Chapter Text
Of all the ways for Anakin to spend his evening, the Jedi Infirmary had not been anticipated. Sat on the floor of his quarters for a good hour or so before even entertaining the idea of going. Because how could Anakin Skywalker get hurt? Especially over something as pathetic as tripping over disregarded clothes. No, he was fine. Completely fine in fact. It would wear off.
It was not fine and it did not wear off. That was how he landed himself in the Infirmary. Arm rendered useless; bruised, swollen, an unyielding pain. Crawling through his nervous system like poison, uncomfortably miserable. Adrenaline could only provide so much.
How could he be so stupid? That question rattled its way around his mind. Observed in all his humiliation, that fluorescent light took no prisoners. Anakin’s face red, eyebrows knit, body stiff. It was awful.
Small. So incredibly small, dread spilled from his seams, about to burst. Not only aware of his own recklessness but aware that everyone knew who he was. The chosen one, but apparently still some helpless Padawan no doubt. It stung. He wasn’t some juvenile, he was eighteen and capable! Why couldn’t the Jedi see that?
Really it was just his luck, one misfortune after the next as of late. And no, of course it had to be his right arm, the one which did everything. Because that was just the way life had been going.
But it was broken, a clean snap, no surgery needed - thank Force. But the worst part? He hadn’t even injured himself doing something worthwhile. No combat, no excitement, no story. Merely just not looking where he went. What idiot broke their arm from tripping over? Anakin apparently.
And the main thing on his mind? Not the pain, or the humiliation, or how he had just messed up training for the foreseeable. But the fact Obi-Wan would never view him as equal, not anytime soon anyway. Sure the Council could chastise all they wanted, whatever. But his Master? That was something he could not face. A bright student, a willing apprentice, a dedicated learner, all of that gone in the few seconds it took to stumble to the floor.
Right then he had to concoct a plan, finally discharged, released back into the Temple. Only a matter of time before his Master would be notified. Anakin had maybe a generous eight hours to think of something.
Back-pedalling on the spot, toes curled, ankles bouncing. Solitude could not come quick enough. Since when did elevators move so slow?
Alone in that box with an offensive sight plastered over his arm. A cast. Six weeks of it. If everyone didn’t already know he was a mess, it was about to be amplified to the edge of the galaxy and back. Though it beat sitting in a tank of bacta that was for sure.
The elevator went up and up and up, part of Anakin wished it would carry on until he met the sky. But his room would do, hopeful that Obi-Wan was still out. The whole thing having strategically taken place while the man was in some meeting. A blessing of sorts, Anakin had time to prepare for the inevitable.
What would he tell Obi-Wan? A lie for definite, the man always going on about the state of Anakin’s room. A dreaded I-told-you-so moment loomed over the horizon. Practically able to hear his Master’s letdown already. Forever just some careless Padawan knowing no better. Unable to prove himself, never taken seriously.
He hurt himself practicing! Yeah that would do it. Lightsaber in hand, combat techniques so elegantly composed in their shared living quarters. Clearly Obi-Wan would love the idea of his Padawan wielding a weapon in close proximity to their kitchenette. But he could hardly say he broke his arm meditating could he? Why was everything so difficult? No excuse worked.
Hitting his head off the wall seemed like an appealing activity. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Already standing out. Strange looks cast his way, other Padawan learners tiptoeing around him, whispers. That cast meant he might as well have worn a sign with kriffing bells on it.
Again he thought to his Master. Anakin would never be deemed ready for the Trials. Mentally preparing to be shot down by Obi-Wan’s sarcasm and disappointment alike. Maybe that hurt more than his arm. Obi-Wan would forever see him as some turbulent boy, not the man Anakin was. Eighteen, advanced for his age. Any progress he had made in proving that would surely be ripped from beneath once his Master took one look at that ugly cast.
Those doors slid open, the shared Jedi Quarters in sight. Anakin never exited anything so quick in his life. Arm tucked in against his robes, obscured to the best of his ability. Thoroughly scanning the area. Silence.
Supported by the balls of his feet, an elegant jump from one to the other. Nothing but serenity and calm. Perfect. Prowling down the corridor, moving through it like a ghost, senses attuned to the slightest disturbance around him.
Maybe Obi-Wan wouldn’t notice? What if Anakin just wore long formless robes the entire time? How long could he get away with that for? Five minutes maybe? Even if they got through meditation and breakfast, it would surely become an issue when sparring. Force, Anakin was done for. Destined to be shackled to the archives for the foreseeable. Maybe he should have tripped and broke his neck instead.
Though he could worry about that once settled, there were bigger priorities at hand. Flexing fingers - ow no don’t do that - a wince died on his tongue, hating how that ugly sensation trickled from arm to brain. Eyes screwed shut, a grimace. Then composure. He had a task to do, get to his quarters, deal with the rest later. Anakin knew how to apply himself when necessary.
That door, never had he been so grateful to see it. The Force lay still, the quarters empty. Yes. Obi-Wan was away. The whole place to himself, no explanation needed until the morning. A small victory.
A weight lifted once firmly inside. Everything just as it had been left. He could exist in peace.
Boots kicked off, robes flung over the couch - Obi-Wan could shout at him in the morning - good hand carded through that freshly shorn hair. He had made it, no one had seen and he had made it. Relief. No one had witnessed Anakin’s colossal mishap. Right then his injury was his, only existing in the confinement of that space, and technically the Infirmary as well though Anakin smothered that thought.
And then he sat. Pressure in his chest relieved, a small sigh slipped from his lips, head tilted back.
Where was Obi-Wan? He should have been back by then.
Relaxation never did last. With new found insecurity Anakin stood, the living quarters examined more thoroughly. Nope. Nothing out of the ordinary, and no message on his comlink either. Just what was the man doing? The meeting must have finished.
