FicWad

Additional Author's Note: ROUGHLY HALF OF THIS CHAPTER SHOULD BE CONSIDERED NC-17. Again, the boys are finally getting some alone time. Some might consider about half of this chapter as more of an interlude . . .






When Obi-Wan moves himself in and out of Anakin using only long writhing waves of his body - as if the thrust of the motion has started at his shoulders and danced its way down his body until the vibrations thrust him forward and up into Anakin - the breath catches almost painfully in Anakin's throat. Once inside him, Obi-Wan does something with his hips that seems almost to make him roll inside of Anakin, as if that writhing dancing motion has gone all the way down his body and out into Anakin's flesh. It isn't a quick motion, in terms of actual speed, but it's certainly fast in other ways. When Anakin is finally able to take another breath, he finds it coming hard, labored, quick, and brief. A few more of those writhing, circling plunges, and Anakin finally figures out at what point in Obi-Wan's writhing he is actually plunging up inside of him, so that his hips can thrust down to meet him and help transmute the circling ripples of that motion more deeply within, until that sensitive little node is being wrung relentlessly with pressure and sensation. For a while, then, it's almost like a dance, except of course that they're both reclining, both at least half lying down. And no matter how masterfully Obi-Wan may be leading this dance now, it's inevitable that the measured paces of its steps will eventually break down . . . most especially unavoidable, given the fact that Obi-Wan is finding that spot not only with every corkscrewing downstroke but also with every circling shimmy of upper stroke.

Every time Obi-Wan slides across or glides down into that spot, Anakin's breathing changes, hitching slightly, involuntarily, and evidently Obi-Wan hears it and recognizes it for what it is, because after only a few more tantalizing spiraling swirls of strokes, he changes his rhythm yet again, so that he is sliding himself over and over that one small spot. Not just the tip of him, but the whole thickness of the blunt head and as much of the turgid length of him as he can manage to manipulate into place. Obi-Wan uses himself to stroke Anakin in a way that Anakin has only experienced under the secretive (and always furtive, because of a guilt he has not, until now, allowed himself to understand the source of - that being Anakin's unacknowledged longing for Obi-Wan to be doing what he is doing to himself) ministrations of his own searching hands and carefully manipulative fingers. And as always, when that place inside of Anakin is touched just so, the intertwined sensations of rapidly building pressure and wildly spiraling pleasure fall just barely on the acceptable side of bearable. He rarely touches himself like this precisely because there's so much sensation, and it's always like this, the building pressure and the wildly spiking pleasure, so much more powerful than any other type of orgasm. Because it is Obi-Wan who is causing the almost unbearably violent pressure of these compounding paroxysms of pleasure, Anakin feels as if he will actually just fly to pieces, this time, when he finally does climaxes. And the pressure just builds and builds, dancing along that line of too much, a pleasure so huge that it is nearly pain. A pleasure that grows and grows inside of him like some hotly expanding body, as if the orgasm were actually something entirely separate from Anakin, something that has grown inside of him and will eventually burst the bounds of body.

The more Obi-Wan moves, the more the pressure rises, building until Anakin's body is thick with it, filled with it, a sensation both wonderful and terrible, because it hovers so very close to pain, until quite suddenly, abruptly, it's both too much to bear and not nearly enough to sate him, and he screams, sure that the pressure will crush him if he doesn't move, doesn't do something, anything, just to be doing something more than riding the dancing wave of that body at Obi-Wan's direction, his body moving, in the main, only according to Obi-Wan's careful directions, entirely obedient to his will . . .

***

As unutterably strange as the notion dawning upon him seems to be, the conclusion appears to be irrefutable: Anakin's body is fighting against the pleasure of their union, trying to deny the ecstacy's existence as actual pleasure, much as Obi-Wan's body had attempted to do in response to Anakin's first successful act of fellatio. And that is something that Obi-Wan simply cannot allow. Anakin would not let him panic in the wake of climax and retreat into a confused agony of shame over his loss of control, and so Obi-Wan cannot and will not allow Anakin to start panicking over the rising wave of passion that is slowing building up to stratospheric heights in his body because of what they are doing now. He won't let Anakin panic and break the connection, shattering and dispersing all of that pleasure, just because this method of love-making seems to be almost as new and strange to Anakin's body as every kind of love-making has so recently been to Obi-Wan.

So before Anakin can even begin to try to move away, Obi-Wan moves, taking a page out of Anakin's book and rolling suddenly and smoothly with him, so gracefully and so rapidly that a circling, gliding, upward stroke begun with Anakin rocking smoothly down into his motion abruptly ends in a strong, straight push down into Anakin, who is lying stunned beneath him. Before Anakin can think to protest, Obi-Wan reaches out and takes hold of Anakin's legs, lifting them and pushing them back so that soon enough they are nearly on a level with Obi-Wan's face. At that point, he once again grasps Anakin's hips, pulling him a little bit further down the bed, closer to Obi-Wan's body, so that Obi-Wan can use his weight to bend Anakin's legs with irresistible force back up over his own body, down near his chest, so that Obi-Wan can change the angle at which he is buried inside of Anakin, making it both deeper and sharper. Anakin cries out at that, involuntarily, almost screaming in startled pleasure. Smiling, Obi-Wan sits a bit more firmly up on his knees, sliding forward with a hand behind each of Anakin's knees so that he can lift him up higher, allowing Obi-Wan to glide at least partially back underneath Anakin's body, until finally Anakin has been lifted up to exactly the right height to let Obi-Wan pull him roughly down, farther over and up against Obi-Wan's body, until he can use the thrust of his forward momentum, as his body shoves forward, to ride Anakin's legs down until he is almost bent in two.

Obi-Wan knows that Anakin will be limber enough for this new position - a position that he would not have dared to try, if he had not seen the possibility of it, as well as several other such alternative positions, flickering swiftly through Anakin's mind, in the wake of that furious flash of frustration, earlier, after Anakin's hands had slipped on Obi-Wan's slick chest and ruined his attempts to help steer them into a steadier, deeper rhythm - but even he is a little bit surprised by the reality of it, both at the ease with which he has been able to roll Anakin over and him ride into a tight knot of flesh and the unexpected and almost scalding amount of heat that the act engenders between them, Obi-Wan's body blooming with sudden excess heat and Anakin's flesh flushing beneath and against and around him until it almost feels as if the touch of Anakin's flesh should burn him, should brand him. All Obi-Wan can think to do to avoid that branding is to keep moving, abandoning himself to the urgings of his body and the guiding flares of nova-bright emotion and sensation and star-explosions of shivering unspoken longings along the bond to slam into Anakin as hard and as fast as he possibly can, sinking deep and striving to pound ever deeper from the very first moments, pushing Anakin's body together so that Obi-Wan can lick his way up across Anakin's chest, lapping and sucking at Anakin's nipples and then instinctively raking across their rigid pebbled peaks with his teeth before lunging up to plunder Anakin's wide open mouth, sealing away his cries behind a bruising, almost punishing kiss.

