Title: First Assignment
Author helgaleena email@example.com
Category Slash H/C
Spoilers: not really
Summary: Obi-wan's means of helping his padawan with doubts about his first solo mission, escorting Padme back to Naboo
Warnings: Dream of Padme
Disclaimer: Lucas is the god of Star Wars and owns everything. I am nothing.
Authors Notes-- contains my theory of Obi-Ani-Padme-Qui
"You're just waiting to jump on her during the flight to Naboo, aren't you?"
It was really a rhetorical question. Obi-wan was fully aware of what was on his padawan's mind, ever since he received this assignment to play bodyguard to the beautiful Nubian senator on her way home; it was all Padme, all the time. He had come back from the inspection of her luggage and had almost mechanically shoveled in the supper Obi-wan had prepared.
A quick foray in the padawans' shared wardrobe area had yielded a few items of civilian clothing to bolster his apppearance as refugee servant-- a scarf, a stained poncho. Add one change of regulation robes, and he was ready. Never mind that the shuttle didn't leave for half a standard day-cycle! Obi-wan smiled wryly to himself, waiting for Anakin's answer.
"Don't worry, Master, I'll be trying not to even look at her. She said it makes her uncomfortable.."
What? "She--- how did that come up, if I may ask?"
Anakin's golden skin was beginning to take on a sunrise blush. He licked at his lush lips and raised his blue eyes to his master's.
"I was just--- I was just looking at her-- and she-- she-- she acted as if I were trying to touch her. I was only appreciating."
"Anakin, the Force works through the eyes as well; you know that. And you must proceed very gradually with Padme. She has yet to unfold." My darling boy, you have yet to realize the full effect of your gaze on other beings; how I have basked in that freely bestowed gaze in our time together... but he didn't say this aloud. The boy didn't need the added burden of knowing how much he would be missed on this, his first solo assignment.
"What if I mess up? What if she starts to hate me? Oh, Master, it's never mattered so much what another being thought of me-- except for you, of course."
Neither gave much consideration to the physical dangers that necessitated the whole journey; on that score, Anakin was more than adequate. Obi-wan racked his memory for experiences from their shared past that would help his padawan now.
"Anakin, do you remember the ship that was grown for you on Zonama Sekot?"*
"Oh yes, the living ship...it was like a part of me, it surrounded and responded to me so completely." Anakin was grinning like a sunburst at the memory, but his eyes and voice were choked with tears. That ship had been lost, tragically, in defense of its world. That had hurt for a long time, so much that Anakin was ill of it. And Obi-wan had been there, to hold onto him and to try to supply a similar intimacy as best he could. The pain was shared between them, so he could survive it.
Obi-wan continued, his voice a bit hoarse from his own remembrance of that pain.
"When you feel--when you feel as close to Padme as that, then, and only then, give free reign to your feelings for her. She is unused to expressing her feelings for another being at that level of intensity. It must be deepened in her, before she can return what you have to give."
"Oh, Master, I feel--" Anakin's flower-like mouth was trembling. The tears coated his cheeks as he blinked them away in annoyance at himself.
"Yes, my dear, you feel." Obi-wan moved around the dining table to take his padawan's hands in his. His thumbs stroked gently at those surprisingly delicate knuckles, the digits so much longer than his own. He sank to one knee beside the chair, so that their heads were on a level.
Anakin looked down at those hands at their soothing task, letting himself be brought back to himself, reining in his rapid, harsh breathing. He stared as if he had never seen those hands before. Then gently he lifted up their joined hands, spreading their joined arms wider, drawing Obi-wan closer. Eyes full of gratitude, he pulled free his hands to encircle his first love.
Their kiss was as new as if they had never kissed before, yet it drew on memories of a thousand others. Kisses where Obi-wan was enfolding a much smaller Anakin. Kisses where they sparred like tumbling cubs. Kisses where the sapling supported the larger tree in its healing. This kiss was like no other because it would never happen between the same Obi-wan and Anakin. They treasured its unique flavor. They opened their eyes and gazed, Force-harmonizing, breathing together, inches apart.
Obi-wan really was a beautiful man, reflected his student. The red-gold of his hair and beard set off the foliage green of his forthright eyes, the sun-kissed peach of his noble nose. He really was the most fortunate of padawans, to have such stalwart support while he was still growing comfortable with his newly adult self.
Now those eyes crept closer to his own, the brush of moustache touched his sensitized lips, and then Obi-wan was taking over his mouth, eyes wide open and determined, muscular arms crushing his torso to the barrel chest until his master's every inhalation worked as a bellows upon his own breathing. Talk about feeling! Obi-wan's tongue was invading, smashing back his own, and he felt the mouth juices springing out in response, to be ruthlessly mopped up. With a small moan, Anakin flexed his jaw in mock mastication, trying to consume that tongue. Obi-wan's reponse was to growl and clash teeth with him.
They burst apart, gasping for breath. Tears were forgotten now.
In perfect synchrony, with happy smiles, they dived for each other's belt buckles, barely inconveniencing each other in the business of undressing one another as quickly as possible. Obi's boots were worked off by an Anakin losing his trousers; tunics came off over Obi's head as he yanked his padawan's boots away.