Heavily Anakin padded to the sink, water seemed like a good call. Freshen up. Immediately he went to reach for a glass. A mistake. Once again a victim to his own ignorance. Only then he allowed himself to vocalise the discomfort, condemn the pain in a short burst of anger. Left hand. The left!
If Obi-Wan was to be back soon Anakin needed to be tactical. Ready himself for the night, bound to the sanctity if his bedroom. With any luck Obi-Wan would assume he was asleep by the time he returned. All Anakin had to do was orchestrate the operation.
The refresher, that was where he went. Wash his face, brush his teeth, piss. As long as that was out of the way Anakin would be alright.
He stepped in there, a man with a plan. Tactical efficiency. Obi-Wan could have been back any moment. Pee first, wash hands, then face, and finally his teeth. Done.
Only it wasn’t was it? Sithspit how could he be so forgetful?
That box taunted from the corner. The whole reason he was in his current predicament to begin with, what Anakin was on his way to do before getting bested by clumsy footwork. It was shot day. Things just had to get better and better.
Maybe he could leave it, do it in the morning. However the lecture from Obi-Wan would presumably eat into that time, along with meditation then breakfast, and then everything which followed. Eyes on him, lingering glances, perhaps even the odd question or two. Those thoughts alone turned up the heat, Anakin’s blood gradually brought to a boil.
With his good hand crushing it, the box landed on the counter with a blunt thud. Hopefully nothing broke.
Doing it one handed was going to be difficult. A challenge Anakin had failed to comprehend. For Force sake why wouldn’t it stay still? The glass vial slid across the surface, chased by the needle. Eventually Anakin settled on propping it up against the hard shell of his cast. Couldn’t run from him anymore.
Actually drawing the testosterone was another problem, steadying the vial as best he could with that incapacitated grip. Completely unaffected by the pain if he ignored the wince he made. However still the desirable approach than returning to the Infirmary. Anakin didn’t want to see the sights of it ever again.
Thankfully the vial was not dropped when flipped, needle firmly buried inside ready to draw in the liquid. Though it was up to his good hand to deal with the intricacies. Never had Anakin attempted it with his left, but first time for everything right? The testosterone pulled into it with janky awkward movement. But he did it. Success.
Everything which followed was easier. Expose his thigh, sterilise the area, stab himself. A routine Anakin was more than accustomed to by that point. After years of practice it was essentially second nature.
However the initial puncture always pinched, completed by the thick push of liquid. Not exactly pleasant.
And then it was done. Dressing himself to modesty once more, Anakin’s plan had worked. With less strength than previously that box got tucked away, everything disposed of. It took a little longer than usual but whatever, Obi-Wan still hadn’t shown up. Just where was he? That twang of jealousy constricted Anakin’s chest.
The boy who stared back in the mirror was almost unrecognisable, dark crescents beneath those eyes, pale, peering back through heavy lids. It had been a long day.
Bed. That was what Anakin wanted. Body pleading for rest, and hardly able to refuse when that sensation blanketed his mind. Manipulated by the most basic necessities, how terrible.
Though his room was the safest place to be. Where he ought to go. The longer he stayed out in the open the more likely he was to be caught. Desperately needing a place to lick his wounds.
His head poked from the refresher, a creature from its den. Rationally aware his Master was not there but Anakin still found himself cautious.
With thoughtful steps he made his way to his bedroom, a carpeting of clothes still over the floor. That could be dealt with in the morning. Just like everything else.
Only once seated on his mattress did Anakin allow himself to deflate. One strong exhale. What had he done? Everyone would laugh, mock him. Probably destined to be the butt of the joke even long after healing. Worst of all Obi-Wan certainly would never forget, and that stung.
Undressing proved difficult. Having one working arm really slowed stuff down, who would have thought? But Anakin got there eventually, stripping to only boxers. His robes added to the growing mound next to his bed.
Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t thought about sleeping, unable to lie on his right side entirely. Getting through the night would be a chore.
Anakin threw the covers back and clambered in, only as comfortable as he could be he supposed. Flat on his back with only his ceiling for company, how entertaining. No matter how much his eyelids drooped he did not sleep, too absorbed in the inevitable, hung up on what if’s. Besides it was an early night by Anakin’s standards.
For the first time that evening he examined his cast. Really looked. Plain white, hard, itchy. Sometimes people got signatures, not exactly unheard of. Words of encouragement and niceties alike, get well soon. Who would sign Anakin’s? The list began and ended with Obi-Wan. No, it would remain bare. That white colour destined to dirty over the coming weeks.
All it did was symbolise failure. The Chosen One who tripped over his own clutter. If it had been anyone else it would have been funny.
But he was an adult! Sick and tired of proving himself, wasn’t his skill enough? His destiny? And all he had to show for it was one pitiful injury.
Obi-Wan was going to lecture him. A Jedi keeps their room tidy. A Jedi is observant. A Jedi folds their clothes. Blah, blah, blah. The nauseating truth however would be the let down behind his Master’s eyes. Anakin represented them both, as long as he wore his braid, conformed to tradition, then his image was his Master’s. And right then Anakin’s image was an ugly cast and feeling sorry for himself.
A long night awaited, one filled with tossing and turning. Unable to amuse himself either, getting up to watch the HoloTV, or train, or anything really to blow off steam was all out of the question. Just lying there alone with his thoughts.
More excuses crossed his mind. What if he got into a fight? Sure, renowned pacifist Obi-Wan would love that. Maybe Anakin tripped in the shower, wasn’t his fault, the ground was wet. Marginally better.