In the end, Anakin gives in, both to Obi-Wan and to the pleasure, his mouth moving hungrily underneath Obi-Wan, opening to the influx of his tongue and responding with a careful pressure of teeth that cling to Obi-Wan's lower lip when he starts to pull back, holding on tightly enough to prolong the contact but not sinking in far enough to cause pain. When Anakin's hands finally let go of their involuntary clutching grasp of the covers and his fingers snake up to dig into Obi-Wan's pumping hips, in a frenzy to somehow clutch him even closer, the bond between them roars open so wide that the battering bright waves of Anakin's explosively building pleasure all but blind and deafen Obi-Wan with a tumultuous frenzy of joy, stripping both body and mind of everything but the need to move and to keep moving and the indescribably wonderful sensations of twinned and mirrored and compounding ecstacy that this motion brings. In between ragged pants for air timed to the intense thrusting rhythm of the deep strokes of Obi-Wan's body, Anakin breathes out an unabashed groan, pleasure flooding his body in surging waves that send tingles all the way out into his fingers and toes, making him toss his head helplessly on the pillow, his entire body burning with the need to somehow push back better, more firmly, more completely, into those relentlessly deep thrusts. Sensing, in the abortive movements of Anakin's hips and legs and the sudden increase in both longing and frustration pouring out of Anakin along the bond, what Anakin desires, Obi-Wan leans back, careful not to pull out, and takes hold of Anakin, calling on a bit more strength that he normally would've required to carefully lift Anakin up, just enough to flip him over without also losing contact with him, pivoting so that Anakin turns a full one hundred and eighty degrees on the rigid spit of Obi-Wan's unyielding flesh, Anakin simply relaxing his body and rolling with it, the whole thing unfolding just as smoothly as if they've practiced it.

The result in ineffably better, far more than either Obi-Wan or Anakin could have ever hoped or dreamed. Up on his elbows and knees now - his hands once again clenching violently around the bedcovers, tearing into the bunched fabric and burrowing down towards the mattress so that he can brace himself up against the pleasure, allowing his body to take in more and more and still more of it - Anakin can (and does) wantonly arch his back, undulating his body to cock his pelvis enough to tilt hips in a silent screaming invitation, making it resoundingly clear that he wants more, that he needs more, craving it so much that he actually presents his body to Obi-Wan like an offering, so that Obi-Wan's hands can't keep from splaying out across Anakin's tight cheeks, cupping and squeezing them almost proprietarily, before one hand rises to twine itself deep in the tangled mass of Anakin's sweat-damped curls - and his hair really is just the right length for it, now, for latching a hold on and then pulling back upon, steering Anakin bodily so that he will bow his neck backwards and reveal the long, clean line of his throat to Obi-Wan - and the other snakes around to the front of Anakin, for the first time grasping at the hard and pulsing root of him, the combustion of ecstacy ignited by that touch so explosive that it's like a cascading chain-reaction of stars going supernova, bright and abrupt and unutterably beautiful.

Anakin screams then - a sound that almost sounds like a sobbing cry of, Yes! - body convulsing back into the forward slam of Obi-Wan's hips, their bodies colliding with such force that Anakin screams again, raggedly, the plunge of Obi-Wan's flesh within him so deep that the special spot within Anakin is stimulated to almost unbearable heights. The blistering reality of that bursting ecstacy - both from how it is for Anakin, writhing under that fast impaling thrust, tender flesh yielding and stretching tight until every nerve is laid bare to blunt, smooth, burning, penetrating pressure, and how it is for Obi-Wan himself, slamming home directly into Anakin, nothing in between them to get in the way or to limit the desperate threshing press of their bodies but the actual solid presence of their own burning flesh - is such that Obi-Wan feels as if he has been transformed into nothing but the thinnest membrane of skin filled and stretched tight upon a surging sea of liquid fire. The silently shrieking blatant offering that is Anakin is accepted and parted by Obi-Wan's smoothly silk-skinned, spring-steeled, hotly burning, ripe almost to the point of bursting flesh, Anakin's body impaled and writhing helplessly upon that thick and unyielding column, undulating and surging in uncontrollable spasms, bodies locked tight and pumping in an almost savagely united rhythm. Letting his entire body drape down over Anakin, pushing them even closer together, Obi-Wan pulls Anakin's head back a bit more to the left, enough to latch his mouth around Anakin's right ear, sucking the lobe entirely into his mouth before nibbling on it just a little bit, just enough to make Anakin aware of his teeth, blindly obeying both the blazing, ravening need of Anakin's body, echoing along the bond like a burning and illuminated map, and the untrained instinct of his own flesh, hungry for as much of Anakin as he can get.

Anakin shudders beneath him and curves his spine shamelessly, first thrusting forward into Obi-Wan's cupping right hand and then arching himself, turning to cant himself a bit more obviously upwards so that his rear can press more firmly back against Obi-Wan's groin and his bowing back can arch back to offer more of the clean sweep of his neck to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan takes the three-fold offer for what it is: his right hand moves, almost lazily, circling around the turgid length of Anakin and tugging upon it, just a little bit, not stroking but pulling enough to let Anakin know that he will eventually be gliding his hand up and down and over that hot, hard flesh; his hips draw back, pulling his flesh almost entirely back out of Anakin, and then suddenly snap forward, slamming into Anakin hard enough to drive the breath out of him in a gasping rush of blinding pleasure; and his left hand drags a bit harder on Anakin's hair, turning him just a little bit more to the side so that Obi-Wan has a clean path to the obviously straining line of Anakin's neck, which he then promptly attacks with his mouth, sealing his lips over the pulsing vein and biting down into that hot thin flesh, not hard enough to risk breaking it but more than firmly enough to skate that border between pleasure and pain, making it clear that his intention is to leave a mark behind on the unblemished golden skin of that throat. And at that Anakin screams again, a rising wail of pleasure that breaks apart with a moaning cry of Obi-Wan's name - a cy that is cut off as gaping, unhinged mouths grope blindly, find each other, and seal tight in double penetration, Obi-Wan's tongue plunging inside Anakin's mouth with the same hard pounding rhythm of flesh within flesh, the two fast plunging drives of flesh within flesh mirroring and reinforcing one another until it is almost too much, almost pain, to experience such a rapidly doubling and redoubling explosion of sensation . . .

