Chapter Text
Obi-Wan fights the urge to slump down in his throne, turning his fork over on his unfinished plate. Has any king ever given away his crown out of sheer boredom? Surely someone in the rich history of their planet has looked at an outgoing diplomatic party and thought, ‘Please for the love of all the gods in the galaxy, never again.’
Negotiations over the hyperspace lanes through Stewjon airspace had dragged on for literal weeks. Obi-Wan had not compromised on the tolls even slightly, though he had expressed sympathies for the misfortunes so befalling the Meonians and their planet that they felt they could no longer pay a fare that has not risen or fallen for a thousand years.
He detested the Meonians though, or at least their system of government. A loose group of citizens calling themselves a senate, taking credits and possessions from their own people to line their purses. It makes Obi-Wan sick to think of it, though he has been king for enough years now that he understands the truth. The Meonians aren’t the worst out there. And Obi-Wan’s main focus must be on his own people, on what they need.
“Your majesty,” the head Meonian raises from his chair in the hall, a goblet of wine clutched in his hand. Biting an inward sigh, Obi-Wan gestures for him to come forward and speak. Though he can’t see it, he can feel the air shift behind him as his guards tense and rest their hands on their weapons.
As if Obi-Wan could not take a man in the last third of his life, already drunk by the look of it. He waves them still. “Speak,” he commands, propping his chin on the palm of his hand and recrossing his legs.
“Though I will not do you the disservice of lying and saying these negotiations have gone the way we on Meonia desired--” it is only years of experience that stops Obi-Wan’s lips from quirking into a noticeable smirk-- “we are humbled beyond measure that your worshipfulness has allowed us to stay in the palace. Stewjonian hospitality truly knows no bounds. And though we take our leave tonight, all of us Meonians wanted to share with you one of our own traditions. We believe in honoring those who show honor to us, and so we have pooled our minds and our resources together to present you with a gift.”
Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows and thinks quite privately that if they were to pool their resources together for anything, it should be to pay those hyperspace tolls so that Obi-Wan’s gift could be a headache-free month
“A gift,” he says instead, sitting back in his seat.
“Of the rarest sort,” the Meonian nods his head eagerly. “Anyone may give a gift, but the Meonian gift is a gift of which there is no equal.”
Despite himself, Obi-Wan finds that he’s a little amused. He is not a lavish king, one who drapes himself in golds, jewels, and fancy clothes. He is a reflection of his people, a simple sort for the most part. Honest, compassionate.
As if by some hidden cue, the doors at the end of the hall open wide and a trio of Meonians back into the room carrying wheeling a platform. Something’s on it, a large box shape, big enough to fit three men standing straight and two laying down, but there’s been a veil tossed over it, making it impossible to see into.
Obi-Wan sits up straight, a chill running down his spine. He has a bad feeling about this.
“This arrived on the craft we will leave on, donated to you by Mor Careidnan,” at this, one of the Meonians at their table stood to bow with a flourish. Obi-Wan had not known who that was. “We have read of the Stewjonian King’s love of creatures, you see,” the Meonian continues, walking towards the covered gift. “And this is one of a kind. It has given Mor quite a bit of trouble if I do say so myself,” the Meonians laugh together and one says something in their own language to raucous cackling.
Obi-Wan drums his fingers on the wooden surface of the high table. So his gift is to be a creature of some kind, an animal. Most do extraordinarily poorly during space travel. The poor thing must be terrified.
They keep a veterinarian on the premises, of course, but without knowing the kind of creature it is, it’s impossible to form a plan
Obi-Wan hates not having a plan
“I see you’re interested,” the Meonian says jovially. Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and inclines his head so he doesn’t have to actually say anything.
The Meonian turns to his compatriots and claps his hands together. In a coordinated move, they throw the veil off the object
It’s a cage
Inside the cage is a boy.
The boy is hunched against the backside, as far away as he can get. His arms are wrapped around his legs which are curled tightly into his chest. The boy lifts his head, probably an instinctive response to the change in light. Around his throat, there’s a heavy collar
Obi-Wan is on his feet in an instant, moving so fast that he knocks over his own wine glass. “What is the meaning of this?” He snarls. His guards move to flank him. This time he doesn’t wave them away. “You would give me a slave?”
The Meonian seems to at least understand that he’s fucked up incredibly well.
