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Anakin knocked impatiently on the door to Obi-Wan’s temporary quarters. 

The leather-covered metal of his hand met the metal door with a loud, crisp noise that was oddly satisfying. His frown deepened when there was no response—he could feel that Obi-Wan was not asleep, and not meditating. His presence in the Force was muffled in a way that was unfamiliar, and Anakin didn't like it one bit. It felt wrong, worryingly wrong.

“Obi-Wan? Can I come in?” Anakin raised his voice, reaching out with the Force.

Obi-Wan didn't acknowledge him, so Anakin knocked again, distractedly nodding to a passing group of unfamiliar troopers from Master Plo’s 104th Battalion. He waited until they’d rounded the corner, and then hit the door one final time with an emphatic thunk. “Obi-Wan! I know you’re awake. Let me in. I have your crate.”

There was no reply, and Anakin huffed a loud breath in frustration, adjusting his hold on the box of Obi-Wan’s things fresh from resupply. He looked up and down the empty hallway and tried not to feel panicked, even though something must be seriously wrong with Obi-Wan. Anakin felt unable to wait any longer to check, and he began to use the Force to override the controls. “I’m coming in, Master.” 

The door slid open with a familiar swishing sound, revealing a standard, narrow cabin. The light was dim, the room only half-illuminated, but Anakin could clearly make out the form of Obi-Wan. He was sitting with slumped shoulders on the edge of the bed, staring determinately at the floor and giving no sign of awareness at Anakin’s presence.

Anakin cleared his throat and stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind him with a wave of his hand. “Hello, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan finally looked up at him, his eyes carefully blank and his expression closed. Anakin felt his breath catch at the size of the bruises on his face, and made himself keep moving. Had they really been that big back on the gunship? Why hadn’t he noticed?

Anakin raised the box awkwardly and shook it, as if to explain his presence. Obi-Wan just continued to stare at him, and Anakin was struck by how alone Obi-Wan seemed in that moment—how empty, and how small. 

Usually Obi-Wan’s quiet confidence and commanding presence filled the room, making him seem larger than life. Obi-Wan did not project that confidence now, and Anakin thought bitterly that the Zygerrians must have stolen it from him.

Zygerrian slaver scum. He’d cut down some, beheaded others, but it wasn't enough—he hadn't killed enough, he would never kill enough. 

Rex had told him briefly what the Zygerrians had done in the Kadavo slave processing facility, how they’d targeted everything that was good and giving in Obi-Wan, making a cruel mockery of his instinct to help and protect. “Every time he’d try to help or fight back, they’d punish someone else,” Rex had said in a bleak voice. “The Togruta came to resent him for the harm the Zygerrians did. He took it badly.” 

The small room was painfully quiet—Anakin could clearly hear the near-silent recirculation of air through the vents, the sound of Obi-Wan’s shallow breathing, and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Everything about Obi-Wan’s body language and Force signature felt wrong, and Anakin felt a twist in his gut.

Obi-Wan usually managed to release his tension into the Force quickly, no matter his level of stress. The fact that he hadn’t relaxed, hours after combat, was a very bad sign. It was almost worse than the oppressive silence. Almost.

Anakin set the box down carefully on the empty desk and turned, leaning back and resting his weight against the desk’s edge. He looked Obi-Wan over critically, noting with displeasure that Obi-Wan looked and smelled almost exactly the same as he had when they’d boarded the gunship on Kadavo.

It had been hours since then, hours since they'd come aboard Master Plo’s cruiser. In all that time, Obi-Wan had not yet gotten clean. His tunics were still singed and filthy, the grime of the mines was still on his skin. His eyes were so distant, and his presence in the Force was hidden under a heavy shield of numbness, but Anakin could sense roiling motion underneath. He shifted his weight uneasily, resettling and crossing his arms. Obi-Wan really didn’t seem okay...

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin broke the silence again tentatively. “What’s going on?”

Obi-Wan’s gaze sharpened and focused on him for a moment, and then drifted back down to the floor. “I’m fine, Anakin. Please leave.”

The blank tone of his voice was so wrong. Anakin ground his teeth for a long moment, deliberating, before pushing off the desk and walking closer. His eyes were fixed on Obi-Wan’s dirty and bruised face. “Master... you look terrible.”

“Thank you very much,” Obi-Wan said, his tone prickly. He glared up as Anakin approached. “I wanted to be left alone—or do you not understand the concept of a locked door?”

Anakin paused. He knew he should probably just leave—Obi-Wan didn’t want him there—but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why?” 

“What do you mean, ‘Why?’” Obi-Wan mimicked Anakin’s voice with unkind accuracy. His numbness seemed to have vanished, entirely replaced by defensive anger. “You can’t just open my door when it’s locked! It was locked for a reason!”

“But… why?” Anakin struggled to keep his voice level. “Why didn’t you answer me, Obi-Wan? You usually always answer, unless you can’t. I thought you could be hurt.”

“Did I actually feel injured in the Force?” Obi-Wan scoffed, and stood sharply as if to prove him wrong. “I’m sure that I didn’t. Did you even stop to consider why I didn’t answer, or is this actually all about you, as usual?” He stalked forward two steps, limping slightly, and met Anakin in the middle of the room, his posture defiant.

Anakin sucked in a breath to reply but Obi-Wan gave him a lethal look, and Anakin's mouth closed with a snap.

Obi-Wan continued, his voice harsh and intent. “Do you respect my space at all? You have no right to just barge in here! I’m not at your beck and call, Anakin. You just can’t stand being ignored for even a second, is that it? I can’t have one blasted minute of privacy? Why—” 

“It hasn’t been a minute!” Anakin interrupted him, standing up straight with indignation. “It’s been hours, Master, and we needed your approval about the placement of the 212th, plus the kriffing Council kept asking after you, and I didn’t know where you even were!” His voice got less indignant and more apologetic. “Besides, I wanted to give you your stuff. I thought you would want it.” 

Obi-Wan’s nostrils flared for a moment, and then he exhaled hard, turning away and running his hands over his face. Anakin watched him cautiously, as if Obi-Wan were a wounded animal trapped in a corner, capable of lashing out. Obi-Wan didn’t seem okay. He had to be okay.

“I know, Anakin.” Obi-Wan eventually spoke, still facing away, head in hands. His voice was strained but level. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over me.” His tone implied the apology was for both his disappearance and his outburst.

“It’s fine,” Anakin said to his back, trying hard and failing to keep his voice steady. “Just tell me why. Tell me why you disappeared immediately when we arrived, why you’ve not picked up your com. You missed the holocall with the rest of the Council, Master! They’re still waiting for your report! Where were you? Why weren’t you there?”

“I had to go to medical,” Obi-Wan said, his tone resigned. He sat heavily on his bed and attempted to hide a wince. “I had no urgent or actionable information for the Council, and I can submit my report later in writing.”

“Why?” Anakin asked again, concerned. The dim artificial light of the cabin only emphasized the dark smudges under Obi-Wan’s eyes, the pallor of his skin, the shadowy bruising on his face. He really looked like hell. 

Obi-Wan seemed to play dumb. “Why can I submit it later? Because—”

“No,” Anakin cut him off sharply, moving forward and coming to stand by Obi-Wan’s knee. “What’s wrong with you? Why did you need to go to medical?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged, his intentionally casual air ruined by a small suppressed wince. He tipped his head to the bottle next to him on the blanket, filled with neon green liquid. “I just needed rehydration packets, that’s all. I came back here after to meditate alone.”

Anakin made a skeptical noise, his gaze flipping between a persistent, subtle tremble in Obi-Wan’s hands and the extensive bruising on his face. He asked, voice full of knowing disappointment, “Did you at least get checked out while you were there?” 

“Why would I?” Obi-Wan confirmed his suspicions and shrugged again, suppressing another wince, making Anakin roll his eyes. Obi-Wan licked his slightly chapped lips and then reached for his bottle, his tone defensive. “I wasn’t actually injured, Anakin—just dehydrated and fatigued.”

