FicWad

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







As soon as the Council Chamber has become silent again, Mace Windu leans forward, his chin still resting on his contemplatively folded hands, and quietly begins to speak, telling Obi-Wan and Anakin about how he had actually faced General Grievous in single combat atop a mag-lev train during the Separatist raid to capture Palpatine. The Korun Master tells them, the warning evident in his words, about how the computers slaved to Grievous' brain had been able to analyze even Mace's unconventionally lethal Vaapad, so well that the cyborg had been able to respond in kind after only a single exchange of lightning-fast blows. "At Sidious' request, Grievous was trained by Dooku in at least the basics of all the classic forms of lightsaber combat," Mace adds, his dark gaze flickering only briefly towards the softly glowing figure of the Grand Master, "so you can expect to face some Makashi as well as Shii-Cho, Soresu, Ataru, Shien/Djem So, Niman, and both the basics of Juyo and what part of Vaapad he managed to learn during his exchange with me. Given the number of Jedi Grievous has fought and slain, you must expect that he can attack in any style, or all of them. In fact, Obi-Wan, I believe that of all living Jedi, you have the best chance to defeat him."

This pronouncement startles Obi-Wan, enough so that he protests, automatically falling back into an old pattern of what appears to be unassuming modesty but is, in truth, almost immovably stubborn self-doubt instead. After all, the only form in which he even counts himself truly proficient is Soresu, which is the most common lightsaber form in the Jedi Order. Founded upon the basic deflection principles all Padawans are taught to enable them to protect themselves from blaster bolts, Soresu is perhaps the simplest of all lightsaber combat forms, so restrained and defense-oriented that it is very nearly downright passive. Which is precisely why Obi-Wan blinks mildly and calmly but firmly protests, "But surely, Master Windu, if the two of you did not have duties that require you to be elsewhere, then you, with the power of Vaapad, or Yoda, with his mastery of Ataro, would be far better candidates than I for - "

Mace Windu actually relaxes enough at that to smile, just a little, his lips curving slowly, as if being asked to take on a shape that they have almost forgotten how to make. His voice is so soft that could almost be named fond as he interrupts Obi-Wan's protest. "No, Master Kenobi. I created Vaapad to answer my weakness: it channels my own darkness into a weapon of the Light. Master Yoda's Ataro is also an answer to weakness: the limitations of reach and mobility imposed by his stature and his age. But for you? What weakness does Soresu answer?" Blinking, Obi-Wan simply looks at him, his eyes stating, as eloquently as words, that he has never actually thought of it in quite that way before. Shaking his head slightly, that small smile blooming ever so slightly fuller, ever so slightly deeper, Mace muses, "That is so like you, Obi-Wan. I am called a great swordsman because I invented a lethal style; yet, who is the greater: the creator of a killing form or the master of the classic form?"

"I am very flattered that you would consider me a master, Mace," Obi-Wan begins, hands twitching ever so slightly with the instinct to move down upon his hips, into a challenging stance, "but really - "

"Not a master. The master," Mace cuts in, his smile now so wide that the barest glint of white teeth are revealed. "Simply be who you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Grievous will never defeat you. Be who you are together, Masters," he continues, his gaze shifting slightly to take in Anakin, "and he will not be able to touch either one of you. Fast as his computers and mechanical parts may make him, General Grievous would have been no match for Darth Sidious, no matter how many lightsabers he might wield in how many different appendages. Together, you defeated Darth Sidious. Together, you will defeat General Grievous, as well."

Obi-Wan's right eyebrow is still questioningly high, but instead of protesting again, he merely nods his head once, in acknowledgment of Mace Windu's words. Then, tilting his head towards Anakin, he simply asks, "Well, old friend?" the timbre of his voice and the softening of his expression as he meets Anakin's gaze somehow making the nature of that otherwise almost oddly muted endearment - friend having been a word so carefully skirted around between them for so many years, in lieu of other far more acceptable and less potentially dangerous terms, like Padawan and Master and even the occasional laughing partner-of-mine, that in a strange way it somehow almost means more than any mere open announcement of love ever could - resonate like both a declaration and a promise.

Turning towards Obi-Wan in response, Anakin smiles - allowing himself a moment first to simply bask in the warmth and promise of that declaration, his eyes returning a vow of his own, and then indulging himself in a few heartbeats of pure anticipation, looking forward to an end to both Grievous and the war - before declaring, "I think that Kenobi and Skywalker will once again find a way to do the impossible, irregardless of how many different forms of combat Grievous thinks he has mastered or how many different 'sabers he tries to bring to bear against us, is what I think."