“I have only worked for fifteen years to abolish slavery on the surrounding planets, in our sector, and in the Mid Rim completely!” Obi-Wan’s hands fall into fists at his side. He doesn’t have a weapon, not one he’d thought to bring to a ceremonial dinner. He doesn’t even know what he’d do should he be given a blaster. Not when hurting one of these despicable men would certainly classify as an interplanetary incident.
“Not a slave , your Majesty. He’s a creature--look--” the man hits the side of the cage harshly. When the boy inside of it doesn’t react, he nods to one of the other men who rattles its bars from the other side, the side the boy was leaning against. The boy jumps forward. Two triangles of fur the same color as his hair raise and then immediately flatten. A tail lashes out behind him as the boy makes a very loud yowling hiss.
“The Careidnans have been breeding them for many generations, but they’re the only family to have them on the entire planet,” the spokesperson of the Meonians says when Obi-Wan fails to say anything else. “This one was born to them twenty-one standard years ago. We thought you’d appreciate his fire. Though if you are not satisfied with this gift, we will of course take it with us when we go. Truly, we did not mean to offend."
But Obi-Wan is not paying attention at all. The boy in the cage has lifted his head high enough to hold his gaze. His eyes are luminous, glowing blue with a startling ring of gold around the pupils.
These are not the eyes of a creature. They assess and weigh Obi-Wan as he assesses and weighs him in return.
At his continued silence, the Meoninan bows his head. “Apologies then, King Kenobi. We will, of course, take it back with us and leave you no ill will in its place.”
The boy’s--man’s? He looks so young, but they had said he was at least three years past the age of maturity--eyes widen at this and he stares at Obi-Wan with such a look of naked desperation in his eyes that Obi-Wan is holding up his hand before he even realizes what he’s doing. “No.”
The Meonian pauses. “Your majesty?
“You will not take him back with you. He will stay here with me.”
“Oh, you do not have to--”
“No,” Obi-Wan says again, just as firmly, finally looking away from the boy’s eyes. “No. He is mine now.” The boy in the cage became a Stewjonian as soon as he was loaded off of his ship onto Stewjonian land. And Obi-Wan, as king, is obligated to think of his people’s needs.
The Meonian is overjoyed at this declaration. “Oh, we’re so glad you accept our gift. It truly is a remarkable specimen. The Careidnans make small fortunes off of each one. An amazing companion, trained properly. This one is male, we guessed at your preferences, but all genders of their kind may enter a sort of heat that--”
“What is his name?” Obi-Wan cuts him off.
The Meonian blinks at him, cocking his head at the same time the boy in the cage does. “His name,” he repeats. “I. Well. They don’t really understand Basic, you see. I’m not sure it even...has a name?”
“He has lived on your planet, been housed and fed and kept by you for twenty-one standard years, and you don’t know if he has a name?” Obi-Wan asks through gritted teeth.
The party of Meonians remains silent in a very telling way.
Obi-Wan has to take two deep breaths before he can even think to speak again. But before he can open his mouth to kindly tell them all to get the fuck off his goddamn planet, a new voice chirps up from the floor.
“Anakin,” the boy in the cage says, shuffling until he’s at the end nearest to the high table. “Anakin.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeats carefully.
The boy wrinkles his nose. “Ah-na-kin,” he says slowly, mockingly. Obi-Wan raises both his eyebrows and raises a hand to his lips to cover the way the corners of his lips twitch. “Anakin,” the boy says again slowly, as if Obi-Wan were hard of hearing.
The pronunciation feels strange on his tongue, but this is the boy’s name. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeats.
The boy smiles, showing off a pair of short, sharp fangs.
-----
He has four guards gently carry the cage and Anakin to his own chambers with strict instructions to unlock the door upon arrival. The feast drags on for another two hours at least.
Finally, one of the Meonians seems to understand Obi-Wan’s desire to be anywhere else but in the company of slavers , for the woman laughs and nudges at her companion’s arm. “We should make our exit,” she cries, very loudly. “Look at the poor king, he has not touched his food since Melirior told him of the creature’s heats!”
The Meonians around her laugh uproariously. “A night with one of those changed my life,” one of them recalls drunkenly. “Never fucked the same since. The way they mewl.”
His partner makes a sound Obi-Wan wishes to never hear again, but the rest of their party cheers.
If they do not leave soon, Obi-Wan is going to declare war.
Thankfully for his own reputation as king and the fate of the galaxy, the feast ends not fifteen minutes later. He rushes through the farewells and the courtesies, and is out of the Feasting Hall before another five minutes has passed.
