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As Sure as the Suns Set (NSFW)
Exile leaves you with a lot of time to think. Time to pick apart every misstep, each error in your ways. Meditation could only push those ideas from his mind for so long, and each attempt to commune with the master he had lost long ago was met with silence. Master Yoda had said it would take time, patience, and practice, but a part of Obi-Wan had wished he was already strong enough to achieve some semblance of contact with Qui-Gon, if only for an inkling of something familiar. He certainly hadn’t expected to spend months with no success.
And then there was you.
You, who had found him, even in the desert sands of Tatooine. You, who had searched for him at the first whisper of his survival, regardless of the risk to your own. Wrapped in cloth and leather, you had finally found him amidst the desert rocks, and, the Force forgive him, he’d never felt more relieved than when you tugged down the cloth hiding your face to take him into your arms.
“Master,” you breathed him in, and he allowed himself to do the same, smelling of smoke and burning like fire, waging a war in your efforts to find your peace in him. His senses come to him, as you shakily breathed your next words, sobered by them, “I had heard you were alive, but I had to know for myself. I— we— my master is dead.”
Tearing himself from your arms had never been as hard as it is now, and his hand lingers longer than he should at your shoulder as he urges you beyond the dunes towards the small hut he’d found for himself, “Come, we shouldn’t stay out here long.” He almost names you as padawan, but it doesn’t feel right anymore. After all of this, with the Jedi in exile, were you even such a thing anymore?
He certainly didn’t feel like the master you called him to be. With the time to think about it, he wondered if he had ever been the master he should have been. Anakin— Darth Vader was proof enough that he had failed his own padawan, and you were proof that he had, perhaps, failed himself, because the feelings he buried for you were too dangerous to speak from the mouth of a Jedi, yet they carved themselves into his heart all the same.
Obi-Wan comes to find out that meditation is even harder with you there. The hut was already small enough, but your presence makes it suffocatingly so. Cramped up together, far too close, and painfully domestic, that in the dunes of this backwater planet, he can trick himself into thinking that you’re the only two people left in this universe.
So he leaves, near daily, to watch the boy from afar. The baby toddling around the moisture farm, already sprouting up faster than feels right, because has it really been that long since Obi-Wan’s whole world came crumbling down around him?
Even his daily walks, though, only give him more time to think, and each day he finds his thoughts more consumed with you.
Thrown back to the days at the Temple, when you and Anakin were nearly inseparable, and Obi-Wan had ignored every longing look you had sent his way. Had kept himself so keenly in check, each thought policed when it came to thinking about you. Now, though, there was nothing to distract his thoughts from the topic of you. There had been a spark in your eye, lost in the time between then and now. Hardened by the grief, far beyond what any padawan should have already experienced.
He wondered if, when you looked at him, did you think the same?
The cloak still covers his shoulders, brown and worn with sand dusting the hem, when he walks through the door. Dwelling on you, for once, has followed him home. The smiles you give, only reach your eyes when you’re looking at him, and he’s too far gone to keep pretending he doesn’t notice it anymore.
For the first time, he dares to admit to himself that he has wanted you, just as much as you have wanted him.
“Ben,” you breathe, like his presence fills you with relief, from where you are fumbling with some part to the humidifier that broke this morning, still in the midst of repairing it, but that isn’t what he wants to hear right now. Your eyes slip back to the part, fingertips dirty as you turn the driver into the screw, watching his approach in your peripheral and missing the mood surrounding him until he’s too close to miss it any longer, “How was your walk—?”
His hand covers the one you have on the driver, and you look up to catch his eyes. Dark and blue, focused on your fingertips, until you drop the part at the soft desperation to his voice, and the tense stare he burns into your skin.
“How long do you intend to stay here?”
The way your eyes widen, and your voice stammers with guilt, tells him how he’s already messed this up, “I— I don’t mean to— If you want me to leave, I’ll go.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” the honesty burns his tongue, rubs him raw from the inside out, because every nerve feels exposed and bare to you right now, when he whispers, “it’s selfish of me, but I want you to stay.” His feels your fingers twitch under his words, “So how long do you intend to stay here?”
