#sen.fic

Obi-Wan’s felt like something of a failure ever since Master Che informed him that she’s diagnosed his Padawan with depression. He hadn’t even noticed or realised. Anakin’s been troubled for a while, this is true. But he didn’t imagine it ran so deep. He thought it was just the last vestiges of teenage angst that’ll soon be done, since he’s very nearly no longer a teen anymore.

She’d tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but that hasn’t prevented Obi-Wan’s guilt. She’d also told him everything he’d need to do to make things better for Anakin.

His Padawan needed care. Pampering, really. Feeling loved and appreciated and reminded of his worth.

She’d prescribed daily orgasms and affirmations from Obi-Wan’s own mouth. A strange order, but Obi-Wan followed it. If it will get Anakin out of this miserable void he’s slipped into, Obi-Wan will do it happily.

“Come on Padawan, it’s time.” He calls through Anakin’s door in the morning.

He hears shuffling and the door slides open to reveal Anakin with sleep mused hair and an exhaustion in the line of his shoulders that shouldn’t be there after a good night’s sleep.

“Master.” He greets softly.

“Would you prefer to do this in your room or mine, Padawan?” Obi-Wan asks.

Anakin’s eyes slide to the floor as a blush appears on his cheeks.

“Yours.” He answers after a moment.

“Let’s go then.” Obi-Wan turns towards the door to his room.

Five minutes later he has Anakin sitting on his bed next to him with the young man’s sleep pants undone and open. Obi-Wan warms the lube on his palm a bit before reaching down to take Anakin’s half-hard cock in hand. It thickens quickly in his hold.

Anakin turns his face into his own shoulder, radiating embarrassment in the Force.

“There’s no need to be that way Anakin. I’m just trying to take care of you the way you deserve.” Obi-Wan reminds him softly as he begins to pump his hand back and forth.

Despite his reticence, Anakin fails to suppress the slightly jerk of his hips when Obi-Wan twists his wrist. He lets out a small pant on air, but any other noises are held off by him biting his bottom lip hard.

Obi-Wan has the momentary impulse to kiss those lips to get Anakin to stop biting himself, but he quickly dismisses it. This isn’t for Obi-Wan nor about anything he wants. This is for Anakin.

As he pulls at Anakin’s cock in a smooth rhythm he leans forward to whisper in his ear.

“My good Padawan. You’re such a wonderful young man, and a brilliant apprentice. You deserve the world. You’re worth so very much. Especially to me.” The last bit isn’t part of the script, but he can’t quite help himself, so he adds it.

Anakin’s hips give another abortive thrust as Obi-Wan increases the speed and pressure of his hand. The only sound in the room besides his words and Anakin’s soft muffled moans is the wet slide of Anakin’s member in his grip.

“You’re just saying that.” Anakin mutters sullenly.

It surprises Obi-Wan enough that he jolts slightly. Anakin is usually quiet when they do this, except for his noises of pleasure. Obi-Wan typically has to gauge his comfort entirely off his blush, his moans and what emotions leak past his mental shielding.

“Hm?” He hums questioningly.

Anakin’s head swivels forward, finally meeting his gaze head on instead of hiding. Obi-Wan is caught by the way his entire face is flushed and sweat is collecting at his temples. There’s a glassiness to his eyes, despite his obvious aggravation.

“They’re just words! You’re only saying them because Master Che told you to. You don’t mean them.” Anakin frowns severely.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even have time to push down the impulse this time before he’s kissing Anakin, just a quick peck on the lips. He can berate himself for his terrible self-control later, right now he has other things to focus on. At least Anakin doesn’t look offended by it. Surprised, yes, but that quickly morphs into something tentative and a touch sweet.

“I mean every word Anakin. I do. You’re a wonderful person whom I appreciate deeply. You deserve so very much, and I can only give you a little of it. You are a Padawan I am very proud to teach. Your value as a person, as someone I care for, not just as a Jedi, is immense. You’re so very good. Not always, but you always try.” Obi-Wan divulges.

Anakin looks vulnerable throughout the small speech, but then his face flickers when Obi-Wan calls him good. His eyelids flutter closed and his blush deepens further.

“I’m good?” His voice is strangled as he asks it.

“So very good Anakin.” Obi-Wan repeats sincerely.

Anakin’s hips jerk and he lets out a squeaky moan he’s made a few times now when he’s getting close. Obi-Wan tries not to be affected by it. In fact, he tries not to be affected by any of this, but he’s not very good at that. His cock is a hard line in his pants ever single time he touches Anakin. But he ignores it every morning until it softens. They’re doing this for Anakin, not him.