His strides are long as he makes his way to his apartments, his thoughts twisted and heavy. There needs to be a plan. Obi-Wan can’t think of a single plan in the entire world.
He pushes the doors open, dismisses the guards from the antechambers. They go with an uneasy look at each other, and Obi-Wan has to wonder what his face looks like, what emotions his aura is giving off.
With a deep breath, he opens the doors into his most private chamber and stops.
The boy, Anakin, has been let out of the cage. The door hangs open in the middle of the room. That in itself is an eyesore, but not a problem.
What draws his attention are the ruined curtains hanging from his windows and the torn apart mattress. Feathers still drift through the air, so this destruction must be recent.
By the fireplace, there’s a new bundle of blankets. On top of that, facing the flames, is Anakin
Anakin, who turns around to face him when he steps in, eyes narrowed in consideration as he takes in Obi-Wan’s reaction to the mess of his room
A test, then. Obi-Wan doesn’t like failing tests and certainly doesn’t make a habit of it.
Quietly, he takes off his crown and places it on the wood of the cupboard. Anakin has stolen the cushion it usually rests on. His ceremonial robes, heavy blue and white dyed fabric that weigh on his shoulders almost as heavily as Anakin’s eyes. He strips until he’s left just in his undershirt and loose pants, humming quietly to himself as he does so.
“If you touch me, I’ll run,” Anakin says from across the room, clutching his blankets tighter to his chest.
“So you do speak Basic,” is what Obi-Wan says in return, turning to hang up the robe. After that’s done, he surveys the ruined bed. Anakin must have...must have taken his claws to the mattress when he pilfered those blankets.
A very comprehensive test, then.
“A bit,” Anakin replies, and Obi-Wan can see his tail lashing out of the corner of his eyes. “They didn’t want to know."
Obi-Wan sits on the edge of his bed and looks at Anakin silently. As king of Stewjon, he must do what he can to improve every Stewjonian’s life. That includes Anakin now. From now until whenever he decides to go.
“I wouldn’t suggest running,” Obi-Wan watches Anakin tense all over, as if he’s about to bolt. “I won’t touch you, I swear it. That is not even a consideration nor a temptation. I won’t even talk to you, if that’s what you want. But you’ve...arrived during our coldest season. If you wish to leave tomorrow, I will not stop you. You will be given blankets and food and credits to make your way. But tonight is not a good night for traveling, Anakin. There is snow on the ground and it it is late. Surely, you understand this.”
Anakin sneers at him, baring his fangs. His ears, the ones nestled into his golden-brown hair stay perfectly upright though, nothing like the anger he’d displayed at the Meonians when they’d jostled his cage.
A second later, Anakin flips over away from him to face the fireplace. “Not tonight,” the boy mutters just loud enough to be heard
Obi-Wan looks at the expanse of his back for a few long moments, noticing for the first time that he’d helped himself to the clothes in Obi-Wan’s closet.
“Perhaps…” he murmurs very softly, delicately, “seeing as how it is the coldest season on Stewjon…” Anakin doesn’t twitch. “You could see it in you to give me one of those blankets for the night?”
Anakin huffs and moves closer to the fire. “Try and take one,” is the only reply he gets. Obi-Wan opens and closes his mouth.
After a few seconds, he sighs and walks to his wardrobe to put on his heaviest sweater in preparation for a terrible night’s sleep.
----
When he awakens in the morning, there’s a blanket laid on top of him and a boy snoring on the rug in front of a burnt down fireplace.
Obi-Wan looks at him for a second, at this Anakin. He’s not nearly as small spread out like this as he had looked in the cage last night. He’s much less of a boy now, more of a man. There is something distinctly unhuman about him, just in the way he lays, the way he holds himself. But there’s something so undeniably human about him too.
He’s beautiful, is the truth. The angles of his jawline, the slope of his nose, the thick eyebrows. Even relaxed in sleep and drooling, there’s something poised in his face. Otherworldly.
Obi-Wan gets up from bed, tossing the blanket aside. It’s of no matter. He will surely be gone by sunset. There’s no reason for a free man to stay in the ghost of his old chains.
----
Anakin isn’t gone by sundown. Obi-Wan hasn’t seen him at all since he left the chambers that morning, but he’s there when he gets back near midnight, exhausted from a day spent acting as king
“Oh,” he says despite himself when he sees Anakin sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs facing the fire. “You’re here.”
