himself faster. "No... no..."

He thumbs gently at your pussy, spreading you open, and groans.

"Stars, you're so... You're dripping," he murmurs, sounding awestruck. "Lovely girl."

You make a high noise in the back of your throat, not able to answer as the heavy warmth of his cockhead is pressed against you, sliding between the lips of your pussy.

Obi Wan makes a sound like he's taken a blaster bolt straight to the chest. He still has one leg on the floor and you can feel his thigh shaking, struggling to hold him up. He's half pressing himself down into your warmth, frantic and messy as his hips buck at their own pace.

You're still buzzing from your first orgasm, but there's something deeper than just the physical that's starting to burn again already. The look on his face alone is enough to make you throb.

"We... we have to stop," you say, in a voice that's anything but convincing. "We- we have to."

"It's alright," he pants out, eyes glassy as his hands slide to your waist, holding you steady to fuck through your slick, inviting warmth. "It's alright."

You know it's not, but feeling him rocking against you like this, desperate and needy and savage, you can no longer bring yourself to care.

"F-fuck." His voice breaks, dropping off from a whine. "It's too much-"

He drops his hand into the bedding, the other hand holding your leg open as he thrusts against you, slipping over and over through the wet mess of your pussy as you writhe beneath him, hips rolling at the stimulation. His thick head dragging over your clit with each thrust is stoking the heat inside you, building it up all over again.

"Too much, it's too... oh, stars above, I'm going to come, I-"

He looks up at you with sudden, shocked eyes as if he's pleading for you to stop him, but you're too blissed-out and worked up to do anything of the sort. He reaches down, gripping himself and whimpering, still rutting against you, even through his fist.

His hips buck once more, twice, then...

"Fuck, I'm coming..."

He shudders, the head of his cock thrusting over your clit and shooting warm ropes of cum over your pussy, coating you until you're dripping with it. As each spatter of cum hits your skin, waves of pleasure and relief flood you, almost as if you're the one who's finally being allowed to come after weeks and months of building it up.

When he finally finishes, you let your head fall back, exhausted.

"Shit," you breathe out. "That... was incredible."

A low groan is all he gives you in response, still thrusting his softening cock against you. His eyelids dip low and he seems lost in a trance. You close your own eyes, letting yourself enjoy it. You can't deny your satisfaction, soaking in his sticky mess.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Obi Wan," you tell him after a few long moments of feeling him slowly drag against you. You wonder if he's quiet from disappointment, or something else. He doesn't answer you.

"I guess we failed, then?" you ask softly, trying to hide the desire in your voice when he slides over your clit. He doesn't stop moving, just slows to a pace that sends shivers down every inch of your body.

Still looking like he hasn't quite come back to himself, Obi Wan finally replies, "I wouldn't say that."

You smirk, but it's cut short when you feel him start to glide against your entrance. You stiffen, unsure whether it was an accident.

"I... I thought..."

"It's alright," he says soothingly again, just as he had before. He doesn't make any effort to elaborate.

He slides back and forth a few times more, then gathers some of the cum that's dripped down your legs with the head of his cock, pushing it back inside you. It's only when you feel him pressing at your entrance again that you realize he's starting to get hard.

"Obi Wan..." you murmur, eyes rolling back when he tenses, about to push in.

"Yes." He says it as a statement and a question, all at once. Looking up to meet your eyes, he waits, as if wondering if you'll ask him to stop. As if terrified that you will.

It's then that you realize, you aren't going to stop him. You simply don't have the power within you. Whatever it is that draws you so deeply to Obi Wan is stronger than you can bear to hold off anymore. But you have to put up a show, even if the lie is only for his benefit.

You swallow. "I don't think we should."

His eyes close with a particularly slow thrust. When he opens them, he replies with an edge of nervousness in his voice. "You don't think we should, or you don't want to?"

Trust him to get to the heart of the matter. You tamp down the hot whine in the back of your throat. "It doesn't matter," you reply, knowing you just gave your answer.

"I -ah - I won't..." he breaks off into a moan when the head of his cock presses shallowly into you.

 "...won't put it in?" you ask, vulgar. 

He shakes his head, mouth open. "No, I won't."

Your pussy sucks him tightly, making you gasp. "N-not all the way?"

He moves, and you hear the obscene sound of him sliding in and out of you. "No. No."

He shoves in a little deeper this time, making room for himself. Everything in you is burning to ask him for more. Feeling this much of him is like torture. He's right there, so big, so thick, and you just want him to fill you as completely as only he can.