***

Anakin can barely breathe, his body is flooded so full of sensation. There's barely enough time to breathe anyway, between one twinned pounding plunge of slick, muscled tongue and hot, thick flesh and the next double thrust of penetration. And it's almost too much to bear, this wildly spiraling, consuming flood of sensation, and yet somehow it's not nearly enough either, so that his body has to dance hard and fast in a desperate plunging counterpoint of rhythm between those two deep thrusts, trying to help speed and strengthen and deepen the press of flesh. Soon enough, arms and legs are tangling upon flesh and wrapping tight as durasteel bands, fingers digging deep, clawing at ravaged bedding and then grasping searchingly after one other until finally they lock together again, two hands locking securely together and two hands fitting carefully together to glide in powerful sure strokes along the straining, pulsing rod of rigid flesh at the root of Anakin. This building glissando of compounding ecstacy from the intertwined and timed balance of press and stroke of flesh against and around and within flesh flares to a flashpoint volatile and powerful enough to unhinge Anakin's joints and collapse him down into the bed, spilling Obi-Wan down over him, hard and driving down to thrust home even harder, crushing Anakin down between the flaring press of two heated strokes, their shared orgasm growing and growing as the pressure tears their mouths apart and opens them up to a twinned shrieking cry of pure and utterly refined joy, bodies tightening and convulsing and driving into each other so hard that pleasure both fills them and explodes out of them, pouring down their bodies and along the bond, through their flesh and into each other in a continuous pounding, pouring flood of ecstacy and love too absolute, too pure, to be entirely contained by their bodies, awareness somehow both fading and deepening as minds and souls dissolve together in a rapidly whitening holocaust of blue-tinged and ever so slightly gold-touched green rosettes of blossoming flame, total mind and sensory overload flaring with the plunging of bodies and spirits into and through one another, shared release bursting the bounds of mere earthly pleasure to explode in a single timeless burning pulse of love . . .

What feels like eons later, Anakin and Obi-Wan simply hold one another, their hands caressing lightly but not idly, stroking fingers lovingly mapping and remapping each other's bodies as they curl bonelessly together on the now thoroughly ruined bedding. Wrapped together in complete tenderness and utterly rapt with one another, they begin to talk together, most often silently and swiftly along their open bond but sometimes slowly, even haltingly, out loud, sharing with one another and working in tandem to fill in many of the gaps torn into their life together by secrecy and fear and shame and confusion, Anakin confessing many of his darkest secrets - sometimes painfully and always regretfully - and Obi-Wan admitting to a nearly life-long but largely unacknowledged (or at least unspoken of) chain of personal doubts, regarding their lives within the now thankfully defunct old Jedi Order. They speak, thus, of the many errors they have made and almost tumbled down into, in the process vowing to learn from those mistakes and to do far better in their new life together. Although there are some things that they cannot quite bring themselves to speak of yet - some subjects still being too fresh, too painful, to do anything more than give them silent, skimming acknowledgment before skipping rapidly on past them to a recounting of the next mistake - they share much in this fashion, growing more solidly into the fullness of their bond by sharing without fear and holding on to one another tightly to offer up utterly unreserved absolution.

Anakin is lovingly but firmly telling Obi-Wan (for what feels like the umpteenth time, although it probably only seems so because the sentiment is something that Anakin has thought so very many times before, though he has only ever rarely dared - or become reckless enough in his anger - to say so, within actual range of Obi-Wan's hearing) that he is, in spite of his enormous power and talent as a Jedi, only one man and, just as he certainly cannot personally save or take responsibility for the safety and happiness of every single sentient being in the whole cosmos, he cannot blame himself for every single thing that goes wrong in the galaxy - and most especially not when whatever has gone awry is far more due to Anakin's own blind stupidity than anything else! - when his stomach abruptly and inelegantly makes its presence known by letting loose a piercingly loud grumbling complaint, the demanding noise cutting Anakin off mid-harangue and startling Obi-Wan into a flood of laughter.

Stroking a hand up across Anakin's rumbling stomach, Obi-Wan shakes his head, mock ruefully, eyes crinkling at the corners with the power of his smile, and laughs, "Ah, yes, the bottomless pit! I was beginning to wonder how long it would take it to remind us of its presence. This may be a record, Anakin - your stomach may have finally realized that it only has to feed one man, and not an entire army!"

Grinning, Anakin ducks his head and plays along, the subject of his astonishing ability to constantly put away vast quantities of food a familiar topic for Obi-Wan's (now obviously loving, almost gentle) teasing. Patting his stomach, Anakin declares, "I'm still a growing boy, Master! I need to keep my energy up," he adds, leaning in so close to Obi-Wan that his breath tickles hotly against Obi-Wan's right ear, "if I'm going to be of much use."

With a throaty laugh, Obi-Wan turns his head, claiming Anakin's still smiling mouth in a quick but deep kiss. Pulling away with a murmured, "Well, I suppose we mustn't risk flagging, then," he untangles himself from Anakin and slides over to the edge of the bed. Turning to look back over his shoulder as he rises, he then adds, with an amused twinkle in his eye as he takes in Anakin's darkened eyes and slightly parted lips, "I seem to recall that Bant left us well stocked, Anakin. Or do you not believe you are still growing?"

Breathlessly, Anakin scoots across the bed after Obi-Wan, "Oh, I'm growing, alright. Do you wish to test me?"

Smiling back at Anakin as he heads towards the nearest wardrobe, Obi-Wan offhandedly declares, "I trust that you know your own body, Anakin. But you may wish to be careful about how much larger you grow, if you wish to be able to fit into any of your clothes," he adds, raising an eyebrow in a decidedly pointed manner as his gaze drifts across Anakin's body, before turning back to the wardrobe.

That raised eyebrow sparks a surprising wave of heat in Anakin's body, and he hurries across the room to join Obi-Wan, his earlier intent to tease Obi-Wan just a little bit forgotten as he twists, the muscles in his back rippling in a manner that seems to beg for Anakin's touch, and reaches for something that is evidently quite far back within the wardrobe. "It would be no hardship to go without," Anakin fervently declares, coming up behind Obi-Wan and sliding his hands across those tantalizing muscles before looping his arms securely around Obi-Wan's waist, pressing close to prove just where most of his growth is presently occurring.