“Uh huh,” Anakin said doubtfully, and put his hands on his hips. 

Obi-Wan shot him an unimpressed look. “Don’t ‘uh huh’ me, Padawan. I was not beaten. I would know.” He clenched his jaw, and Anakin sensed a spike of pain muffled immediately by numbness in the Force. “It wasn’t me.” 

“How can you say you weren’t beaten—weren’t injured?” Anakin asked, his stress coloring his voice. “Have you seen your face? No? Did dehydration punch you in the face? Where else did dehydration hit you?”

Anakin peered closely at all Obi-Wan’s bruises, his tone livid, his volume increasing. “Even if they didn't hit you on Kadavo, which I don't believe, by the way, but even then—you were tortured on Zygerria first, or do you think I’ve forgotten about that? Did you even heal after being the distraction on Kiros? You looked like hell before you left for Kadavo, and you know it!"

Obi-Wan’s minimization of his injuries was driving Anakin insane, and he felt an overwhelming need to verify the extent of the damage for himself. He reached his left hand out to gently cup Obi-Wan’s jaw and tilt his head up into the light. 

“Anakin, stop.” Obi-Wan rebuked him, smacking his hand away before it could touch his face and giving him a displeased look. “I am fine. Everything is superficial, and I just need some more time to meditate.” He took a deep breath, and Anakin watched his shoulders hunch defensively, his numbing shields in the Force growing in strength. “I just need to keep meditating. I’ll be out and back on the bridge shortly.”

“That’s bantha crap, Master, and you know it...” Anakin muttered sullenly, scowling as Obi-Wan took a long drink from the green bottle in lieu of answering. “Please let me see.” 

Anakin tried to lift Obi-Wan’s chin again, and this time Obi-Wan reluctantly allowed it, letting him tilt his face up into the light. Anakin sucked in a breath, almost a gasp, the damage surpassing even his negative expectations. 

Obi-Wan’s right eye was ringed with dark bruises and slightly swollen shut. There was a slash down his face from right to left that looked as if someone had almost broken the skin with an electro-whip. A large dark bruise spread across the left side of his head, from his forehead back into his hair. Anakin felt his stomach drop when he noticed patches of bruising on Obi-Wan's neck, disappearing down beneath his collar.

He ran his thumb gently through Obi-Wan’s slightly ragged beard and took a deep breath, vainly trying to contain his fury at the damage that had been done—at how wrong things were—but his emotions spilled into his voice away. “You’re lying about being hurt, and you’re lying about meditating too. Don’t bother denying it. I know you haven’t actually been meditating, Obi-Wan. It doesn’t feel like it in the Force. I don’t know what you’re really doing but it’s not meditating, so you can stop pretending.”

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, and then exhaled hard, his shoulders dropping. To Anakin’s immense surprise, Obi-Wan’s head became heavier in his hand as he leaned into Anakin’s touch, instead of pulling away. Anakin reached out with the Force again, trying to sense Obi-Wan’s emotions, but his shields were still too strong. At least Anakin could feel a fraction of the physical tension in Obi-Wan’s body drain away under his touch.

Obi-Wan usually never let Anakin do this, never reacted like this when he tried. He always pulled away, not just the first time, but every time. He never let Anakin linger. 

Obi-Wan’s acceptance of Anakin’s touch was making his heart race, and it suddenly felt like his palm was the most sensitive part of his body. All he could feel was the heat of Obi-Wan’s skin, the roughness of his beard. The moment stretched out, the sound of their combined breathing in the small room seemed very loud. 

Obi-Wan eventually spoke again, and when he did, his voice was quieter and much less defensive. “Calm meditation isn’t always something instantaneously achieved, Anakin.” 

Anakin was fascinated by the way he could feel Obi-Wan’s jaw move against his hand as he spoke. “You’ve never seemed to have trouble before.” 

Obi-Wan barked a laugh and made a real attempt at a smile, the small crinkles beside his eyes appearing for the first time probably in days. He shook his head, finally pulling back from Anakin’s touch, and Anakin let his hand drop to the side, clenching and releasing it anxiously.

Obi-Wan sounded almost wry. “It can take extra time to get into meditation when one has been stressed, even for me. You would know that, my former Apprentice, if you actually practiced the discipline.”

The comment and accompanying flash of warmth in Obi-Wan’s eyes made Anakin blush. “I know how to meditate, Obi-Wan. You taught me how, and that’s how I know you’re not actually doing it.” He poked the filthy tabard on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and frowned suspiciously when he flinched. “Why are you still so dirty, Master? Why haven’t you cleaned up? Isn’t your beard bothering you? You hate it when it’s messy.”

Obi-Wan’s smile faded, and the terrible emptiness of earlier returned. He looked down at his dirty robes and over at the tiny ‘fresher door with a defeated sigh, as if the task were too enormous for him to consider. “I’ll do it soon.”

“Why not now?” Anakin asked, worried by his shift in mood. He wanted to touch Obi-Wan again—make him relax again, smile again—but he could think of no good excuse. He narrowed his eyes at Obi-Wan’s silence. “Why are you putting it off? What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his eyes flicking evasively to the side. “I’ll get to it in a moment. I’m not…” He seemed to search for the right word. “Ready.”

Anakin gaped at him. “Since when do you need to be ready to take a sonic, Master? Wouldn’t it make you feel better? I brought clean robes.” He gestured to the box on the desk. “You need to get clean, you can’t stay like this.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his expression pained. “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to what, get clean?” Anakin’s volume began to rise again. “Why? You’re not making any sense! Are you actually too hurt for a sonic? Is that the problem?” He peered more closely at Obi-Wan’s eyes, trying to verify the size of his pupils. “Do I actually need to take you back to medical? Do you need a kriffing brain scan?”    

Obi-Wan huffed and raised his hands defensively. “That’s not necessary, I just don’t... I’m just not...” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm just not ready to go back."

Anakin blinked, and frowned. “Back where? Back to Kadavo?” 

Obi-Wan picked up the green bottle again and shook his head, no answer immediately forthcoming about what he’d meant. 

Anakin felt a surge of frustration, and poked Obi-Wan’s shoulder again, vindicated by the flinch. “Tell me what’s wrong, Obi-Wan. You never tell me anything. You always want me to talk, but you never do. It’s not—”    

“Back to the front, alright?” Obi-Wan cut him off, eyes flashing up to meet Anakin’s for a moment before falling away. “I’m not ready to go back to the front.”

Anakin stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “What the kriff does a sonic now have to do with that?”  

“It’s the first step,” Obi-Wan said quietly, staring at the floor. “Maybe in a couple hours I’ll be ready to take that step, Anakin, but I’m not ready now.” He looked embarrassed, almost painfully vulnerable. “I’m not ready to go back.”

Anakin’s chest felt tight, and he reached back towards Obi-Wan’s face, rubbing off a small smudge of purple ash. “What difference does a few more hours make, Master? What good will it do to spend them filthy? You should get clean, and then sleep.”  

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan sounded ashamed, and he almost seemed to press his head against Anakin’s hand for a moment before pulling away and looking down. He seemed so alone—so empty, so small. “I can’t, not yet.”

“Master, it’s okay,” Anakin said, his voice unsteady. Seeing Obi-Wan like this was more than unsettling, and Anakin didn’t feel equipped to handle it. He felt helplessness building like pressure behind his eyes, and his throat felt thick. “How can I help?”  

“Help?” Obi-Wan’s expression went tight. “You can’t.” 

“Yes, I can,” Anakin insisted fervently. “There has to be a way. You can’t stay like this anymore. I won’t let you.” He refused to cry, so his voice got louder and louder instead. “It’s wrong, you’re not okay, and I won’t let you keep doing this! You can’t— ” His voice cracked on the last word, and Obi-Wan looked up at him sharply, staring at him with surprise and then dawning realization. 

“Alright, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly, his eyes full of concern. Anakin felt his cheeks grow warm at his scrutiny. “You can help."