“Kriff… Master keep- keep saying that.” Anakin begs.

Heartened at Anakin finally engaging more and answering him, he obliges.

“You’ve been doing so well for me each morning Padawan. Letting me take care of you and help you just the way you deserve. You’re good, for me and in general. You’re precious and you’re perfect. My bright and clever Padawan. You-” Obi-Wan is cut off by Anakin tipping over the edge with a cry.

Cum splashes across his hand and both of their stomachs as Obi-Wan jerks him through it and Anakin’s hips rock into him.

Obi-Wan can’t help but watch the expression of bliss playing out on his face. Anakin looks so lovely lost in the throes of orgasm. The way his face slackens, the way his dark, red lips drop open. His little pants and moans never fail to make Obi-Wan throb in his pants. He stubbornly disregards his own arousal while he jerks Anakin through it.

After a moment Anakin sighs and slumps down a little, orgasm fully wrung out of him. Obi-Wan takes his hand away and reaches for the cleaning cloth he always brings with him to wipe off his hand and then both of their stomachs.

Anakin bats his eyes and swallows loudly as he recomposes himself. He never fails to look sweeter after his orgasm. More relaxed, and happier. He usually persuades Obi-Wan to let him nestle into his arms for a long minute before they get up for their morning sonics and the rest of their routines.

Obi-Wan argued a little the first few times, but he’s given up on that now. The hold obviously brings Anakin some peace and joy, and he won’t say no to anything so small that chases away Anakin’s dark mood. At least for a while.

Anakin’s face lands on his shoulder, tucking in to his neck, and Obi-Wan wraps his arms around him.

This time is different to previous mornings though, this time Anakin’s mouth puffs hot air against Obi-Wan’s throat, making him shiver. And after a second Obi-Wan feels a light touch against his hard length through the fabric of his pants. He jolts.

“What are you doing Padawan?” He asks in a strangled tone.

“It’s always about me, you’re always making me feel good. But you- you’re hard too, every time. Let me make you feel good, Master.” Anakin whines loudly into his ear.

“That’s not the point. I’m doing this to help you. So you will feel better, it’s not-”

“This will make me feel better.” Anakin argues.

Obi-Wan frowns out at the room, torn.

“Please Obi-Wan, let me touch you?” Anakin pleads as he pulls back.

He gives Obi-Wan his patented pout. Obi-Wan hasn’t seen that begging look in a while now, Anakin’s long moved on to being sullen and moody instead of sweet. But here it is again. It heartens Obi-Wan slightly, perhaps this whole routine is working somewhat then. Obi-Wan has apparently lost some of his immunity against this look in the time Anakin has gone without using it, because he immediately folds like wet flimsi.

“…Alright Padawan, you can… you can touch me.” Obi-Wan allows uncertainly.

“You haven’t had my old room packed up yet? It’s been two years since I moved out.” Anakin hiccups.

He almost trips again, and briefly considers using the Force to sober himself up, but discards the idea. The reason they’re both stumbling through the Jedi Temple like drunk fools is that this far into the war they never get moments to themselves anymore. Anakin doesn’t know when the last time he did something fun was. So he’d asked Obi-Wan to go out for drinks with him while they both happen to be on short leave at the same time. He can still conjure up Obi-Wan’s bright smile from a few hours ago, and his pleased agreement.

So Anakin doesn’t purge the alcohol with the Force, despite his fight with the tips of his boots and the floor. It’s nice to be pleasantly buzzed, to be unburdened in the way only drunkenness can achieve.

Anakin also suggested drinking because he knew Obi-Wan wouldn’t say no. His old Master does like a drink a bit more than is wise.

Obi-Wan huffs.

“And when would I have had the time to do that? We’ve been a bit busy, if you haven’t noticed.”

Anakin tilts his head in vague acknowledgement, though Obi-Wan probably isn’t looking at him. If he’s smart, he’s looking at the hallway in front of them and measuring his steps.

“Still, two years.” Anakin repeats, because frankly it is a long time to put off the minor task.

Anakin’s room would hardly be full of stuff.

Obi-Wan shakes his head, “Fine, I’ll clean it up in the morning then. I suppose I have the time.”

His voice has that soft edge of annoyance that indicates he’s not yet truly pissed, but if Anakin keeps on, he will be. Anakin doesn’t know why he loves getting a rise out of his Master, but he always has. It’s one of life’s simple pleasures. Good caf, a new mechanical project and annoying Obi-Wan until he loses his composure and snaps.

