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It takes a lot for Obi-Wan Kenobi to get drunk.
Anakin doesn’t know if it’s his biology, or if he’s using the Force to filter the alcohol out, but it’s taking a lot. They’ve been cut off at two bars already, and Obi-Wan is still mostly coherent. They’re returning to his apartments now to set into the gifted bottles of alcohol he has from endless negotiations.
It seems when Senators don’t know what sort of gifts to give the unmaterialistic jedi, most of them turn to wine. Obi-Wan has a whole bar’s worth by this point, mostly unopened.
Though Anakin wouldn’t call him drunk, Obi-Wan isn’t unaffected either. He’s in an odd sort of limbo between lucid and tipsy, manifesting in a sort of sleepy demeanor. He leans on Anakin’s side as they walk, not really for support or direction, but just because he’s still miserable and he isn’t composed enough to deny his need for physical contact.
Anakin… wishes he had a better solution than this. But this is the only way he knows to get over a loss as bad as what Obi-Wan just suffered.
His friend returned from Mandalore this morning, on a ship that isn’t the twilight, and without Satine at his side. Anakin didn’t need to ask what happened, the miserable look in his eyes was enough to guess.
Obi-Wan has told him now; recounted the events to him in excruciating detail. These moments will be forever seared into his poor Master’s memory, they will forever haunt him.
It seems he has more to say, however. The cold, filtered air of Coruscant has sobered him a little, given him an edge of sadness no longer softened by the haze of alcohol. The biggest effect the alcohol had on him was to loosen his tongue.
“She said she loved me.” Obi-Wan mutters. If his head wasn’t pressed to Anakin’s shoulder, the words would have been lost to the buzz of the city around them. “Her last words… she told me she loved me, and I didn’t say it back.”
The younger Jedi looks down at his friend with sympathetic eyes. “It’s okay… she knew you loved her, Master...”
“No, I--” The Jedi Master stops himself, pulling in a shuddering breath. Anakin holds him a little closer to fend off both the cold and the misery threatening to overcome his friend. “I… I couldn’t say it.”
“Because of the code?” Anakin queries, sensing that there’s more to his friend’s claim. He gets the feeling that he’s wrong, but even though he hasn’t had as much to drink, he isn’t immune to the effects of alcohol either. He has far less tolerance than Obi-Wan in any case, and his judgement is probably skewed at this point.
His former Master shakes his head, grimacing at the motion as he does so. “That’s not…” His volume drops again, eyes shut tight as tears form at the corners. “You will think me a terrible man.”
It’s a strain to make out the words, and even more of a strain to believe what he hears. He’s certain he didn’t make them up, however. He’d never imagine Obi-Wan saying anything so utterly false. “I could never,” he insists. His hand moves without conscious thought, reaching across his chest to cup the older man’s face, tilting his head to make his master face him. “You are the best person I know, Obi-Wan.”
Those shining, pain-filled eyes meet his, reflecting the lights of the city surrounding them. They have stopped in the middle of the walkway, Anakin deciding this matter is more important to address than reaching Obi-Wan’s apartment is. (To be honest, he isn’t quite sure they’re even heading in the right direction anymore.)
“No, I’m…” The normally so composed voice trembles miserably. “You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes shut again briefly, blinking away the forming tears. Anakin’s thumb wipes one away before it gets too far. “I couldn’t tell her… I couldn’t lie to her in her last moments.” He pulls away suddenly, and Anakin has to use all his focus to make out his words. “She gave me her heart. She used her last breath to do so, and I couldn’t give her mine back… because… because it already belongs to someone else.”
The admission is unexpected, leaving Anakin’s sluggish brain to stall for a minute.
“Who?” is the only thing he can say once he regains the ability to speak.
He didn’t really expect Obi-Wan to answer, but the way he pulls away further stings a bit. Anakin doesn’t try to make him stay, letting him pull himself out of the younger Jedi’s hands and hug himself in the cold of this artificial, durasteel environment.
“Please, Master. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” After all, Obi-Wan knew about his own youthful crush on Padme Amidala. He was even supportive, so long as Anakin was aware that they wouldn’t have much time together and was capable of letting her go.
They’d meditated on Anakin’s feelings for her together, deciding if he was in danger of becoming too attached. They’d considered how far he would be willing to take things with her, assuming she even said yes, and… Anakin realized that he wasn’t willing to leave the Order—to leave Obi-Wan—behind for a woman he decided was pretty when he was nine. And, he found, he wasn’t really interested in anything casual or secretive. If he was gonna have a relationship with someone, it would have to be all-in.