Anakin tilts his neck up, a move that would bare his throat if he weren’t wearing an oppressively thick black collar.
“Oh!” Obi-Wan yelps in a decidedly unkingly fashion, hurrying forward and only slowing his approach when Anakin flinches back from him. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, telegraphing his movements much more obviously as he gets close enough to look at the collar. “I’d forgotten about it completely.”
Anakin snorts, but lifts his neck higher.
“I don’t...I don’t know how to open it,” Obi-Wan finally admits, running his pointer finger across the front of the collar. “I don’t--what? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Because Anakin has pulled away to blink up at him with a frown on his face. Slowly, though, those lines even out as he studies Obi-Wan’s confused expression. “You really don’t know how to open one of these,” the boy says eventually. “You’ve never seen one before.”
Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows, but shrugs. It’s probably best not to lie, not when Anakin’s teeth are this close to his throat. “No,” he replies
The boy’s tail lashes again and he’s silent for several minutes. Then, “They’ve keyed it to your DNA,” Anakin says finally
“My DNA?” This is rather alarming, as he doesn’t remember having been asked for samples of his DNA during those weeks with the Meonians
“Most owners kiss it open,” Anakin murmurs, tilting his head to the side to watch Obi-Wan’s reaction. “Or come on it. If they open it at all.”
Obi-Wan recoils. He doesn’t--he won’t--he’s not an owner.
Carefully, he turns away and picks up a letter opener from the desk in the corner. It’s just sharp enough that he hardly feels the knick of the blade against the delicate skin of his thumb. When he turns back to Anakin, the boy hasn’t moved from the chair but his neck is completely hidden by his arms as he hunches forward.
Aware of the eyes on him, he slowly places the letter-opener back down onto the table and walks back to Anakin, offering his bleeding thumb in the air between them. “I’m not an owner, Anakin. You’re not owned by anyone.
With his free, uninjured hand, he tilts Anakin’s head up. The boy moves with him obligingly until his throat is bared again. As soon as the blood on his thumb touches the collar, it drops open and onto Anakin’s lap. They both stare down at it
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize,” Obi-Wan says quietly after a few seconds. “It’s no excuse, but I meant it when I told you you could leave. I am not--I will not --”
Anakin’s hands come up to grasp at the collar and he turns it over and over in his hands before he clicks it shut and throws it in the fire. “Not tonight,” he decides. “It’s cold outside tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
With that, the boy picks himself up and deposits himself onto the floor in front of the fireplace. Obi-Wan looks at his turned back in confusion.
“You should do something about that thumb,” Anakin mumbles a few seconds later, already sounding close to sleep. “You don’t want to die of an infected cut that small. That’d be pathetic."
“Yes, it would,” Obi-Wan responds eventually, turning away from this illogical, finicky boy.
----
The next night, Obi-Wan begs the cook to send him up dinner in his quarters. He’s exhausted down to his bones. She takes one look at him, the king in her kitchens, and tells him she’ll send up two portions and it better all be gone by morning. He promises he’ll do his best and that he’ll mention to the next person he sees to get the leak by the window fixed.
Anakin is not by the fire or in the armchair today. He’s not in his quarters at all actually, and despite himself, Obi-Wan turns towards the windows in worry. It’s been thunderstorming on and off all day, with high winds and fierce rains. Not a good day for travel. He hopes Anakin has only found another room in the palace, that he hasn’t decided to brave the roads today of all days.
When he turns back to his food, appetite mostly gone, he finds he shouldn’t have worried at all. There, peering at the tray of food on the table, is Anakin, ears perked up and tail twitching back and forth with interest.
“There’s enough for two,” he hears himself say faintly. “If you’re staying for supper.
Anakin steals a Julaneum pepper off his plate and pops it in between his lips. “I’ll go tomor--” he starts to say before a crack of thunder has him choking on the word and jumping up and out of the open space, into the open door of the wardrobe.
Obi-Wan stares at the now slammed closed door. He supposes it makes sense for Anakin to be scared if the ears on top of his head are that much more sensitive to sound, but his heart goes out to the poor boy. Ignoring his dinner, he walks forward to sit on the ground outside the wardrobe. “Do they...not have thunderstorms where you’re from?” he asks carefully.
For several moments, there’s no reply before the door opens a hand’s width and Obi-Wan can see one luminous blue-golden eye. “I don’t know,” Anakin mumbles. “They don’t have outside."
