Time: Anakin is eighteen.
Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable.
Summary: In an AU where Master/Padawan frolicking isn't the norm, but isn't forbidden, either, no amount of porn had prepared Anakin for the reality of sex.
"Puff your cheeks like this when your Master enters you, Anakin," Tru Veld said. "Now breathe in little short bursts, like this." The Teevan pursed his lips and panted.
"Okay." Anakin watched his slightly older friend closely; this technique was very close to hyperventilating, which Anakin was afraid he was going to do anyway. The two friends spent several minutes practicing. Tru Veld was the sole person to whom Anakin had confessed his attraction to his Master, in a rushed declaration one night four months ago. Tru was the only one of Anakin's friends who had assertively pursued and won his own Master's affections. Anakin felt like he needed advice from an experienced source. It helped that Tru was a nonchalant, bubbly sort, carrying his duties as a Padawan as easily as his accomplishments as the lover of an older man, being rather proficient at both.
The Kenobi/Skywalker apartment, bathed by the setting sun in a golden glow much tamer than Tatooine's harsh glare, was quiet except for their rhythmic respirations. "That's enough." Tru smiled widely and clapped a limber arm around Anakin's stiff shoulders. "Loosen up, kid. It's not so bad. Think about how fun your party was, if you need a distraction."
Yes, last night had been fun, Anakin admitted. Obi-Wan had unbent completely, surprising Anakin with streamers, a glitter ball and a three-tiered chocolate cake with a large candle shaped like the number one and another shaped like the number eight. His Master had even used the Force frivolously, fashioning the rainbow bubbles from the bubble machine into a "Happy Lifeday Padawan" banner that hovered about the gift table until Anakin, Tru, Darra and the rest of his agemates danced through it at about midnight. Although the entire party's theme had been geared for a Padawan of somewhat more tender years, Anakin had smiled gamely at Obi-Wan and actually enjoyed himself. And now it was the day after.
The Jedi Order had few customs that Anakin outright disagreed with, after all was said and done. Few possessions? Okay. He had not had many as a slave, anyway. Threepio was a friend, not a possession. The clothing? Anakin actively liked brown and was neutral about neutral colors such as ecru and winter white. Even refectory food was many steps above his Tatooine fare. No, it was the "no attachments" aspect, designated a formal rule and not just a lowly custom, that gave him problems. However, when he had learned of Padawans being free to pursue non-involving sexual relations with others at age eighteen, even with fellow Jedi, he had foreseen no difficulty at all in continuing his training and eventually being Knighted. That is, if he could acquire the not-attachment to the one he wanted to be not-attached to.
"And now for the place. Hey, check out the footstool. You could rest your arms on it like this" --- Tru crossed his forearms in a fluid manner which Anakin knew that he could never duplicate --- "while you kneel. Even lay your face down on it. It looks soft enough."
"What? I'm just being practical. Maybe that isn't what you'll do the first time, anyway. Maybe you'll, I don't know ... "
"Stop. Please." Anakin was not nearly as garrulous as Tru and sometimes had difficulty expressing himself. Now was one of those times. "Tru, how is it when you and Master Ry-Gaul, um, what I mean to say is, get ... started?"
Tru's silvery skin flushed a rosy pink and he was uncharacteristically quiet a moment. "Well, because it's you, I'll tell you. But just a little bit." The Teevan looked deep into Anakin's eyes. "When Master and I each touch our bond in a certain way, I don't know else to describe it, things get warmer. It's like the Force telescopes down into just us two, and we don't talk much, well, I do, you know me, but he never says much, but oh, what he can do without saying a word, it's just ... yeah. Afterwards it's like, like, he's seen right through me. And that's it."
Anakin clasped his arms about himself in an unconscious imitation of Obi-Wan thinking through a problem, or having a difficult conversation. "Do you mean, it's the Force making you touch?" He had not thought of the Force involved in this personal a matter. Something didn't sound right here. The mechanics of it all he knew, but the emotions were on a different level. Were they emotions, though, or thought-emotions, or something else entirely?
"It's not that, Anakin. We initiate it, and the Force helps make it better." Tru stopped sounding hushed and amped up to his usual cheer. "Hey, enough deep stuff. You know, Anakin, um, you don't have to do anything at all. If you don't want to, you don't want to. Nobody will think the less of you." He nudged Anakin in the ribs. "You're the Chosen One."
Anakin groaned. "Oh, that. If whatever is prophesied happens, when it happens, I don't want to face it alone. I need someone, Tru, someone who knows me, who is on my side. Just help me show him how I feel, that's all, won't you? The mission debriefing can't last forever. He'll be home soon."
Tru stopped talking and got busy.
Obi-Wan Kenobi strode slowly through the monumentally long western hallway, heading blessedly away from a windowless conference room and a boring debriefing that Mace had insisted upon. Obi-Wan wondered why, oh why he had ever considered desiring a seat on the Council, if what they did all day long was rehash information that had already been transmitted from weary Knights via comms at a mission's end. Making the exhausted returnees, particularly the young Padawans, suffer through at least an hour of questions seemed redundant. Even if clarification were needed, couldn't it wait a day? Obi-Wan entertained the idea of gaining a seat on the Council despite his reservations, and actually changing some rules. In this dreamy state he passed through the eastern mezzanine, along which the light-sensitive glowglobes had already switched on with the deepening dusk, entered the central elevator and finally exited onto his home floor.
A small smile flitted over his bearded lips as more pleasant topics occupied his thoughts. Anakin was growing up, taller than him two years ago, and now at the age of consent he would be formidable, a force to be dealt with with whomever he chose to pursue. Some lucky young one, shorter than Anakin because few were his height or taller in his particular age group, would be wooed and soon Obi-Wan would see them on the dance floor at the Outlander. Obi-Wan delegated himself to the wallflower department in his musings, drinking a Togorian Terrorizer, watching from a comfortable booth while his Padawan enjoyed himself. Oh, well. It wasn't as if Obi-Wan had not had these experiences himself, years ago. Now he was content to set aside his own aspirations, living a life through Anakin ... wait. Where had that thought come from? Obi-Wan frowned. It wasn't as if he were decrepit, or invalid, or uninterested. And he was only thirty-four! Obi-Wan walked faster.
As he palmed open the door to their apartment, Obi-Wan took a step inside and then backed out. He checked the nameplate; it said "Kenobi/Skywalker." He stepped back in again, leaving the door open in case he needed to flee. Underneath the slowly-revolving glitterball from last night's party stood Anakin. It was an Anakin that he'd never thought to see, an ethereally beautiful Anakin, glowing skin covered in rainbow bubbles, bubbles that reflected the sparkling luminescent ball overhead. Nothing but bubbles and a shy smile adorned the young man. "Welcome home, Master," he said. Obi-Wan slowly reached behind himself and closed the door.