So, he’d decided that her friendship was enough for him, and they have been good friends and allies since.
But rather than open up to him like Anakin had to his master years ago, Obi-Wan just fixes him with a pained, tired smile. “I can’t tell you.”
“You can.”
“Not this, Anakin.”
And his master just sounds so sad, so miserable… All Anakin wants to do is drag him into a hug. He’s too inebriated to really stop himself, so he does just that. Obi-Wan doesn’t resist, not even when Anakin rests his chin on top of the shorter man’s head, rubbing circles into his back.
“Can I guess?”
The elder Jedi sighs softly, pressing his face into Anakin’s clavicle. “I will tell you when you’re wrong, but I can’t promise I’ll tell you if you guess correctly.”
They stand like that for a moment, during which Anakin struggles to get his brain back on track. He still needs to get Obi-Wan home. Which is… not the way they were heading before they stopped.
“Okay, Master.” He says, then belatedly remembers the real issue here. “And uh— you… shouldn’t feel bad. You can’t help who you love… And… the Duchess doesn’t seem like she would appreciate a lie to make her feel better.”
“When did you become so wise?” Obi-Wan asks, still leaning into him as they resume their walk.
Anakin smiles—he is heartened by the warmth just below the surface of his Master’s questioning tone. “If I am wise, it is only because you taught me so well.”
They continue in relative silence for a moment, Anakin having to focus to reorient them and get back on the right path to the apartments. It’s a comfortable silence, Obi-Wan and Anakin leaning on each other as they walk through the well-lit durasteel walkways; speeders and transports thrumming overhead to provide a background hum of noise.
“How many guesses can I make?” Anakin asks once they’re back on a familiar path and can put his brain back on autopilot.
The ginger hums, giving the question some thought. He doesn’t really want Anakin questioning him until the end of time. “… Let’s just make a game of it. You know how to play twenty questions?”
The knight nods eagerly. Grinning as he starts to think of questions to ask. “Do they have to be yes or no?”
“Try to keep them in that vein,” Obi-Wan responds lightly, “but I may provide short answers.”
Again, Anakin nods. Then, he blurts out the most pressing question on his mind; something he’s wondered for a while, now. “Are you interested in men?”
The question catches Obi-Wan off guard. He blinks up at Anakin, looking a bit like a dugar caught in speederlights. “I— Er. Yes.”
“I knew it. Is this mystery person a man?”
“… Yes,” comes his master’s somewhat shy answer. He clearly wasn’t expecting Anakin to get so far so quickly. It is, at least, hopefully a good distraction from his miserable thoughts.
Anakin grins, feeling victorious. His questions don’t stop. “Do I know him?”
As the knight narrows the possibilities down further and further, Obi-Wan looks more and more like a cornered animal. He doesn’t pull away, however. “I should hope so.”
So someone Anakin definitely knows. Maybe another Jedi? One of the troopers? Someone in the senate?
“Is he shorter than you?”
“No,” Obi-Wan answers, seeming relieved that he got one wrong.
Well, that rules out all the clones. But not many of the other men they both know.
“Is he a Senator?”
“No.”
“A Jedi?”
Obi-Wan stiffens a tiny bit. “Yes,” he answers hesitantly. “That’s six.”
“It’s Quinlan, isn’t it?”
“What? No, we’re just old friends.” The answer comes with laughter attached, Obi-Wan relaxing a little as he focuses on keeping count.
“Anyone on the Council?”
“Definitely not.”
“… Is he alive?”
“Yes. What kind of question is that?” Obi-Wan peers up at him a bit incredulously.
Anakin smiles sheepishly back. “I dunno, Master. I wouldn’t put it past you to be in love with a dead man. I was wondering, if Qui-Gon…”
“No. And I’m counting that as a question. That’s ten.”
Anakin doesn’t argue it, frowning as he tries to think of anything else he can use to narrow it down. “Is he older than you?”
If he were more lucid, Anakin might catch the shame in Obi-Wan’s voice as he responds. “No.”
He doesn’t know most of the other Jedi’s specific ages, otherwise he would try to narrow down how close in age he is to the man of his dreams. It seems a bit odd to him that Obi-Wan loves someone younger; considering those he’s taken an apparent interest in, like Satine, Ventress, Quinlan, among others, Anakin expected him to be the type to go for older men or women.
So, what does he have? A younger, taller, male (living) Jedi who he knows, that is not on the council.
