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For one fleeting moment, Anakin could pretend that it was just the two of them. His knees were spread apart and Obi-Wan was leaning into him, their lips slotting together in a passionate kiss—all heat, desire, and maybe even love. It was everything Anakin had yearned for since his fourteenth year, everything he’d been waiting for.
It was almost sweet.
It was almost real.
Then, of course, it all came crashing down.
Anakin’s gaze flitted upward. It was just one worried glance around the room—at the bright lights, the unfamiliar faces—but it was enough to send a flare of panic through him. Unlike Obi-Wan, he couldn’t ignore the crowds of people around them, their voices ringing in his head, over and over again. Even if they weren’t looking at him, even if they were too preoccupied with their own endeavors, their own conquests, Anakin could feel them in the Force.
He felt their eyes on him, lingering and suffocating, indifferent to the violation he must subject himself to.
“They need to see us,” Obi-Wan had told him, gently. “Or they won’t believe our story. In their culture, it is normal for partners to be very… public in their affections.”
Of course, it wasn’t enough for Obi-Wan to say they were an item, or for the pair to share a room. They needed to see Anakin consummate his relationship with Obi-Wan publicly. Watch something that should have been private, between the two of them and no one else. A private moment stolen for their entertainment.
Unease settled in his stomach. He thought he might throw up, already feeling the bile rising in his throat. He tucked his arm against his abdomen, concealing the durasteel between their bodies.
“Don’t look at them,” Obi-Wan whispered in his ear. He kissed the tip of Anakin’s ear, then a line down the side of his neck; a series of wet open-mouthed kisses that sent gooseflesh rising across Anakin’s skin. Under better circumstances, he would have loved this. He would have wanted it. Every scratch of his Master’s beard sent a delightful shiver down his spine. “Pretend they’re not here. They’re not looking at you. It’s just you and me, dear one.”
Easy for him to say.
Obi-Wan was dressed like them, the nobility. He wasn't shamefully exposed or treated like someone’s possession. He couldn't understand the degradation of being presented in such a manner: dressed in only a sliver of fabric barely covering his decency, with kohl lining his eyes, and the scent of sweet perfumes clinging to his skin. Unfamiliar faces lusted after him, staring at him with blatant desire.
Here on Zeltros, he wasn’t Obi-Wan's partner. He wasn’t even a Jedi. He was someone’s lover, a paramour— No, not even that.
He was a pet.
At least, that’s what they pretended to be.
Anakin sucked in a breath.
“I don’t want to do this,” he mumbled. “I’ve changed my mind.”
If Obi-Wan heard him, he didn’t say anything. He continued to kiss and suck the soft skin on Anakin’s neck, below his jaw. Briefly, Anakin wondered if he could feel his pulse against his lips, the blood thrumming through his veins. If Obi-Wan even cared.
His throat constricted painfully.
“Master,” he choked. “Please. Stop. Can’t we try something else?”
Obi-Wan pulled back. “It’s too late to change the plan. Please don’t make this harder on me, An—”
“Please.”
And there it was, Obi-Wan’s signature frown. The crease between his brows deepened. His eyes softened. “You know why we have to do this.”
Anakin whined. He leaned forward and tried to hide his face in the curve of Obi-Wan’s shoulder, effectively stopping any further advances. He liked the way Obi-Wan smelled. Always had. It usually filled him with warmth and made him want to burrow in further, into Obi-Wan, the closest thing he had to a home. Now, though, he struggled to find that warmth. Maybe if he stayed like this, no one would notice the tears prickling his eyes.
He felt Obi-Wan’s hand on the back of his head, his fingers gently combing through his curls.
“Anakin,” he said. “Look at me.”
It was a struggle to lift his chin, to even look at Obi-Wan. His eyes threatened to flood with tears the second their eyes met. Obi-Wan’s hand moved to caress his cheek. Nothing short of loving, of course, even as his hand trembled against Anakin’s skin.
He continued, “None of this is your fault. Okay? I need you to understand that. Whatever happens here… It is not your fault. There is nothing you could have done. All right?”
Anakin nodded, not really grasping the words, but going along with it anyway. He lowered his gaze to his hands, and before he knew it, Obi-Wan’s lips were on his again.
He tasted sweet and… oddly fruity. The flavor was familiar. It reminded Anakin of the fancy wine that wealthy nobles liked to serve at parties—Ambrostine, that’s what it was. He’d never known Obi-Wan to enjoy such fussy drinks, but what did he know? He’d never known himself to dress so provocatively, yet here he was, living proof that anything was possible.
“Let me in,” Obi-Wan whispered against his lips.
It took Anakin a moment too long to realize what he meant. He felt it in the Force: Obi-Wan pressing against his shields, urgently demanding entrance. Anakin hadn’t consciously closed himself off. Not to Obi-Wan. But now that he was aware of the barrier between them, it was even harder to let go of.
Obi-Wan tugged at their bond again.
“Anakin,” he pleaded.
Who was he to deny his form—his Master, he reminded himself. Obi-Wan was still his Master. Nothing would change that; not the severing of his Padawan braid, or his Knighthood, nor the troops bestowed upon him by the Jedi Council. They were Master and apprentice. No more, no less.
Obi-Wan made that very clear to him.
A fresh wave of hurt washed over Anakin, but he opened his shields to Obi-Wan anyway. Obi-Wan quickly enveloped him with his Force signature, trying to soothe him.
“Master…”
“You need to relax,” Obi-Wan said, as if it was the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Lay back for me.”