How was he meant to wash? The realisation crashed down from above. The cast couldn’t get wet. A long groan twisted to life. Too much he hadn’t considered. Washing, training, even leaving the Temple. It was just one miserable thing after another. Really he should have just asked the Infirmary to saw his arm off and be done with it. Perhaps Anakin could gnaw through the tissue, muscle and bone if he tried.
There was only one way Anakin knew to deal with stress. The easiest solution. That pit in his stomach having opened, the anticipation of what was to come.
With little hesitation Anakin folded that Temple-issued pillow in half, propped up just a bit. One leg bent at the knee, the other spread. It was an easy choice really; de-stress, knock himself out afterwards, even maybe a hint of pain relief. Couldn’t be difficult right? After all he had touched himself so many times before.
Thoughtlessly Anakin’s hand rushed down between his thighs, as if under some sort of time constraint. That wet feeling already present, body knowing what to expect. It had been too long really since last time, or too long by Anakin’s standards anyway. Three, four days? Too long.
It was a routine, never failing to masturbate after his shot. Conditioning or testosterone? It didn’t matter. Anakin wanted an orgasm.
After all Obi-Wan was out and Anakin was safely in private, who would stop him? Never had he been one to take his time, race to that finish line, bullish and headstrong. Not so much about pleasure other than release. It wouldn’t take long, not if Anakin played his cards right. And his little tdick already ached, a light throb around the base, ready to go. Anakin could be finished in minutes.
The band of his underwear snapped over his wrist, why bother taking them off? A small sigh, fingers framed his dick, braced at the root. Nothing shy of normal. Only that wasn’t true. It was his left hand, non-dominant, atypical. Of course that didn’t matter, a hand was a hand, even if untrained Anakin still knew how to use it.
Small circles, just what he enjoyed. Some build up was appreciated. Around and around, shallow movements.
But it was wrong. All wrong. The angle, the pace, the sensation. It was like having to tune himself from scratch. Nothing felt as it should.
So he tried again, clockwise, anticlockwise, different position. Futile. Though his body wanted, intensified arousal, yearning. Dick plump from teasing, that pulse flowed free.
Anakin’s fingers slipped as he squeezed harder, trying to coax something from himself, anything. Yet still nothing. Light strokes, rough strokes, all the same. Left hand not quite working. Pent up sexual energy danced through his body, cruelly having worked himself up.
Teeth sank into that plush lower lip, brow knit, still attempting to masturbate no doubt. The longer he touched the more he needed and the less he got in return. Fat tdick hard and waiting, if he glanced down, pried off his underwear, Anakin bet it poked through his curls.
But when had a challenge ever been off putting?? He was determined, and too riled up. Each choice made with lustful judgement.
It was strange, the touch was there and he had the desire, but overall it lacked satisfaction. As if it were something else entirely, like he had to learn all over again.
With desperate times came desperate measures. Fantasies slipped through the cracks in that poorly constructed wall. Strong hands, careful manipulation, the elation of being called a good boy. Something Anakin so often enjoyed, would take to his grave. Yearning for the brush of that beard against his neck. How his Master would peer down at him.
What Anakin should have felt was shame. Ideas like that went against the Order. And maybe once upon a time he had. But not anymore, finding himself lamenting about how he could please, appear worthy, have Obi-Wan take interest. And usually that was what did it. His key to success. Sent Anakin hurtling over the edge. But not then.
Instead he continued with that monotonous repetition. As if he were on a leash, not quite breaking free. Obi-Wan’s lips over his sternum, biting his clavicle, tongue nursing his ear, nothing did it. Tormented by the hole he had dug.
Freshly pried from his boxers Anakin’s fist collided with the mattress, all other actions stopped, chest heaving, face flushed. Quickly Anakin wiped the sweat from his brow before tucking that arm behind his head. Giving up was in sights, spend the night uncomfortable and sticky, no relief. Riddled with sexual frustration no less. Fingers balled against his ponytail.
And there it was, a revelation. Anakin always was praised for resourcefulness.
That thought burrowed in deeper and deeper. What was there to loose? He had two of them, surely he could spare one?
So without much thinking he did it, dragged that crushed pillow from under his head, chucked on the sheets.
Everything happened so suddenly, moved like a man possessed. Pillow straddled, pelvis ground down, supported by a tense left arm. Already he could feel the improvement, no clumsy actions just Anakin rutting down into the thing. No time to waste.
Rolling his hips Anakin moaned, a quiet and private sound, more relief than anything. Yes. It felt good. Yes, yes, yes. The blunt friction rubbed over his dick, rocking himself as best he could. Lashes fanned over his cheeks at that, lips parted as he chased.
His underwear only grew wetter. There was no way he could wear them to sleep afterwards that was for sure. Part of him wouldn’t have been surprised if it ruined the pillow as well. Force he needed it so bad.
Naturally that pace increased. Anakin whined a little louder, the sound long and drawn out. Contracting his muscles, only adding desire, circulating pleasure.
Harder, faster, grinding. A pendulum in his stomach swooping back and forth. Drool collected at the corner of his mouth, though Anakin didn’t have the means to wipe it, that expanding desire was what mattered.
The bed frame creaked with the shift in weight. Going for it. Who cared? The place was empty, all to himself. Breaking a sweat. Little gasps and sighs here and there as it hit all the right spots.
Why couldn’t he just come already? Doubt. Always there, always waiting. Ready to ruin the moment. Anakin there huffing, doing everything possible. No way was he getting through the next six weeks with one arm and no orgasms. It had to work, had to.
But the seed of insecurity had been sowed, Anakin unknowingly nurturing it into something hideous. Realising the gratification lay stagnant, stuck upon smooth water, not going anywhere. Sure, it felt good, but not enough. Helplessly wet between his thighs with a furious flush to his face.