Not many come to mind. He frowns a bit deeper. “… is he a good Jedi?”
“I think so,” Obi-Wan answers, half-cryptic and half-warm.
Anakin decides that was a bad question to ask. “Well of course you think so. You’re in love with him.” Anakin responds a bit grouchily. “Is he human?”
“I think it’s safe to say he is.”
Well, that eliminates several of Obi-Wan’s closer jedi friends. Anakin is really at a loss here. He really has to reach for the name of anyone who fits all his criteria.
“Uh… Knight Chun?” He remembers his master used to butt heads with him a lot; was that flirting?
Evidently not, from the look on Obi-Wan’s face. “I’d sooner space myself.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Master,” Anakin laughs a bit, staring up at the hint of sky as they get closer to the upper levels. He’s out of guesses, and can’t think of anything else that would really give him a hint. “Are you sure I know him?”
“Very.” Obi-Wan answers, leaning into his side with a relaxed sigh. “You have five questions left, Anakin. Think about it, ask the rest when we get to my apartment.”
Anakin nods, fine with that plan. They can put their game on pause for now. “You want me to stay with you?”
The elder Jedi nods. “… I shouldn’t be alone. I can ask Quin or someone if you have elsewhere to be.”
“No,” Anakin says quickly, “I didn’t mean for it to sound- Of course I’ll keep you company. I just wanted to know if you wanted me to.”
“I do,” Obi-Wan assures him just as quickly, and then there’s an awkward pause. Anakin is quite aware of how his old Master is pressed to his side.
The slightly awkward silence is broken when Obi-Wan speaks again. “Anakin, never doubt that I enjoy your company.”
His voice is strangely serious, words carefully enunciated despite the alcohol still circulating his system. Anakin decides this must be important to him. “I… Thank you, Master.”
The air between them relaxes a little, Obi-Wan turning to watch the path again as he leans on Anakin. “Thank you.”
Their conversation apparently over, Anakin relaxes as well, the two friends leaning on each other as they walk. With the silence, Anakin has time to think, to sort through the haze of alcohol and really consider the options left to him regarding their game.
He tries to think of every Jedi he’s ever seen Obi-Wan smile at. Not his practiced, diplomatic smile, either. His real smile, the one that makes his face light up and that makes Anakin’s stomach do odd flips. The one that makes his head spin like he’s in his starfighter, showing off. The one that makes him jealous of whoever it’s directed at.
Jealousy is not a very Jedi-like emotion, he knows… but he can’t help it. That smile should be his, only his. He tries to see it whenever he can, tries to impress and flatter his friend just to get a glimpse.
He wants that smile only for himself; trying to think of anyone else whose seen it makes him angrier than it should. Perhaps he should stop thinking about it-- whoever Obi-Wan loves probably isn't good enough for him. Knowing will only make him mad.
They reach the apartment too quickly, Anakin thinks. He’s not ready for Obi-Wan to pull away to get the door open. And, he hasn’t exactly made much progress. He’s succeeded in riling himself up, sure, thinking of when Obi-Wan has turned his planet-blinding smile on other Jedi. On Bant, but she’s not male. On Quin, but he’s older. On Master Plo, but he’s on the council. On Ventress, even, but she’s at odds with half the clues he has. Is Obi-Wan just messing with him?
Maybe he’s just too drunk and is remembering answers wrong… he wonders if Obi-Wan would reiterate them for him so he can be sure, because this is gonna drive him crazy til he figures it out. Not that finding out would make him any happier about it. It was easier when he thought Obi-Wan loved Satine—she was unattainable. He knew they would never leave their duties for each other, so that meant he would never lose Obi-Wan. But this… unknown person… What if he takes Obi-Wan away from him?
Why can’t Obi-Wan just love him?
Anakin sighs, frowning to himself as he watches Obi-Wan fumble with the keypad.
It’s just not fair. What does this stranger have that Anakin doesn’t? He’s male. He’s younger. He’s a Jedi. He’s taller. He’s alive. He’s human… And… he’s not on the Council. And… Well, ‘of course’ he knows him.
Anakin stares at Obi-Wan.
Something clicks, both on the keypad and in Anakin’s mind as Obi-Wan gets the door open with a quiet ‘Aha!’ and a brilliant smile is turned his way.
‘Is he… me?’
It… no. It can’t be, right?
