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The Clone Wars rage outside—every inch of the galaxy is ravaged by it.
But in here. In your rooms on Coruscant, it’s hard to believe anything is wrong at all. In fact, in this pristine apartment where not much is out of place, the one mark that could be seen as wrong is the dimple on the bed, the emptiness of the space beside you.
When you wake up, you still see the rare speeders, people rushing home despite how late it is, or early, if one considers this quiet time where the sky is inky black morning. Rising from the bed, you rub at your eyes, glancing again at the empty space and you throw off the blankets, getting up despite the chill sweeping underneath your clothes. You grab the robe off the hook, tying it around your waist with practiced fingers before meandering to the lounge area.
The lights aren’t on, and in the darkness, you can only make out sharp shapes of furniture before you find your footing edging near the set of three steps that would lead to the couches where you welcome guests.
He’s not here.
Frowning, a sharp pang collides with your chest. It’s not unordinary for him to leave without a word, especially during times as critical as these, and even before. After all, how suspicious would it be for a Jedi Knight to leave a Senator’s apartment at the crack of dawn?
But still.
Still, you thought you warranted at least him waking you up to kiss you goodbye.
And that’s when you turn to the balcony.
There, he stands, silhouette outlined in silver as he looks up at the stars and your heart rends at how alone he appears. A sole figure overtop a city demanding peace. He’s only one man, and you…
There just isn’t enough of anything.
You walk to the door, open it with a gentle push of your fingers, and he whirls around as soon as he catches a whiff of your presence. Already, a gentle smile is working around your face and you join him despite the bitter winds that tear through your robe. It isn’t much protection, but it’ll have to do.
“What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan chides gently. “It’s cold out.” He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close against him, and you’re unsurprised that he’s warmer than you are. Still, his fingers are numbingly cold against your hip. “You need to sleep.”
“Hypocrite,” you shoot back. “You’ve been up for the past three days. I’d say it’s something to do with me except…” Except his countless assurances that it isn’t. And you’re prone to believe the Jedi Master, even if it’s against your better judgement. “Obi-Wan, please. I’m worried about you.”
You rest a hand on his chest, tugging in a silent urge for him to look at you. His blue eyes pale in the moonbeams, outlining the harsh reality of war—the eyebags, the gauntness of his cheeks, the grey tinging the auburn of his hair. He’s lost weight, he looks older than his age and it breaks your heart to know that there’s nothing you can do about it.
Here is not strong General Kenobi, the perfect Jedi as so many claim him to be.
In front of you, he will always only be Obi-Wan.
“Don’t worry, darling,” is all he says after a while. You don’t believe him for a moment, and he knows that. He runs a thumb across the apple of your cheek, sighing as blue eyes linger all over your face. His shoulders sag and a weak smile crosses his face.
A chill sweeps in again and you try to repress your shiver but Obi-Wan must’ve sensed it because he frowns, running his hand over your head and pulling you closer.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs, concern etching onto his features. “Go inside. I’ll be in a moment.” He tries to pull you back but your arms shoot around his waist, latching onto him. Looking at him, their noses brush just barely. His nose is colder than yours is.
“No. Not without you.” As if to emphasize your point, you tighten your grip on him and he watches you with raised eyebrows, judging your commitment to this little coup to his self-sabotage.
And you’re very committed.
He knows you won’t leave, and you know he won’t let you freeze to death in nothing but your sleeping dress and a robe that does nothing in the elements. In all ways, they know each other far too well.
A knuckle runs down your cheek and his other wraps around your waist as he sighs.
Then, in one smooth swoop, he hoists you into his arms and you let out a surprised noise as his other hand shoots to your thigh, guiding it around his waist. Locking your legs around him, you wrap your arms around his neck for support, one of your hands lacing through his hair. You watch over his shoulder at the city that moves slowly out of reach as Obi-Wan carries you inside, back into the warmer apartment.
“You like having your way, don’t you?” he comments wearily, traversing the darkness and towards the bedroom.