At last they stood, surrounded by nothing but air. Anakin noticed his undertunic was still on one arm, and shook it off as of no consequence. Obi took advantage of that moment to sneak closer, tongue out, to trace a path from collar bone to neck. His padawan drew in a shocked breath of pure pleasure, his own hands rising to brush his master's back.
Obi-wan knew his weakness for kisses at this spot! He was relentlessly pushing his tongue into that hollow, pressing that button. Anakin's nails began to rake and clutch now at the flesh of his master's back, and he could not refrain from crying out. His now aroused member was massaged by the wooly hairs of Obi-wan's belly. He pressed gladly into the familiar feel. Between his legs he felt the butting of his master's own arousal. And the hands of his master, spreading him open from the other side-- coolness as air reached new places, causing more sounds to escape him.
His master growled again. That was so arousing, too! He found himself re-moistening his lips; they were getting swollen and tender from the attention they were receiving--mmm.
They were close enough to the dining table that Obi-wan could reach the dish of dipping oil. Anakin looked down to read his master's intent, then draped his arms loosely round Obi's neck with a smile. A generous dollop of oil coated two of his master's fingers. They rose gently to his padawan's mouth,where they were licked scrupulously clean, causing many groans of pleasure from Obi-wan. Anakin stilled them with an oily kiss.
The fingers dipped again, thhen went to a lower opening. This time the groans of pleasure were Anakin's. He clutched at his master's hair as fingers slid in deeper, then returned to his entrance. One of Anakin's hand found the oil, too, and began to annoint the eminence pressing against his gaping thighs. A smile of great bliss lit Obi-wan's countenance at this ablution, and he sighed with pleasure.
Anakin bent and began to bathe the teeth Obi had revealed with his tongue, even as he smoothed other parts of Obi-wan with oil. Obi-wan began to laugh, and Anakin chuckled back, without stopping his tongue's activity. He felt his master renew the digital assault from behind him-- suddenly it was immensely precious to feel those hands there, and also immensely silly.
Then the fingers abruptly went in as far as they would go. Anakin nearly swooned in pleasure, letting slip his master's mouth. And Obi-wan pressed the advantage, spinning his padawan around and uniting their oily portions in one swift motion. Off-balance, Anakin reached for a chair, and went down with it, Obi-wan on top of him.
He was on his knees now, over the upturned chair-seat, as his master entered him in earnest. Obi-wan's still slightly greasy fingers were tracing patterns on his chest, around his stiffening nipples. Through the Force, that most intimate means if communication, Anakin heard:
//Feel it, feel how much you are loved.//
//I love you too, Master,//
And slowly as a wave washing up and down a shoreline, the rhythm of his master's progress within him began. With its increase, Anakin captured his master's other hand and began to suckle at the fingers. Obi-wan swiftly sent his remaining hand to grasp his padawan's erection, imparting to it that same rhythm. That beautiful mouth, those nipping teeth, Anakin's textured tongue on his fingers soon was driving him wild.
For his part, Anakin was awash in the sensations filling every part of his body as he began to pulse to the rhythm set by his master. As the pace increased again, he was buried in an avalanche of feeling; he lost hold of the fingers in his mouth to cry aloud.
The waves caught up Obi-wan as well, pounding him into Anakin until he was completely empty. And then, for a time, they felt nothing.
Anakin became aware of the warm gaze of Qui-gon Jinn, his departed first master, upon him; from this he knew that he was dreaming. Qui-gon was very close, the familiar brown robes clothing the arms encircling him from the left. On the right, doing the same, was Obi-wan. He felt surrounded by love.
Then his two masters turned their dream-eyes ahead, to a beautiful apparition before them, so Anakin looked, too. It was Padme, he somehow knew, though it barely resembled a living being, but rather a giant flower-bud, tightly furled. The vision shifted to become more human; it manifested limbs, breasts, a beautiful face sleeping in innocence, all constructed of blossoms furled closed. Every exquisite detail of this Padme-form was perfection, yet held in potential of still more.
And then she opened her eyes, and saw him.
The blossoms of her eyes opened, and her petal lips parted, and her nipples and her fingertips bloomed, and she took breath into herself through burgeoning nostrils. Soft as butterfly wings she batted her eyes, filled with love for him. And all he could do was breathe in her fragrance, and drink in the marvelous sight of her growing splendours--
"Get to bed, padawan; big day tomorrow, a shuttle to catch."
Anakin smiled to himself at Obi-wan's tone; it was a bit silly being chivvied to bed like a child. Then he realized he was bent double, over a chair that was digging into his middle. A light covering had been thrown over him, and his master stood above him, tying on his night-robe. He smiled lazily up at Obi-wan from his improbale position of repose. Funny, what could put a person at ease about the future.
A doubt struck him. "Were you really there with us, Master?" Either Obi-wan would know what he meant, or he wouldn't...
"With my master and yours? Yes, it was a true dreaming." A hand reached to help Anakin up, and he took it gratefully, wrapping the sheet around himself.
"You saw her too, then, in the dream. She's like a flower, and can't be rushed to bloom. It helps-- I think I can control my impatience now."
"Yes, my boy, and your love for her must be a warming sun, not a scorching flame." He put an arm around his tall padawan's waist, steering him to the sleeping area.
"Someday she will love me as much as I love her."
Someday, Anakin, she'll love you as much as I do.....but he didn't say this aloud.
* from prequel novel Rogue Planet, by Greg Bear
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