Obi-Wan makes a startled noise that is not quite a gasp and not quite a moan, his body arching so that his hips grind back into Anakin, hard enough that Anakin finds himself groaning and pressing forward, hands sliding down from Obi-Wan's waist towards a rapidly swelling bulge of hardening flesh. Before Anakin can do anything else, though, Obi-Wan twists lithely in his arms, spinning around to face him and reaching up to pull Anakin's head down to him, capturing him in a kiss. Anakin is pushing forward, trying to press Obi-Wan back between the solid bulk of closed door on the only half opened wardrobe, when Obi-Wan twists again, even more agilely, and slips away, seemingly effortlessly. "Food, Anakin. Remember?" Obi-Wan asks, only the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying how hard it might have been for him to pull away.

Anakin is opening his mouth to protest when his stomach intervenes, its hungry growl so loud that all Anakin can do is shake his head sheepishly and give in. "Yes, of course. Mustn't let Bant's effort go to waste. Or she'll scold and I'll be the one who gets an earful, since she knows you never eat enough unless I make you."

Obi-Wan merely blinks at him mildly, calmly, once again back on familiar footing. "I eat plenty, Anakin."

"No you don't, Master. You'd forget to eat altogether, some days, if I didn't remind you," Anakin quietly but fondly corrects him, shaking his head in mild reproof. Then, turning slightly back towards the open wardrobe, he asks, "Were you after a robe or . . . ?" Blinking himself, he stares at the familiar, faintly iridescent blue shimmer of a robe - nominally a bathrobe, though Anakin has used it mostly for lounging on the few rare days when he hasn't needed to dress enough to be presentable for company (aside from Obi-Wan's presence, of course). "Hey! I was wondering where that had gotten to. I've been looking for this!"

"Yes, well," Obi-Wan clears his throat slightly - a familiar noise, one usually signifying just the faintest bit of embarrassment - and shrugs, gesturing slightly towards the shimmersilk of the robe. "It was apparently accidentally mixed in with some of my things sometime during the aftermath of Praesitlyn. I had it cleaned and was meaning to return it, but after the mess with Rendili and then Asajj Ventress' attack on you, I'm afraid it slipped my mind."

Resisting the urge to scowl at the mention of that Ventress woman - and thank the Force she's finally dead! Anakin is not at all sure he could remain as calmly centered in the Light, even with Obi-Wan's love to anchor him, if that bloodthirsty nightmare of a woman were still alive. She's just done too many terrible things, hurt Obi-Wan too many times, for Anakin to ever be able to completely forgive her. And maybe that is a failing, on his part, perhaps even one that reveals a dangerous weakness within him, but somehow Anakin cannot quite bring himself to care. Obi-Wan's weirdly empathic pity for the creature aside, Anakin is sure that there's not a single being within the whole of the galaxy who actually genuinely mourns Ventress' passing, though there are doubtlessly easily hundreds of thousands of beings, if not millions, who rejoiced outright at the news of her death - Anakin snags the robe and shoots Obi-Wan a grateful smile. "That's alright. I'm just glad to have it back, now! It's a souvenir from the Romin mission, and I was almost sure I'd lost it, somehow. Thank you for keeping it for me."

With a slightly crooked smile, Obi-Wan moves back to his side, murmuring, "It was no hardship, keeping it," as he reaches past Anakin, into the wardrobe, for a second, slightly smaller - but surprisingly every bit as iridescent, though the shimmersilk cloth of this lounging robe is an airy mix of color that seems to flicker between being not quite blue, not quite silver, not quite green, and not quite indigo - robe of his own.

Blinking in surprise - Anakin had not known that Obi-Wan had kept his own souvenir of Romin, though perhaps he should not be so startled to discover it, since Obi-Wan has always been very careful not to waste anything, even things that might seem impractical (like self-heating massage oils from Corellia) - Anakin slides into his robe and cinches the belt securely around his waist. "I appreciate it, anyway."

"I know. I knew you would, Anakin. That's why I kept it for you." Obi-Wan's smile, as he pulls the belt of his robe snug, is achingly gentle.

It doesn't seem necessary to say anything to that, and so Anakin smiles and ducks his head and simply follows Obi-Wan out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen.

***

After that, after their first shared meal as lovers, their remaining time together, alone in the suite they once shared as Master and Padawan, goes by far too rapidly. Since they are both equally determined to spend as much time as possible making up for all of the time together that they've lost or squandered, he and Anakin end up spending essentially two solid days in Obi-Wan's bedroom, learning and relearning one another's bodies and sharing just as much as they possibly can along the bond, drawing steadily closer and even closer still together. Obi-Wan is deliriously happy, much happier than he's ever been before in his life, and Anakin is as secure and deeply certain in his joy as Obi-Wan has ever known him to be. When Anakin firmly declares that they can damn well sleep on the ship to Utapau, Obi-Wan bursts into gales laughter, and not once does it ever occur to him that, as a Jedi Master, he should be exerting far better control than that over his emotions. It's a joy, to finally be able to put off all of the crushingly heavy weights of responsibility and control and tranquil patience and just relax and allow himself to simply be, to live so entirely within the moment that he exists and acts only according to the needs and desires of his body, surrendering entirely to his love for Anakin and allowing instinct and the heated flares of sensation along the now always wide open bond to guide him in everything. He trusts that they will know when the time has come to begin getting ready to return to the outside world, to the many responsibilities that are waiting for them beyond the confines of this suite of rooms. Until that time, though, Obi-Wan abandons himself utterly - perhaps for the first time in his life without the frantic pressing drive of duty or any kind of lingering reservations or doubts about the past or worries about the future to cloud his trust or otherwise taint or limit the totality of his submersion - to reveling in the now.

That is why, approximately two hours before the call will come through from the Senate, delivering the order to go after and either capture for trial (if possible) or else neutralize (using any means necessary) General Grievous, Obi-Wan finds himself in the 'fresher - set for water and not sonics - with Anakin, lazily but thoroughly soaping himself and gazing intently at Anakin, who is standing under the stream of hot water with his head thrown back, luxuriating in the feel of the heated water and smiling at Obi-Wan in open invitation - an invitation that Obi-Wan fully intends to take.