“Just sleep in my arms, Obi-Wan. I promise, I’ll wake you before the sun rises,” you whisper in his ear, and his arms tighten as he presses his nose into your shoulder.
They enter the bedroom and he lets go of your thigh long enough to brace himself over the mattress, setting you down gently. Your hands run over his shoulders, tightening into fists in his tunic and you barely catch a sliver of his blue eyes before a mouth fits against yours, tingling cold. His other hand sinks into the mattress beside your head as he lowers himself against you, and in that moment, you feel Obi-Wan completely lose every wall that’s forcing him to his feet.
His body moulds against yours, and a terrible, heavy weight sets in your chest as he pulls himself away, muttering an apology that shouldn’t have to be said through a voice that breaks.
He tucks his face into the crook of your neck.
You hold him tight against you, and close your eyes.
You hope he can’t hear your heart shatter in your chest. You don’t want to wake him before sunrise. You don’t want him to leave at all.
All you want is for him to stay here, in their nook in the galaxy, safe.
But that is not who they are.
Tomorrow, you will go to the Senate, and him, to some front line of some planet too far for you to follow.
That is who they are. There is nearly no room for rest.
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Prompt: Dele and Eric are bored one Sunday. Hanging out at Eric's. Dele looks up "things to do with your best friend" and finds "exchange a 500 word story". So they get to work writing each other a 500 word story. Eric says it has to be something fantasy, but Dele has greatly misunderstood... He thinks Eric means "something you fantasise about". Cue Dele accidentally writing hot tub smut...
31 days of Deledier - Day 9
Here it is!! Hope you like it :)
He was bored. No not bored. Restless. He was restless and on the whole he didn’t like that as a feeling. He especially didn’t like it when it coincided with him being sprawled out on Eric’s sofa, his head resting against Eric’s thigh as they watched the credits scroll on the third film they’d got through that day. It had been Eric’s turn to pick which had inevitably ended up with him choosing some edgy art film that Dele had never heard of. He’d tried to concentrate on it but as soon as he’d realised some sections of it would be subtitled he’d switched off, grabbing his phone, scrolling through Instagram to pass the time. Eric had been completely engrossed in the film, his blue eyes flickering slightly as he read the words on the screen. Every so often Dele had found himself looking at him, staring at him, and his cheeks had burned when Eric had slid his eyes from the TV and met his gaze.
At some point about half way through the film Eric’s hand had fallen onto Dele’s thigh. Despite the fact that he was wearing a pair of Eric’s baggy jogging bottoms Dele’s skin had still burned as he’d drawn loose circles across the dark material. He’d tried to focus on his phone, clicking through stories and double tapping on photos. It had been hard though, to not stare at Eric’s hand as it moved, to ignore the way it made his stomach do that weird flip he’d been trying to ignore. After a while he’d started to feel sleepy, the heat from the room and the soothing motion of Eric’s fingers combining, causing his vision to blur and his eyelids to flicker closed. He’d stretched out and Eric had moved, allowing space for him to lie down. He’d fallen asleep, waking up just before the end of the film, his face turned to the side pressed against Eric’s leg. There was nothing remarkable about the gesture, a lazy Sunday spent chilling out at Eric’s was standard practice and Dele falling asleep with his head practically in his lap wasn’t out of the ordinary either. What wasn’t standard practice, however, was the way Dele was suddenly aware of every little movement Eric made, the hardness of his thigh as it shifted under Dele’s neck.
Which was how he found himself, lay there, trying to think of anything other than Eric and his bloody muscles and the fact that he couldn’t get them out of his head. His leg was jiggling, the fidgety feeling spreading across his whole body. He felt Eric move and he glanced up, tilting his head backwards. His stomach did that flip again as he watched Eric furrow his brow, the light from the lamp behind the sofa throwing his features into relief. He felt frustration bubbling in his stomach, he just needed to do something, anything, that didn’t include thinking about how blue Eric’s eyes were.