“Thank you,” Anakin said with as much dignity as possible. He swallowed and straightened, trying to figure out what needed to happen first. He used the Force to turn on all the lights, making Obi-Wan blink at him owlishly and wrinkle his nose. Anakin gave him a weak smile, which faded as he surveyed Obi-Wan’s clothes, from his scuffed boots to his filthy tunic, and back down. “Let me help you get your boots off, Obi-Wan.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, looking slightly alarmed when Anakin moved to kneel down between his legs. Anakin picked up his right heel, and began pulling off the boot, focusing intently on not yanking too hard. The sock came off with it, and Anakin gently set down Obi-Wan’s bare foot on the floor.

It was a rare occurrence these days to see any exposed part of Obi-Wan’s skin other than his face, neck, and perhaps hands. Back when Anakin was a Padawan and their lives were tangled closely together, living and working together, it hadn't been so rare. There were many more relaxed, casual evenings, afternoons spent sparring until they were both shirtless and breathing hard, even occasional chances to swim.

The war had changed all of that. 

Anakin had seen Obi-Wan in his armor so constantly for years now that he’d almost forgotten that he’d ever worn anything else. He was always covered from toe to throat, his hands gloved, so his bare foot was strangely intimate. Anakin had to tear his eyes away from the almost delicate arch. 

He took a deep breath, and then shot a friendly glare up at Obi-Wan. “You really need the sonic, Master. You smell like a bantha.”

Obi-Wan looked unimpressed. “Might I remind you that you emphatically volunteered for this?”

“You might.” Anakin said with a small smile, his attention returning to the left boot. This time, when he picked up the heel, he heard Obi-Wan suck in a breath between his teeth, his jaw clenched. Anakin’s eyes flashed up to study his face, and saw pain there. He swallowed and returned to his task, sliding off the boot even more gently and setting it aside.

Anakin pushed up Obi-Wan's pant leg and held his foot up to the light, not liking what he saw. “Your ankle is swollen, Obi-Wan. Swollen and bruised.”

“Is it? Blast,” Obi-Wan said with a grimace. “It’s my knee that I’m actually worried about.” Anakin made incredulous eye contact, and Obi-Wan explained, “I was shot off the back of a brezak, and landed wrong on my left side—my knee and...” He shifted uncomfortably. “My elbow to my shoulder. I hit my head too.” He gestured vaguely at the left side of his forehead. Anakin’s eyes traced the bruising back until it disappeared into Obi-Wan’s hair. He wondered how far it extended, and if Obi-Wan had gotten a concussion. Probably.

Anakin tore his eyes away and refocused back on what he was doing. He tried to feel if there were any broken bones in Obi-Wan’s ankle and foot, attempting to gently rotate the joint. Obi-Wan hissed, and Anakin stopped moving it. Broken or not, it definitely hurt, and Anakin was in no mood to cause Obi-Wan any further pain. 

He placed Obi-Wan’s foot on the ground carefully, adjusting his pant leg to fall straight. He looked up at Obi-Wan from between his spread knees, becoming aware of their position. Obi-Wan was staring at him with an unreadable expression, and Anakin suddenly felt hot—he could easily suck Obi-Wan’s cock from here. He cleared his throat. “How far did you fall?”

Obi-Wan shrugged his right shoulder, his eyes flicking between Anakin’s, still seeming unsettled. “It was only about 20 feet, I think, but… I’d been stunned. I landed on uneven stone without the Force to soften the impact at all.” 

Obi-Wan's face tensed in concentration as he raised and lowered his left arm, hissing at the pain when he pushed too far, his right hand swiftly moving to stabilize it. “My whole left side was crushed, but I suppose I could have died, so I consider myself lucky.” 

“Lucky,” Anakin repeated faintly, looking down at his bruised ankle. “How are your ribs?”

“Tender,” Obi-Wan said regretfully. “All of it made it hard to fight. I think that’s why the auction went so poorly, why I could barely help you. They took me down so easily. I’m sorry about that.”

“There were too many, Master, and you'd just been tortured,” Anakin said gently, trying to reassure him. He picked up one of Obi-Wan’s hands, and began pulling at the glove, frowning at the slight tremble. “Even if you’d been okay, I think we still would have lost.”

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan said, pained. “Probably. I replayed the fight in my mind a hundred times when I was on Kadavo, trying to figure out what went wrong.”

“Going to Zygerria without an army,” Anakin muttered darkly. “That’s where we went wrong.” He held Obi-Wan’s hand up to the light, studying a large bruise on the palm. He was bruised everywhere, so damaged, why had he even bothered pretending otherwise? “What happened here?”

“Kadavo,” Obi-Wan said, allowing Anakin to pick up his other hand. Anakin removed the glove slowly, finding a matching bruise on the other hand. He looked at Obi-Wan questioningly and Obi-Wan explained, “Part of the facility was a mine—I think they assumed hard labor broke the spirit.” He laughed without humor. “They weren’t exactly wrong.”

“But your palms?” Anakin asked in confusion. His eyes widened and then narrowed unhappily when he caught a glimpse of a dark ring of bruises around Obi-Wan’s wrist.

Obi-Wan’s eyes were down, focused on where Anakin was still holding his hand. “We shoveled some kind of ore by hand for hours at a time. It was very heavy, and it became hard to lift the shovel.”

“Why not use the Force to make it easier? Lighter?” Anakin asked, setting his hand down gently on his thigh. He quickly checked the other wrist, pushing back the sleeve and clenching his jaw when he found a matching bruise.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “And I couldn’t help anyone else.”

Anakin nodded, understanding Obi-Wan’s implication immediately. Obi-Wan simply couldn’t help himself without helping others. He would vastly prefer to suffer equally than make it any easier for himself. Of course, he was too good, he should never have been there, Anakin shouldn’t have let him go...

“And your wrists?” Anakin asked, dreading the answer. 

“Zygerria, I think. I was…” Obi-Wan seemed to know he was treading on sensitive ground and confirmed what Anakin suspected was true. “I was chained to the wall.”

Anakin’s voice was tight. “What’d they use on you?”

“Electro-whip,” Obi-Wan said, as if it were a comfort. “It’s just bruised, I’m sure. It didn’t even rip my tunic.”

Anakin sat back on his heels, and looked up at Obi-Wan, processing that information. His mind was struggling to piece together all the injuries into one coherent picture. Obi-Wan had been beaten so much, fallen so hard, struggled so long—Anakin had been sitting in luxury with the slaver queen, unable to help. He’d failed him.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured, his hand coming to his shoulder and squeezing gently. “I need to stand up if we are to continue.”

Anakin shook his head to clear it and hastily moved back, standing and offering Obi-Wan a hand up. Obi-Wan took it, using Anakin more for stability than for strength. Anakin made sure he was steady on his feet before letting go, but didn’t step back, just in case.

“Will you untie the knot on my sash,” Obi-Wan asked delicately, as if revealing a secret—he hadn’t been able to undo it himself. He tensed his stomach and spun the knot to the front, his voice strained, “It is rather tight.” 

Anakin nodded, and picked at it in silence. Standing this close, Anakin’s every inhale carried the heavy scent of Obi-Wan’s hair, his skin, his sweat. It was a familiar smell—an oddly comforting one. For all that Anakin would complain, it always made him feel at home. It made him feel safe.  

Obi-Wan was standing incredibly still, watching his hands, and Anakin felt another flush of heat. He was undressing his Master.

He finally loosened the knot, and let the fabric of the sash fall away from Obi-Wan’s body, sliding down to land in a heap on the ground. Obi-Wan sighed in relief as it fell. He made a small, surprised noise when Anakin shoved first one tabard, then the other, to the floor. It was so satisfying to see them fall, and hear the fabric hit the floor.  

Obi-Wan tried to roll his shoulders back, and cracked his neck.

“Were you in a collar?” Anakin asked suddenly, studying the strange pattern of bruising around his neck. “Was it a heavy one?”

“Yes to both questions,” Obi-Wan ran a hand down his face, smoothing his beard. “I’m not sure why it bruised in that particular pattern, other than the fact that I bruise easily.”