Again Obi-Wan came to mind. If only it was him beneath, Anakin’s legs parted over those hips, filled with his Master’s cock. And Anakin knew he was hung, having lived together he’d seen it all, even if flaccid. Not only that but certain his Master could use it. The thought alone made his hole flutter, needing to feel that stretch.
He rocked harder. It would work. It would. If he just put his mind to it then the action would go somewhere. Expression furrowed in concentration. That poor defiled pillow a victim to relentlessness.
Hips snapping with each thrust, tdick wedged against the fabric of his underwear. Anakin could do it, he could orgasm, it would be fine. The strain in his arm thoroughly ignored, growing breathless with each helpless roll.
What was wrong? Why couldn’t he just be normal? Inhibited by his own stress and worry.
So he did what any rational person would and bunched that pillow up further, granting leverage. Yeah, that was what he needed. More padding to rut against. New angle for his dick, stimulated from the underside. Riding it the best he could, bed frame begging him to stop. Too horny for his own good.
However still the same result. Useless. Colliding against a blockade once things got good. Craving the dexterity of fingers.
Please, please, please. The hypnotic sway of his core, strong cords of thigh muscle bracketing the pillow, head bowed. Nothing else mattered, nothing at all.
Frustration. Anakin always had too much of it, and right then was no different. Loud anxieties combine with inadequacy. The little pleasure of the moment well and truly drowned.
Something powerful bled through his veins, mighty and uncontrollable. Angry at himself, angry at his situation, angry at his failure. What teenager year old couldn’t get off?
Horny, so karking horny. Those endorphins kept the disappointment at bay. And he tried everything, angling his thrusts, different directions, even doubling forwards. Apparently Anakin had broken far more than his arm.
With one blink he felt the warmth roll down his cheek, only then did he notice the tears, caught in lashes and clinging to the red rims of his eyes. Great. How pathetic. Anakin was a man, a man did not cry. It only brewed that negativity more, bubbling up from his stomach and into his chest. A pressurised hatred in his skull.
Poor dick sensitive and confused, mind and body at war. The edge in sight though lacking momentum to go over, every attempt pointless.
Really never had he felt so-
“You know Anakin, one of these days I just wish…”
A startled squawk. Anakin did not consider that noise his own. Completed by immediately rolling off the offending object, retreating under the safety of those covers, wrapped around him in an awkward fashion.
“Oh stars,” There stood a rather flustered Obi-Wan, head ducked, one hand a blinker to the situation. “I should have knocked.”
Yeah. He should have. Who the hell didn’t knock? That sickly sensation climbed to Anakin’s throat, adrenaline barrelled through him, all pre-existing emotion wiped clean. Heat in his cheeks, conquering both his ears and throat.
What Anakin should have said was to get out. Scream it from the top of his lungs. Though when he opened his mouth nothing came out. An owlish stare, jaw bobbing like a fish.
He could feel it, the amalgamation of shame, embarrassment, humiliation, morphed into something terrible through their bond before shields went flying up. Kriff why hadn’t he felt Obi-Wan’s presence. Had he? Anakin couldn’t be sure, too absorbed in the hedonism - or lack there of - to notice his Master’s return.
“I- I heard about your arm, the infirmary contacted me,” That spot on the ground in which his eyes were glued must have been incredibly interesting. “But I’ll uh, leave you to it.” Before promptly doing so, Anakin forbidden from getting a word in.
What had he done?
Oh that had to be in the top ten - no top three - worst things to ever happen. Anakin was sure of it. Too aware of the foreboding silence between those walls, just how naked he was, brain slow to catch up with what had happened.
Obi-Wan had walked in. Not only on him masturbating, but riding a pillow in his desperate state no doubt. Somehow that made it worse. Was there a protocol? Jedi training to follow when caught hopelessly getting off by your Master? If there was such a thing Anakin did not recall.
Unfortunately reality was nowhere near as sexy as those fantasies either, that was for definite. Nothing like HoloPorn. Shocking. Only awkward teenage emotion, with a sprinkling of wanting to crumple himself up into a ball. Perhaps if the sight had been sexier Anakin wouldn’t have cared, in truth it had been sweaty and frantically desperate.
His Master had caught him red handed.
The ideal outcome would be to curl up and die, fade into the Force, by far the most positive result. If only Anakin could do it, in turn lying there recycling the memory of what just happened.
Of all the people the bare witness to him like that, it had to be the one person of value. Had Obi-Wan sensed his filthy secrets?
Right then his Master’s knowledge of his arm was insignificant. A simpler time when that had been the main focus of his worry. Oh how Anakin longed for half an hour ago.
Suddenly he found himself out of bed and pacing. When had that happened? Wet boxers still clung to his thighs. Perhaps Obi-Wan didn’t know what he was doing? Maybe it wasn’t obvious? An immediate rebuttal. Of course he knew.
It was Obi-Wan who caught him. Obi-Wan who saw him in that state. Obi-Wan who witnessed such fleeting honesty. But most importantly what if Obi-Wan left? Unable to look at him ever again. Repulsed by what he saw his Padawan do? No. His Master wouldn’t do that, couldn’t.
Only what if he did? What if Anakin just tainted their very relationship? Ruined everything over unfulfilled gratification. After all he had seen his Master’s face, unable to look at that sight before him. Disgusted.
Well there was only one thing to do right? Confrontation. Anakin would have to confront Obi-Wan head on, the sooner the better probably. As painfully awful as that would be for them both. Subtlety never was Anakin’s strong suit.
With his wardrobe on the floor really the outfit options were limitless. Anakin threw on the first mismatched items he grabbed, sticky boxers and all. The sooner he went out the better, light footfall beyond his door. Obi-Wan wouldn’t leave. Still firmly in their quarters.
The plan? There was no plan. Play into the helplessness, wasn’t his fault, please don’t go. Vulnerability couldn’t be disgusting. No, Obi-Wan would take pity. It would work.