This is crazy. He has to be sure or he’ll just look like an idiot. Five more questions…
Anakin ponders what he’s going to ask, his face a mask of concentration as he follows Obi-Wan into the modest set of rooms. They strip off their outer layers, feeling too warm now that they’re out of the cold, thin air of Coruscant’s upper levels. Obi-Wan gathers a few bottles of his less expensive alcoholic gifts, then they sit together on the couch in the living area.
Despite the warmth in the room, Obi-Wan doesn’t complain when Anakin sits beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. He just sighs a little, leaning into it.
The action emboldens Anakin, enough for him to speak again while the other Jedi fills two cups with wine. “Back to our game?”
“Hm?” Obi-Wan vocalizes distractedly, more focused on their drinks. “Oh, yes. Five left, go ahead dear.”
Dear. Not ‘my dear padawan’. Just… dear. Has Obi-Wan done that before? Anakin thinks he would remember if he did… though maybe he’s so used to Obi-Wan’s little epithets that he never noticed it before.
He notices it now that he’s looking, and… it does funny things to his insides.
“Okay, uh,” he remembers to speak as he takes his cup. “Number sixteen… does this guy… um, does he have any prosthetics?”
The way Obi-Wan stiffens a little under his arm tells Anakin the answer just before he hears it.
“… Yes.”
The information comes reluctantly, but Obi-Wan promised not to lie, and Anakin believes him. Before asking his next question, he takes his time to drink his whole glass of wine.
“Do you spar with him a lot?”
“I—Yes.”
Again, the answer is hesitant. Obi-Wan doesn’t spar with anyone even half as much as he spars with Anakin. Anakin swears he can hear the way Obi-Wan’s heartbeat speeds up. He quells the urge to put his hand over the other’s chest to feel it for himself.
“Does he have a… a noticeable scar? On his face, maybe?”
“He does.” The other’s voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Obi-Wan won’t look at him.
Anakin doesn’t think it’s necessary to ask anymore questions… he is sure he’s on the right track… but, part of him hesitates, wants to hold off. Part of him wants to give Obi-Wan every chance to say it himself, without the questions, without the game.
“… Is your love for him only platonic?”
Obi-Wan’s free hand curls into a fist, bunching up the fabric of his light trousers just above his knee. He seems to know the game is up, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed.
“It should be.”
Anakin’s breath catches a little. He has one more question. The most important one.
He wants Obi-Wan to look at him.
Gently, he reaches across to take Obi-Wan’s bearded chin in his mechanical hand, careful not to pinch any of the neatly clipped hair with his joints. As he nudges the other man’s face up to look at him, his eyes reopen. Apprehension shows in those shining, sea-grey eyes of his. They look closer to green now, not quite as sharp and focused as he’s used to.
He still thinks they’re beautiful.
Anakin searches those eyes for a long moment, giving Obi-Wan time to realize what he’s going to ask next; what his last question is. He gives his old Master as long as he’s willing to wait, then realizes that Obi-Wan isn’t ready to say it himself. Anakin is sure of how he feels… but Obi-Wan has no assurance of Anakin’s feelings.
So… Anakin will just have to help him.
“Last question, Master,” he starts, voice low and confident; the way he can only achieve when on a mission or nearly plastered. “… Is it okay if I kiss you?”
Anakin wishes his hand were real, if only so that he could feel Obi-Wan’s fluttering pulse under his fingers. There is a hint of panic, a moment where he thinks the other Jedi is going to run away from him.
As he watches, Obi-Wan’s breath hitches for a second, his eyes darting around like he’s searching Anakin’s face for some trick. There is only honesty for him to find. Anakin waits for his answer, not patiently, but he waits.
When the whispered response comes, it is music to Anakin’s ears.
“It is— if… if you want to.”
The smile that blooms on Anakin’s lips contains enough joy that it makes even the Force around them brighter. Some of Obi-Wan’s little potted plants scattered around the room react, reaching for the light. Those that can, instantly flower—little buds pushing their way into existence just for the chance to feel the supernova in the Force that is Anakin Skywalker.
“I want to.” He states, then doesn’t waste anymore time closing the distance between their lips.
Anakin’s first thought is; the beard is nice.
Then he’s on his back, Obi-Wan covering him and he isn’t thinking much anymore.
Anakin barely registers the tongue pressing against his lower lips before his lips part and—his mouth must taste terrible; all he’s had tonight are cheap cocktails—but Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to mind. An embarrassing moan leaves Anakin as the other Jedi’s questing tongue brushes against sensitive, secret places. He’s been kissed before, but not like this.
For a man prone to giving lectures on the dangers of passion, he sure has a lot of it now. Anakin can’t find it within him to be annoyed at the irony. He’s too busy enjoying every second of this.
