TITLE: It's Not What You Think
AUTHOR: Violet
DISCLAIMER: I do it for love always, money never.
DISTRIBUTION: Share freely. Credit always.
FEEDBACK: Oh Mais Oui!
SERIES: A sequel of sorts to You're Going To Be Sorry (per Rose's
request, who wanted a "morning after" story.)
TIMEFRAME: Takes place between episodes I and II
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Anakin/Obi-Wan
WARNINGS: Profanity, implied BDSM, Anakin's nasty filthy mind. This is
slash, darlin'.
SUMMARY: What's the difference between a mind trick and a mind game?
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They said nothing to each other.
Nothing.
Obi-Wan and Anakin walked parallel paths down the hall of the Jedi Temple, the sound of their footsteps on the polished stone floor -- Anakin's steady and proud, Obi-Wan's reserved -- echoing in torturous reverberation through the excruciating vacuum where unsaid words should be.
Obi-Wan's gaze was straight ahead. He was afraid to look his padawan in the eye. He had woken up with a dagger of guilt constricting his gut and nothing he told himself could shake it. It hurt worse than the invisible bruises between the abused bones of his wrist, worse than the ache in his . . .
Well, it hurt.
Anakin didn't seem troubled in the least. To the contrary, he seemed positively unconflicted about his position two paces behind Obi-Wan (a metaphorical position, Obi-Wan noted with some slight discontent, that didn't apply to the reality of his apprentice's long confident strides keeping pace with his own). Out of his peripheral vision Obi-Wan could discern his head held high, his chin forward, his eyes focused clearly on the end of the hallway.
And that, Obi-Wan thought to himself, as they entered the council chamber, is all I want to know about Anakin this morning.
****************************************
"Troubles me this does," Yoda's gravelly voice matched his quizzical expression. "If diplomatic immunity Alderaan has, to the Senate what value has it?"
"I do not know, master Yoda," interrupted Ki-Adi-Mundi. "I know only what I hear."
Obi-Wan, seated in his council seat, strained to concentrate on the less-than-riveting proceedings. But the guilt still gnawing at him made concentration impossible. That, and his inability to find a comfortable way to sit.
Yoda sighed, chewed on his gimel stick thoughtfully, and opened his mouth to speak. But at that moment, a soft whisper burst in Obi-Wan's head. He startled, looked around, and realized no one else had spoken.
Whisper wasn't quite the right word for it. The voice was faint but not in the breathy way whispers are – a voice barely perceived, a connection lost and gained and lost again, in halting, fleeting, slippery steps. As if –
Obi-Wan jerked his head around to Anakin. The boy stood behind him, at rapt attention at Obi-Wan's right shoulder. He stared straight ahead, an expression of pleasant alertness revealing nothing. Obi-Wan shot him a look. Anakin didn't move.
"Something troubles you, Obi-Wan?" asked Yoda.
Obi-Wan caught his breath. "Nothing, Master Yoda." he said, in as effortlessly untroubled a voice as he could manage.
Yoda scowled and continued. Obi-Wan barely had time to settle in his seat before the whisper emerged again and swelled to a resonant shout, a voice so loud in his skull he could not believe no one else in the room heard it –
Anakin's throaty voice rang loud and clear in the space between Obi-Wan's ears. A sinking feeling penetrated Obi-Wan's gut.
{Anakin! You're not to establish a rapport until I establish it for you.} he returned his brash padawan's thoughts.
{Stop it!} Obi-Wan volleyed back, but with a sinking feeling he knew his padawan already sensed his fear and panic.
"Obi-Wan!" Yoda's voice interrupted. "Pale you are. Unwell you appear. Seek medical attention you must?"
"No, sorry. Quite fine." Obi-Wan smiled weakly. "Not . . . um . . . not much sleep last night." Another wash of emotion from Anakin, this time an undisguised torrent of schadenfreudian glee.
Anakin waited a few moments. Then -
{Enough! You're not to speak to me again until I declare you ready for a rapport.}
Obi-Wan said nothing.
< I'm working up some tears right now. A-boo-hoo-hoo.>
{And what makes you think they'd believe you?}
Obi-Wan flitted another careful glance at his padawan. His expression hadn't changed. His eyes, slightly glassy with polite attention and focused on Yoda, gave no indication of what was really going on in that head.
He wouldn't dare, thought Obi-Wan to himself.
Suddenly the ache in Obi-Wan's rump was secondary to the icy vein of fear that coasted through his gut.
{You mind what you say.} thought Obi-Wan, aghast.
thought Anakin, unabated. < I bet it's that whole chastity thing again. You poor Jedi. You're so frustrated. Let's see . . . are you thinking about me?>
Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. Get out of my mind, he thought to himself. He breathed deeply in through his nose and thought over and over get out of my mind get out of my mind get out of my mind . . .
Obi-Wan didn't say anything but his heart gave a microscopic leap at the thought. He instantly rued his impulse and desperately tried to protect the feeling from Anakin but it was too late. He'd always been faster than him.
Obi-Wan crossed his legs even harder and blinked hard.
Anakin quick lifted his hand and Obi-Wan jumped and inhaled sharply. He braced himself as Anakin absentmindedly flicked an invisible mote of dust off his uniform and returned his hands to their previous demurely folded position.
Obi-Wan's pulse had not received the memo to relax yet. Blood throbbed in his veins, cut with icy adrenaline.
The blood that fled Obi-Wan's extremities in fear was quickly flooding back to its previous positions. He shifted in his seat once more.
Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide.
At this last statement Yoda stopped mid-statement and looked around, as if he'd heard a few fleeting syllables from behind the walls of another room. A crease of discontent crossed his face. He shook it off and declared, "Adjourned, this meeting is."
Beads of sweat ran down Obi-Wan's face. He was not in any state to leave his chair.
Anakin smiled at him blandly. "The meeting is over, master."
Obi-Wan jerked his head to look at his padawan. The boy's face was expectant, pleasant, awaiting the next innocuous order from his master.
"Perhaps we should leave," Obi-Wan whispered hoarsely.
The whole walk back, Anakin kept shooting thoughts at Obi-Wan.
< And you'll get it. Every fucking inch of it.>
They stopped at the door of their shared chambers.
Anakin stopped. He turned to his master.
Obi-Wan's mouth was dry. He licked his moistureless lips to no avail. He couldn't meet eyes with Anakin.
Anakin waited.
"Master," he said, his voice full of genuine deference, "Is there something you wanted?"
Obi-Wan couldn't speak. His gut felt like ice. He felt like he was on the vast edge of some uncharted precipice and the slightest gust of wind would send him tumbling into some dark, unfathomable unknown . . .
Anakin met his gaze coolly.
"Well then," he said, "Guess I'll see you later."
And he turned, walked down the corridor, and disappeared.