Braced for impact, he straightened himself out.
So, swallowing any hesitation Anakin left the security of his bedroom. He was the Chosen One, the Chosen One knew no shame. Heart threatening to breach his ribcage. It was fine. Everything was fine actually.
All he had to do was approach his Master and…? The details were hazy. But Obi-Wan being there was a start. The man’s shields remained impenetrable, though Anakin could read his Master’s abhorrence. Obi-Wan probably giving himself some sense of plausible deniability, but Anakin knew.
So he moved into the living area, one track mind. Ready for a fight. After all Obi-Wan was angry enough at his arm. Go in there prove himself worthy.
And Obi-Wan was… sat on the couch? Beard cradled in hand. Not exactly the look of a man about to take off, inform the Jedi Council of his repulsive Padawan. His Master just sat there in tranquility.
Confusion consumed the determination. What?
Words died on Anakin’s tongue, replaced by a strangled little noise. Apparently loud enough to snap his Master from that trance.
“Anakin.” Not quite meeting Anakin’s eye.
“My arm is fine.” Was what he blurted out. Very convincing, obviously.
“That I do not believe.” Punctuated with a melodic chuckle which seemingly could not be helped. A rather comforting sound.
But what was Anakin meant to say? Taking up space, lingering in the room, surrounded by the unspoken weight of what had happened.
The fortified walls around Obi-Wan’s emotion sat strong, though in despite of that, if he were to take off running he’d have done so by then. No, Obi-Wan remained composed and vigilant, not recoiling from Anakin’s presence.
So then what?
“I do apologise for my intrusion, it was wrong,” Always like Obi-Wan to just get to it, no decorative song and dance. “Please do forgive me.”
Well that had been unexpected. Only white noise between his ears, Force he really should have just stayed in his room. Heat prickled up Anakin’s neck once again, the blush from his prior activity not quite having faded either.
A false start on his sentence, a slight trip to his words. “All in the past.”
“How is your arm, can I examine it?” Only then did their line of sight collide, a wash of white over the man’s features.
“I told you already it’s fine.” If he could have he’d have concealed it behind his back, apparently nestling it against his waist was the next best option.
“That certainly doesn’t appear fine,” Anakin hated how Obi-Wan’s eyes dipped to the cast. Stop looking, stop it, stop it, stop it. “Why didn’t you inform me immediately?”
“It was under control.” He had sat sulking on his floor for an hour.
“Under control?” Volume having risen, that fire reignited, the same one just before finding Anakin in such a compromising position. “Anakin, you’re meant to tell me these things. You understand this will impact your training, not only your health? Communication is vital.”
“Well last I checked Master,” The honorific seeped in sarcasm. “It’s vital to knock before entering a room, not everyone is perfect.”
Obi-Wan stiffened where he sat, if Anakin was not mistaken those pale cheeks reddened.
“As I said before, I can only apologise.” A automated response.
The sharp reminder that he could not fold his arms hurt more than the physical practice of it. The pain twisted it’s way over his features.
It didn’t take their bond to know Obi-Wan wanted to reach out and help, but his shuffle from the couch was quick to be stifled, just watching Anakin in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yes!” A slight crack to his voice. “I wish everyone would just kriffing leave me alone!” A statement which should have been followed by the stomping of feet and a door slammed shut.
But it wasn’t. Instead Anakin just stood, blood bubbling, rooted to the spot.
“I only ask because I care Padawan, you must recognise this.”
Whatever agonised noise escaped Anakin’s throat he had not meant to make. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I am not,” That stern edge of offence cut through Obi-Wan’s words. “Is that something you really believe?”
Maybe? Not really? Sometimes?
Everyone would laugh, and Anakin would have to endure it. Mockery and pity, already stirring preemptive negativity.
Anakin’s mouth pressed into a line, gaze hardened, nothing said. Though Obi-Wan still awaited his answer.
“I’m not pathetic.” Eventually spat out.
“When did I say you were?” Obi-Wan so calmly replied.
“You’re thinking it.” That heat refusing to simmer.
“I most certainly am not, stop jumping to conclusions. I am your Master Anakin, I have every right to care.”
Those words climbed into his ears, embracing his brain. With a sigh he shed some of that hostility. Some.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Was what Anakin opted for instead, though less friction to his tone than before. Perhaps even a little shy if he allowed himself some honesty. Which he did not.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some injured creature, I don’t need nursed back to health. I’ll be fine.”
“I never said-”
“I can see it! In your eyes.”
A somewhat amicable silence, nothing longer rocked by the storm of uncertainty.
“What did the infirmary say?” The calculated change of topic, something Anakin was thankful for.
“Six weeks before it comes off.” Blunt.
“Didn’t fancy a bacta tank?” The question ended with a humoured twang.
“Pfft,” Though it was a little funny. “Said it wasn’t severe enough, though maybe if I broke a couple of ribs on top of that.”
“Well, to clarify that is something I advise against. Besides, I’m sure six weeks will fly by in no time.” A sympathetic smile to follow. Warmth bloomed within Anakin’s chest.
“Easy to say that when you’re not the one in the cast.”
“Oh, I’ve had my fair share of injuries over the years young one,” And then a pause. “Though you’re right, it must be quite difficult.”
“Just annoying, that’s all.” Purposely keeping it vague. A statement which could be applied to numerous things.
“I know you might not like it, but if there is anything I can do-”
Again embarrassment, for all the wrong reasons. “No, it’s not that.” Sounding sour as his shoulders squared.
Because it wasn’t that. Anakin was independent, his new found predicament was a small challenge, that was all. Able to dress himself, do his shot, get water. Not to be looked after like some dependant youngling. Besides, what he really needed help with was off limits. Swallowing that truth.