“Another film?” Eric asked, his voice making Dele jump slightly. Eric looked down at him, confusion on his face and Dele shook his head. “Sorry, fell asleep,” he said faking a yawn, hoping Eric hadn’t noticed he’d been staring at him for a good minute or so before he’d spoken.
“And no not another film, I don’t think I can sit through another one of those weird ones you like.”
“They’re art house films Del.”
“They’re boring is what they are. Mario Kart?”
“No. I refuse.”
“I did not cheat this morning. You just aren’t very good.”
“I would say sitting on me so I couldn’t see the TV is classed as cheating Delboy.”
“Sore loser.”
“Del, think of something else.”
Eric lifted his leg up and down, bouncing Dele’s head against his thigh and Dele reached up to grip just above his knee, pinching hard. Eric yelped and swatted at his face until he released his grip. “Fine,” he sighed picking his phone up. He opened up the web browser and pressed on the search bar. He paused for a second before smiling and starting to type. “Things to do with your best friend,” he said out loud as he typed the words, Eric scoffed but leaned down to look at the screen. The search results loaded and Dele scanned the screen. He clicked the third link down and he scrolled down, shielding the screen from Eric’s view.
“Right. Let’s have a look. Oh here’s one. Write each other a 500 word story.”
“Oh come off it Del.”
“Well the next one down is braid each other’s hair and I don’t think that’s happening is it egg head?”
Eric swatted at him again and tried to wrestle the phone from his grip. Dele held onto it tight but let him see the screen and Eric barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. “Girl Talk. The website you are on is called Girl Talk?” he asked and Dele shrugged his shoulders. “It was either that or Seventeen.com which I think is a magazine. Want me to try that one?” he asked clicking back to the search results. Eric batted at his hands and Dele sat up, turning to face him. “Well do you have any better ideas?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Eric gave him a pointed look and pushed himself off the sofa.
“Fine,” he said walking over to the sideboard on the far side of the room. He started opening drawers, scrabbling around inside them, looking for something. Dele pulled his legs up underneath him and almost laughed as Eric swore under his breath. He looked down at his phone and found the Girl Talk webpage again. He scrolled back down and scanned his eyes over the information underneath the suggestion. He snapped his head up as Eric slammed another drawer shut and he cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong?” he asked and Eric turned around to look at him.
“Believe it or not Del I do not own a plethora of writing materials,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Plethora?” Dele asked and almost choked on his giggle when Eric rubbed a hand over his face. He knew he was annoying him, knew that Eric would rather just pick another film and settle back down on the sofa. But Dele didn’t want to, so they were going to do this instead. “An abundance? Oh god Del, I just can’t find any paper!” Eric shouted, before walking out of the room. Dele sat up on his knees, craning his head to look through the door. He blinked slowly, half wanting to laugh and half wanting to go after him. Had he done it? Had he finally driven Eric over the edge with Girl Talk and the need for paper?
He had just decided that it might be a good idea to go check that Eric hadn’t indeed decided to leave his own house out of annoyance when he came walking back in, waving a notebook in the air. It was navy blue with the Spurs emblem on it and Dele recognised it from a PR pack they’d been sent a few months ago. Eric was holding two pens in his other hand and he placed the three items down on the sofa with a flourish.
“Come on then Charles Dickens, what exactly are we doing?” Eric asked, gesturing towards his phone. Dele rolled his eyes and unlocked the screen. “Write a 500 words story about each other. Choose a theme, set a time limit and write a story that you would like to give to your best friend,” his cheeks reddened as he said the words out loud, realising how ridiculous it sounded. He looked up at Eric and his facial expression told Dele he was probably thinking the exact same thing. But he didn’t protest. Instead he leaned down and opened the notebook, ripping a handful of pages out of it before extending his arm out. Dele took the paper from him and dropped his phone so he could pick up a pen.