“Easily,” Anakin scoffed, his hands jumping to help as Obi-Wan struggled to untie the knots holding his outer tunic closed. Anakin carefully opened the tunic, and helped Obi-Wan shrug it off his shoulders, letting it fall. He made a face and grumbled when he saw that his hands were covered in some of the purple grime. 

Obi-Wan huffed a small laugh, and Anakin gave him a challenging look and wiped his hands clean on Obi-Wan’s chest, making his smile fade. Obi-Wan swallowed and let Anakin untie his inner tunic too, standing so still to be almost trembling. He abruptly held up a hand, making Anakin pause before he tried to push the tunic off his shoulders. 

Obi-Wan seemed to gather his courage for a moment and then spoke, his voice too casual. “The other reason I went to medical was for this.” He used the Force to bring a large tube of bacta gel into his hand from the 'fresher, and held it close to his chest. “There might be some places where this is necessary, just so you know, I am not unaware that there may be some places that require—” 

“Just show me,” Anakin interrupted, losing patience. “And give me that.” He snagged the gel out of Obi-Wan’s hand. 

Obi-Wan let it go without resistance. He took a deep breath, and gingerly turned around. Anakin made a disapproving noise when he noticed small bloodstains in the dark brown fabric. Obi-Wan began to tentatively open and shrug off his tunic before stopping with a hiss of pain. His voice was reluctant. “Anakin, how is your concentration?”

“What?” Anakin asked, his eyes fixed on the way the fabric seemed to be stuck to his back in several places. “It’s good enough.”

“Can you—” Obi-Wan asked hesitantly. 

“Yes, I can try,” Anakin muttered, placing his right hand gently on Obi-Wan’s uninjured right shoulder. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to quiet his mind—he was not assisted in that task by the scent of Obi-Wan’s sweat and blood. He focused harder, letting his attention slide into the Force. 

He felt for the places where the fabric was sticking to healing wounds, and carefully began attempting to separate the cloth from the skin without causing too much irritation. Obi-Wan was holding very still, leaning into Anakin’s hold on his shoulder. He made a noise low in his throat as Anakin unstuck the final spot. 

“Sorry, Master,” Anakin murmured. “That one was hard, it was very stuck.”

“Thank you, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, making another low, pained sound as he shrugged off his tunic, letting it fall to the floor. His upper body was suddenly bare—his warm, naked skin exposed to Anakin’s sight. Obi-Wan’s posture was tense, as if waiting for Anakin to react. His skin was so pale, with its faint constellations of freckles, and a vivid supply of bruises.

The silence in the room was deafening.

Anakin exhaled hard. He looked at the damage to Obi-Wan’s back and then he kept looking, unable to really process it all. His left hand rose, tracing the spots as he tried to categorize them, map them, understand them. There was a large mark on Obi-Wan’s right shoulder blade, which seemed to be layered beneath the electro-whip marks. 

Obi-Wan answered the silent question, “The shot that knocked me off the brezak.”

“Must have been a high intensity stunner,” Anakin muttered. His fingers followed the lines left by the electro-whip, trying to count them. “How long did they whip you until someone else told them your name?”

Obi-Wan laughed, his cheeks growing slightly pink. “I appreciate your confidence.”

Anakin hummed confirmation. “Nobody would be able to extract information from you using pain. There is no way, you’re too stubborn.” His fingers mapped the edge of the large bruise on his left shoulder, elbow and hip, trying to see if he could reconstruct how Obi-Wan had landed. “Much too stubborn.”

Obi-Wan held still for a moment, allowing Anakin’s gentle touch, almost leaning into it. He let him explore the marks until Anakin’s fingers brushed slowly up his spine. Obi-Wan shivered and stepped away, turning back to face him. “Thank you for the help,” He said in an unreadable tone. “I can handle it from here.”

“Can you?” Anakin asked skeptically, his eyes roving up and down Obi-Wan’s chest, checking for injuries. The bruises on his chest seemed older, and more colorful. Anakin assumed they were from when Obi-Wan let the Zygerrian slaver toss him around as a distraction on Kiros. “How are you going to put bacta on your back?”

“I’ll manage,” Obi-Wan smiled tightly, his eyes on the ’fresher door.

Anakin scowled, and crossed his arms. “Obi-Wan…”

Obi-Wan limped quickly over to the desk, and began rummaging through his box, pulling out clean clothes and his grooming kit. “I told you the injuries were all superficial. Now you see that I was right. You’ve helped, and can go. Thank you.”

“I think I’ll wait,” Anakin said, feeling grumpy. He’d rather liked standing inches away from Obi-Wan, sharing his air, touching his skin. He sat down heavily on Obi-Wan’s bed, kicking his feet out in front of him and crossing his ankles, getting comfortable.

“What?” Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder. “No, you don’t—”

Anakin made eye contact. “I’m putting on the bacta when you’re out of the sonic. You cannot make me leave, or I will tell Kix.”

“You wouldn’t,” Obi-Wan sounded appalled. 

Anakin flashed a smug grin. “I would.”

“Fine. Stay if you must.” Obi-Wan glared at him, bundling his clothes into his arms and marching them into the ‘fresher. 

“Thank you,” Anakin dipped his head at his retreating back in mock politeness. Obi-Wan grumbled and pulled the ‘fresher door closed with a snap, making Anakin grin. 

He pulled out his data pad and began composing a message to Snips, who he hoped was still spending time with Rex—it would be good for both of them. They’d been playing cards in the mess hall when he’d left, but dinner would be over soon. He wanted to give her time off, and commend her on her efforts. He wouldn’t have been able to escape Dooku without her, or rescue the Togruta, Rex, and Obi-Wan.

Anakin heard Obi-Wan begin the sonic, and glanced at the time. It wouldn’t be long until he was done—the best part about a sonic shower was that it was short. The ultrasonic vibrations caused dirt and grime to quickly vibrate off one’s body, and it was a strange feeling that Anakin had never really come to enjoy. While water showers hadn’t been an option for Anakin as a boy on Tatooine, he’d gotten rather fond of them at the Temple. To be back to sonics during the war was irritating. A petty irritation, but a continual one.

Anakin switched programs and began reviewing the terrain on Felucia to fill time. The planet was constantly contested because of its proximity to hyperspace lanes, and he had a sense that the 501st would be sent there again soon. They’d probably be deployed to a different continent then last time too, unless they really had lost everything that they’d gained in the past two and half years. 

Several minutes passed in quiet study before Obi-Wan opened the ‘fresher door, a toothbrush in his mouth. In clean pants, and with clean hair and skin, he looked much more like himself, and a small knot of tension in Anakin’s stomach released. The bruising still looked bad, but Obi-Wan no longer looked like he’d just walked off the battlefield. Things were one step closer to normal. 

One step closer to the front.

“You’re still here,” Obi-Wan sounded vaguely disappointed, his mouth full of toothpaste.

Anakin smiled and stood up, putting his data pad away. He picked up and began tossing the bacta tube back and forth between his hands threateningly. “I am, yes.” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and turned back to the ‘fresher, returning to the sink, spitting and rinsing his mouth with water. Anakin came up behind him, made eye contact in the small mirror when Obi-Wan stood back up. He tapped him on the shoulder, signaling he should move. “Let me wash my hands first.” 

“I’d appreciate that,” Obi-Wan said drily, stepping to the side. The ‘fresher was so small, he was almost standing back in the sonic as Anakin soaped up and scrubbed his hands. “Do take your time.”

His tone was so waspish, Anakin almost felt compelled to drag it out just to spite him. “If I rushed, you’d make a comment about that.”

“Probably,” Obi-Wan said unapologetically. “Can we get moving? I do want to put a shirt on at some point.”

“Yes, yes,” Anakin said, mock harassed. He stepped back and gestured for Obi-Wan to stand back in front of the sink, letting him step out of the sonic. Obi-Wan grumbled, and hissed when Anakin applied the cold bacta to the first small welt on his lower back. 

