Allowed

by nostalgia (thehappinesspatrol@hotmail.com)

Rated: NC-17

Spoilers: Like you haven't seen the OT... You have, right?

Category: Obi/Ani

Setting: Just before AoTC.

Summary: Anakin tests the rules.

Disclaim: George Lucas owns the Jedi and would never allow them to do things like this. Another planet name nicked from the wonderful Paul Magrs.

Etc: Hey, there was none on the 'net so I had to make my own, OK?

Feedback/Archive: Always welcome.

Homepage: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/monkeychild/nostalgia/index.htm

Valcea is a humid world. The suns heat the oceans until the water joins the air and the breeze becomes heavy with vapour. The clouds hang low over the continents, sealing the heat close to the surface. It is a world of wetness and warmth.

Valcea clings to Anakin's skin, it keeps him awake. The heat reminds him of his childhood on Tatooine, and the humidity makes him yearn for the dry, dusty air of his homeworld. Even with the air-conditioning on its coolest setting the water condenses along the ceiling and runs down the walls in tiny rivulets. The locked windows gleam as if from a covering of sweat.

His eyelids are wet inside and out. He throws the covers back from his body, the air swirls across his skin. His sleep-shorts allow air to pass through thin fabric, the hairs along his arms flatten against flesh damp with sweat. Pale skin reddens slightly as blood vessels rise to expell waste heat. He spreads his arms and legs across the bed to increase his surface area and dissipate heat.

But the sheet still clings to his back when he stirs, and the insomnia of the climate still taunts him. He decides to abandon his bed. This is allowed.

He moves along the stone corridors, smooth marble conducting heat from the soles of his feet. He looks down as he moves, vacantly trying to decide whether the stone is black with white specks or white with black. Maybe it's just grey.

He covers the short distance quickly, looking up at the plain white door set into the rock before him. It glistens, like a precious stone in an ore-seam. He touches it, and the plastic returns the heat of his touch. His fingers find the switch and the barrier slides away. This is allowed.

The room is plain, like Anakin's. It seems cooler, somehow. He sees that one of the windows - a small pane of glass in the corner of the design - has been broken. Anakin smiles thinly - for once Obi-Wan has shown less restraint than his Apprentice.

He moves towards the bed, gazes at the sleeping form of his mentor. He hears the soft purr of the door sliding closed behind him, waits a moment for his eyes to adjust to the new darkness. He steps forward, leans in to run his hand along the mattress. This is allowed.

He carefully draws back the single sheet, pulling it up give him the space to slide his hand underneath and trace the contours of the sleeping Jedi. He raises the sheet slightly higher, ducking his head down a little to confirm the evidence of his hands. Obi-Wan's nakedness complicates the acceptability of what he is about to do, but he tells himself that this is Valcea, where circumstances are often different and frequently special. The rules can be altered a little for once. So this is allowed.

He slips into the bed, the sheet settling across his chest as he relaxes into his new location. He feels safer here, next to Obi-Wan. He feels like he belongs. This is allowed.

He lies, breathing slowly in the cooler air. His lungs burn slightly less, the film of sweat begins to dry a little. He begins to breathe almost in time with the other man. He imagines that soon he might even feel sleepy. He wonders.

He places his hand over his own heart, measuring its pace. It beats steadily against his palm, reasssuring him that, yes, he is still alive. He wonders some more. Obi-Wan's heartbeat will be slower, languid. Such a difference a little sleep can make.

Anakin turns onto his side, careful not to wake his Master. He breathes more slowly, quieter. He swallows, saliva coating a too-dry throat. He reaches, slowly, hesitantly. His fingers brush across Obi-Wan's chest, tingling against short hairs and the inevitable sweat of Valcea. He remembers to exhale. He spreads his fingers and presses his palm down onto Obi-Wan's chest. His touch is light, drizzle against skin on a summer afternoon. He counts.

Slower than Anakin's. The heartbeat of the contented.

Anakin finds that he can't pull his hand away. It is happy against the alien flesh. He shifts slightly in the bed, drawing himself closer to Obi-Wan's warmth. The sleeping Jedi is solid and real and so unmistakeably alive. He moves closer.

This is not allowed.

He brings his dry lips to Obi-Wan's, meets the sleeping mouth with his own. It tastes of salt and vibrancy and hope. Anakin closes his eyes, hears himself moan quietly.

This is not allowed.

He feels the lips part beneath his own, slides his tongue into the satin mouth as his hand traces muscle and flesh. He pulls back when he feels Obi-Wan wake.

He gazes down into confused grey eyes. The irises look like molten silver around pupils wide in the dim light. He becomes aware of the sound of their breathing, the quickening of the heartbeat under his fingers and the one in his own chest. They match now, he notes absently.

Anakin doesn't say anything, because this is not allowed, and if he doesn't ask he can't be denied. He lowers his mouth back to Obi-Wan's.

He thinks about nothing, he only feels. His mouth leaves his new favourite place and travels down to the other man's throat. Obi-Wan's beard scrapes lightly against Anakin's skin, marking it imperceptibly.

Obi-Wan is silent as Anakin's lips work their way across his throat. Anakin listens to the shortening breaths and the speeding heartbeat for approval. He runs his tongue along collarbone and chin, tastes the sweat and the skin.

Further, further still.

He moves from chest to stomach, muscle marking his journey. He runs his fingers across his own body, memorising the variations. He hears Obi-Wan sigh, and takes it as a signal.

Down, down, further...

He stops. A smile forms on his lips as he sees evidence of Obi-Wan's enthusiasm. He takes it into his mouth and thinks of sweat.

He hears Obi-Wan moan quietly, feels fingers running through his short hair. His braid trails along Obi-Wan's thigh. Anakin closes his eyes, thinks that he has found his purpose. He is happy.

He listens, tastes, feels. He wants to see. But he worries that the spell will be broken if he looks at the magician.

He looks. He sees Obi-Wan's eyes, quicksilver as they meet his own. The grey eyes close, Obi-Wan's head falls back against the pillow.

Anakin's heart is racing, he closes his eyes again, remembering Obi-Wan's lips against his own, skin sliding against skin.

He feels the fingers tighten in his hair. He moves his tongue faster.

"No." He ignores the voice, he refuses to obey the lie. He continues to move.

He finds himself pulled away. He is unwanted once more.

Anakin looks up, blue eyes glistening. "But..."

"You're my Apprentice, Anakin. You'll do what I tell you."

"But..."

There is sadness in the rejection, regret. "You're my Apprentice."

Anakin pushes himself up, gets to his feet. He feels his heart sink, slowing as it falls. He watches as Obi-Wan turns away and pretends to fall sleep.

Anakin finds his own way out.