Obi-Wan blinks, trying to think back to what he knows about Meonian weather patterns and living conditions. He’d thought they had an atmosphere.
“Not for us at least,” Anakin adds quickly, picking up on his confusion. “My...the ones like me. No outside. Just the clinic.” He spits this word out and all the syllables fall from his lips jagged and harsh. “No...thun-der storums.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, at a loss for what else he’s supposed to say at all. “Anakin, I’m...have you...been out onto the grounds since you came here at all?”
There’s another crack of thunder and the wardrobe shuts tightly
After a few moments, there comes a very muffled and watery sounding “No.”
Obi-Wan thinks quietly for a second. He doesn’t want to step over any bounds or make Anakin feel uncomfortable, but at the same time he doesn’t want to just leave Anakin there, scared as he sounds.
“I used to be afraid of thunderstorms too,” he says eventually.
“Not afraid,” Anakin protests grumpily from inside the wardrobe.
“Alright,” Obi-Wan agrees immediately. “Well, I was afraid. Downright terrified, really. Very unbefitting of a young prince.”
The wardrobe door creaks open just slightly.
“But my mother, she never got irritated. She would hug me, and we would sit by the fire, and she would tell stories so funny that we laughed hard enough that we couldn’t hear the thunder.”
Obi-Wan trails off, so lost in his reflection that he almost doesn’t notice the door pushing all the way open and Anakin poking his head out to stare at him quizzically.
“What is hug?” he asks, ears perked up.
The king swallows a few times, unsure how to proceed, what to do with the anger welling up inside of him. “You... you don’t know what a hug is?”
Anakin snarls out at him. “I only know the words I heard,” he snaps. “And what they taught us.”
Obi-Wan closes his mouth, wetting his lips. The boy had known what come was, he remembers unbidden.
“It’s when someone wraps you up in their arms. And makes you feel small. And protected. And warm,” he says slowly.
Anakin stares at him with narrowed eyes. “Show me hug,” he suddenly demands.
“You’re too far away,” Obi-Wan replies, gamely opening his arms anyway. “You’d need to be closer.”
Looking suspicious and small and somehow deeply insecure, Anakin crawls out of the wardrobe and across the space between them. He stops just shy of Obi-Wan’s knee.
Thinking he won’t be able to coax the boy any further, and honestly surprised he’s convinced him to go this far already, Obi-Wan starts to lean forward.
Before he can tentatively wrap his arms around Anakin’s shoulders, there’s a loud clap of thunder and Anakin lets out a cry before darting into his arms so forcefully that he’s knocked onto his back.
This close, Obi-Wan can feel the boy shaking and even though he’s still surprised and disoriented, he wraps his arms around him tightly. It’s instinctive.
Just as it’s instinctive to put his head gently on top of Anakin’s hair, chin brushing the fur of his ears. They both shiver
“You’re free to leave anytime,” Obi-Wan murmurs quietly, afraid of hurting Anakin’s delicate ears. He means the hug. Or his chambers. Or the palace. Or the planet. “But stay until tomorrow at least. Until the rain clears up. It’s not a good time for travelers tonight.”
Anakin says nothing, but he burrows closer into Obi-Wan’s arms.
That night, the food is not eaten.
----
Anakin loves hugs as much as he seems to grow to hate Obi-Wan’s quarters. He seems to despise the rain that hits the transparisteel of the windows more than the latter though. Any suggestions of exploring the grounds by Obi-Wan are dismissed with a flick of his tail and a hiss, as if Obi-Wan has asked him to walk to the river and set about trying to drown himself.
But as cantankerous as Anakin grows in his quarters, he quiets easily and completely as soon as Obi-Wan opens his arms in invitation
It makes Obi-Wan feel less guilty for touching him at all when he swore he wouldn’t that first night, that Anakin always actually initiates their hugs.
Though, the hugs have at this point turned into hour long cuddles. This too must be Obi-Wan’s fault. He had failed to mention that hugs usually last only a few seconds. A minute or so maximum
But Anakin seems so happy to cuddle up to him, and Obi-Wan remembers how he’d slept next to the fire with all those blankets that first night. He doesn’t like the thought that Anakin’s cold all the time, but he doesn’t know how to broach the subject.
The frigid rain has been going strong for a week now. Every night, Anakin hums and looks out the window and decides to put off leaving until the following day.