“Warn me next time,” Obi-Wan said, irritated. He put his hands on the counter, fingers curling into the sink, and transferred some of his weight off his left foot. “That’s cold.”

Anakin hummed noncommittally as he dispensed more bacta onto his fingers. He looked up and made eye contact with Obi-Wan in the small mirror, and said in a dutiful voice, “I’m going to apply more bacta, Master.” 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan grumbled, wincing as Anakin carefully applied the clear gel along a line of broken skin. 

“I am sorry, Obi-Wan,” Anakin apologized sincerely. He knew exactly what it felt like to have topical bacta applied to an open cut. He dispensed more gel on his fingers, and carefully examined Obi-Wan’s muscular back, taking in his wide shoulders and narrow waist, the dark marks strewn across his skin. “Is this the kind for bruises, too?”

Obi-Wan nodded, and Anakin dispensed a lot more gel onto his fingers. He carefully covered the massive bruise over Obi-Wan’s right shoulder blade, spreading the extra down the long electro-whip lines. He noticed Obi-Wan’s hands were clenched white-knuckle on the sink with a flare of concern. “Am I hurting you very much?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said shortly. “Or rather, not in excess to the task.”

“So that means yes,” Anakin sighed. “Of course I am.”

“Just…” Obi-Wan swallowed, shifting his weight. “Hurry up.”

Anakin nodded and moved more quickly, but made sure not to rush. He needed to touch every bruise, apply the healing gel to them himself, and ensure that Obi-Wan would be alright. Obi-Wan stood extremely still while Anakin touched him, almost vibrating with tension. Anakin knew the bacta stung, and wished his touch could make Obi-Wan relax instead. 

He needed Obi-Wan to feel better. 

Anakin studied Obi-Wan’s left arm, and shook his head. He applied a thick layer of gel to the bruised shoulder, daubing extra on a jagged cut on his bicep, spreading the excess down to his elbow. He wrapped his hand around Obi-Wan’s wrist and spread bacta, then tugged gently, requesting his palm. 

Obi-Wan let go of the sink with both hands, slowly uncurling his fingers from their white-knuckle grip and letting Anakin apply bacta to both palms. Anakin moved slowly, trying to not apply too much pressure as he rubbed it in. He eventually finished, letting go with secret disappointment. 

The ‘fresher was filled with the sound of their breathing, and Anakin caught Obi-Wan’s slightly glazed eye in the mirror. His mouth was near Obi-Wan’s ear, so he said very quietly, “Turn around, Master, let me do your face.”

Obi-Wan blinked but didn’t move, almost as if he hadn’t heard, so Anakin gently rested a hand on his right shoulder and squeezed. Obi-Wan straightened and turned around quickly, backing up against the sink, his voice wary, “I can do my own face.”

Anakin hummed thoughtfully at the idea, and began dispensing bacta onto his hand. “I don’t care.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said weakly, eyes following Anakin’s bacta covered fingers as they approached his face. “You don’t—”

Anakin paused with his fingers hovering just above Obi-Wan’s cheek. He made purposeful eye contact, trying to communicate how much it mattered. “Please.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said slowly. He swallowed and licked his lips, which drew Anakin’s eyes down for a moment before returning up to meet Obi-Wan’s. 

“Thank you,” Anakin said, finding an odd sense of peace and relief as he applied the bacta to Obi-Wan’s face. He carefully spread the gel around Obi-Wan’s eye, his fingers mapping the bruised slash from his right forehead down to his left cheek, and covering the bruises on his left forehead back into his hair. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes had fluttered closed at his touch, and Anakin appreciated the privacy. He liked being able to look, without being seen. It felt like it was allowed, as long as Obi-Wan didn’t know, Anakin could look as much as he liked, and appreciate what he saw.

Anakin got more bacta and continued down Obi-Wan’s neck to the older bruises on his chest—his skin was so soft, and so warm, the hair of his beard and the hair of his chest were so soft and scratchy. Anakin took a deep breath, smelling the mix of bacta, toothpaste, and the indefinable scent of Obi-Wan’s skin. He felt his cock throb, and swallowed, trying to focus.

Once the bruises were covered, Anakin reluctantly pulled back his hand. Obi-Wan’s eyes opened, and they looked oddly dark in the artificial light. Anakin felt another spike of arousal, and licked his lips. “Let me get your foot and ankle,” He murmured, unwilling to stop touching Obi-Wan's skin. He needed this, he needed to touch him. “Sit on the edge of the sink, get the weight off your ankle, I’m sure it hurts.” 

Obi-Wan moved almost unthinkingly, leaning back and sitting on the lip of the counter, his feet leaving the ground. There was a faint sheen to all his bruises from the bacta, making them stand out in the harsh light of the 'fresher. Obi-Wan stared, eyes unreadable, as Anakin sank to his knees again between his legs. 

Anakin blushed as he rolled up the leg of Obi-Wan’s pants, very aware of what the position looked like, and Obi-Wan’s eyes on his face. The ‘fresher was very quiet as Anakin tried to roll the pant leg up over Obi-Wan’s knee, and Anakin could hear clearly when Obi-Wan made a quiet, involuntary, pained noise. 

Anakin looked up with an apologetic grimace, “I need to take your pants off, Master.”

The statement hung in the air for a moment, charged and dangerous. Obi-Wan studied him, and shook his head slowly, his voice rougher than normal, “I can do my own knee, Anakin.”

“I’ll do it better,” Anakin mumbled, cheeks hot. He looked up with wide eyes. “Please.”

Obi-Wan exhaled hard. He was quiet for a moment, staring at Anakin, and then spoke in a tone that made it sound like he’d agreed after a long argument. “It’s unwise.”

“I don’t care,” Anakin muttered, reaching up for the fastening of Obi-Wan’s pants. 

Obi-Wan moved to push his hand away. “I’ll do it.”

“You have bacta on your hands,” Anakin said, almost smug. “You know it needs to air dry for at least ten minutes before contact with any surfaces. I’ll do it.”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan said in a long-suffering voice, moving his hands away. 

Anakin leaned forward, focusing intently and breathing shakily as he slid his fingers into Obi-Wan’s pants. He paused when his hand brushed up against something hard, and he shot a look up to Obi-Wan, who was looking at him warily. Anakin bit his lip and held eye contact, and then did it again, more slowly—his fingers stroking against Obi-Wan’s thickening cock. 

A million words hung in the air as they stared at each other, a hundred questions asked and answered in the Force. Anakin tore his gaze away, focusing back down on unfastening Obi-Wan’s pants, feeling a surge of certainty. Obi-Wan wanted this, needed this too

Anakin furtively used the Force to lift Obi-Wan slightly so that he could remove his woolen pants more easily. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment, somehow knowing that he didn’t have to. Anakin heard his commentary in his mind anyway, remnant of a thousand lectures. He carefully pulled Obi-Wan's pants down his legs, dropping them on the floor and leaving Obi-Wan in just his tight black underwear. 

Anakin’s eyes were stuck on the outline of Obi-Wan’s cock for a long moment, and Obi-Wan coughed meaningfully. Anakin flashed him an unapologetic smile, and redirected his attention back down, his happy mood fading away at the sight of Obi-Wan’s bruised and swollen knee, and the dark, massive bruise on his hip and down his thigh.

Obi-Wan sat very still as Anakin began to apply bacta to his legs, starting at the ankle and down around his foot, then up his leg to the knee. He hissed as Anakin’s fingers brushed his swelling and Anakin looked up apologetically. He quickly moved his hands higher, smoothing bacta slowly up the side of Obi-Wan’s thigh. His skin was so smooth, but he’d been hurt so badly. He’d tried to lie and hide this, tried to pretend he was fine.

Anakin felt like he was burning up. He caught Obi-Wan’s eyes, seeing that his expression was equally intent, his cheeks pink and his eyes dark. His chest was rising and falling with intentionally deep, steady breathing. Anakin paused with his hand on Obi-Wan’s hip, face level with Obi-Wan’s cock.

“Are you finished?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice raspy. 