“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” it’s a confession in its own right, with the way you tear your eyes from his own, but he knows it’s as far as you’ll go since he rejected you on Coruscant, all those years ago. He shouldn’t regret it as much as he does, knowing it was the right thing to do by the Code to guide you back to the path of the Jedi, but there’s no denying the feeling in the pit of his stomach is regret all the same.
“There’s nothing for you here,” he doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince, you or himself, but his thumb runs over your knuckles too tenderly for there to be truth to his words.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“That’s not a reason to stay,” his jaw clenches, and you look back up to him like you’re ready to fight him on that statement, up until you see the desperation in his eyes, “I cannot help you complete your training. I have nothing to give you.” A whisper, dying on his tongue, begging for a mercy that cannot come the longer you remain together, “We are still bound by the Jedi Code.”
“Haven’t you heard?” your mouth feels dry, but you know it’s not from the broken humidifier or the desert beyond these four walls. “All the Jedi are dead.” A wry chuckle claws its way up your throat, bitter and tragic, until tears burn the back of your nose with their threat, “Whatever Jedi I could have been died with my master. I did not come here to ask you to complete my training.”
“Then, why did you come here?” and he already knows the answer, but to feel at all at peace, he has to hear it, once more from your own lips.
You tell him the surface of your reason, “You know why. I had to see you, with my own eyes. Know you were still— still alive.”
He doesn’t let you go that easily, inching closer in the already claustrophobic space, too near to deny his intentions as he presses, “Why did you stay?” Your mouth closes into a tight line at that, searching his eyes as you try to come up with anything other than the truth of it. He’s too wise to be as foolish as he feels right now, but everything about this has proven his judgement was never quite as sharp as he had thought before, “Is it, because of what you said to me, on Coruscant?”
The sharp inhale you take is proof enough of your feelings for him.
“I don’t— I was silly. Y-You helped me see sense,” you fumble over your words, face burning in the space he’s captured you between, caught against the workstation and his body. Cloak ghosting against your knees, you lose all train of thought as his fingers intertwine with your own, “I don’t want you to feel like… Like I only came here because of that. You made it perfectly clear—”
“I lied.”
It comes so quick, like a punch to the gut, that you lose all the breath in your lungs, barely able to squeak, “W-What?”
“I,” he breathes, stepping closer, into your space, until his feet brush against yours and his hand catches you by the side of your neck, “lied.” Your head is spinning, and his focus is on your lips, as you try to wrap your head around just what he was saying, “I can’t keep lying anymore, if you stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you lean into his touch, finding your own at the fabric of his robes, and it’s the most alive you’ve felt in months, “until you tell me you want me to go.”
“If I did, it would be a lie, too,” he breathes against your skin, admission falling, feeling just as forbidden on his tongue as yours had been, “because, despite my duty, my Code, my beliefs, I regret turning you away in Coruscant.”
“You’re,” you swallow, lips ghosting near his own, “sure about this?”
“As sure as the suns set,” when he kisses you, you feel the tears finally escape your misty eyes, wiped away by his fingertips as they cradle your face, hard pressed against him. His beard tickles your skin, but it’s his lips that burn. Scold and singe a brand so deep into you that you could never retrieve it and, if he hadn’t already before, he has you completely now.
The stone walls are cooled in the desert night, pressed hard against your back as his hands slip to your hips and your own tangle into his hair, holding him close, afraid that if you were to let him go, he’d change his mind. But he’s too far gone, and the line between the man he was on Coruscant and the man he is now is too blurred for him to back down now.
He needs you, more than ever, and in the hell of these past months, your body feels like heaven against him.
“Obi-Wan,” it grounds him, solidifies him against you here and now, but in the span of the moment you both breathe hard against each other, all he can think is how much he wants this.
And how willing you are to give it to him.
His lips come crashing back down to yours, teeth and tongue far less gentle than before, laced with the edge of want that licks at your heels, consuming you from the ground up. Hands push at the straps of your belts, unwinding you from the gear and fabric until they’re being kicked off around your ankles. His robes are hardly in any better shape, as you tug at his strings until his own clothing is clinging to his shoulders while your hand delves into the waistband of his pants.
He gasps into your mouth, pinning you to the wall as your fingers wrap around the length of him, feeling him grow harder under the softness of the palm of your hand. Any wonder of his experience is lost as soon as his fingers slip between your thighs, deft and familiar, until he’s drawing your own whimpers out against your shaky legs.
