You Will Be Mine

~1300 words :: Star Wars :: Obi-Wan/Anakin :: 1/9/06
Anakin’s realisation that Obi-Wan’s relationship with Qui-Gon went beyond master and padawan fuels his desire to have Obi-Wan for himself. (Note: Commentary for this fic can be found here.)

Anakin frowns down at his breakfast, pushing the last few bites around on his plate until Obi-Wan says, “If you’re not going to eat your eggs, just say so.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore,” Anakin says, bristling. I’m married, after all, he’d like to add, but he’s not sure he trusts his master quite that far. Obi-Wan cares too much about the rules, even when the rules don’t make sense. “I’ll be twenty in three more weeks,” he says instead, but Obi-Wan only grunts in response and when Anakin looks up, he sees he’s gone back to reading their mission briefing on his datapad.

Anakin shovels a few more bites in his mouth. “Are we going to be anywhere near Alderaan?”

“I don’t think so.”

It’s not fair, Anakin thinks. He’s got a wife; he shouldn’t have to jerk off all the time anymore. Oh, he could meditate instead, which is what Obi-Wan would probably tell him to do, but where’s the fun in that? He wonders if Obi-Wan really does meditate, or if this is one rule he’s broken. Anakin’s seen his master naked. Meditation would be a waste.

He watches Obi-Wan now through his lashes, watches the line that forms between his eyebrows and the way his nose crinkles up as he reads. His long fingers holding the datapad in one hand and a mug in the other. Even if this was all Anakin had ever seen, he’d still think it a waste.

As he takes his dishes to the kitchen, he finds himself wondering if Obi-Wan’s ever had sex. Actually with another person, not just jerking off, but try as he might, Anakin just can’t imagine Obi-Wan with a woman. With a man, on the other hand…

Anakin gapes, plate and fork clattering into the floor.


“Uh, sorry. Sorry, just, uh, lost my grip,” he stammers, bending to pick them up. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon? He dumps the dishes in the dish washer and hurries to his room. Surely not. What happened to ‘no attachments’? Anakin’s never met anyone more obsessed with following the rules.

And yet, the more he thinks about it, the truer it feels. A million little things fall into place as he sinks down onto his bed, staring at the wall as if he could see right through it to Obi-Wan on the other side. Does Obi-Wan still think about him? Does Obi-Wan miss Qui-Gon the way Anakin misses Padme? Even after all these years?

It’s not fair. Obi-Wan is his master. Obi-Wan is his.

Hours pass, days, and he still can’t stop thinking about it. Obi-Wan is…distant. He’s not doing anything different, not treating Anakin any differently; he’s just distant, and that’s the worst part of it all. Why had Anakin never noticed before?

Now Obi-Wan is busy with the officials on this stupid planet that’s nowhere near Alderaan at all. No one’s paying attention to the padawan; Anakin doesn’t even know why they bothered to send him along. It’s not as if he doesn’t know about negotiations already. He’s been on missions. He’s read books and heard lectures. He hates feeling useless, especially now. Especially when it feels like even Obi-Wan has no use for him.

He drinks more of the local wine than he should, and it’s stronger than what he’s used to, too. It makes him flirt harder with the pretty serving girl than he knows is proper, or maybe it’s his desire to get some sort of reaction out of Obi-Wan other than an exasperated sigh and an “Anakin, we’re here representing the Order…”

The girl leans over to refill Anakin’s glass, her breasts brushing against his arm. His cheeks feel hot from more than just the wine, and he opens his mouth to ask her back to his quarters and then snaps it shut again as a wave of shame rushes through him. How could he even think about betraying Padme like that?

Obi-Wan looks at him, eyebrows raised, as the girl moves on to the next guest, and Anakin turns away sullenly. This is Obi-Wan’s fault somehow. Tossing back his wine, Anakin stands and excuses himself, ignoring his master’s protests. Definitely Obi-Wan’s fault.

It’s late when Obi-Wan knocks on his door. Of course it is; Obi-Wan has obligations here and can’t just be running off after his padawan in the middle of a banquet held in their honor. Anakin knows this, but it hadn’t stopped him from tensing in anticipation at every set of footsteps.

Another knock, accompanied by a soft “Anakin?”

Hauling himself up, Anakin stumbles to the door, keys it open. Obi-Wan pushes past him into the room, the door sliding shut behind him. “Anakin… You can’t just run off like that,” he says, catching Anakin’s arm. “We’re here-”

“Representing the Order,” Anakin says. “I know.”

He tries to wrench his arm free, but Obi-Wan tightens his grip. “That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?” Anakin spits out.

“That’s not true…”

There are bright spots of color on Obi-Wan’s cheeks, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and Anakin wonders just how much his master had to drink after he left the table. Obi-Wan licks his lips, draws a breath as if he’s about to speak again, and Anakin can’t resist. He steps closer, one hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and leans in to kiss him.

And Obi-Wan turns his head. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Anakin says angrily, shoving him back towards the bed until they both fall down. Wedging his thigh between Obi-Wan’s legs, Anakin kisses him again; this time Obi-Wan doesn’t turn away. He doesn’t respond at first, not voluntarily, anyway, but Anakin can feel his cock stiffening and his own erection jerks in response.


“Don’t tell me it’s against the Code.”


“Did you do this with Qui-Gon?” Anakin pants. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen and his silence is all the answer Anakin needs. This isn’t right. Obi-Wan is his, not Qui-Gon’s. Not anymore. Obi-Wan belongs to him the way Padme does.

This time Obi-Wan kisses back, tongue slipping into Anakin’s mouth as Anakin fumbles with their pants, until finally with Obi-Wan’s help, they’re skin to skin, grinding against each other. Obi-Wan’s hands are on Anakin’s hips, sliding down to cup his ass and pull him closer.

And oh, it’s perfect. This is how it should be. Clutching at Obi-Wan’s tunics and moaning into his mouth, Anakin comes, and it leaves him shuddering, wrung out and gasping for breath. Through it all, Obi-Wan is still thrusting against him, making desperate little noises that penetrate the fog of Anakin’s brain and put a smile on his face. Perfect.

When Obi-Wan comes, he stiffens and throws his head back, mouth and eyes wide open. Anakin stares at a drop of sweat inches from his eyes, running down Obi-Wan’s temple to darken his hair. He listens to the sound of Obi-Wan’s breathing, ragged as he struggles to bring it under control. He waits for Obi-Wan to say something, but really, there’s nothing to say, is there?

It’s hot. Pushing himself up, Anakin strips down, crawls into bed, and he’s not surprised when Obi-Wan leaves without a word. The minutes stretch into hours and Anakin can’t seem to fall asleep, no matter how hard he tries. Obi-Wan hasn’t come back, but Anakin can’t stop hoping that he will. The bed feels empty and now that the moment’s passed, Obi-Wan doesn’t feel any more his than before. Next time, he decides, he’ll make Obi-Wan stay.