Anakin doesn’t poke further, though he’s tempted. He’s enjoying the easy, warm comradery between them too much right now. Things have gotten tenser between them over the course of the war. They’re still close. In many ways closer than they were when Anakin was a Padawan. But there are new gulfs between them. Unresolved resentments that weren’t there before.

Anakin is no longer in any mood to fight with Obi-Wan just for the fun of it. They do that enough for real.

His mind conjures the image of his old Padawan bedroom in Obi-Wan’s Master-Padawan rooms. It’d be pretty bare now. He took all his most worthwhile possessions to his new room. They weren’t much, considering well, Jedi and possessions. But he took his Boonta Eve poster, a few other bits and pieces. His old room probably only has a few old things lying around in it. Truly, it’ll take Obi-Wan twenty minutes to clean out, Anakin is sure.

He runs through a vague mental list of old things he doesn’t remember taking with him and snags on one thing he’d completely forgotten about.

“Huh.” He says quietly.

Obi-Wan’s head raises to look at him as they turn the corner, finally reaching the hallway where Obi-Wan’s rooms are. They don’t have far left to go.

Obi-Wan pokes their bond in the Force, in silent question. It’s a bit clumsier than usual, a bit more forceful. Which makes the corners of Anakin’s lips twitch in silent mirth.

“I was just thinking…” He starts slowly as they come to a stop in front of Obi-Wan’s door and he types in the keycode.

Obi-Wan glances at him, with an interested look.

“In my old room you might… I think I…” Anakin clears his throat, as they step inside the quarters, one after the other.

The door slides shut behind them and Obi-Wan turns to face Anakin fully, still listening. Suddenly bashful about what he’s about to admit, Anakin runs his hand through his hair and glances at the floor.

“Okay, don’t laugh but... I wrote poems about you, when I was a Padawan. They were bad, obviously,” Obi-Wan’s just watching him with a blank face so Anakin rambles on, “I was thinking, they must still be in the room somewhere. If you find that flimsi just throw it out? Don’t read them.”

A small smile spreads across Obi-Wan’s lips. His face grows… fond. He looks fond, Anakin thinks.

“You wrote poetry about me?” He repeats back, sounding painfully sincere.

Anakin’s heart jumps oddly in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s revealed this. Those old poems were not the sort of thing he’d ever want Obi-Wan to be aware of. They’re… well…

They’re love poems.

Obi-Wan isn’t exactly aware of Anakin’s Padawan crush on his Master. Nor is he aware that unlike those usually do… Anakin’s never really went away.

If he reads those he’ll know… well he’ll at least know Anakin used to have a crush on him. Anakin can play it off as something that faded, if he has to. But he’d rather not talk about it. The idea of standing in front of Obi-Wan and lying to his face about his feelings like that makes his heart twist terribly. It sobers him just slightly.

“They were bad.” He stresses, hoping Obi-Wan will just agree to throw them out.

“I’d still like to see what you wrote about me, my old Padawan. Can’t you indulge an old man?” Obi-Wan teases, though not meanly.

He still looks… soft. Sort of loose and relaxed, in the low light of his rooms. He feels warm in the Force, just warm. Anakin wishes he could just burrow inside that Force signature like a blanket and never leave.

The sincerity and sweetness is making Anakin tempted to do something foolish, like speak the words that have been trapped in the back of his throat for five years.

He doesn’t though. He can’t.

He can’t.

He sighs in defeat.

He’s so tired of swallowing them, but he can’t say them. They won’t come. Not even now, in the quiet and stillness. While they’re both softened by the alcohol and trapped in this strange, gentle moment.

Maybe… maybe he can do something else, instead.

“Honestly I have no idea where they are, if you manage to find them, knock yourself out. But just remember, I told you that they are not good.” Anakin compromises.

It’s not a confession, but if Obi-Wan does manage to find those poems, he’ll know soon enough.

Obi-Wan’s answering smile is blinding. It stretches wide across his face, and the lines around his eyes crinkle. He glitters with happiness in the Force.

The display is enough to curb any immediate doubts Anakin might have. He’s made Obi-Wan happy. Which is a rare treasure these days, that alone will be worth whatever trouble he’s getting later, sober Anakin into.

“I promise I won’t judge your teenage writings, Padawan mine. And thank you, Anakin. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go sleep this off. You know the way to your bed, I should think.” He says the last sentence with dry humour.

Anakin snorts softly.

“Goodnight, Master.” He calls as Obi-Wan turns away and meanders towards the door to his bedroom.

Anakin turns to the door to his old room.