Asking if he should ring for more blankets to be brought to his chambers seems too much like asking if Anakin is going to stay for longer than just another night
So they’ve started sleeping together on his bed, though Anakin has taken half of his blankets and pushed them around the mattress to form slight walls and dips in the fabric. When Obi-Wan had gone to touch one to wrap it around the both of them, Anakin had hissed at him. Loudly.
This is dangerous. This whole thing is increasingly dangerous the longer it goes on. He needs to put his foot down, ask if Anakin is planning to leave. If he is, give him funds and what he needs to survive on the road. If he isn’t, give him his own separate room.
A king’s job is to think of his people, but all thoughts that aren’t related to this one person are much harder to think lately
Like now, for instance. Anakin is curled up in his lap as he reads over a very dry briefing on agricultural stores in their southernmost city.
“I can’t read that,” Anakin mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
Absentmindedly, Obi-Wan scratches at the back of one of his ears. This too is something he’s discovered in the last couple of days. A touch to the base of his ears has Anakin melting into his arms. It’s a convenient trick to have at hand when Anakin has fits of energy so destructive Obi-Wan has started quietly telling the housekeepers not to worry about putting up new curtains for his window. “Sometimes I feel the same way,” he replies, flicking to the next digital page.
This remark earns him a tiny bite on his collarbone. “No,” Anakin mutters, apparently feeling bad enough about the bite to place a kiss over his skin. “Never got taught how to read.
Obi-Wan stills his hand, an injustice so great that Anakin knocks his head against his palm until he starts moving it through the locks of Anakin’s hair again.
“Wasn’t supposed to talk neither, not unless someone was with us.”
“With you,” Obi-Wan repeats blankly.
“You know. For our heats."
“Your heats.
Anakin bites him again, harder. “You can’t just say everything I’m saying, Obi, that’s not how this works.
Obi-Wan huffs and pulls gently at the ends of Anakin’s curls. “Did you--” he starts to say before he trails off. He’s not sure he wants to know the details of these heats . He’s actually quite sure he doesn’t. Thinking of Anakin exposed and vulnerable and only allowed to speak when someone was with him--and Obi-Wan had been so close to denying the Meonians’ gift, so close to sending Anakin back there.
“No, never,” Anakin says quickly, sitting up to look at Obi-Wan’s face. His hand slides out of his hair to rest against his hip. “I was purebred. One of the chosen ones, meant for gifts to curry favor."
“I’m sorry, Anakin,” he says eventually, his thumb moving along the slightly exposed skin of Anakin’s side. “Would you…
Anakin inches closer, head cocked to one side and hands coming up to grasp at the front of Obi-Wan’s shirt. “Obi?”
“Want to learn how to read?” he offers, wincing as the words come out of his mouth. That’s a commitment of time. That’s like asking when Anakin thinks he’s going to leave.
Anakin seems to be thinking the same thing, because he slumps a little bit and pouts for a second at Obi-Wan’s chest. “Yes,” he finally says. “But tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Obi-Wan repeats. This is a promise he wants to keep.
----
The rain stops four days later. Obi-Wan hears it end from his bed where he’s lying awake with Anakin curled up on his chest. Every so often his tail flicks out and hits one of Obi-Wan’s legs much harder than necessary.
A few hours later, Obi-Wan hasn’t managed to get any more sleep, and Anakin is waking up slowly and softly. Little movements and then large yawns and even larger stretches of his back and legs and arms until his ears flick and his eyes jump open to peer down at Obi-Wan.
“The rain’s stopped,” he says before Anakin can say anything.
Anakin freezes.
It’s just that Obi-Wan’s gotten so used to having that warmth in his bed now, in coming into his chambers and being greeted with Anakin’s face in his as he rubs their bodies together in some sort of bastardization of a hug. The point is, he doesn’t want Anakin to go.
“Are you leaving me today?” he finally asks, each word clawing its way up and out of his throat.
Anakn looks down at him, eyes narrowed and head cocked. “Where would I go?”
Obi-Wan’s heart drops into his stomach and he sits up, pushing Anakin to sit up straight with him. He doesn’t want Anakin to go, but he doesn’t want him to stay because he feels like that’s his only option. He’d thought he’d made it clear
“Wherever you want,” he says. “I’d help you. Wherever you want to go or do or become. I can promise on Stewjon and maybe on Alderaan my word will carry some weight. We can get you an education, a...a birth certificate, credits."
“I don’t even have a last name,” Anakin says blankly. He still hasn’t stopped looking at him.