Not wanting to leave Obi-Wan to do all the work, Anakin gets his hands moving, sliding them from their grip on his Master’s shoulders to run down his back, coming to a stop on his butt. It’s a nice butt. He’s always thought so, his eyes usually drifting to it whenever he walked just a step behind his Master. Now he can touch it, and— Force, he never wants to stop.
Obi-Wan gasps against his lips, tongue withdrawing as he nips his lower lip in reprimand—or encouragement, maybe? Anakin decides to take it as encouragement. His hands squeeze, and Obi-Wan pulls away entirely.
Anakin catches a flush of red across his cheeks before the other man presses his forehead to Anakin’s shoulder, giving a small huff.
“Anakin,” The elder of the two says mock-warningly.
“Yes, Master?” He responds innocently, adjusting his large hands to get a better grip.
Obi-Wan makes an undignified sound, head turning to bury his face in Anakin’s neck. The younger can see the way his bicep twitches from the corner of his eye. Obi-Wan has himself propped up with one elbow just next to Anakin’s shoulder, his other arm bracing himself against the back of the couch.
“Stop that.”
“This?” Anakin asks cheekily, sliding his hands down to Obi-Wan’s thighs so he can cup his arse and drag him up further.
“Anakin.” The tone sounds more desperate now, like an actual warning. “Stop.”
His hands go still. “Why?”
“We shouldn’t- shouldn’t be doing this.” His Master’s voice sounds almost pained.
Anakin wants to take away that pain.
“Why not?” he demands. He hates that it comes out sounding almost petulant.
“A slew of reasons.” As Anakin releases him momentarily, Obi-Wan pushes himself up so he can face Anakin.
The younger Jedi can’t help but notice how flushed his cheeks and neck are, how red his lips look. He frowns up at him. “Name three.”
“We’re drunk-”
“-not that drunk.”
“Yes, we are. Don’t interrupt.”
“You need two more.”
“Stop interrupting, I’m getting to it.” Obi-Wan grumbles, batting Anakin’s wandering hand away. “Second, you were my padawan, this is all manner of inappropriate.”
The guilt in his voice is real, and Anakin wants to drag it away from him and crush it into tiny pieces. His tone is harsh as he barks out his response. “Bantha kark. I’m 22 and I know what I want.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes are blue now, matching his sadness. “I am far too old-”
“Stewjonians have longer lifespans. You’re not that old.”
“I’ll be an old man before you’re 40.”
“Then I better enjoy you while you’re young, huh?”
Obi-Wan turns his face away, and Anakin can’t tell if it’s shame or the lewd implication that colors his cheeks.
“… The code--”
“--Kriff the code.”
Obi-Wan looks at him sharply. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” Anakin responds, voice ungiving. “We’re fighting a war; that’s against the code. We’re taking instruction from the Senate and using clones as soldiers; that’s not exactly ‘valuing all life indiscriminately’. Why not this too? If the Council doesn’t follow the code, why should we?”
And, well. Obi-Wan doesn’t have a good answer for that.
He tries to look away, but Anakin cups the side of his face again.
“Hey.” His tone is gentler as he gets his old Master’s attention. “Your last two reasons are kriffing stupid, but if being drunk is a no-go, then we’ll leave it at the one kiss, okay?” Before his master can get any ideas about ignoring this later, he continues. “And we will pick it back up when we’re sober.”
His words get a small huff in response. Obi-Wan sits up more fully, reaching for the coffee table to retrieve his wine. “Fine. But I’m finishing this bottle first.”
Anakin smiles, sitting up as well and keeping Obi-Wan in his lap, his hands resting quite respectfully just above his hips. “I’ll help.”
The older Jedi side-eyes him like he’s unsure whether he should trust Anakin to keep his hands to himself or not. Seeming to decide he is fine with this, Obi-Wan merely leans against the back of the couch, finishing his cup and pouring himself another. “If you puke, do it elsewhere.”
“Yes, Master,” Anakin responds in an intentionally seductive tone, and watches victoriously as his master’s face grows even redder. He’s looking forward to the morning.
Obi-Wan has a headache.
He comes to with a groan, eyes pinched shut as he wonders at where exactly he is. There’s someone beneath him— that much is clear. Someone solid, and long, and warm. As he shifts, an arm reflexively tightens around him, holding him in place against the broad chest.
Who…?
He wracks his brain for a possible identity and can only remember being around one person last night.