Anakin nodded with a sense of private satisfaction. His eyes were still focused on Obi-Wan’s cock, and he watched it twitch. “Do you want to be?” 

Obi-Wan grumbled, “This is not a particularly comfortable position, Anakin.”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said thoughtfully. He considered all the places on Obi-Wan’s body that gleamed with bacta, and then his eyes narrowed in on Obi-Wan's rough beard. The last wrong thing. “Can I trim your beard while we wait for the bacta?”

“What?” Obi-Wan sounded taken aback. “That’s unnecessary. I can do that.”

“Your hands are still unsteady,” Anakin pointed out, making Obi-Wan’s nostrils flare and his lips press together unhappily. Anakin flashed him a smile and stood up, standing close between Obi-Wan’s legs. He looked at Obi-Wan’s beard more closely and murmured, “I know it's bothering you. Besides, you’re stuck there for about ten more minutes anyway. The bottom of your foot has bacta on it.”

“If you insist, Anakin.” Obi-Wan didn’t seem very enthusiastic, but he leaned forward anyway, allowing Anakin to reach behind him and open the cabinet behind the mirror. 

Anakin extracted the beard trimmer and hummed his thanks, examining Obi-Wan’s face again closely. He used his left hand to gently grasp his jaw, tipping his head back and to the side. “It’s not really as bad as I’d thought, but—”

“I told you it is unnecessary, Anakin.”

“I wouldn’t move your mouth too much, Master.” Anakin smiled widely as he affixed the correct guard and turned on the trimmer. “Wouldn’t want my hand to slip.”

Obi-Wan hummed in disapproval, but did not move. His eyes were very blue in the artificial light, his pupils blown. Anakin broke eye contact, refocusing on his beard. He began gently performing Obi-Wan’s shaving routine, mimicking it almost perfectly after a decade of curious observation.

Anakin greatly enjoyed moving Obi-Wan’s chin with his left hand, gently holding him still. He carefully trimmed away the rough edges of the last few days. He moved slowly, savoring the contact. Obi-Wan’s pulse was racing beneath Anakin’s fingers as he allowed Anakin to tip his head and stretch his neck however he needed. Obi-Wan’s cheeks were pink and he was breathing shallowly and swallowing often, his eyes fixed on the far wall. Anakin watched the movement of his throat in fascination every time he swallowed. 

Every time he looked down, he could see that Obi-Wan’s cock was insistently hard.

Anakin felt dizzy, almost high—he was drowning in the clean scent of Obi-Wan’s hair and skin, the warmth of his nearness, the familiar buzzing of the trimmer. He felt immense satisfaction at seeing Obi-Wan restored to tidiness. It was so satisfying. Obi-Wan looked almost like himself again, himself with lots of bruises, but himself.

Obi-Wan almost had his normal sense of presence back, but he still seemed diminished somehow. Anakin couldn’t tell what exactly was wrong, if it was the set of his shoulders, or the persistent curve of his spine, or some lingering hollowness in his eyes. It was intolerable.  

Anakin couldn’t stay quiet, couldn’t let Obi-Wan wallow. He continued slowly and carefully gliding the guard against Obi-Wan’s skin, speaking just loudly enough to be heard. “Rex told me what they said to you, what they did. You did what you could, Obi-Wan. You saved as many as you could. Helped as much as you could. You’re an amazing Jedi, Master, the best. You always make things better.”

Obi-Wan’s cheeks had flushed deeper and deeper pink as Anakin praised him, and eventually it seemed he couldn’t take it anymore, and scoffed uncomfortably. “Stop it, Anakin.”

Anakin pulled the trimmer away sharply from his chin, “I said don’t move your mouth!”

“Don’t say things that make me need to talk!” Obi-Wan sounded flustered.

“Are you incapable of being silent for five minutes?” Anakin felt an involuntary smile curling the corners of his mouth. 

Obi-Wan opened and closed his mouth several times and sputtered, “When you’re wrong, yes!”

Anakin’s smile widened, and he grasped Obi-Wan’s chin again gently, tipping it back and to the side and moving the trimmer back to his face. “You can hum your disappointment and disapproval all you want, just don’t move your mouth. We’re almost done. Besides, you do make things better, stop arguing.” 

Obi-Wan hummed negatively, and Anakin rolled his eyes. He picked up where he left off, his tone gentling. “You really are an amazing Jedi, Obi-Wan, you’ve done amazing things—saved so many lives. You think you didn’t help but you did, you always do.”

Obi-Wan let Anakin finish trimming his beard, making his disapproval known but not actually opening his mouth. It filled Anakin with a kind of glee, telling Obi-Wan that he was the best and not letting him talk back—not letting him be modest and self-effacing. It was satisfying to make him take a compliment without explaining it away. 

Obi-Wan’s face was very flushed by the time Anakin switched off the trimmer, tipping his chin up one last time to make sure it all looked right. “There. You look better.” Anakin said with satisfaction. “You look like yourself.”

“Phenomenal,” Obi-Wan said drily, still blushing.

“It is phenomenal,” Anakin murmured back. “You are clinging to lies, Obi-Wan. You know better.” He blew on the small hairs clinging to Obi-Wan’s skin, dusting off Obi-Wan’s bare neck and chest with his hand. His eyes were fixed on where his hand touched Obi-Wan, and on how the blush on his cheeks had spread down his neck to his chest. 

Obi-Wan made a small noise and Anakin looked up, meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze and getting lost in the emotion he found there. Their eye contact felt unbreakable and oddly magnetic, and Anakin felt himself pulled closer. His hands dropped from Obi-Wan’s neck and chest, coming to rest on his thighs, rubbing them absently. 

Their breath mingled together, their faces drawing unconsciously closer as the silence extended, and then suddenly, finally, they were kissing.

It was perfect.

The kiss was so gentle, so tentative—the moment was almost fragile. Their lips were pressed together, moving slowly, almost sweetly. Anakin’s mind was blank with incredulous pleasure, there was almost a ringing in his ears. Obi-Wan made a small, pleased sound, and Anakin tipped his head to the side, kissing him more deeply. 

It felt like Anakin was dissolving into the warm, soft pressure of their lips moving together. He licked the seam of Obi-Wan’s lips and Obi-Wan opened them, letting Anakin lick inside, finally allowing him to taste his mouth. Anakin groaned at the indefinable, indescribable, perfect taste of Obi-Wan and licked again, their tongues tangling together, his cock aching with arousal. 

He was falling forward, gravity had somehow switched direction and he was being pressed harder and harder against Obi-Wan, kissing him more and more passionately. He sucked on Obi-Wan’s bottom lip, making him moan, and Obi-Wan’s hands slid down his back and pulled him close. 

Their hips pressed together for the first time, and Anakin broke the kiss, gasping at the feeling of his hard cock rubbing against Obi-Wan’s. It felt incredible, beyond incredible, perfect. 

Anakin’s hands tightened on Obi-Wan’s thighs, rubbing their hips together again, pressing his cock more firmly against Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan moaned and Anakin exhaled hard, resisting the urge to rock his hips forward again and again. He tipped his head back, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes, and felt an almost painful spike of arousal. 

Obi-Wan’s pupils were completely blown, his blue eyes almost black. He was breathing fast and shallow, his mouth open. His bottom lip was kiss-swollen and slightly shiny. They looked at each other for a long moment and then Obi-Wan licked his lips and spoke intently. “Bed.”

“Hold on to me,” Anakin nodded, his heart pounding. He slid his hands around and under Obi-Wan’s thighs, picking him up and pulling him against his chest. Obi-Wan made a small, indignant noise, and wrapped his arms around Anakin’s neck. He clung to Anakin’s chest as Anakin carried him out of the ‘fresher and placed him down, sitting him carefully on the edge of the bed. 

“I won’t break, Anakin,” Obi-Wan laughed, ignoring Anakin's doubtful scoff and adjusting his seat, getting comfortable. He looked up, studying Anakin’s appearance, and mused, “You’re wearing a great deal more clothing than I am.”

Anakin looked down at himself. “I suppose so.”