Instead, you nod along with his words. "As long as you're in control."

He pulls out with a gasp, thrusting against the side of your pussy as if you've brought him back to reality for a moment.

Gasping to catch your own breath and fighting the urge to clench your thighs around him in frustration at the loss, you ask him shakily, "You're in control, right?"

He nods, arms trembling as he holds himself over you, still simulating fucking you with quiet ferocity.

"Perfectly," he promises, the word sounding drawn out, like he's barely aware he's saying it.

"Good," you tell him, fully concentrated on his cock spreading you open again, pushing into you with careful restraint. "Okay."

He holds there for one blissful moment, then frantically pulls out again, rubbing over your clit and moaning. The sound makes your pussy throb, clenching around nothing.

"I- I just need..." he lines up with you again, and you can feel a heavy spurt of precum dribbling from his cock just before he pushes inside. "Oh, need to feel you."

This time, when he stretches you open and you watch his face get drawn and tight, you realize this is the last time you can stand it. If he pulls out again, you will actually lose your mind. You feel like you've lost it a little already.

You reach a hand up, brushing back the hair that's fallen over his face, then wrap both your arms around his neck. "You are feeling me, Obi Wan."

He lets out a deep groan, pushing shallowly in and out of you.

"Do you want to come inside me this time?"

He makes a choking sound, hips stuttering wildly as he pulls back out. "You would let me?"

Heat warms your cheeks, as you suddenly remember his earlier words. "Well... didn't you say something about begging?"

Obi Wan meets your eyes, his cock hanging heavy against you. "Please, let me finish inside you."

It makes your stomach flip, and it takes your full concentration not to come on the spot. You force out a teasing, "What happened to your Jedi resolve?"

He's still holding you in his gaze as his voice goes low and plaintive. "You've broken it, darling." He gives a little groan as he pushes the tip of his cock back inside. "Along with the rest of me."

His hips shift down a little this time, and his next thrust is world-shattering.

You make a noise somewhat like a sob and he slowly pulls back, moaning deep in his chest.

"I'm sorry, that- that was a mistake, I-"

You spread your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, drawing him down to your lips for a kiss, and he sheaths himself again, fucking into you as if by instinct.

As you melt into the kiss, all the smiles and the wide eyes and the hesitating glances disappear instantly, as if a switch has been flipped. The air suddenly feels electric, and he's inside you, and everything is right in the universe.

He caves his body into yours, pounding into you with a desperate, relentless rhythm that you can feel humming in your blood. It feels like someone kick-started your heart for the first time in years.

"Thought about this for so long," you confess, losing yourself in the perfect strokes he's giving you. "You feel... so fucking good, Obi Wan."

He's panting out obscenities between every moan, but pauses to hear you speak. When he stops, at long last, it's to take off your bodice. Your breasts fall softly free of your clothing and you sigh in contentment as he pulls your naked body close, kissing you deeply.

His arms fall to your waist and he pins you down to the bed, fucking you hard and mean and perfect. His cock is so deep it's making you want to cry in relief as the waves of pleasure overtake you.

"I'm... I'm gonna come," you blurt, embarrassingly quickly.

He answers in a voice you've heard in devotary halls and senate chambers. A voice of smooth confidence and authority. A voice you've heard speaking countless holy words. 

His voice is shaking as he begs.

"Come for me, please."

You gasp his name.

"Come on my cock."

Your fingers clasp helplessly around the muscles of his arm as you twitch and writhe, face pulled tight in devastating bliss.

"Come all over my cock and let me feel it."

You come for him, the feeling ripping through you with shocking intensity as he fucks you recklessly, hungrily, desperately.

He snaps his hips hard suddenly, a shocked, "Fuck, Fuck!" tearing out of him. He spills deep inside you, coming and coming and coming as your pussy milks every drop out of him.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, as he pulls back and stuffs you full again. You can feel his cum starting to leak out as his thrusts become slower and more ragged.

"Ohhh, stars," he breathes out, suddenly empty of obscenities. "Oh, my word."

He stays there, head bowed and cock deep inside you, draining the last of himself until both of you have quieted your moaning. Then your eyes meet, and you blush. You share a knowing look, and then you kiss him.

He kisses you back, cupping your jaw gently, then slowly pulls out, making you both groan. He lies down next to you in the messy blankets, pulling you close, and you roll over to look at him properly.

"That was..."

"I know."

He kisses you again.