“… ‘nikn?” He grumbles, wincing at his own voice. He sounds a bit like he gargled glass.
The only response is a rumble. He’s still asleep, then.
Gathering what remains of his wits about him, Obi-Wan braves opening his eyes, then immediately grimaces and shuts them against the harsh light coming through the transparisteel window. Bad idea.
He turns his head on Anakin’s chest, so he’ll be facing away from the light before trying again. It takes a lot of blinking and wincing, but eventually the sunlight isn’t so painful.
Memories from the previous night come back to him like fragmented bits of a fever dream as he deduces that he’s in his room. In his bed. And Anakin is in his bed. Not his bed—Obi-Wan’s bed. He’s not supposed to be there, is he?
They’re still wearing their smallclothes, so he doesn’t think they did anything more than sleep together, at least.
Carefully, he extricates himself from under the younger man’s arm and pads to his kitchenette to make them both a hangover cure, and some tea to wash it down with. He can’t fully remember what happened last night, which is odd for him. He must’ve been really drunk.
As he gets the ingredients into his (blessedly silent) sonic blender, he attempts to trace his memories, starting with the oldest thing he remembers.
Banan Fruit. He and Anakin went barhopping after- after … Mandalore.
Naboo Pear. They got cut off twice and decided to go back to his apartment to keep drinking. That explains the two empty bottles of wine by the couch.
Almnut Milk. He ran his mouth about Satine—About her last words. That was a mistake.
Gingerine slices. Anakin wanted to know who he loved. As if it could be anyone but him.
Aderaanian golden honey. In his ever-poor judgement, Obi-Wan agreed to a game. 20 questions. What was he thinking?
Nilla flower extract. He got through the first 10 or so without incident, but after that things become a little unclear. He has to focus harder to recall those memories.
Cinnaspice. They got back to the apartment. Anakin had a few questions left; they resumed the game.
Xale. Anakin realized it was him.
And, of course, some ice. They kissed.
Obi-Wan freezes, remembering the moment. His hand is still, unmoving on the blender. His throat goes even drier, if that’s possible past the awful synthfur-mouth feeling.
No, he—
They couldn’t have.
Why did they kiss? When did they get into his bed? What happened?
“Obi’Wn?”
Anakin’s voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin. He looks over the half-wall to see his friend shuffling into the living area, looking about as terrible as Obi-Wan feels.
“Here,” He responds, feeling jittery and not at all like he should. Why did he decide it was a good idea to get wasted? And with Anakin?
The younger man makes his way into the kitchenette to join him. The space isn’t really large enough for them to navigate around each other easily, but personal space doesn’t appear to be high on Anakin’s priorities. He shimmies past his old Master to the Conservator, searching it for a bag of frozen veg so he can hold it up to the side of his head.
Obi-Wan is stiff as a board as Anakin moves past him. He turns the blender on a bit too aggressively.
Anakin tosses him an amused look. “Y’weren’t snuggling me anymore when I woke up. R’you mad, Master?”
“No,” the older Jedi huffs, trying not to give anything away in case— by some miracle— Anakin doesn’t remember. He is a lightweight, after all. And they drank quite a lot.
Unheeding of the other’s poorly concealed unease, Anakin moves in closer to lean on him, propping his chin up on his shorter Master’s head. “You’re a comfy blanket.”
“Anakin,” He sighs, his tone landing somewhere between irritable and fond. “I need elbow room.”
Obstinately, Anakin just wraps one arm around Obi-Wan’s chest, which, admittedly, does get it out of the way. “Plen’y ‘a room f’your elbows…” he mumbles, and Obi-Wan briefly worries Anakin is falling asleep again, standing up.
He’s even more on edge because he honestly can’t tell if Anakin knows, or if this is just his usual, sleepy, overly-physically-affectionate self. He’s sure he’s too stiff under his friend’s embrace, but if Anakin notices, he doesn’t say anything.
Together, they watch the blender, Obi-Wan taking it off the sonic dock a few times to hand-mix it so it has a better consistency.
“Must’ve been a fun night,” Anakin comments, sounding a little more awake as Obi-Wan spoons their hangover cures into two mugs.
“Must have,” Obi-Wan agrees neutrally.
Anakin hums, hugging the shorter man a bit closer with his flesh hand. The way his fingers just barely trail along his hipbone through his shirt… It makes Obi-Wan’s breath hitch the tiniest bit. He clamps down on the reaction, practically turning to durasteel under the (probably, hopefully) innocent touch.
“Not that I remember most of it. I must’a blacked out.”