“Well, take it off,” Obi-Wan suggested mildly. “Seems unfair, isn’t that your line?”

Anakin made a face at him and then considered for a moment. He stepped back and unfastened his utility belt, turning to set it on the desk. He turned back to Obi-Wan, untying the knot of his sash, and paused. 

Obi-Wan was watching him expectantly, his eyes following Anakin’s hands. Anakin swallowed and continued, undressing quickly—his tabards, tunics, and pants falling into a messy pile. He could feel Obi-Wan’s stare on him like a physical itch, and it made him hurry until finally, Anakin was only wearing the same black, regulation underwear as Obi-Wan. 

Anakin’s heart was pounding, it felt like he was boiling up—Obi-Wan’s eyes were on his cock, looking expectant again. Anakin swallowed, knowing what he was supposed to do. He slid his fingers in his underwear and pulled it down too, letting his hard cock bounce slightly as he stood back up. 

Obi-Wan smiled warmly, his eyes flicked up Anakin’s bare chest to his face and back down, and Anakin shuddered with arousal. He almost couldn’t stand how hard his cock was, and he palmed the head of his cock to ease the ache. 

Obi-Wan made a quiet, approving noise, and Anakin smiled with satisfaction, stroking himself again. He stepped forward and sank to his knees, returning to his favorite place between Obi-Wan’s spread thighs. He palmed Obi-Wan’s cock through his underwear and felt a small wet patch of precome. 

He wanted to taste it, so he bent forward with intent to lick, but Obi-Wan’s hand came to the back of his neck, pulling his face up instead, cradling his head and kissing him hard. Anakin kissed him back, incredulous with how good it felt, how right. His hand moved on Obi-Wan’s cock, stroking along the length and rubbing the head through the fabric. 

Anakin broke the kiss. “Can I take these off, Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, please,” Obi-Wan said, breathing hard. “If you want to.”

Anakin leaned up to kiss him sloppily in confirmation, and then looked back down at the underwear, scooting back and pulling it off carefully, trying not to disturb his knee or ankle. He looked happily at Obi-Wan’s naked cock, flushed and thick with arousal. 

Struck with an idea, Anakin used the Force to bring the tube of bacta back to his hand, and dispensed a large amount of clear gel onto his fingers. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm it up, testing to see how well it would work as lube. It was perfect. He licked a finger, and made a thoughtful noise.

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, “What does it taste like?” 

“Try it yourself,” Anakin said, offering Obi-Wan a finger to lick. Obi-Wan gave him a look, but licked the finger anyway and then made a noise almost identical to the one Anakin had made. Anakin smiled.

“It doesn’t taste like it smells,” Obi-Wan said. “It tastes—” Anakin stroked his slick hand up and down Obi-Wan’s cock, spreading the gel and then grasping and holding the base. Obi-Wan stopped talking, and groaned, his hips shifting forward slightly, thrusting up into Anakin’s hand. 

Anakin smiled, moving forward and gently sucking on the head of Obi-Wan’s cock. He let it slide past his lips and bobbed up and down, letting Obi-Wan’s cock slide into his mouth deeper each time, the slippery bacta helping his cock glide easily down Anakin’s tongue to hit the back of his throat. Obi-Wan groaned, his hands coming up to grab Anakin’s hair before guiltily returning to his sides. Anakin hummed encouragingly, sucking gently on Obi-Wan's cock, his tongue pressing on the vein underneath as his head moved up and down.

Obi-Wan groaned again, his hips jerking forward. One of his hands wound into Anakin’s hair, holding tight, more for stability than control, and Anakin enjoyed the tug, bobbing his head up and down, sucking and licking Obi-Wan’s thick cock. The small noises and loud breaths that he was drawing forth from Obi-Wan were possibly the most satisfying thing he’d ever heard. He wanted Obi-Wan to feel good, it was the most important thing in the galaxy to Anakin now, here, always

Anakin’s left hand slid to cup and stroke Obi-Wan’s balls, and his fingers lightly touched the sensitive skin behind, exploring tentatively. Obi-Wan gasped loudly, and Anakin felt an answering surge of excitement. He sucked on Obi-Wan’s cock and deliberately stroked the Obi-Wan’s ass again, pressing harder, and Obi-Wan made a loud, incoherent noise. Anakin hummed with pleasure. He would make his Master feel so good, he knew it. 

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan's face and stroked his entrance more slowly, with more pressure. Obi-Wan’s eyes were dark and heavy lidded as he looked back, his cheeks flushed and his mouth open. Anakin pressing harder, circling and teasing his entrance, watching Obi-Wan’s expression with fascination. He could feel Obi-Wan’s incredulous, guilty pleasure in the Force, and loved to see him like this, panting and eager.

Anakin tore his eyes away, pushing Obi-Wan's legs further apart, spreading him wider. He wanted to look at the sensitive, pink skin of Obi-Wan’s hole—he was realizing that it was a part of his Master he hadn’t seen before. It felt impossible that after so long there was still something secret, something new about Obi-Wan’s body. How many times had he imagined doing this before? A hundred, a thousand? 

Anakin slicked his fingers with more bacta, stroking and spreading the slippery gel all over Obi-Wan’s ass, making his hips jerk. Anakin smiled and leaned forward, sucking the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock back into his mouth. He looked up and held eye contact with Obi-Wan as he slowly, gently pushed his finger inside Obi-Wan’s tight ass.

Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered closed, his mouth falling open with a loud moan. Anakin sucked a little harder, moving his head up and down, slowly sliding his finger in and out of his ass. Obi-Wan made a warning noise low in his throat, and Anakin could read him clearly in the Force. Obi-Wan could come from this, was about to come, didn’t want to come—not yet.

Anakin pulled his head off his cock and smiled up at him, making sure his fondness was pouring off him into the Force, making Obi-Wan blink and then blush more deeply. He raised an eyebrow when Anakin pulled out his finger, and then leaned back and adjusted his hips so it would be slightly easier for Anakin to continue.

Anakin nodded gratefully, and put more bacta on his fingers before pressing two fingers against Obi-Wan’s tight entrance and then sliding them smoothly into his ass. Obi-Wan moaned, letting his head tip back, his hips rocking against Anakin’s hand. Anakin fucked him gently with his fingers, and then less gently, his hand moving more quickly, pushing his fingers into him harder.

Anakin watched his fingers slide in and out for another moment, and then asked, his voice husky and full of hope, “Do you want my cock, Obi-Wan? Do you want me to fuck you?” He looked up, making eye contact, begging through his gaze. He began scissoring his fingers, opening Obi-Wan up gently. He curled his fingers, seeking and finding Obi-Wan’s prostate, making him moan. “I could make you feel so good, Master.”

Obi-Wan took a shaky breath. “Yes, please.”

“Thank you.” Anakin felt dizzy with arousal, but still concerned for Obi-Wan’s well being. He looked at Obi-Wan’s bruised face, and back at the bed. “Is there any position that won’t hurt you?”

Obi-Wan scoffed, “I don’t care about that.” 

“I do,” Anakin almost pouted, pulling his fingers out. “I care.” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and scooted back on the bed, turning to lay with his head on the pillow. He beckoned Anakin closer, opening his legs. “Come here, like this. I’m tired.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin huffed a laugh. He crawled onto the bed and hovered over Obi-Wan’s body, rubbing their cocks together. “If you insist.”

Obi-Wan reached up and pulled Anakin down, holding him tight and kissing him. It felt so good to be pressed so close, so much bare skin touching, chest to chest. Anakin melted, kissing him back and trying not to crush him. He tried to put all his concern, all his respect, all his adoration into each touch, pushing the emotions at Obi-Wan through the Force. 

Obi-Wan broke the kiss and shook his head, “Don’t.”

It was Anakin’s turn to play stupid. “Don’t what, Master?” 

“Your emotions, the Force,” Obi-Wan said, slightly incoherent, “It’s too much, Anakin, I don’t… You can’t possibly feel like that.”