You lie in silence, then, just enjoying the feeling of being held by him. Finally, you work up your courage and ask him the question that's been waiting at the tip of your tongue.

"Are you... I mean... was that alright?"

He regards you, looking confused. "My darling, how could you ask such a question?"

Your lashes flutter and you look down, caught off-guard for what feels like the hundredth time by his affection. "No, I mean... with the Nikkama, I'm just... I'm sorry if I let you down."

Obi Wan's eyes go soft, and he whispers your name. "Would you like to know why I chose to ask you to act as my witness?"

Despite your bone-tired body, you're suddenly wide awake. Finally, an answer to the question you'd repeatedly thought you'd figured out.

"Yes. Please tell me."

He looks down. "Because..." He pauses to lift your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. "Of all the people in my life, there are few with whom I would feel comfortable discussing... well... matters of a carnal nature."

You nod, unsurprised.

"And... of those few, there was only one person whom I felt I could trust never to return any feelings of mine."

Your eyes go wide.

"No matter how absurdly attractive..." He kisses your hand. "How wildly intoxicating..." He kisses your cheek. "How maddeningly irresistible I may find her."

He leans down and kisses along your jaw, tracing his thumb alongside it. His words are making your head swim.

"Wh... why would you think that?" you whisper, utterly stunned and confused.

Obi Wan answers matter-of-factly, "When you ended things between us-"

"When we ended things," you interrupt, brows furrowed.

He looks at you evenly, then softly continues, "When things came to an end between us, you asked me to promise we would never behave inappropriately again. It was my belief that was what you wanted."

You feel like a rug the size of a planet has been pulled out from under you. 

"We both agreed... I mean, I thought we both agreed we were becoming too attached."

He smiles gently. "We did agree on that."

"And I... I mean, we..."

"When you asked that we spend less time with one another, I certainly agreed it would do some good. What I didn't expect was that the next time I reached for your hand, you would pull away."

You can hardly speak. "So you never..."

He lifts his eyebrows good-naturedly. "You broke my heart, my dear girl."

Years of unrequited moments come crashing down all at once. Every time you'd looked at him longingly from across the room, wondering if things could be different...

And the way you'd treated him during this entire trial...

You'd been torturing him. It was no wonder he thought you were doing him a favor by indulging him.

"Obi Wan, I... I regretted ending things," you confess, looking up at him. "I thought so many times about telling you my feelings, but I always held back because I thought it was what we both wanted."

"Well," he replies lightly, though his eyes are penetratingly intense. "What do you think now?"

You capture his mouth in a kiss that's full of every emotion you've left unspoken for years. You don't need another moment to think about it. You've thought about it so terribly, terribly long.

He pulls you close, deepening the kiss as you sigh softly through your nose. This is where you want to be. No question.

When you part, you're both smiling like a couple of padawans. You lay your head on his shoulder and pull the blankets tightly around your neck. Obi Wan drags lazy kisses along your brow, and your eyelids begin to grow heavy. You should really get up and tidy things before you drift off, but right now there's nothing that could make you want to move from his arms.

In the silence that follows, Obi Wan draws slow circles with his fingers over the soft skin of your shoulder. You clear your throat quietly.

"Just to say it, though," you murmur into his skin, "I am sorry we didn't pass the trial."

You can feel him smile against the top of your head.

"What is achievement without failure? I am more than willing to try again. Provided that... you were there to help me?"

"In ten years?" You lift your eyes to him, warm in his embrace. "Of course I will be."

--

A/N: Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this final chapter! I hope you liked it! <3

Taglist: @slinkygail @wheres-mylove @millercontracting @cacti5539 @b0xerdancer-writes @spcecadet6

Option 1 - Obi Wan x Reader: Reader is a senator's aide, Obi Wan strictly follows the Jedi code, meaning sex is forbidden. Though he can't be with you directly, he can hire someone to stand in. Or, Obi Wan has to watch another man do to you everything he wishes he could.

Option 2 - Obi Wan x Reader: Reader is a phone sex operator. Obi Wan calls in for the first time. He tells himself it's only curiosity.

Option 3 - Joel Miller x Reader: Post-Outbreak, Reader is a virgin and wants to lose it to someone nice. She only knows one nice guy, but he wants no part of it. Or, Joel does everything in his power not to ruin your innocence and subsequently ruins it worse than he could've imagined.

Option 4 - Obi Wan x Reader x Anakin: Reader and Obi Wan, already a couple, decide to fool around during movie night. Anakin watches... not the movie.