“Accepting help isn’t a weakness, everyone relies on others from time to time. It’s the balance of life.”
“I told you already, I don’t need help.”
But Obi-Wan didn’t take the hint. “Seriously Anakin, you’re no less of a Jedi just because-”
“You don’t understand!” Not intending for the subject to be so sensitive.
“What don’t I understand? Because from where I’m standing I have an injured Padawan with limited mobility.”
“It’s nothing you could help with.” Foolish. Sheepish. Humiliated. Please just drop it.
“There’s not much which bothers me, I assure you.” His Master’s voice so calm, the situation needing defused.
Pinned by Obi-Wan’s stare, Anakin might as well have been backed into a corner. A frightened beast with no where to go. Suffocated by his own trepidation. Blood rushed between his ears.
“You can talk to me, you do know that don’t you?” The man so effortlessly carried on. “Because if-”
“It’s jerking off,” And there it was. “I can’t jerk off.”
The confession hung in the air, tainting the quiet. Anakin’s cheeks burned. Dragged down into the depths of turmoil, not knowing up from down. Yet still he did not move.
“Oh.” Was all Obi-Wan had to offer once the digestive period ended.
“Yeah, oh.” Something inside Anakin ticked, awaiting detonation.
“I can see how that could be a problem for a young man.”
Anakin scoffed. Everything always so formal. Though not knowing what to say in return. So Obi-Wan took the opportunity. As if enough damage hadn’t already been dealt.
“Well earlier you appeared to be…” Not quite able to finish the sentence.
“I couldn’t.” The noise a bitter one.
It was awkward for the pair of them, no Force signature had to confirm that.
“Have you tried meditation?”
Apparently that was the final straw. “I don’t want to- you know what I’m done! Goodnight.” Tempted to hit something to accompany a grand exit, but opting for a path of weighted footfall instead.
That bed was deceptively durable, Anakin dumped on it all at once. Only then could any semblance of decompression be granted. What had just happened? Obi-Wan shouldn’t have been so nosey, that’s what had happened. Always interfering, could never just let Anakin be. But why had he gone to his Master in the first place? That he didn’t have a clear answer to. Not entirely sure he wanted one.
Life was just one cruel disaster after another. Never listened to, never respected, never appreciated. Apparently everyone always knew better.
It was late, going to sleep was wise. Perhaps in the morning everything would seem better. If Anakin were lucky he would awake to find it all a bad dream. Two perfectly working arms by his side, not having been found in an incriminating activity by his Master. Life would be good.
Colour burst behind his eyelid as the heel of his palm pushed against the socket. Everything interwoven, anger, shame, confusion. Each one circled to the other, marinating in something terrible. Unable to trample that juvenile distress. Such chaos was for younglings, Anakin knew better. Those feelings shouldn’t have surfaced in the first place. Another let down to the list of many.
A knock. Scruffed by the neck from that self pity.
Of course he knew who it was, and of course Obi-Wan knew he was there. Climbing out the window wasn’t exactly practical. Still, an appealing idea.
After a couple more beats there was another, louder. “Anakin.”
Not owing Obi-Wan an answer.
“Please Anakin, I know you’re in there.”
Obi-Wan really didn’t make it easy did he? Instead of words Anakin answered in a graceless grunt. Good enough apparently.
The man mindful as he entered. A little late for that.
“What do you want?” Anakin’s tone flat.
“I don’t want to end on such negativity.”
The temptation to roll his eyes was powerful.
“Come on, don’t be like that.” Obi-Wan continued.
“Sorry Master.” Monotonous.
“My intention was not to embarrass you.”
“Sure didn’t feel that way.”
“I mean it,” The man doubled down. “What I caught you doing… it was natural, especially for a young man of your age. I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy.” So that was the speech he prepared, huh?
And yet somehow the conversation wasn’t half as bad. Authentic. No judgement, no catching him out, no insult. Just Anakin sat observing his Master tread around eggshells.
“It is difficult when autonomy is taken from you, even if only temporarily.”
He could sure say that again.
“Please talk to me.” A coercive plea from the man’s lips.
“There’s nothing to say.” Stubborn.
“Anakin.”
“No really just, I wasn’t expecting that, alright?”
“Expecting what?” Avoiding the littering of clothes, Obi-Wan crept towards the bed, the mattress dipped with his weight. Right beside Anakin.
Even if he didn’t look, Obi-Wan haunted his peripheral. Great.
“I’m eighteen not seventy, I should be able to…” The reality of what he was admitting, too much.
“I assure you all men have difficulty.”
“Yeah, in your age group maybe.”
“Come on, there’s no need for that now is there?”
“Just wish I never screwed up my blasted arm.” Sighing.
“Get some rest, you’ll feel better come morning.”
Wouldn’t that be great. “Don’t think that’ll happen.”
A loud glance cast his way. Awaiting the elaboration to follow.
“Usually before bed…” Why was he even telling him this? What was Anakin’s problem? “Y’know what, doesn’t matter, I’ll be fine.”
“Evidently it bothers you,” And just like that there Obi-Wan was again wriggling under his skin. Another thing Anakin was ready to shatter himself over. Though Obi-Wan defused whatever spontaneous passive aggression Anakin harboured. “I could…” Said after the clearing of his throat. “If you wanted.”
What.
Was that real? No. Of course not. But there Obi-Wan was sat on Anakin’s mattress offering him help. He had to be reading into it, right? There was no possible way Obi-Wan meant that surely.
In a perfect world Anakin would have replied with something suave. A flawless flaunt of the cool composure he so desperately desired, just like his fantasies. Right there in that room however? Anakin hadn’t blinked, eyes saucer wide, no matter how hard he tried nothing formed in his head.