“We need a theme,” he muttered and Eric huffed out a breath. There was a moment of silence between them and Dele was about to suggest that they scrap the idea altogether when Eric said “fantasy.” Dele’s eyes widened and he looked down at the paper in his hand. Whatever he’d been expecting Eric to say it hadn’t been that. “Fantasy?” he asked, wanting to make sure. Eric nodded, twisting the pen between his fingers. “Fantasy, use your imagination Del, the wilder the better,” Eric answered, biting down on the lid of his pen. Dele swallowed as his stomach did that stupid flipping thing again.
“Ok. Fantasy it is.”
“Good. Ok. 500 hundreds words is what? A page? Shall we say half an hour?”
“Erm yeah?”
“Right. You might want a surface to lean on, you could use the table in the kitchen?”
“Oh, erm yeah OK.”
“30 minutes Del, I’ll put a timer on my phone.”
Dele lifted himself up from the sofa and walked out of the room feeling a little bit like he was in a daze. He walked into the kitchen, stepping over the two sleeping dogs and pulled out a chair. He dropped down and put the paper down on the table. He smoothed out the edges and twisted the pen between his fingers. How had this happened? How was he sat, in Eric’s kitchen, tasked with writing a story based around the theme of fantasy? He still didn’t quite understand why Eric had chosen the theme. He had expected him to just tell him to write something about football or claim he didn’t care what they wrote. But no, he’d said fantasy and Dele cheeks burned as he remembered the look in his eyes as he’d walked past him and out of the room. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. English had never been his strong subject and the thought of having to fill that blank white expanse with words filled him with dread. The fact those words needed to form his fantasy made him feel a little bit lightheaded.
The image of Eric, wearing nothing but his briefs, in the jacuzzi at Enfield flashed across his mind and he almost dropped the pen. Fuck. He breathed through his nose and shook his head trying to get rid of the image. It had happened a few weeks ago. It had been a normal day of training and they had just finished their cool down. A few of the lads were still using the ice baths and Eric had walked over to him and asked if he wanted to go in the jacuzzi. Dele had agreed, wrapping his towel around his shoulders. They’d got to the jacuzzi and Dele had got in first, keeping his socks on because he couldn’t be bothered with the hassle. The warm water had been a welcome relief after the temperature of the ice bath and he’d sat back, head against the side. Eric had messed around a bit, shouting over at Lucas who was swimming in the pool. Dele had watched him, giggling when he nearly slipped over. And then he’d dropped his towel and Dele had stopped laughing. He didn’t know what it was about that moment that had done it. He’d seen Eric topless thousands of times, he’d even seen him naked. So he’d had no explanation for the pang he’d felt low in his gut as he’d watched Eric lower himself into the jacuzzi, arms taut and abs defined from the gym work they’d done earlier in the day. He’d tried his hardest to act normal, to mess around with Eric the way they usually did but his body had been burning the whole time.
That night he’d dreamt about Eric and that jacuzzi and he’d woken up with a damp patch in his boxers.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t had those thoughts about Eric before. Christ they were flirty enough with each other for him to have taken pause several times over the last few years. But that had been the first time he’d looked at Eric and had really looked. And now he was sat in Eric’s kitchen, a blank page in front of him, with Eric in the other room expecting a story from him. Fantasy, he thought again and chewed on his lip. Eric had obviously chosen that theme for a reason. Dele’s stomach clenched and he glanced over his shoulder, wondering whether Eric was having this much trouble deciding what to write. A thrill went through him as the idea that Eric could be writing about him and he picked up the pen.
Fuck it, he thought and started to write.
***
“You done?”
Eric’s voice made him jump and Dele covered the paper with him arms. He held out his hand and looked back down at it, quickly finishing off the sentence he’d been working on. He looked back at Eric and nodded, picking the paper up and folding it into a square. He’d done it. His heart was thundering in his chest and he thought he might fall off his chair but he’d done it. Clay and Cisco shot up at the sound of Eric’s voice and they swarmed around his legs, tails wagging. Eric bent down and fussed over them before glancing up at Dele. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded up piece of paper.
