This Year's Model of Humanity

Title: White Rabbits
Part: 35/?
Author: Diana Michelle (butterfly)
Warnings: Spoilers for Revenge of the Sith. Movie-canon only.
Pairings: Anakin/Obi-Wan; Leia/Han.
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Obi-Wan really has no clue what he's doing.
Disclaimer: Not Lucas, don't own a thing, not making any money.
Chapter Index

Chapter Thirty-Five -- To Dwell in Dreams

They’d forgotten to turn off the light.

 

Obi-Wan sighed, and tried to shift to a more comfortable position. Anakin apparently had had no trouble drifting off to a peaceful sleep. Of course, Anakin wasn’t the one currently being smothered by one-point-eight-five meters of frustrating young man, so perhaps it was understandable.

 

Obi-Wan stroked the long curved line of Anakin’s back, wishing for a moment that he understood Anakin’s intensity. He could observe it, see how Anakin could shift from lust to fear to weariness in a single heartbeat, but he didn’t think that he’d ever truly understand it. Anakin had a depth of emotion that was simply beyond Obi-Wan.

 

Anakin’s heart was as wide as the galaxy, and far more generous.

 

In truth, Obi-Wan was touched by Anakin’s desire to believe in him, by Anakin’s willingness to rest softly in Obi-Wan’s arms, despite Obi-Wan’s harsh words. And while part of him wanted, rather impulsively, to tell Anakin this, Obi-Wan knew that he couldn't.

 

The words would spill over, into what they both knew to be true. What Anakin was allowing Obi-Wan to pretend didn’t exist. Simple companionship and simple desire were not frowned on, nor was the not unusual practice of sleeping with a battle friend, not when death threatened on all sides.

 

But simple was the one thing that Anakin never managed to be.

 

Anakin was lightning in the night and the matching rumble of thunder. He was a bramble-thorn lodged in a tender place. Anakin was a hungry flame set in the vulnerable underbrush, and the aching cry of a hunting bird riding the winds in search of prey.

 

Be mindful of the living Force.

 

Here and now, Obi-Wan did not have the Force to guide him, didn’t have that internal yet greater instinct showing him the correct path.

 

What he did have was Anakin.

 

Qui-Gon had believed that Anakin was the Chosen One. And it was very possible that Anakin was the Chosen One, if the Chosen One really was more than myth and legend. If the prophecy was meant to be so easily trusted, as the Council seemed to believe that it was. Master Windu might not be certain that Anakin was the Chosen One, but he certainly did believe that there would be a Chosen One.

 

And Anakin had always burned in the Force, unique in the way he interacted with it. His untempered strength was dangerous and raw – this was something that had been apparent to Obi-Wan very soon after meeting Anakin. For Qui-Gon’s sake, he’d tried to teach Anakin, show him how to channel and control that power.

 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have.

 

Perhaps-

 

Obi-Wan’s thoughts were interrupted when Anakin shifted and twisted in sleep, somehow managing to tighten his hold on Obi-Wan in the process. Anakin’s blasted durasteel hand was now very inconveniently placed underneath Obi-Wan, and was digging into the small of his back. Obi-Wan wriggled, trying to get somewhere near comfortable so that he could get at least a few hours of sleep. Anakin let out a breathy, sleepy moan, hips pushing instinctively and distractingly against Obi-Wan’s body.

 

Obi-Wan briefly closed his eyes in sheer, unmitigated frustration. Anakin would be the one man that Obi-Wan had met who could fall asleep while still hard and aching. And he couldn’t very well wake Anakin up to tell him that Anakin’s erection was bothering Obi-Wan and making it difficult for him to either get to sleep or, failing that, to actually think about their situation.

 

He made another unsuccessful attempt at shimmying out of Anakin’s hold, but soon realized that if he yanked at Anakin’s clinging hands any harder, he would wake Anakin up. And he couldn’t do that, not so soon after Anakin had gotten to sleep, not when Anakin would likely need that rest come the morrow. Perhaps Anakin’s tight grip was the result of his body still containing such tension.

 

Perhaps there was a way for Obi-Wan to solve this without awakening Anakin.

 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and fixed his gaze on Anakin’s face, not allowing himself to glance downward. Anakin had shadows under his eyes, as he’d had for the past few months, and, even in sleep, his mouth had a petulant downward turn, as if he was eternally certain that the galaxy had been created for the sole purpose of frustrating Anakin Skywalker. His features had sharpened dramatically in the past year or so, leaving all traces of childhood behind.

 

He was undeniably beautiful.

 

Slowly, Obi-Wan slid his right hand down Anakin’s stomach, and they were so close that he could feel the back of his hand firmly pressing against his own skin, even as he touched Anakin’s. He slipped his fingers inside the top of Anakin’s pants, insinuating his hand between cock and abdomen, feeling momentarily overwhelmed by the heated slide of Anakin’s skin under his fingertips.

 

Obi-Wan twisted his hand, curving his fingers around Anakin’s cock, taking the measure of him. Long, as befitted someone with Anakin’s tall figure, and not without breadth, though certainly not the widest that Obi-Wan had felt. But satisfying, in a way that he’d never known before. How peculiar, that sexual desire could be so amplified by emotional attachment. It illuminated the reasons why such attachment was forbidden.

 

Obi-Wan shifted his grip and Anakin gasped slightly, full lips parting as he arched up into Obi-Wan’s touch, eyelashes fluttering. And Obi-Wan was hard, perhaps harder than he’d ever been before in his life.