“That was inappropriate, I apologi-” Obi-Wan just about tying his tongue in knots.
“No!” The only protest he could conjure. Needing to put a stop to the backtracking. The man’s posture rigid, the situation delicate. “That would be…” Suddenly finding himself with the vocabulary of a youngling. “Useful.” Anakin mentally kicking himself the second it left him. Who the hell said that?
“I assure you the offer is purely professional.” It was like reading terms and conditions.
“Yeah, I get that.” Did he?
Another silence. Great.
And then what? Was undressing right there the way to go? Just get on with it? Anakin far from experienced in that area.
Had time stopped? It was well within the realms of possibility. One of them had to make the first move, do something. Really there was no coming back, that agreement hanging out in the open.
It was late, and perhaps Obi-Wan wasn’t thinking straight? Did that matter? After all it was a serious offer, and Anakin wasn’t going to pass up a chance to get off. His Master, it was his Master of all people. No, don’t think about it. If Anakin dwelled it would be over. Obi-Wan wanted professionalism? Fine. Anakin could happily take what he could get.
The embers of arousal still warm from earlier. A piqued interest, the tightening in his stomach, desire worked its way south.
Don’t look down. That was all he could think, conscious of the other man’s idle hands. But Anakin knew how they were, thick and leathered. Often having imagined them upon him in the seclusion of his own thoughts.
“Do you-”
“Guess I should-”
One speaking over the other. A great start.
“Please, go ahead.” Obi-Wan said.
Going for it a second time, a chance to think it over was worse. “Guess I should lie back then?” Eyes locked. Don’t look at the hands.
“If that’s what would make you comfortable.”
For a second Anakin didn’t move. Okay sure, he was about to be touched. No big deal? Couldn’t be more different than usual? But then he remembered just who was offering.
Did Obi-Wan regularly make propositions? Something about that specific thought churned Anakin’s gut. Who else had his Master like that? The question nipped away in the back of his mind.
But Anakin shifted, reclined in a clunky fashion, situating himself near the headboard, accompanied by the virginal spread of legs. It was what to do after all, right? Chest expanded, air trapped, lungs aching.
“That should do.” The statement shouldn’t have made Anakin so wet, however before that realisation caught up, Obi-Wan was crawling up the bed and settling into that newfound space.
Fat little tdick more than thrilled, a steady thrum of pleasure seeped through Anakin’s groin. Still yet to be touched.
Ravished by his Master’s gaze. For someone wearing clothes, Anakin sure as hell felt naked. Perhaps even more naked than when he got walked in on.
“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan’s voice pulled him from his head.
Something which Anakin could only nod to with his failing words.
“I need a yes, if you harbour doubt then-”
“Yes,” The confirmation slid out on its own. “Yes, I’m alright.”
“Well, if you change your mind at any point do tell me, I’m only trying to help.”
“I understand.” Tongue flicking out to meet his lips, that docile throb picked up, his Master’s sight lingered.
“Right, okay,” Strategising. Chin rested in his hand while he pondered. Always so handsome. “Any preference on what you enjoy?” The question warranted eye contact. More of it. Enduring the crushing weight of that innocent gaze.
A slow shake of his head. “No.” Swallowing around the lump in his throat. Obi-Wan didn’t need to know, his inexperience didn’t matter. For all his Master knew Anakin had done it a million and one times before.
Would it be obvious? Not if Anakin hid it well. Confidence, that’s what counted. And how hard could that be? Anakin had touched himself so many times, it couldn’t be that different. At the end of the day it was only hands.
Those hands. The mental image contributed to the mess in those boxers, admittedly still a bit damp. Nothing had happened, yet Anakin still had a physical reaction to his Master there doing nothing, just the silent promise of more.
So there Anakin was, aware of the spreading puddle in his underwear. That slick feeling only worsened. He needed it, would die without it. His own selfish gain screamed.
The communication from dick to brain made him stupid. So close, it was so so close. Anakin could almost have it. Thoughts blurred at the edges, eyelids dropped.
“I won’t ask you to remove anything.” The man still finding efficiency in his method.
“Obi-Wan, please~” The noise much higher than expected. Already having edged himself by accident, it was cruel to keep him waiting much longer.
A light tremble to that lower lip, hips tilted, left hand balled.
“Ah,” The man having had a revelation of sorts. “Right, yes of course.”
And all of a sudden there he was, having prowled over Anakin’s trembling form, braced on one arm as the other slid between their bodies. All the while Anakin sank further into the mattress, unable to divert his gaze from the concentration Obi-Wan wore.
“And you’ll tell me if-”
“Yes! Yes, I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”
Despite the urgency Obi-Wan just smiled down, nothing menacing or lustful, only authenticity. Somehow arguably worse than any flirtation.
“Good boy.” That silky phrase the last thing Anakin heard before fingers brushed through the entanglement of pubes, curving over him until meeting there destination.
The praise alone warranted a mewl, yet alone everything else. Pressing up into the affection, and maybe not entirely aware he did so.
Dick poking through the hold of those fingers either side. Obi-Wan hadn’t moved, not properly, instead acquainting himself. And yet Anakin gasped, a soft and emasculated sound, but there was no time to dwell, not when Obi-Wan pushed further. Presumably wanting to get the gist of everything.
Immediately Anakin felt himself drool over those fingertips, body already craving everything on offer.
“You’re soaked.” Disbelief.
If only it were possible for poor Anakin to get any redder.
“I-I’m sorry, making you feel weird is not my intention.” Obi-Wan fumbled out.
Yeah, that was the problem.
All Anakin could do was screw his eyes closed and nod. If he did not look embarrassment in the face then it was not real. The harsh confrontation that maybe it wasn’t like doing it himself.
Obi-Wan continued, each slick slide of those fingers more than felt. Exploring Anakin with tentative care.