Obi-Wan breathes a sigh of relief.
“Everything is pretty hazy after you stuck your tongue down my throat.”
The brief surge of relief is instantly gone. Obi-Wan tenses up, then rips himself out of Anakin’s arms. Or—tries to, anyways. The space is too small, so he really just goes from having his back pressed to Anakin’s front, to having his face just centimeters from Anakin’s. He’s not sure it’s an improvement.
Anakin looks far too pleased with himself. Obi-Wan is certain his own face is red as a supergiant star.
He doesn’t manage to work something out before Anakin leans into his space, his close proximity making his hungover brain stall. “You do remember. So, what, you were hoping I forgot? Were you just gonna pretend it never happened?”
Obi-Wan can’t look him in the eye. He’s not sure what he’s more ashamed of—that it happened, or that he was hoping Anakin would forget. “Maybe? Yes. You should too.”
Anakin isn’t having that. He reaches a hand to run through his former Master’s mussed up hair, making a shiver run through Obi-Wan’s spine as his former apprentice’s durasteel fingers scrape his scalp.
“I may not remember everything, but I do remember saying we’d continue this when we’re sober. And you agreed. You’re sober now, so we’re talking.”
Obi-Wan winces. Note to self, never let Drunk Kenobi talk to Anakin. Ever again.
“I don’t remember that, so, it doesn’t count.”
Anakin fixes him with a pointed scowl, then all but pins him, a hand on each of Obi-Wan’s wrists where they rest on the counter behind him. “We. Are. Talking.”
Obi-Wan finds that he doesn’t particularly like being on the other end of that dark tone. But-- fine. Anakin wants to talk? Then he’ll talk.
The shorter Jedi lifts his chin in a show of stubbornness. “Okay, then you listen, Anakin. We cannot do this. It is inappropriate, and one drunk kiss does not change that. End of discussion.”
If possible, Anakin’s temper flares even further. “No, not the end of discussion.” His grips on Obi-Wan’s wrists tighten unconsciously. The mechanical hand starts to hurt. “I figured it out. I was right, wasn’t I? It’s me.” He only waits for a nod before continuing. “So, do you love me? Or is that only when you’re drunk?”
Realizing how his words have hurt his friend, Obi-Wan backtracks. “Anakin, that isn’t what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He’s not sure, really. His hungover brain isn’t really optimized for this kind of talk.
It takes him a moment to recall his reasoning underneath Anakin’s too-intense eyes. “… I… Anakin, of course I love you. You’re— My brother— I’m just… not ready to be… to be… lovers.”
“Not ready?” The touch of hopefulness in Anakin’s voice kills him, just a little bit.
“Anakin…”
“No, don’t do that, Obi-Wan.” Anakin bristles again, irritable as soon as his former Master speaks. “You don’t just get to say my name like that’s an answer. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. It’s not—It’s not a no. We don’t have to dive in headfirst if you don’t want.”
He has to nearly bite his tongue to restrain himself from repeating his friend’s name. “I can’t be what you want me to be.”
The younger’s jaw tenses, eyes going hard for a moment. “You don’t know what I want.”
“Exactly.” Obi-Wan responds shortly. “You haven’t told me.”
Frustrated—with himself or Obi-Wan, he isn’t sure at this point—Anakin looks his counterpart over with a hard gaze. “Then I will. It’s your turn to listen.”
Obi-Wan gives him a sage nod, feeling a little relieved as Anakin backs up half a step.
“I… I don’t want you to be anything you aren’t. Nothing has to change, I just… All I want is you.” In this moment, Anakin looks strikingly vulnerable. They are both Generals of war, but Obi-Wan feels the absurd urge to protect him. (From what? Himself?) “I wanna stop pretending we aren’t the center of each other’s universes. I don’t care if you never wanna hold my hand or if you never wanna kiss me again, I just… I wanna have you all to myself.”
“And, I-” His speech isn’t over, so Obi-Wan continues to listen, eyes locked on his former student’s face. “I know that sounds… selfish, and attached… But I just- I don’t care. You make me a better person, Obi-Wan. My attachment to you makes me a better Jedi. I just want us to stop pretending, to stop lying to each other.”
Anakin’s hands let go of his wrists finally, hands going lax at his sides as he finally looks away, a bit more subdued. “Well, yeah- I’d like to hold hands and hug more, and kiss and share beds, and, and maybe more… but none of that really matters. I want you. However I can have you.”
As out of breath as Anakin seems, Obi-Wan can’t imagine it’s more than himself.
