InsaneJournal

Best Intentions (Star Wars, Obi and Ani, 795 Words)
Fandom: Star Wars
Title: Best Intentions (795 Words)
Author: jarkai_fic on LJ/jarkai everywhere else
Beta: legolad
Theme(s): (For 30_somethings on Insanejournal, Nights: #23, Strangers)
Pairing/Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker
Rating: PG-13, for pre-slash.
Disclaimer/claimer: Characters owned by George Lucas.
Critiques: Yes.
Summary: Puberty sucks.


Elbow smashed into elbow, and two watered-down drinks went flying in opposite directions, neither of them worth the credits that the stranger or I had paid for them. I spun, ready to mouth apologies that I knew would be drowned out by the music, and choked at the sight of him. My date was still firmly planted in the booth he'd chosen, I had no doubt of that, but--

It couldn't be.

The music shuddered to a stop. In the sweat-soaked quiet, the stranger's make-up smeared eyes met mine, widened. "Fuck," he muttered, that one low syllable confirming everything I dreaded. The voice was familiar even if the vocabulary was not. As for lips, I'd seen them reddened before, if only for missions, but never this wet and swollen. I started to speak, but he pushed me back, hands biting into my shoulders, away from the music's slow resuming grind.

"Fancy meeting you here," I laughed again, or tried to. He pushed a second time, and the coats of the cloakroom closed behind us. Strobe-light pulsed between the jackets, revealing him in flashes, which meant he could see me, too. Somewhere in the midst of the ragged line of hems was my own robe, but my saber remained at my side. The urge to ignite the blade and thrust it repeatedly into my eye was nearly over-whelming. Gods! Why had I worn these pants?

The stranger released me long enough to jerk the coats tighter around us. A nearby couple groaned disapproval, but it was if he hadn't heard. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks, I--"

"What the hell are you doing here, Anakin?"

Fuck. Hell. This man didn't sound like Obi-Wan--wasn't dressed like him either, not that I'd been staring. But his scent, I knew that well enough: Alderaani cologne mixed with the faintest whiff of Corellian brandy. I'd smelled it a handful of times on his sheets, usually on mornings he'd gleefully decreed to be laundry days.

Suddenly I realized what those smug, exhausted smiles over the years had meant. Without thinking, I shoved him. "I should ask you the same thing! As if I don't already know!"

"It's a gay bar," he replied evenly, as if we discussed such things at each evening meal, "and I am gay. Surely all the rifling you've done through my bedroom over the past year has revealed that. You, from what I gathered, tend to prefer--"

--don't say senators, don't say senators--

"--women." Obi-Wan's tongue curled around the word like an adoring cat would around my ankle. He didn't sound gay, at least not entirely, and for an instant I couldn't help but imagine all the places where a tongue like his could go. Images raced through my mind. Padmé by herself, a man's bearded mouth on her breast, that same mouth on me.

I flushed, hot all over. My hand was still braced against Obi-Wan's chest, my fingers spread over silk stretched taut above his heart. Behind me, a man I couldn't see cried out his release, his partner following seconds later.

"Padawan," Obi-Wan whispered, "are you here with someone?"

I nodded, and though I knew he could not see me, he seemed to have understood.

"Is he older?"

I jerked my hand away. I felt sick. I felt naked, and it had nothing to do with the pants I wore, or the mesh top that showed off my newly pierced and rouged nipples. I'd thought myself so mature, so grown-up, and I’d been too childish to see the truth. How could I not have noticed?

In the darkness, the scent that I had pressed against my face so many times was everywhere.

"Not all men have your best intentions in mind," Obi-Wan continued, "especially not in a place like this. Believe me, not all of them are interested in dancing."

I nearly burst into tears. "I wasn't going to just dance. I was going to--"

"I know," Obi-Wan snapped, cutting me off. For a long moment, the thump of the music was the only sound. Even the couple had fallen silent.

"Are you ready to go home?" he asked after a deep breath, his voice once again as mild as always. He parted the coats before I could answer, momentarily blinding me. I almost wished it could last.

As we passed by the table where my date still sat, I couldn't help but look. I didn't want to, but I knew I had to. The man's make-up was different--darker, just like his hair--but the cut of his beard was identical, the shape of his face so similar to Obi-Wan's that they might have been twins. I couldn't meet his eyes.

For three days, I couldn't meet Obi-Wan's either.

[END]