Never had he needed anything so badly.
Soon enough they found their way back to his dick, aching with neglect, completely filled out. Anakin hissed at the direct contact, uselessly rutting upwards, fighting that urge to squirm.
Not only did Obi-Wan touch, he soothed. Fingers brushed over the tip at first, light and inquisitive.
Whatever noise Anakin went to make only came out in halves. Hips wriggling. So sensitive, everything inside him alight. Was it too much? He didn’t care.
All the while Obi-Wan traced the tip, caressing over the ridge, pushing back the foreskin. Exploring. And all Anakin could do was lie there and leak.
“Is this okay?” Barely a whisper.
Anakin dared to pry one eye open, lower lip gripped between teeth. “Y-yeah.”
“What do you usually do?” So dutifully asked.
“Uh,” Having to untangle his mind from that web of desire. “Lower, usually lower.” Dissolving into a halfhearted whine.
They smoothed downwards, right to the base. Another pliant sound escaped. So much for confidence.
A sharp hitch in breath once Obi-Wan got the hang of that loose circular motion. Anakin was a goner. Evidently his Master had experience. Something to be okay with. Didn’t bother him. Not at all.
But Obi-Wan stirred. That need swirled, a whirlpool in Anakin’s stomach. Slow and steady. Just how he usually began. Though it wasn’t his own touch was it? The pads of Obi-Wan’s fingers bigger and rougher. Serenaded by the tentative nature of it all.
“Just relax,” Those words so gentle. And Anakin hadn’t been aware he had tensed. “That’s a good boy.”
Something so basic got him so worked up, any negativity quick to be eaten by hedonism. Anakin couldn’t stifle the little whimper.
“Is that good?” Something laced his Master’s question, maybe it was the dip to his voice, Anakin didn’t know.
“Yeah ~ ah ~ mhm.”
Surely Obi-Wan knew as much? The way in which he soaked the man’s fingers should have been enough, especially when they dipped down, wetting themselves before paying attention once again to Anakin’s dick. Occasionally teasing the underside.
By then he knew what to do, rubbing harder, a dull squeeze here and there, a light brush over the tip. Anakin just lay there heaving, eyes threatening to roll. Being pulled apart one thread at a time, unravelling in his Master’s palm.
Without warning a tremor graced his legs. If Obi-Wan noticed the way in which he shook the man said nothing. But Anakin held on, fighting his own indulgence as best he could.
Those fingertips grew bold. Hips wriggling left and right, not knowing if he wanted away or more, just that it felt good. Reliant on Obi-Wan for pleasure. That thought danced in Anakin’s stomach.
“That’s it, I’ve got you.” The man just about cooed.
With shame Anakin’s hole clenched, met with the dissatisfaction of nothing. Everything sensitive and dripping. Only then realising just how empty he was. The idea alone of something inside him was almost too much, refusing to entertain what else could suffice. Only having known his own fingers and that had been a rather disappointing affair.
“I-I don’t~” Anakin’s sentence wavered.
“Do you want me to stop?” Concern.
“No!” Shoving the protest out between them, Obi-Wan would not stop. “Force no.” Breathed as his head sank backwards, throat bared.
One, two, three. A small distraction, counting then back again. “I don’t know,” Biting his inner cheek, ready to burst. “How much longer I can…” Did he really have to say it?
“Oh, Anakin,” Released in a fond chuckle, fingertips rolling over Anakin’s dick with consistency. “Whenever you’re ready.”
But he wasn’t ready. Never wanted it to end. Hoping it would last forever. Could it be any clearer he was a virgin? Anakin had to hang in there, not give in too quick no matter the temptation.
“Shh don’t think, only feel, go on.” Too much encouragement.
Hesitancy was thrown out the door once Obi-Wan’s pace doubled, coaxed towards the edge. Stomach muscles fluttered, an instrument Obi-Wan played all too well. Still Anakin tried, features scrunched as he held back.
“Come on darling boy, let go.”
There was only so much to take.
Anakin fell, plummeting to his demise under his Master’s attentive care. Tdick desecrated by his orgasm. Possessed by hedonistic greed. Bucking from the bed, pressing further against the other man’s touch. All the while getting rubbed through it.
Not a moan, but a whine. Undoubtably loud, combine with fuzzy thoughts. Entirely swallowed by the moment, no memory of a broken arm, abandonment, or humiliation. Just there with Obi-Wan, elated and defenceless.
The rhythmic contraction of muscle. If Anakin were more together perhaps he would have mourned the idea of something inside.
“Oh that’s it, get it all out.”
No response as his limbs fell pliant.
And then there was breathing. As far as Anakin knew he might as well have been on another planet. Shrouded in a haze. Only basic functions remained, no higher consciousness. What made him open his eyes was the fixing of his braid, pushed back behind his shoulder, a gentle caress against his jaw.
“You better be in a good mood tomorrow.” Obi-Wan joked.
With a light airy laugh Anakin blinked himself back to the room.
By then his Master’s touch had left, though those fingers harboured an obvious wet sheen.
So tired. The idea of moving was a difficult one, ready to drift off there in his clothes. Wouldn’t have been the first time.
Blunt exhaustion tethered to his legs and dragged him down into it’s very depths. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut loose.
Apparently Obi-Wan understood.
That orgasm had been beyond satisfactory. Lazy doubt tried to worm it’s way in. Was it a one time thing? Could Anakin ask again? Would Obi-Wan hate him for enjoying it as much as he had? All stuff he’d have cared about if he wasn’t actively drifting off. Right then Obi-Wan was but a spec in the distance.
“Well, might as well get some rest before sunrise, goodnight Anakin.” Spoke from so far away.
In return Anakin could only hum. Those troubles could ruin him in the morning.