Mud | Obikin

26.

My skin feels hot, but I'm shivering. I'm still breathing in sharp, convulsed gulps.
Anakin tries to move away, and I hold him still. I need his weight to anchor me down.

I liked how fading away felt, how it made him feel. There was nothing else to give, nothing else to take.
I don't know who we are anymore. The abyss in his Signature, my vision, they haunt me. I love his Darkness. I crave it not less than his Light.

Anakin slides at my side and makes our foreheads touch, the way he did in the tent; an eternity ago, in a whole other universe.
His fingers brush over the round red spot on my shoulder.

"I keep hurting you."

Because I let you - and because I like it.

Though, I can't talk. We are still so caught up in what we shared that words feel weird. I need them to get back, to break the spell - to reassure myself that we are still two people.
I wait until the world beyond him starts existing again.

"You have a curious way of taking care of the sick and wounded," I say, rubbing my throat.

"Aren't you feeling better?" He smirks, drawing me closer. "Because I do."

I snort and cover my face with my palm. He is the same he has always been. I kiss the top of his head and start idly drawing circles with my fingertips on his skin.
Our Signatures rest comfortably one against the other. We're falling asleep, his head on my chest, my arms around him. The end I foreshadowed can't come true if the morning never comes, if we never exit this room.

"It feels like napping on a stove," Anakin slurs.

"You're from Tatooine." I point out.

"This nothing like it," I feel his words more than I hear them. "This is good warm."

We're no longer making any sense, and I allow myself to fall into slumber.

I open my eyes a few minutes or a few hours later.

"You should take care of your missed calls," I say.

Am I really worried about Padme? Or do I only want to remind both of us of the price our actions?
Probably, I just have a talent for spoiling things up.

Anakin utters a sleepy curse, "Those are none of your business."

He feels guilty about her. Being wrong has always made him aggressive.

"It is, if you fuck us both."

I wonder if you choke her too, if she lets you.

"What am I supposed to do?" He whines, like a child. "I want you both."

"And you have us. Your brilliant explanation convinced me you're definitely the victim here. Call her, now."

Anakin fractiously grabs his comm and does it; sitting on my bed, naked. His defiant stare goes on well with his shameless lies.
Padme's muffled voice sounds relieved first, then angered, then cold. Their call ends too quickly.

"Don't look at me like I refused to take a holopicture with some sick kid," he hisses. "It was you that asked me to stay."

Like most truths, this hurts.

Anakin sees my flinch, and apparently wishes he could take his words back.

"Despite all your ostentatious confidence," I retort. "You can't handle this thing better than me. It will burn us and scorch everyone else around."

"Then, end it. What are you waiting?"

We stare at each other, but I lower my eyes first.
He is right, we're in too deep to ever fix it. I'm not even sure anymore that it can be fixed at all.

"Let's pretend Padme and the Code are not an issue," I try to be dry, but only sound wretched. "Are we Master and Padawan, comrades, brothers, friends? Or lovers? We can't play them all and I'm afraid we can't be any of those anymore. We must learn to be something else."

"We are what we are. What we had before was a lie - or at least a half-truth. Now that all cards are out, we will never get back to it."

"We could move on, though... become something new," I sigh. "If you care as you say you do, set me free. You see I can't do it myself."

"This is so stupid," he groans. "I could ask you to stop rejecting me 'if you care'. Would you?"

His eyes fog as he fights not to give up to his usual wounded anger. "I want you and I want Padme. I'll do all I can to have you both. That's it. "

Anakin kisses me to confirm his words, with cold, open eyes. His tongue forces into my mouth with authority, as to reclaim possession.

I curse against my body; I want him again the moment his lips touch mine.

"You are mine, stop pretending you are not." He wrings my nipple, making me wince. "I need that scalding mouth of yours on me, right now."

Anakin takes my hand to show me where, and how urgently.
He proved his point. We both know I'm going to do what he says.

"There's no way I'm setting you free..." I'm caressing him, and his voice is strained, husky. "It was you I imagined under me whenever I had sex. Or in my bed, a few steps from yours, whimpering your name against my pillow. Terrified you could hear me and somewhat wishing you could..."

The images he is evoking make my body tighten; my free hand moves down in a futile attempt to soothe it.

"I knew you wanted me too..." He stops to catch his breath. "Still that small distance seemed infinite."

For years, I have been so ashamed of myself that I could barely look at him. I furiously meditated all day to obliterate him from my mind, only to dream about him each night.

"You were my Padawan, and too young," I whisper in his ear. "I couldn't even admit it to myself."

Anakin gasps when I rub my thumb over his tip. He lightly pushes on my shoulder as a gentle reminder of what he's waiting for.

I sit up to look at his tense, aroused body. He holds his breath, his eyes begging.

Anakin is desperate for this as much as I am.

I'm struck by this simple revelation. I have power over him. He orders because he's hungry for reassurance. Our need makes us both weak.

"I'm not yours," I say, leaning down on him.

Anakin touches my neck, not daring to push, but compelled to juts toward me as I get closer. He twitches at my kiss, his keen moan directly affecting my groin.
His hip moves with restrained jerks as my tongue slowly explores him, his scent, his taste.

I want him to drown in desire, but I'm too unsure about what I am doing. That's why I need him to guide me, to keep commanding.

I should just stop thinking, or I won't be able to continue.

My hand follows my mouth so that he is never bared. My fingers press into the soft skin between his legs. If I were brave enough, I'd let them slide lower, deeper, to probe the origin of his lust, the way he did with me.

Anakin repeats my name, as poetry, as a prayer, grazing my hair with rhythmical, suggestive strokes.

He starts softly thrusting and my eyes close. I focus on avoiding choking, gagging. Circular breathing, as in meditation; isn't it ironic?

Anakin sounds surprised when he finally drives my head against his body,

"Oh. Master."

He spills so deep inside my throat that I can't tell how he tastes.

Editing: Diana_Prallon