“Here you go. Pass me yours, I’ll read it whilst I take these two out to the loo,” he said holding it out in front of him. Dele let out a long breath and did the same, the pair of them swapping. His hands shook slightly as the nerves subsided. He had thought for a moment that Eric was going to suggest they read them in front of each other and he’d felt a rush of nervous energy course through his body. “Be back in a few minutes yeah?” Eric said, holding Dele’s story between his fingers. Dele stared at the paper and considered snatching it back but then Eric was walking away, the dogs running after him. He looked down at the paper in his hand and smiled.
To my BFF Dele.
Eric had drawn a few stars and love hearts where he’d folded it, taking the piss but it warmed Dele’s heart all the same. His heart raced as he began to open it, his mind racing with the possibility of what he was about to read. He settled back in the chair and straightened out the paper, eyes finding the first line.
Once upon a time there was a boy named Dele.
Dele scrunched his face up. Weird flex Diet but OK. He carried on reading, almost incapable of concentrating on the words.
Dele was a brave boy but sometimes he got scared. He had to do a lot of things on his own and hardly ever got any help. One day Dele decided that he was going to volunteer for the quest. The quest was a competition to become the most valued knight in all the land and Dele knew he would have to fight Dragons and defeat evil monsters in scary castles if he were to win.
Dele’s ears roared and he reread the paragraph three times over.
Dragons? Monsters? Castles?
Fantasy.
Shit.
He dropped the paper on the floor and shot up from his chair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. When Eric had said fantasy he’d meant magic and quests and fairytales. Dele ran his hands through his hair and stared at the doorway, listening hard for any sign that Eric had reentered the house. His heart was hammering against his ribcage and his mouth was dry. He needed to leave. He really needed to not be here when Eric walked back in. He span round and grabbed Eric’s story, shoving it in his pocket and stalked out of the kitchen. He marched to the living room and started gathering his things together. He glanced at his playstation and back towards the door. He’d have to leave it, disconnecting it would take too long. He picked up his jumper and was about to pull it on when he heard the patter of paws on the wooden floor in the hallway. Dele stiffened and turned around, facing the wall. He heard footsteps and he bit the inside of his cheek. His mind was racing and he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he’d probably ruined everything.
“Del.” Eric’s voice was soft and quiet and Dele eyes burned. He felt the heat of embarrassment throughout his whole body and he stayed put, not daring to turn around. “Del, look at me,” Eric said and Dele heard the rustling of paper. He squeezed his eyes closed and lowered his head, shaking it slightly. “Del, please.” This time Eric’s voice was closer and Dele could feel him standing only a few metres away. He took a deep breath and slowly turned around, gaze fixed firmly on the floor. Eric stepped forward again and spread the paper out in his hands. Dele felt his knees wobble and he curled his hands into fists as Eric began to read.
“Their lips met and it was as if everything that had come before that moment had ceased to exist. Blue eyes met hazel ones as they pressed their bodies together, their want for each other evident as they felt hardness against their thighs. It felt so right but it should have felt wrong, they should have stopped but they couldn’t. A hand reached down, fingers brushing along the waistband of a pair of briefs and stars erupted behind his eyes as he felt - “
“Stop. Eric. Please just stop.”
“I - what. I mean -”
Dele dared to look up at Eric and the sight of him gripping the paper between his fingers, his eyes wide with questions made his heart clench. He wanted to rip the story out of his hands, tear it up into tiny pieces and ask Eric to pretend he’d never read it. He wanted to walk out of the room, leave and go somewhere we he could hide himself away.
“You said fantasy,” his voice was weak and it wobbled as he looked at Eric. “I now realise you meant of the Harry Potter variety,” he added. He didn’t know how he was speaking when he was struggling to breath and he brought his hands up to his face. Eric stepped forward again, dropping his arms to his sides.
“Fantasy. So you thought -”
“Yeah that’s what I thought -”
“And then you-”
“And then I wrote a smutty story about a jacuzzi and I feel like such a fucking idiot and it’s a joke and I wish I could -”
“It’s a joke?”