***

The pounding stream of the hot water against his back is bliss, but the sight of Obi-Wan, standing close enough to the spray that water is beading on his face and chest, clinging in thick drops to his long lashes and pebbling his skin like sparkling gems, is even more wonderful. He is facing Anakin, rubbing handfuls of liquid soap all over his skin. Already his arms are white with suds, and even as Anakin watches Obi-Wan curls his hands up across his shoulders and down across his chest, shaking his head back slightly so that the heavy wet mane of his hair hangs out of his way, down his back like a spill of flame, while he lathers himself. Obi-Wan's hands work slowly, taking far more time with each motion than he needs to, the whole thing so obviously for Anakin's benefit that Anakin has to close his mouth firmly upon a moan. Anakin's breath is coming short and fast by the time Obi-Wan's hands slide downward, trailing a foamy lather down his pectorals and across his stomach and then hips before gliding down even lower, sliding between his spreading legs and working the soap over himself. His hands stay there while heat blooms in Anakin's chest and face and his mouth becomes dry with need, rubbing in lazy arcs and strokes until he is slick and thick with bubbles. The sight of that makes Anakin's body tighten so hard and so suddenly that it almost hurts, deepening his breathing and making him have to swallow hard around the thundering of his pulse. With a slow smile of satisfaction, Obi-Wan moves then, walking towards Anakin slowly and gracefully, almost as if he were stalking him, gliding forward like a hunting cat, his nude body glistening with soap and water, his hair like a blaze of fire or blood spilling down the long graceful line of his back. Anakin holds very still, waiting, while Obi-Wan comes to a stop, not quite touching him all along the front of Anakin's body, at least not yet, and runs hands slick with soap slowly up Anakin's bare arms to his shoulders and then inwards and upwards, curving to cup his neck, spreading slick and wet and hot across his skin.

Then Obi-Wan's soapy hands are cupping Anakin's face, and the heat of his body is such that Anakin feels Obi-Wan's face coming towards his long moments before his lips finally touch Anakin's mouth. The kiss is gentle, his body carefully not touching Anakin's, and Anakin can't stand it, has to move, has to reach out and press his hand up against that soap-slick hardness, fingers curling and rubbing through that wetness. Another knee-weakening smile, as Obi-Wan pulls his head back, and then his hands are moving to rub up along Anakin's arms again, over his shoulders, and down his chest, fingers sliding tantalizingly near but not quite to the sensitized hard peaks of his nipples, making Anakin's entire body shiver with longing. Obi-Wan tilts his head to lick a slow, burning line along the clean hard edge of Anakin's left jaw and nudges up against him to make Anakin tilt his head back so that he can kiss his way down the muscular column of Anakin's neck, biting at him with gentle, teasing nips and grazes of teeth that make Anakin so weak in the knees that he sways. The feel of Obi-Wan pressed against the front of his body, when he sways forward into him, is overwhelming. Anakin wants to drink him down, pull him inside and just swallow him down, basking in the heat and energy of skin to skin contact and wanting to absorb him through his skin, soak him up like a sponge and draw him inside until they're one. When Obi-Wan raises his head back up to kiss him, Anakin moans unabashedly into the slick wet heat of his open mouth. Obi-Wan finally moves his hands then, sliding them down over Anakin's nipples and painting them white with foam. Anakin's arms slide around Obi-Wan's waist, pressing them closer together, and when Obi-Wan moves against him, his chest is slick and smooth with soap, rubbing wetly up across Anakin, rocking upwards slightly to push slickly against Anakin's groin and stomach and drawing a small strangled sound of pleasure out of Anakin's throat.

Then they're both pushing under and past the streaming water, Obi-Wan turning Anakin towards the wall, putting his hands up against the tile, pressing his body against Anakin's broad back and pushing away Anakin's plastered curls to lick at the back of his neck, biting softly at the skin and making Anakin shudder, pressing forward helplessly against the wet wall. The noise Obi-Wan makes is almost a growl, and it draws out a long, deep moan from Anakin. As Anakin spreads his legs and bends over slightly, leaning forward to brace himself against the tile and arching his back so that his buttocks are thrust firmly back towards Obi-Wan, in blatant offering, that almost growl transmutes into a purring rumble, a deep vibrating sound of obvious pleasure, and because Obi-Wan's mouth is still locked against the skin over the top of Anakin's spine, that deep, pulsing rhythm plays down his spine just as if his body were a tuning fork for Obi-Wan's voice. Anakin all but collapses against the wall, at that, and his entire body is pulsing with need, unhinged by desire and by Obi-Wan, when he begins to press inside, sliding in one slow, tight, mercilessly hot millimeter at a time. Obi-Wan is wet and slick with soap, and whatever it may have been (some gift of the Force, as seems increasingly clear) that helped let Anakin take all of Obi-Wan into himself earlier, without pain or preparation of any kind, is still there, making his body open up naturally for Obi-Wan's penetration. Yet, Obi-Wan is still incredibly thick, wide enough that it's just this side of too much - the pleasure so sharp, so total, that it's almost pain - to have him working himself inside of Anakin.

He pushes in until he reaches a stopping point, his body pressed flush to Anakin's, so deep that the pressure against that sensitive node of flesh within Anakin's body is constant, effortlessly pressing a rising, wailing moan up out of Anakin. Then he begins to draw himself out, slowly, so slowly, that it's almost another form of pain, at least until he starts to push himself back in again, still slowly, having to work to make room for himself inside of Anakin, in spite of the yielding, welcoming sweetness of Anakin's body to his flesh. Obi-Wan is gentle but steady, moving in and out slowly enough to gradually work the tightness of Anakin's body more fully open to him. Even so, it's almost overwhelming, there's so much pleasure. Although Obi-Wan is enormous enough to actually be intimidating, it feels wonderful - he feels wonderful - as Obi-Wan braces himself against the wall, one hand upon the tile and the other snaking around Anakin to stroke up around him, his body pinning Anakin in place, and begins to find a rhythm, still gentle enough to be careful, but much quicker. It's both too much and not enough, and Anakin, with a low groan, pleadingly whispers, "Harder!" his voice so heavy with need that he hardly sounds like himself. He gets as far as, "Obi-Wan - " before he takes Anakin at his word, thrusting into him so hard and fast that it brings forth a wave of hunger in a raging flood that rides through Anakin's body and spills out of his open mouth, tearing a scream from his throat. Obi-Wan stills for an instant then, a question flowing silently, swiftly, along the bond, and Anakin tosses his head and begs, "Don't stop!" shamelessly writhing between the cool hardness of the wall and that cupping, gliding, heated hand and the hot hardness of Obi-Wan's body all along his back and between his legs and pushing up inside of him.