“You can have mine,” Obi-Wan responds immediately, wincing when he thinks of the implications. But it’s true. He’d give Anakin his last name too, if it made the boy’s life even a tiny bit easier.
“But where would I want to go that’s better than staying here?” Anakin asks slowly, arching up to get on his hands and knees and moving closer
“Anakin, you’ve not even left the palace. I don’t know if you’ve left these rooms,” Obi-Wan protests
Anakin shakes his head though. “Of course I have. Maybe not the outside, maybe not yet, but when you go away all day, I go out and talk to everyone I see.”
“I...see,” Obi-Wan stalls out, trying to imagine this. Trying to figure out why no one’s told him about this.
“They love me,” Anakin purrs, tossing his head. “And they love you too. That’s what we talk about. You."
Me?” Now Obi-Wan is trying to figure out what he feels about this. He’s not sure he likes it.
Anakin nods eagerly. “You’ve been so sweet and nice to me, but I needed to be sure that was really who you were before we mated."
Obi-Wan splutters and pushes himself further away from Anakin until his back hits the headboard of the bed. “I’m sorry?”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Anakin rolls his eyes. “Everyone loves you and says you’re very nice and very sweet, but they couldn’t say if you give the best hugs. I think that’s probably alright, because I don’t think you should hug other people the way you hug me.”
“I don’t hug you any way ,” Obi-Wan yelps. “Anakin, you’re not--we’re not--mating you was never the reason I accepted the Meonians’ gift. It wasn’t about--I don’t--I’m not going to take advantage of you like that, I would never. I thought you understood!”
Anakin crosses his arms as if Obi-Wan is being unreasonable. “I’m not stupid, Obi-Wan!” he says, his ears flicking back to lie on his head in irritation. “If I had thought you were really going to hurt me, I would have left that very first night. I don’t care that they gave me to you for you to mate with. I want you to be my mate all on my own! I thought you understood!”
“When have I ever given you the impression that I understood?”
“We sleep in the same bed--”
“There’s only one bed!”
“You’ve never offered me other quarters, you constantly scent me, you hold me while you finish your work some nights, the other day you fed me from your plate and let me eat first, you’re constantly touching my ears, and you didn’t like when I hugged that girl!”
“Because you don’t just go around hugging people, Anakin!” Obi-Wan cries, exasperated. “It’s not the standard form of greeting!”
Anakin’s ears lie flat on his head and his tail lashes back and forth, even as he seems to droop in place. “Do you...really not want me?” he asks, staring up at Obi-Wan with big eyes. “Do you really want me to...go?"
Obi-Wan stares back, utterly flabbergasted and so very tired from his pre-dawn fretting. But he had been worried Anakin would leave and now he’s faced with the absolute proof that really, Anakin has no intention of leaving him. The solution sounds easy
But. “Of course I don’t want that,” Obi-Wan whispers, hand coming up to stroke his hair. “I’d love it if you stayed. But--” he says quickly when Anakin starts purring and moving closer. “We can’t be... mates right away. Or soon at all, actually. There are conditions.”
Anakin pouts unhappily. “Conditions?”
Obi-Wan nods decisively. “I want you--no, I need you to see a mind healer to talk about this. About us and where you came from and how you feel. I need to know this is something you want. Because you want it, not because you think you have to or...or something.”
If possible, Anakin pouts even harder, but Obi-Wan counts it as a good sign when his tail comes to wrap around the wrist Obi-Wan settles onto his waist. “But we can still hug,” he insists. “During the no-mate time."
“Let’s call it courting,” Obi-Wan murmurs wryly. “The period of time where we decide if we really like each other before we make it so we must spend the rest of our lives together.”
“Do you think...that you won’t? Like me anymore after this courting?” Anakin looks so unsure and his ears have drooped so low that Obi-Wan is left with no other option than to pull him into his arms and place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.
“No,” he whispers into Anakin’s hair, barely audible over the sound of Anakin’s purrs. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”
“Do you have other conditions?” Anakin asks, wriggling to get comfortable.
Obi-Wan knows he should, but they’re hard to think about right now. Though Anakin is otherworldly in his beauty, Obi-Wan has steadfastly ignored how it feels to have the other in his arms, to have him pressed close and rubbing on him, licking his neck and biting it.
Scenting, he’s realizing now. That’s what Anakin has been doing. Marking him.
