Forty-nine times. Not that Obi-Wan Kenobi was counting or anything.
But he was. Counting.
He’d known Anakin since he was a boy. He’d trained him. Goodness knew, he’d practically raised him! Over the years, they’d grown closer than brothers—closer even than lovers.
“There is no one in the galaxy I love and trust more, but you know that what you ask cannot be,” he’d told Anakin again and again and again, and the words—repeated no less than forty-nine times, not that he was counting or anything—were nothing less than the truth.
No matter how often he repeated them, though, they didn’t stop Anakin from wanting more. “Jedi are encouraged to love, Obi-Wan,” he would argue, “and the consummation of a sexual relationship is but one of love’s myriad expressions.”
“Purest sophistry, Anakin—such argumentation is beneath you. A sexual relationship encourages possessiveness. It encourages jealousy, and that is the first step on a dark path from which you may not return. I thought I taught you better than that,” Obi-Wan would grumble in reply. Then he would force a change of subject matter.
It worked. Forty-nine times, it worked.
The fiftieth time, it didn’t.
As usual, Anakin asked for sex, and as usual. Obi-Wan refused, but instead of listening to Obi-Wan’s standard declamatory rebuttal, Anakin simply grabbed Obi-Wan by the edges of his hooded cloak, dragged him into the bushes, and began to ravish him.
Obi-Wan reciprocated with equal enthusiasm. It was as if the floodgates had been opened. A lifetime of repressed desire had taken its toll on them both, after all, and they tore at each other’s robes, desperate to feel naked skin on skin, and they devoured each other’s bodies like starving men at a feast.
Ah, Obi-Wan loved Anakin so very much. He nearly wept when Anakin parted his thighs and invited him inside, and it was an epic struggle not to come immediately at that first intimate touch. If Obi-Wan could have burrowed into the depths of Anakin and never left, goodness knew, he would have!
Unfortunately, they were so consumed by their passions that they failed utterly to notice they weren’t alone in the bushes.
They’d been joined by a monster. It had been waiting for them there, hidden, the whole time.
And it was jealous. Violently. Jealous.
Not all monsters have proper names. This one didn’t.
But in the end, it destroyed the love that Obi-Wan and Anakin shared. Shortly after that, it destroyed Anakin. Last but definitely not least, it claimed Obi-Wan for itself.
Jealousy looks like a Chicken-Duck-Woman Thing to Obi-Wan. He swears up and down that it does. And he would give anything never to be accosted—or violated—by her again.
Still. On the plus side, he’s learned never to venture into the bushes of love without checking them first.