He doesn't stop for any more questions, after that. Obi-Wan drives himself into Anakin so fast and hard that it leaves him gasping, unable to entirely catch his breath, small, involuntary noises bursting out from Anakin in a constant stream of helpless pleasure. Every time Obi-Wan thrusts forward as far as he can, slamming up inside of Anakin, his hand moves twistingly upon Anakin, eliciting an almost violent pleasure, and it all rides that fine line between overwhelming pleasure and actual pain. Just when the explosion of pleasure hovers on the tipping point of pain, Obi-Wan pulls back, withdrawing the blanketing heat of his body until only the barest tip of him is still buried within Anakin's body, a blunt roundness just parting his cheeks, hand stilling snugly at the base of Anakin, pulling back and allowing Anakin to pant after air again. But afterwards he would thrust himself into Anakin again, fingers working over Anakin mercilessly, and it would start all over. It feels like Obi-Wan is filling Anakin up as if he were a cup, until there is nothing inside of him but the feel of Obi-Wan's body, the feel of his feverishly hot and tautly muscled flesh sliding over Anakin and pounding into Anakin's body, suffusing Anakin to the point of bursting with Obi-Wan but leaving him with no outlet for any excess. It's tight, thick, and perfect, the fit of him just so, like he's slotting himself into a hole made expressly for him to fill and has no intention of ever really leaving that channel empty again. The sense of fullness, of completion inside, grows rapidly, surging and growing within Anakin to flood out over him, through him, inside him, overflowing and spilling out the only way it can, flooding out of his open mouth in ragged, frantic screams of ecstacy as his body spasms constantly, uncontrollably, around Obi-Wan, his body dancing between grinding back against the bulk of Obi-Wan's body and thrusting forward into the grip of his hand.

Anakin feels as if he's drinking Obi-Wan in, soaking in him and pulling him into himself through his chest pressed to Anakin's back, his legs tangling around and through Anakin's, his clever hand working over him, his hips thrusting against Anakin's buttocks. He is swallowing Obi-Wan in, flooding full to the brim with him, as Anakin explodes over that stroking hand and Obi-Wan explodes inside of him. And still Anakin pulls him in, feeling as though he were drawing Obi-Wan inside every pore of his skin, until finally their bodies give way and they spill down into each other, becoming for one shining endless unbreakable moment one, powers and souls merging as if coupling in the space of their joined bodies even as those bodies are merging, spilling them down into the floor and pressing their bodies even more fully together even as they flood out of themselves and together, still tangled and entwined, joined and merging and fading together in one long, timeless moment of blinding love.

***

They have enough time to gather themselves together, clean up, get dressed (thankfully, Anakin thought to signal for a droid to fetch him a change of clothing, before they went into the 'fresher together), and share another meal before they need to leave for the Council Spire. The clone troopers have been busy: the Temple is practically thrumming with activity, and they pass half a dozen places where clones and workers and young Jedi initiates are helping to clean and repair sections of the Temple. Every being they pass seems torn between desperately longing to speak to them and wanting to scurry hastily out of their way. They have enough time, still, so they spend it in reassuring these people, Anakin being careful to smile charmingly and disarmingly at the shy younglings and Padawans while Obi-Wan murmurs a few cheerfully disarming greetings and makes several encouraging comments regarding the state of various repairs and cleaning efforts to the clones and various Temple workers who normally help staff the administrative wing and other such areas of the Temple but who are helping both to show the clones around and in the efforts to clean and repair the damaged areas of the Temple structure. Even though they take their time in greeting these groups of workers - not dawdling, certainly, but not rushing, either - they still make it up to the Council Spire with a few minutes to spare. The clones and other workers have been busy here, too. Within the Council Chamber, the debris has been cleared away, the table returned to its former position, and a good start has been made on replacing the broken out transparisteel of the walls. Qui-Gon and Dooku are waiting for them inside, standing behind the center of that vast table - as, surprisingly enough, are also Masters Yoda and Mace Windu, who are seated off to the left of the two Force spirits.

"Masters," Anakin acknowledges their presence, voice and form very still. Then, turning to Qui-Gon and Dooku, he simply bluntly demands, "Has something else gone wrong, then?"

"Nothing that was not expected, young one," Qui-Gon says quietly, reassuringly. "The attack on Kashyyyk has begun - a little earlier than it might have, if events had fallen out otherwise, but essentially as was foreseen."

"Able to warn the Wookiees in time, we were. Good relations with the Wookiees, I have; help to destroy the droid armies, I can, and still be available to Coruscant, should think to make trouble the remaining Separatists do, when gone Grievous is," Master Yoda declares. "Allied with the Separatists and taking part in the attack, the Tradoshans are. Need our aid, the Wookiees will, against both these long-standing foes and the armies of the CIS. Highly problematic, the involvement of the Tradoshans may otherwise become."

"The war should end, once Grievous is out of the picture. News of Palpatine's death and his identity as the Sith Lord Sidious has already been broadcast from here to the Outer Rim and as far away as stations in Wild Space. The remaining members of the Separatist leadership party should know, by now, that they have been led into this war by a Sith Lord who never intended to allow them to survive the war. Once Grievous is gone, they will be left with no recourse but to acknowledge their mistakes and surrender," Mace Windu adds, his voice surprisingly calm, almost mellow sounding. "However, the Separatists aren't exactly known for their logic. In case they decide to make some kind of last ditch effort, we're waiting to issue the General Recall order until after we see how they respond to the loss of Grievous."

"There are many things that will require our attention, in the days to come, but the vast majority of them shall have to wait on the General Recall - and that is dependent upon ending this war," Dooku agrees. "The Clone Wars should end, one way or another, when the Confederacy loses its war master. We have been making plans, towards that eventuality. But it is best to be prepared for the worst. There is a chance that the Neimoidians may become desperate enough to seek vengeance, for Palpatine's trickery."

"And so Master Yoda will go to Kashyyyk, the many Jedi who are already deployed to the various battlefronts will remain on assignment until we know for sure that the war has ended, and the rest of you will stay here, on Coruscant, just in case the remnants of the CIS Leadership Council try to make any trouble." It is a statement, rather than a question, coming from Obi-Wan, but Qui-Gon nods anyway.

"Our continued engagement in the war should help to calm those among the Senate who remain concerned about the changes within the Order, as should Master Yoda's willingness to join the battle on Kashyyyk. After the order has come, regarding Grievous, Dooku and I shall offer our unique abilities to the effort to sift through Palpatine's records and to locate - and render safe - the many storage facilities and safe houses Sidious has established on Coruscant," Qui-Gon explains. "There are many things Sidious has acquired - by force, by threat, through thievery, or with coin - that need to either be neutralized or stored within the Archives, where they will be safe from tampering. And many plans he was laying and schemes he has already set into motion that will require our attention."