Out of the two of them… Anakin always was the brave one. Obi-Wan is reckless, self-sacrificing, and a terror on the battlefield at the best of times… but his risks are always calculated. He doesn’t do anything he can’t predict the outcome of. He always has a backup plan. He’s not the type to run headlong into danger without a strategy.
He’s not the type to put his heart out on display, where it can be hurt.
A small part of him wonders if Anakin didn’t calculate this risk too… if he knew that Obi-Wan would never so blatantly hurt him at his most vulnerable. And then he dismisses it; Anakin doesn’t have it in himself to be manipulative.
Gently, he reaches for his friend’s mismatched hands, one metal and one full of life. He draws in a tight breath, waiting for Anakin to look back at him.
“… Okay, Anakin.”
The younger man blinks convor-ishly at him. “Okay?”
“Yes. Okay.” Obi-Wan nods, a soft, tired smile making his laugh lines crinkle around his eyes. “… We’ll figure it out as we go. But… you’re right. I’m tired of lying and pretending. You make me a better Jedi too, so… we’ll embrace it, and work out the kinks in the plan from here.”
As he explains himself, Anakin lights up, and not just metaphorically. The force was too muddled for him to witness it last night, but now? The sheer joy lights up the force around them both, and Obi-Wan has never seen anything brighter.
The small herb garden he has growing out of one wall flourishes, his headache eases up, but he hardly notices these things beyond the resounding ‘wow’ that is the best his mind can come up with in response to the way the force reacts to Anakin’s pure, unadulterated happiness.
He’s very certain he made the right choice.
Before his brain can get past ‘wow’ and move onto some other vastly more intelligent thought, Anakin has him wrapped up in a hug so tight that he’s not convinced he’ll make it out alive. He hugs back a bit more tentatively, but not reluctantly— he wants to show Anakin that he doesn’t mind reciprocating hugs like this. It’ll be something to accustom himself to but… they’ll figure it out. Together.
After a moment of having his ribs crushed, the elder Jedi gives a small cough. “Anakin, I do need to breathe.”
Anakin hums, loosening his grip and then pulling away. “You mean it? What if we have to leave the order?”
Obi-Wan gives a one-shouldered shrug and a crooked smile. “Like I said, we’ll figure it out if it gets to that. Though, I doubt the order will be willing to part with both of their poster boys.”
Anakin looks like he had the breath taken from him. “Even if they only kicked me out? You would leave too?”
Obi-Wan gives him a funny look. “Of course, Anakin.”
The younger cups his face, looking at Obi-Wan like he’s the center of his galaxy. “You’re the best person I know.”
“You already used that line on me,” the redhead points out with a smile.
“Doesn’t mean it’s any less true.” Anakin’s eyes glitter happily. “And, it worked the first time.”
“Well, I was drunk.”
“Not that drunk.”
“Not this again,” Obi-Wan laughs, smiling up at his counterpart. “Go sit on the couch, I made us smoothies for our heads.”
One thing at a time. Deal with one crisis, then the next. It’s how they got through the war so far, it’s how they’ll manage this too.
“One thing, first.” Anakin doesn’t wait for Obi-Wan to argue or agree, just bending down to press a quick, light kiss to the corner of Obi-Wan’s lips.
The elder Jedi is frozen for a moment but kicks back into action when Anakin attempts to pull away. He stops him, grabbing a fistful of the taller man’s robes to drag him down for a proper kiss. No tongue—he’ll have to gargle something before he inflicts that on anyone—but none of this corner-of-the mouth kark.
It’s just a dry press of lips, but they both come away beaming, twin blushes on their cheeks, Force signatures mirroring each other’s brightness.
“Okay, so that’s a thing now,” Anakin says decisively, of course utterly ruining the moment. He keeps a hand on Obi-Wan’s upper arm. “… you’re sure you’re okay with no plan? I know you like having a plan.”
Even if they rarely stick to it.
Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair but doesn’t show a hint of regret. “Love isn’t exactly something that can be planned,” he points out. Anakin’s breath catches as the ease with which he says those words. “Anyways… Winging it is rather our specialty, isn’t it?”
Anakin presses another quick kiss to Obi-Wan’s lips. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Hmn. I’m sure I could do with a reminder.”
Anakin laughs, eyes bright as he answers. “Love you infinity, Master.”
And as Obi-Wan watches him walk off to the living area… he thinks maybe the force was wrong. After all, how can he be destined for infinite sadness when he has Anakin?