“Why not?” Anakin asked curiously, pulling back for a moment and spreading bacta on his cock. He moved forward again, hovering over Obi-Wan again and pressing the slick tip against his ass. “Why can’t I, Master?”

Obi-Wan looked up, making worried eye contact. “Because we’re Jedi.”

“Does that mean you don’t want this? You want me to stop?” Anakin pulled his hips back, moving the head of his cock away from Obi-Wan’s ass.

Obi-Wan made an involuntary sound of disappointment, and then seemed to blush even deeper crimson. He shook his head, his embarrassment and need leaking out into the Force. “Don’t stop.”

“You want me?” Anakin gave him a serious look, his tone cautious.

“I want you,” Obi-Wan admitted quietly, breaking eye contact. “Very much.”

“Good,” Anakin said with relief. He pushed his cock back against Obi-Wan’s hole. “Just let me make you feel good, Master. Let me take care of you.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, nodding, his expression vulnerable and hesitant. “If you really want to.”

Anakin pushed his hips forward, sinking the tip of his cock into Obi-Wan’s tight ass. Obi-Wan gasped and tensed, so Anakin stopped, exhaling hard. He stroked Obi-Wan’s thigh gently, and reassured him, trying to overwhelm him in the Force with how much he meant it. “I do want, Obi-Wan.”

They looked at each other, their eyes full of emotion, and Anakin thrust his hips forward, fucking his cock in deeper. Obi-Wan moaned, relaxing into it, taking it so well, so Anakin did it again, sinking in almost all the way and groaning loudly. He rocked his hips forward again, with a purposeful snap, filling Obi-Wan completely with his cock. He exhaled hard and froze again, letting Obi-Wan adjust around him. 

“You feel so good, Master,” Anakin panted. He couldn’t believe the tight heat around his cock was Obi-Wan, he was fucking Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan was letting him fuck him. He pulled back and thrust in again, and then moaned, searching his face, “Do you like it? Do you like my cock in your ass, Master?” 

“Y-yes,” Obi-Wan stuttered, and then spread his legs wider, whimpering. “Please.”

Anakin kissed him, disbelieving, incredulous. He’d always wanted to have Obi-Wan close, always wanted to get closer—somehow claim him, hold him, have him. Now he was as close as he could possibly come, even better, he was inside. Their lips moved together as Anakin began to slowly, methodically fuck his cock deep into Obi-Wan, searching for the right angle, trying to make Obi-Wan moan. 

“So good, Master, so perfect,” Anakin praised him and fucked him slightly harder. He pushed his cock against a spot that made Obi-Wan moan loudly, and Anakin grinned with satisfaction. He fucked him again, hitting the same spot, and Obi-Wan's hips jerked, and he made that same perfect sound of pleasure. “So perfect, Obi-Wan, perfect.”

Their eyes met again, and Anakin thrust in harder, and faster, his hand moving between their bodies to begin jerking Obi-Wan's cock, wrist twisting. All that mattered to Anakin was Obi-Wan’s pleasure, making sure he knew how much Anakin cared about him, how important and special he was, how there was nobody better. Anakin pushed those thoughts through the Force, making Obi-Wan take them too. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said in a strangled tone. “I’m...”

“Good, Master,” Anakin murmured back, looking at him earnestly and pushing his feelings out into the Force again, his hand moving fast on Obi-Wan’s cock. “Obi-Wan, you’re perfect, you’re so good, the best, my Master, please, come, I need you to, Obi-Wan—”

Obi-Wan made a small disbelieving noise and came—his body tensing, his face tightening, his eyes closing as he began to spill into Anakin’s hand. Anakin groaned at how Obi-Wan clenched down on his cock, and knew he was close too. He kept fucking Obi-Wan gently through his orgasm, the feeling was too incredible. Anakin's voice was low and satisfied, “Yes, perfect, just like that, Master.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, tone breathless, eyes hazy with pleasure as the last of his come spilled into Anakin’s hand. His last bit of control in the Force failed, his emotions pouring out. “Anakin...”

“I know, Master,” Anakin said, feeling a shockwave from the strength of Obi-Wan’s feelings in the Force-the intensity of his attachment bursting through, without Obi-Wan’s usual walls up, protecting them both from the truth. Anakin felt himself drawing almost to the edge, and moaned, “I do too.”

He pulled his hand back from Obi-Wan’s cock, covered in his come. He brought it to his mouth, licked it, and heard Obi-Wan make that noise of disbelieving pleasure at the sight. Anakin smiled at him, and fucked him again, cautious of Obi-Wan’s overstimulation. “Master, where should I come?” Anakin asked with a tight voice. “Can I come inside you?” 

Obi-Wan nodded up at him, a loose smile growing wider on his face. He wrapped his arms around Anakin’s shoulders, pulling him close, and wrapped his legs around his hips. “Please,” Obi-Wan whispered into his ear. “I want you to.” He pressed a kiss to Anakin neck, sucking gently, and murmuring, “Come, Anakin, sweetheart, thank you.”

Anakin’s head curled forward, his body going tight as he thrust in one final, decisive time, and came. He groaned, pleasure cascading through his body, the pressure rolling away into blissful relief, his come spilling into Obi-Wan’s tight body.

Obi-Wan made a pleased noise and Anakin fell forward into him, kissing him again, pouring all his feelings into the movement of his lips against the soft, slightly chapped skin of Obi-Wan’s lips. Obi-Wan’s arms surrounded him, and held him close.

Anakin eventually broke the kiss, pulling out his oversensitive cock and collapsing again, burying his face in Obi-Wan’s neck and breathed deeply, his heartbeat slowing. Obi-Wan kissed his temple, letting their breathing fall into sync.

His heartbeat level, Anakin pulled back, studying Obi-Wan's face for his reaction. The earlier, awful blankness in Obi-Wan’s eyes was all gone, Anakin noted with satisfaction. His eyes were warm again, so incredibly warm and fond. Anakin felt so safe and so proud of having helped Obi-Wan regain something that’d been taken away. 

“I want to sleep,” Obi-Wan said eventually. “We need to get clean.”

“I know, I would,” Anakin sighed, and then grinned. “But there’s someone holding me down.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, opening his arms and letting Anakin move away. “I really am tired. I need to sleep.”

Anakin nodded his support for that plan, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to stay?”

The offer made Obi-Wan smile gently. It was one he’d always extended to Anakin after his worst nightmares. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Good, because I’m pretty sure I was going to anyway,” Anakin laughed and got up, offering Obi-Wan a hand. “C’mon, sonic, and then let’s sleep.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan sounded relieved. He slid to the edge of the bed, groaning with frustrated pain as his left leg touched the ground. Anakin frowned down at him, and picked him up again. 

Obi-Wan didn't protest, just clung to Anakin's shoulders, letting him walk them back into the tiny 'fresher and prop Obi-Wan up in the sonic. It was a very narrow fit having both of them inside at once, but they did technically fit, and both quickly returned to a state of cleanliness. Anakin yawned as he carried Obi-Wan back, setting him down carefully on the bed.

Obi-Wan shot him a fond smile, and then collapsed down on the narrow bed, full of satisfaction at being off his feet for good. Anakin sat heavily on the edge and watched Obi-Wan get settled under the blanket. He felt an enormous sense of peace, and tried to share it in the Force. 

Obi-Wan lifted up the blanket and gave a little jerk with his head, inviting Anakin into bed. Anakin slid under the covers with him and curled up against Obi-Wan’s chest, trying to avoid jostling any bruises as he rested his head over Obi-Wan's heart and listening as it beat its steady, familiar rhythm. 

Anakin hummed in satisfaction when Obi-Wan’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close. Obi-Wan gently kissed his hair and ran his fingers through it, trying to untangle the knots. Anakin relaxed, drifting towards sleep. 

Obi-Wan kissed the top of his head again, and murmured, “Thank you, Anakin.”

“Of course,” Anakin said with a yawn. He was trying to stay awake while Obi-Wan was awake, but was losing the battle. “You know why.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed quietly. “I know. Me too, I think.”

Anakin smiled, and fell asleep.