"Speaking of plans and schemes and things that will require attention," Anakin asks, a small frown creasing his forehead, "can someone tell me exactly how many major fronts there are now - besides Kashyyyk and Utapau, of course - where the war is likely to continue to require the presence of Jedi until a formal surrender has come?"

"There are three former Council Masters who are on active assignment," Mace Windu promptly informs him. "Master Ki-Adi-Mundi is on Mygeeto, and will likely remain there until peace is certain, since the planet does have an enormous natural supply of crystals suitable for lightsabers, and we will be needing those crystals desperately, since the Temple and crystal caverns on Ilum have been so badly damaged during the course of the war. And Master Plo Koon is orchestrating the battle surrounding Cato Neimoidia and the other Neimoidian purse worlds - with the help of his niece, Sha Koon - and will also remain where he is until peace is assured. However, Master Coleman Kcaj is in the Outer Rim, since he was charged to help coordinate efforts to search for Grievous and the surviving members of the CIS Leadership Council, and should already be on his way back to Coruscant, since we know where Grievous is."

"Masters Shaak Ti and Stass Allie were sent with Knight Bultar Swan to track surviving Separatist ships fleeing from Coruscant. Since Sora Bulq succeeded in killing Master Rancisis before Quinlan Vos could overcome him, it has been decided that Master Allie will be sent to Saleucami, to offer Masters Vos and Sian Jeisel her aid. Rather than recall her home, Shaak Ti has been sent to Felucia to reinforce Healer Barriss Offee and Knight Aayla Secura and their band of orphaned Padawans - Drake Lo'gaan, Erika, and Zonder, I believe? - allowing Master Luminara Unduli to be reassigned to help Master Kai Justiss coordinate the defense of Kashyyyk, until Master Yoda can arrive. In the meantime, Knight Swan is escorting most of the pursuing ships sent after the remains of the Separatist fleet back to Coruscant," Qui-Gon adds, quickly listing the currently most highly contended battlefields of the war. "I believe that An'ya Kuro is in the vicinity of Tatooine, though for whatever reason the Dark Woman has not seen fit to comm the Temple in well over a standard month. Otherwise, six Jedi Knight and Padawan pairs, under the leadership of Knight Siadem Forte, who is there with his own Padawan, Deran Nalual, are all on Dellalt; Master Simms and her Padawan, Noirah Na, are with Master Kai Hudorra on Toola; Masters Saras Loorne, Roan Shryne, and Bol Chatak - with her Padawan, Olee Starstone - are on Murkhana; Masters T'ra Saa and Tholme are currently both on Nar Shaddaa, overseeing the set-up of another spy network, as I understand; Master Garen Muln is on Acherin, in the midst of negotiating a truce in that system; Master Tra'avis is on Garqi; Master Tsui Choi is on Eriadu; Master Dass Jennir is on New Plympto; Knight Koffi Arana is in transit to Boz Pity; Knight Sev and his Padawan, Joc Sah, are coordinating the battle for Ragmar V; Knight Empatojayos Brand is on Bassadro; Knight Nem Bees is on Orto; there are several dozen Knights and Masters with Padawans, such as Knight Joclad Danva and his Padawan, Jax Pavan, as well as Master Arligan Zey and his Padawan, Bardan Jusik, who are all on special assignment for Master Tholme; and I believe that Master Lo-Jad and Knight Sia-Lan Wezz are both on Naboo, at the invitation of the new monarch, Queen Apailana, lending their expertise to another effort to expand the planet's combined human and Gungan security forces, since Queen Apailana and her people fear that the Separatists may seek to strike at the planet a third time, since their second effort against the planet was largely vindictive in nature."

"Hundreds more Jedi are simply known to be in the Outer Rim Territories, moving from planet to planet, system to system, as needs must and the war dictates," Dooku elaborates, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Thousands of other Jedi are scattered across the galaxy like far-flung handfuls of sand, thinly seeding the many systems and sectors. Most of these are Jedi Knights and Padawans, commanding the defense of specific key sectors that, though they may not currently be under attack, could erupt into new battlefields and areas of contention, if not for the diligence of their protectors. Every sector and system of the Core Worlds currently has at least one Jedi and company of clone troopers - though many have at least one working Jedi pair and garrisons of entire clone regiments - assigned to aid or oversee in the general protection of the actual Core Worlds. Most of the sectors and systems of the Inner Rim and Colonies are likewise guarded - excluding those areas that are currently embroiled in battle. The Expansion Region, Mid Rim, Outer Rim, and Tingel Arm are, of course, largely areas of contention, and so the scattering of Jedi tends to be both more sporadic and to include larger groupings. Only the Deep Core, like Wild Space, is currently virtually vacant of Jedi."

"Most of the hard fighting is either in the Mid or Outer Rim, though, and many of those worlds would cease to represent a genuine threat to peace, if the droid armies were deactivated or otherwise removed from the field of combat. If the CIS were to surrender and recall their armies, the war would end, though there would still be some problematic planets and systems that would require some further persuasion, to ensure true peace. I assume that those on the Senate who need to be aware of this fact have already been apprised of it?" Obi-Wan asks.

/"Through your Padawan, yes," /Qui-Gon nods.

"Speaking of our Padawan," Anakin begins, brow once again furrowing slightly, "shouldn't the Senate be - "

The chiming of a holocomm cuts him off before he can finish his question, smoothing his face back to calmness. With a small smile, Qui-Gon gestures at Obi-Wan and Anakin, inviting them around the table to the right of him and Dooku, waiting a few moments for them to join them, and then waves at the holocomm, switching both of the holoprojector switches to the on position, so that the holocomm will simultaneously receive and show the incoming signal as well as relay an answering transmission from inside the Council Chamber.

The figures of Senator Mon Mothma and Padawan Bail Organa flicker into life, in the air above the table. Mon Mothma is once again wearing a formal, gleaming white septsilk gown - extremely high necked but with the collar split wide open in the front, with long, full sleeves, gathered in at the wrists, and long, full skirts, intricate with lace and brocade everywhere but the slim panel of overdress, atop which the heavy knotted ropes of silver chains of office spill from medallions at her shoulders in three loops across her chest. Bail is wearing dark blue again, also back in his formal senatorial finery: a high-necked over-tunic so long that it reaches over halfway between his knees and ankles, long enough that Bail's tall black boots cover the pants he's wearing beneath that tunic entirely, the long lines of the softly draping tunic broken by a wide dull leather belt, not quite charcoal and not quite black, with another one of those decorative metal buckles, just a little bit closer to being simply heart-shaped than shaped like a butterfly - the same traditional Alderaanian motif that is picked out in bright silver threads just to either side of the center of his tunic's high collar (the same design that had also been on the left arm of his shirt, just below his shoulder and the draping edge of his Alderaanian cloak, when Bail had come running into the Council Chamber and found himself being named their Padawan) - paired with a soft looking dully black leather coat with long, full sleeves, and a tail so full that the coat almost resembles a robe, its wide shawl collar turned back to reveal a charcoal-gray lining of shearling, the tips of that long collar reaching to points well past his natural waistline, almost long enough to reach the tips of his fingers, when his arms are held lax at his side - his fine Alderaanian garb somehow looking out of place, despite the ease with which he is wearing it. Their expressions weary but triumphant, the two automatically bow before the Jedi.