Neither of you speak, too worried that a single word will break the spell of this moment between you. Your head lulls back, resting against the hard stone at your back as his tongue blazes down your throat, latching to your neck as he rubs from your entrance to your clit in long, torturous strokes that have you breathing hard and heavy with his thigh between your own. He rolls his hips into your hand, groaning at your neck when your fingers brush over the blunt tip of him to slick back to his base.
When he seeks out your lips again, it’s sloppier, laced with the lust burning your veins, as his tongue presses into your own and a hum of pleasure is captured by your lips. The bed is small in the small curved alcove of the room, but you don’t want to be far from him anyway. When he lays you down on it, it’s all the space you need, cloaked by the brown drapes of his clothing that still hold to his body in your haste. A push of his trousers is all it takes to pull the length of him from them, and they’re still hitched at the curve of his ass when he pistons his hips against your own.
His hand is at your jaw, smoothing along the curve of it until it reaches your hairline and buries itself there, holding you close as can be when your back arches up into him and your calves slip up his thighs. Blunt nails scrape down the fabric covering his back as he situates himself at your entrance, pressing into you slowly, shushing your gasps and moans as he rocks his hips once more and bottoms out within you.
You were shaking, curling your hips to rock into his own despite the crushing weight of his body against yours. His hair has fallen into his face, but his lips are parted with the shuddering breath that wracks through him as you clench, tight, around him.
The sound of your name splits the silence, low and dark in a way you’ve never heard before from those kiss-stained lips, his hand slipping down the column of your throat to catch at the curve of your breast as he presses you harder into the mattress. Your hands slip beneath the hem of his trousers, pressing them down until you can get a good grasp at his ass, feeling him tense and roll his hips to hit you deep once more.
And then you’re both done for, a mess of limbs and moans as he starts fucking you in earnest, now. Holding you impossibly close and hitting you hard, dick brushing right against the sweetest parts of you with every drag through your velvet walls. It’s as close to heaven as you’ve ever been, and better than you’d dared to imagine in the shame of the nights spent yearning for him.
You’re soaked, and the sound of him fucking up into you is embarrassingly lewd, filling the silence of the hut until all that’s left is your bodies and your moans. Thankful for the small privacy of his cloak, you can barely think, shutting your eyes tight and clenching around him as his fingertips brush against your clit, urging you towards the tightening coil in your abdomen. Daring it to spring at any moment, because what’s one more sin after this one?
“I-I,” you stammer, voice betraying the urgency in your bones as you feel him squeeze your hip, almost reassuringly, as if to tell you it was okay, when words have left him.
He pulls out, right on the precipice of your orgasm, and you whine at the unsatisfying emptiness of it, right until he turns you to your side and sheds the cloak around his shoulders to settle into your back. Hand at your throat, he presses back into you from behind, and you cry out at the new angle and the way he brushes harshly against your perineum from the new position, dragging perfectly against you with his fingers pressing along your inner thigh.
Back to his bare chest, you can barely breathe as he presses his mouth along your shoulder, groans and soft words left against your skin until he drives you crazy into oblivion. Fucking up into you as your back arches and his hand keeps you flush against him by your throat, you know he can feel every moan he’s ripping from your throat in time with the smack of his hips to your ass.
“O-Obi—” you yelp, barely able to get through the two halves of his name before your whole body seizes up around him, clamping down and tensing in cascades until the length of him throbs within you and you feel his own thrusts turn sloppy. Teeth digging into your shoulder, he gasps harsh as a high whimper leaves him, ringing in your ears as your vision blurs with the intensity of it.
When you come down from it, panting hard and still clenching around him in the aftershocks of your climax, you find his fingers at your throat have relaxed some, until they’re slipping down your chest to reach for your own. Leaning over the span of your shoulder, he crushes you with his turn, dragging within you with a spent groan until he finally slips out in the midst of claiming your lips with his own.
“I should have told you,” Obi-Wan breathes against your lips as you squirm to turn over beneath him, situating yourself on the bed to slip your arms up his waist, “back when you first came here.”
You’re almost scared to say it, but you do, “Told me what?”
“I’ve loved you, for so long.”