Eric’s voice was quiet and Dele swallowed as his gaze flicked to his lips. The air was thick between them and he thought his legs might buckle underneath him. “Dele is it a joke?” He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to deal with the look in Eric’s eyes or the way it was making his heart race. He didn’t know how to deal with the urge to reach out and grab Eric’s hand or the way it was making his palms sweat. And he definitely didn’t know how to deal with the way in which Eric was dragging his bottom lip through his teeth and how those blue eyes were holding him in place. Dele stayed silent and Eric lifted the paper up again.
“It was everything he had ever wanted and more than he had ever imagined. Having those hands roaming over his body, pushing him over the edge of the jacuzzi and working his finger-”
“No it’s not a joke.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, the need to stop Eric from reading that damn story enough to make him speak. He stepped back, shaking his head, lifting his hands up in front of him. “I’m sorry. Shit, I’ve fucked this up so badly.” His throat was tight and he could feel tears pricking the back of his eyes. He stumbled back further, trying to work his way round the back of the sofa.
“Del.”
“Dele.”
“Dele stop.”
A hand grabbed his and Dele’s eyes snapped up. Eric grip was tight and he squeezed before pulling him forwards. His blue eyes were shining and his tongue darted over his bottom lip. Dele shook his head, focusing on a spot just over his shoulder.
“Eric please, just forget it. Forget everything that has happened in the last hour. Let’s just choose a film and we can ju-”
The words died in his throat as Eric pulled him forward, crashing his mouth against his. The shock of it robbed the air from his lungs and Dele leaned forward, his chest hitting Eric’s. His body was on fire and his mind was a jumble of a million thoughts as he felt Eric’s hands run across his back. Eric ran his tongue over the seam of his lips and Dele moaned in surprise as he licked into his mouth. He couldn’t compute what was happening and his hands pulled at Eric’s t-shirt, scrabbling for purchase as if to confirm it was real. Eric pulled away and Dele swore, moving his hands up to Eric’s shoulders to steady himself.
“Eric. I don’t know what to -”
“I have been wanting to do that for so long. Shit Dele, you’ve got no idea.”
‘What?”
“Did you read all of your story?”
“Of course I did!”
“No you didn’t, have you got it with you?”
Dele nodded and dropped his arm from Eric’s shoulder, reaching in to pull out the piece of paper. Eric grabbed it off him and unfolded it before handing it back to him and pointing at the last few lines. Dele raised his eyebrows and Eric inclined his head telling him to read.
‘Dele had made many friends on his quest but it was Prince Eric who he had come to value the most. As he was about to receive his keys to the kingdom Prince Eric stepped forwards and smiled at him. “Dele you really are the bravest boy I know,” he said and Dele nodded his head. “I couldn’t have done it without you Prince Eric, you are just as brave as I am.” Eric nodded along but he didn’t agree. He wasn’t the bravest. He wasn’t fearless like Dele was. Because if he was then he would tell Dele exactly how he felt…”’
Dele stopped reading as Eric’s voice reached his ears and he looked up. “He would tell him that he is crazy about him and that he couldn’t stop thinking about him.” Dele dropped the paper on the floor and grabbed the back of Eric’s neck, pulling him into another kiss. This one was more assured, their lips sliding together and Dele nipped at Eric’s bottom lip. Eric laughed, his breath warm in Dele’s mouth. They pulled apart and Dele smiled.
“Yours was a bit more creative than mine.”
“Oh I don’t know about that. Been reading Fifty Shades of Grey have we?”
“Fuck off Diet, you loved it really.”
“Hmmm, if you say so.”
Dele laughed and stared into Eric’s eyes. “Are we really doing this?” he asked, a small feeling of panic settling in his stomach. Eric shrugged his shoulders in response. “You’ve basically told me you want me to finger you in a jacuzzi, I don’t think there’s any way back from that do you?” Dele swatted at Eric’s shoulder but heat coiled in his stomach at the thought. “No I guess there’s not,” he agreed before Eric closed the gap between them, drawing him into another kiss and Dele thought he might never feel this happy ever again.