"Grand Masters Qui-Gon and Dooku, Masters Yoda and Windu, Master Generals Kenobi and Skywalker," the Chandrilan Senator acknowledges them, hesitating and stumbling only a little over Obi-Wan and Anakin's titles. "You will be glad to hear that the Senate has reached a decision, in the matter of General Grievous."

"Masters, the Senate has authorized a task force for the liberation of Utapau, and asks for at least one Jedi to command that force of clone troopers," Bail continues, his gaze locked on Obi-Wan and Anakin.

"Masters Kenobi and Skywalker have already volunteered for the mission to hunt down Grievous. Word has come to us that the Separatist attack on Kashyyyk has begun: Master Yoda has volunteered to lead a team of reinforcements to aid the Wookiees in their battle against the invading Separatist droid armies," Dooku declares, his first statement causing Mon Mothma's face to clear while his second causes sharp lines of worry to crease her forehead.

"Master Yoda wishes to personally oversee the operation?" she asks, clearly concerned.

"A major navigation hub for the southwest quadrant of the galaxy, is Kashyyyk. Far too important to allow to fall into the hands of the Separatists, it is. And an old friend of the Wookiees, am I. Wish to help them now, I do," Yoda promptly replies, his voice grave.

"Of course, Master Yoda. The Wookiees of Kashyyyk are staunch and valuable allies. We must help defend them," Mon Mothma agrees, after several beats of silence, clearly deciding against giving in to her own curiosity and puzzlement by questioning the decision to sent someone as valuable to the Order as Yoda into the field.

"Both forces will be ready to depart within the day, and will report back regularly on their progress," Qui-Gon assures the still faintly frowning Senator. "Preparations are already underway. In the meantime, may I ask how the deliberations are proceeding?"

"Unfortunately, Grand Master Jinn, the Senate is still debating over how best to arrange the new government. All agree that the position of Supreme Chancellor must be replaced by a system wherein no one individual will be able to rise to such a position of dictatorial power ever again. However, some Senators favor a three-consul system - a triumvirate, which historically has not fared well as a stable form of government - while others favor and system of two twos - two senior and two junior consulates, that is," Bail explains, his tone of voice making it clear that he favors the latter system. "A vote has been called for, several times, but the motion keeps getting deferred and overturned in favor of other issues that various Senators wish to put forth for discussion. Although there are certain members of the Senate who have resigned, due to ties linking them to those who have been personally named by Palpatine as his own, and either been arrested on charges of corruption or labeled traitors for their part in the Sith Lord's schemes, and most of the remaining Senators are both horrified and frightened at the thought of how dangerously close the Republic has come to utter destruction, under the rule of a secret Lord of the Sith, still there are, unfortunately, those who nevertheless prefer the graft and greed and excessive personal power granted to them and theirs by the far too numerous and generally unnecessary layers of bureaucracy that have, in recent decades, overgrown the core democracy of this government like layers of choking, parasite vines. Regrettably, with so many genuinely frightened and uncertain of what the future may bring, it is proving difficult to overcome the resistance to change, as represented by these remaining power-hungry and venal Senators."

"The Galactic Republic's greatest failing has long been its lack of more formal and widely enforced organization," Mon Mothma adds, her voice tired. "Despite the serious - and, as we have so recently had hammered home, potentially quite deadly - nature of this failing, many member systems within the Republic have had centuries, if not millennia, to become used to far too much of this government's operation being based almost entirely upon non-binding constitutional conventions - informal agreements that unfortunately can easily be and all too often have been largely ignored and undermined by corrupt and power-hungry politicians. Smaller coalitions within the larger body of the Republic have become so common - with special interest defining most legislative of the agenda even now, in the midst of a civil war triggered by the attempt of an alliance of a number of such coalitions to form a governing body entirely separate from that of the Republic - that there is a considerable amount of resistance arising against our attempts to shed the cumbersome and unnecessary levels of bureaucracy that empower and allow the perpetuation of such special interest coalitions and restore the core values and systems of a democratic republic, in such a way that all treaties and alliances and basic laws become formal and binding to all member states of this government. Those who have grown rich and powerful due to the corruption that has run rampant within the Republic because of this internal flaw are trying to claim that we will stifle the very democracy that we are trying to revive, in demanding so many legally binding changes to both the Galactic Constitution and the various treaties binding member states and territories to the body of the Republic proper."

"The Order has the right to call for a special session of the Senate: perhaps if you were to remind the Senate of that fact, those who have been seeking to delay the vote by voicing such negative and unfounded rumors will find themselves eager to move proceedings along," Mace offers, his voice hard.

With an almost viciously bright smile, Mon Mothma nods, agreeing, "I believe that will help, Master Jedi. The Senate is in recess now, but is scheduled to recommence in a hour. We may have news before the day is out."

"Obi-Wan and I will need to speak with our Padawan before we depart. It would be better to delay that announcement until he has returned to the Rotunda," Anakin warns the Chandrilan.

"I can come now, Master," Bail quickly offers. "It would be easy enough to extend that recess for another few hours."

"That will do, Padawan," Obi-Wan nods in easy agreement. "Our force has already been largely prepared and assembled: it was assumed that, if the order to pursue General Grievous had not been issued today, most of this force would have been ready and able to accompany Master Yoda to Kashyyyk. You may meet us at the Temple's main landing deck in three quarters of a standard hour."

"I will be there, Bendu."

"It is settled, then. Contact us again when the Senate has voted on the question of a new system for the head of government," Dooku commands, waiting for Mon Mothma's nod before continuing. "There is a matter of some importance, involving Sidious' stronghold in The Works, that we will wish to discuss with you, then."

"Of course, Grand Master Dooku. Masters," Mon Mothma nods again, and then bows, signaling an end to the conversation.

"Senator. Padawan Organa," the two Force spirits chorus, inclining their heads.

A moment later, the holoprojector flickers as the signal shuts off.

***