 

His mind was filled now, with millions of images that he’d never allowed himself to entertain, not about Anakin. Never about Anakin.

 

The thought of Anakin’s lush mouth, the physical reality of Anakin’s actions today, fought against the last look Obi-Wan had had into Anakin’s eyes before Anakin had fallen asleep. Anakin had not given him permission for this, and Obi-Wan had not asked. And that had to matter.

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, gently pulling his hand back up, away from the inviting heat of Anakin’s flesh. Instead, he placed his palm on Anakin’s back, echoing where Anakin’s durasteel hand was under Obi-Wan’s own back. Obi-Wan’s other hand was still wrapped around Anakin’s shoulder, something approaching comforting. Anakin’s forearm rested behind Obi-Wan’s neck, creating another tiny ache of discomfort.

 

The light was still on, too bright even with Obi-Wan’s eyes closed and his face turned as far to the side as he could manage.

 

And now that he was paying attention, he was sure that this bed wasn’t as comfortable as the one he had in the Temple. The pillows were thin, the mattress wasn’t as soft as it could be, and it was far too narrow for two grown men.

 

He’d complain, but he’d spent over two years quietly staring down anyone who’d shown hints of thinking that his friendship with Anakin was inappropriate. He wasn’t quite ready to lose the high ground.

 

So, he was left with meditation.

 

Which he should not be considering as a last resort. In fact, meditation should have been his first impulse. Obi-Wan considered, and then decided, rather uncharitably, to blame Anakin.

 

And if Obi-Wan had a bruise in the middle of his back tomorrow, from lying all night on what was, basically, just a hunk of metal, Anakin would get the full blame for that, as well.

 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath inward, held it, and then slowly let it out. He’d meditated in adverse circumstances before. He could manage it now.

 

An hour later, perhaps two, he was very close to giving up, kicking Anakin awake if need be, and then hauling himself over to the other bed so that he could get some measure of comfort.

 

And that was when Anakin started talking in his sleep, mumbling indecipherable words under his breath.

 

Anakin twisted slightly, one hand flexing under Obi-Wan, moving to press tight fingers against Obi-Wan’s side, as if Obi-Wan could shift out from under Anakin if he didn’t hold on more tightly, the other wrapped even more securely around the back of Obi-Wan's neck. Considering that Anakin’s grip had been tight enough before, this was nigh unto unbearable.

 

And then Anakin’s words got louder, clearer, coalescing into a series of protests. Anakin’s breathing had turned uneven and harsh, and he was clearly in the grip of some unpleasant dream.

 

Then, without warning, Anakin’s eyes were open, and Anakin was terrified.

 

“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan said, soothingly, running his hand along Anakin’s back, now tight with tension. “It was just a dream.”

 

Anakin shook his head, abruptly pulling out of Obi-Wan’s grasp, settling on the edge of the bed. He looked haunted and still far too full of fear.

 

“Anakin-“

 

“No,” Anakin said, softly. He wasn’t quite looking at Obi-Wan. “It wasn’t just a dream.”

 

“What do you mean?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin’s mouth twitched, as if he were caught in some great internal debate. Slowly, Anakin’s gaze lifted, until it met Obi-Wan’s. Anakin’s fear appeared under control now, but there was a lingering darkness in his eyes.

 

“Do you remember my dreams of my mother?” Anakin asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “I never told you… they came true. I went to Tatooine, like I told you, but she wasn’t already buried when I got there.”

 

“What happened, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, pushing up into a sitting position.

 

“I had to save her,” Anakin said, his voice breaking. “I had to save her and I was too late.”

 

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his knees, at a loss.

 

 “I am not going to let that happen again,” Anakin said. His gaze slid over Obi-Wan, determined and fierce. And though Obi-Wan knew the answer, he still had to ask.

 

“What did you dream about?”

 

Anakin moved forward, an oddly distant look on his face now, and he lightly touched two fingers to Obi-Wan’s lips, softly tracing over them.

 

“Tonight, I had a dream about you,” Anakin said, his mouth quirking up into an unamused smile. “I saw you lying on the ground, and you were dying, and I couldn’t do anything to help. And you said my name, you told me…”

 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, but he had nothing to offer. Anakin would take no comfort from the normal assurances, not now. And to tell Anakin that Obi-Wan’s death would only release him to the Force, and that Anakin wouldn’t lose him at all… in this moment, unable to touch the Force, Obi-Wan could not be entirely certain that he would be telling Anakin the truth.

 

“I’m not going to let it happen,” Anakin said. “I promise.”

 

“Anakin, such promises cannot be kept,” Obi-Wan said, reaching up to entwine Anakin’s fingers with his own.

 

“But we already know that it can,” Anakin said. “Luke told us.”

 

“It doesn’t seem natural,” Obi-Wan said, after a moment. “Death is a part of life.”

 

“I don’t care,” Anakin said, and it was clear how deeply he meant the words. “I can’t lose you.”

 

Obi-Wan frowned slightly as he took in the reckless decision on Anakin’s features. Anakin with a personal mission to save Obi-Wan’s life was… not a particularly comforting thought.

 

And yet, if Anakin’s dream about his mother had been real, if Anakin was having true dreams, having visions… such a thing was known only by record, and unreliable record at that. If Anakin was so deeply connected to the Force that he could catch genuine glimpses of the future, then Qui-Gon had been right all along.

 

Anakin was the Chosen One.

~end chapter thirty-five~