After a moment of hesitation, Anakin complied. It felt wrong to separate himself from Obi-Wan, from the safety of his proximity, his warmth. Every fiber of his being protested at the idea, but he let Obi-Wan guide him down until he was flat on his back, sprawled across the plush settee.
Obi-Wan positioned himself above him, close, but not quite touching. He seemed hesitant. Anakin reached for him, desperate to feel him, and Obi-Wan reluctantly returned the gesture. His hands were gentle as they traced down Anakin’s body, his hair rising in salutation.
He paused when he’d reach the hem of Anakin’s garment.
“May I…?”
Anakin hesitated.
Then nodded his consent. This was a mission. If he had to keep reminding himself of that fact to get through this, he would.
It didn’t take long for Obi-Wan to undress him. It was only a scrap of silk he was wearing, after all.
Without warning, Obi-Wan wrapped a hand around Anakin’s cock and began to move, lightly stroking him to hardness.
The lights seemed to grow brighter, hotter, as Anakin struggled to stay calm. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to focus on his heartbeat, his breaths—anything but the hands on his body or the crowd’s prying eyes.
How much could they see? he wondered.
A small whine escaped his throat.
“Shh, it’s all right,” Obi-Wan soothed, more to himself than to Anakin. “Am I… Am I hurting you?”
Anakin shook his head. “No, Master.”
It would be easier, Anakin thought, if it were someone else—anyone else—doing this to him. Someone Anakin didn't have feelings for, someone who didn't consume his every thought and desire. At least then, he could justify it to himself; make it seem like something that just happened to him, instead of a conscious decision he made.
Before he knew it, Obi-Wan’s hand was gone, and his touch was replaced by the cool air. Anakin dared to open his eyes, peering up to see Obi-Wan undoing his own pants.
“I— Don’t look. It’s just you and me, Anakin.”
Anakin nodded halfheartedly, unable to slow the rapid beating of his heart. He shuddered at the memory of the bathes, of the slaves washing his skin, dressing him, and then… prodding at his entrance. He still hadn’t gotten over the shock of it, didn’t even understand what they were doing until they’d pulled out his clothes, the jewelry, and it all clicked into place. They thought he was Obi-Wan’s pet, a pleasure slave.
And pets were supposed to perform for their owners.
Anakin had never been taken by a man before. It didn’t please him that his first time would be so public. He could only hope that it didn’t hurt too much, or at the very least, that no one figured it out and mocked him for it.
“I’m going to enter you now,” Obi-Wan said. “… Okay?” His eyes searched Anakin's face, seeking permission. Or maybe it was reassurance he was looking for. They both knew the gravity of their situation, the boundaries they were about to cross. Knowing they could never go back.
“Okay,” Anakin said quietly. As if he had a choice.
There was no denying the sadness in Obi-Wan’s eye, but it was too late now. He positioned himself at Anakin's entrance.
And then it happened.
Anakin gasped.
The initial sting of penetration surprised him. He gripped the cushion beneath him, trying to relax as he was stretched open by Obi-Wan’s cock.
“Anakin?”
“Keep going,” he pleaded, even as tears beaded in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. He would not cry— “Please, Master.” He clutched at Obi-Wan's shoulders, fingers digging into smooth fabric.
Obi-Wan stopped moving. He leaned down and whispered words of comfort into Anakin’s ear, caressed his skin as he adjusted to the intrusion. He was trying to relax. Really, he was. He wanted to sink into the sensation, to find pleasure amid the discomfort—but it seemed so impossible.
“K-keep going,” Anakin insisted, despite the pain he was feeling.
“Anakin, I—”
Not wanting to hear his objections, Anakin pulled him into a kiss. It was easier than talking. He canted his hips upward, trying to get Obi-Wan to move.
And then, he did.
Anakin held his breath as Obi-Wan pushed into him, slowly stretching him open, and not stopping until he was fully sheathed inside him. He gave him a moment to adjust, planting wet kisses on the side of his face as he waited. The pain had subsided to a mild discomfort by now, but Anakin didn’t feel any more at ease than before. He thought that could pass out at any moment. And he might have if it weren’t for Obi-Wan’s whispers in his ear, trying to keep him docile.
Once Anakin was ready, he began to move. He kept the rhythm steady at first, afraid that he might hurt Anakin. “You’re doing so good, dear one,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against Anakin’s. “Almost done.”
It didn’t feel good. It felt like he was being split open.
Anakin kept that thought to himself.
Obi-Wan’s hands tightened on Anakin’s hips. His movements were becoming more urgent, his thrusts growing harder and faster, rocking Anakin into the pillows. He clung to him, his nails digging into the fabric Obi-Wan’s dress shirt, just to keep himself steady.
With one final thrust, Obi-Wan finished inside him. His muscles tensed and then relaxed, trembling from exertion. Anakin shuddered as his seed spilled into him. Now that it was over, he wanted nothing more than to get away, to crawl out from under him and hide—
But he couldn’t.
Obi-Wan collapsed on top of him, his breath fanning the side of Anakin’s neck. Sweat glistened on his skin. His body was warm, too heavy for Anakin’s comfort. He turned his head to meet Obi-Wan's gaze, but his eyes were downcast, looking at the floor.
Anakin wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan mumbled, so quietly that even Anakin strained to hear him. “I’m so sorry…”
A tear slid down Anakin’s cheek. He quickly wiped it away, hoping that no one saw it.
“I know, Master.”