And Obi-Wan has ignored all of it because Anakin is younger and traumatized and naive, and to hold him and think of fucking him would be too disgusting on Obi-Wan’s part to even consider
But if Anakin wants it, wants him...and if he still does after meeting with the mind healers…
“You must tell me as soon as you change your mind,” he decides. “You mustn’t be afraid to. There wouldn’t be any consequences."
“I have a condition,” Anakin says suddenly, pull just far enough away from Obi-Wan’s chest to look at him with his blue eyes.
Obi-Wan swallows. “Alright,” he says, mouth feeling full of cotton. Now that he’s allowed to notice the way Anakin looks, the way Anakin looks at him , it’s hard to stop. It’s very had to think of anything else.
“I want kisses.”
“I do kiss you,” Obi-Wan argues back. “I kiss you all the time."
“Those don't count,” his...his Anakin insists, inching impossibly closer. “I want actual kisses. From you. For as long as we hug for."
Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He knew not telling Anakin how long hugs last would come back to bite him in the ass.
“Please, Obi-Wan,” he mumbles, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. “Just a few kisses. A day.”
“A day?”
But Anakin seems to have enough of talking, because he leans forward and places his lips over Obi-Wan’s. It’s so obviously the boy’s first kiss that Obi-Wan has to pull back. “I don’t want to take advantage--"
“You want me to decide things for myself. I want this and I decided it for myself.” Anakin glares at him and bares his teeth. “So if you don’t want it, that’s...alright. But that’s you and not me.”
Obi-Wan stares at him. He’s right in a way, though this will not be the last conversation they have on the subject. “Alright,” he agrees now though. “Let me show you how to kiss.”
Anakin presents his face eagerly at that, and laughing, Obi-Wan takes it into both of his palms and connects their lips. He adjusts the angle of his head and sighs out at the feeling of his soft lips on his.
Anakin must know something about kissing, because when Obi-Wan’s lips part, his tongue comes out to lick at the entrance. It’s scratchier than Obi-Wan had realized. Not to the point of pain, but it already makes this kiss different from all the others Obi-Wan has ever experienced. He gives ground immediately, allowing Anakin’s tongue into his mouth and touching it with his.
One of his hands make their way down to Anakin’s lower back to settle on the skin just over the tail, which makes the boy break the kiss to moan earnestly and shiver, arching his back.
Between one second and the next, Obi-Wan has flipped them so Anakin’s pressed against the pillows of the bed and Obi-wan is kneeling over him. He presses their lips back together before Anakin can even think to say anything, too lost in the sensation, in how good it feels
This kiss is much rougher than the last, more of a plundering than an exploration. Hands scrabble at his back and a leg wraps around his waist while Obi-Wan shoves a hand up his sleep shirt to stroke at the soft skin of his abdomen. When Anakin keens out something that sounds vaguely like Obi-Wan’s name, tilting his hips up and rubbing their groins together, Obi-Wan jumps back like he’s been electrocuted.
“Fuck,” he whispers, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as he takes in the sight of Anakin spread out on his pillows, hair a mess and lips invitingly kiss-red and spit-slick. His clothing’s all rumpled and there’s the beginnings of a noticeable bulge in his pants.
Anakin mewls, hands reaching out to Obi-Wan. But. No. He can’t.
“No more kisses like that,” he decides.
“You didn’t like it?” Anakin asks, sounding heartbroken.
Obi-Wan closes his eyes in an attempt to regain his legendary control. “I’m this close to not being able to stop,” he tells him slowly, carefully, when he looks at him again.
“And you won’t be comfortable fucking me until you know for sure I’m comfortable,” Anakin nods. “How many times can I meet with a mind healer a day, do you think?”
“In a rush?” Obi-Wan asks sarcastically, shifting to get off the bed and start getting ready for the day.
“My heat will probably be in a week or so,” Anakin agrees. “Since they had me taken off of the suppressor shots they gave me back when they first got here. And we’ll mate then. Do you think I can talk to three mind healers every day until then? Would that be enough?”
Obi-Wan stumbles off the bed, saved from falling on his face only by catching himself on his bedpost. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ll go find one now,” Anakin decides with a grin, rolling off the bed and bounding towards the door. Obi-Wan has half a mind to stop him before he starts wandering around the palace in his sleepwear, but before he can, Anakin’s disappeared.
“Anakin, come back!” He calls after him. “A week? Anakin, what do you mean a week?”
But Anakin’s as gone as Obi-Wan has been dreading him to be since he first saw him by his fireplace. Now at least, he knows he’ll come back. To stay.