"Good enough, then," Obi-Wan nods, that raised eyebrow once again relaxing to its normal position and height.

Eyes shifting towards the Force Spirits, Anakin adds, "Obi-Wan and I will need to pack, and there are some things I'll need from my old rooms. May we be excused, now, Masters?"

"Go and pack, young ones. We will meet you on the landing deck as well, to speak to you again, before you leave," Qui-Gon promises, his smile warm and understanding.

"Commander Cody will be waiting for you, at the landing dock. He said something about reminding you to pack extra rebreathers?" Dooku adds, his raised right eyebrow an eloquent question.

"He would," Obi-Wan simply laughs quietly, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

"We'll explain later, Masters. It's a long story," Anakin adds, his smile turning into an outright smirk as Obi-Wan turns to meet his gaze.

"You may tell us when you return from Utapau," Dooku nods.

"Yes," Anakin and Obi-Wan both simply say, their shared smile promising a story worth hearing as they make their way towards the doors.

Afterwards, Anakin waits until they are well on their way back down Council Spire's main winding staircase - well out of range of hearing, even for Jedi Masters - before remarking, "Qui-Gon may know that story already. I get the feeling he spent a lot of his time watching over us, trying to make sure we were okay."

"Yes, but Master Dooku won't, unless Qui-Gon has told him. And you are inordinately fond of telling it," Obi-Wan replies, voice wryly amused. "I'm sure Qui-Gon will hold his peace, so as to not rob you of the opportunity to tell it, again."

"Yeah, well, you're always telling people, in exquisitely painful detail, about all the times I've managed to lose or misplace my lightsaber, Master. I figure the least you can do is let me tell everyone about the only time I've ever seen you use a lightsaber without using one of the normal forms of combat," Anakin grins back, slinging an arm around Obi-Wan's waist and hugging him close as they continue down the spiraling staircase. "In any case, you're lucky all I ever do is tell people about it. Commander Cody and his men salvaged quite a bit of security footage from the mission to Cato Neimoidia, especially your part in the mission. One of Commander Cody's long-standing pet projects is a tutorial, instructing clone troopers about Jedi abilities, both offensive and defensive, so they'll have a better working idea of our strengths and Force-powers. The last I'd heard, he'd spliced together an entire extra section, with footage from the Cato Neimoidia mission, to drive home to the new troopers the fact that, even while under severe duress - including accidental drugging - Jedi Masters possess fighting abilities far superior to that of both the clones themselves and any of the droids that might be coming against them. New clone troopers assigned to our command have doubtlessly been viewing your defense of yourself, Commander Cody, and Squad Seven against those twenty-three super battle droids and thirty-nine droidekas in that spore-saturated room, without the benefit of a rebreather, for months, now."

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan stops dead in his tracks at that announcement, staring at him openly, his eyes wide with a mixture of equal parts embarrassment and horror. "That is not at all funny! Surely, if Commander Cody wishes to create some kind of instructional vid, there must be other, better examples he might include than - "

Anakin cuts in, voice calm but firm. "The two of us - though mostly just you - during the Cato Neimoidia mission. That rather long free-form sparring session I cajoled you into after that minor incident with the Xi Char, after Cato Neimoidia. That practice session of ours here in the Temple, only a few months after the war had first begun - you know the one I mean. We'd been on a series of short reconnaissance missions and had been back for less than a day, and got to the training salle so early that we were able to monopolize the entire arena for our free-form sparring, before that stairway tore loose and tumbled me down and you leaped down over me and won the bout. We worked our way through one of our new hybridized katas, afterwards: Swirling Sea. I chose that one, when you asked, because Dragon's Flight takes up so much more space, and by then other Jedi and trainees had begun to come out into the arena for practice sessions of their own. Something about our behavior offended Master Windu and he was seeing red until he finally got up the courage to speak to you - after which he staggered away from the meeting, looking as if he were a first year youngling who'd just been reamed out by the Grand Master in front of the entire Temple. One of the little watcher droids I'd been tinkering on followed us in to the salle and recorded the entire session. I passed a copy of it on to Commander Cody after he told me about the vid file he was compiling. I believe Commander Cody has told me that there's also some security footage from Muunilinst and your battle with Durge, as well as some more security footage from the missions to and battles of Praesitlyn and Rendili and Maramere. Not to mention borrowed footage of Master Fitso's little demonstration against that so-called Jedi Killer droid, in the T'Chuk arena, before the appointment of the two of you to the mission to Ord Cestus, and of the two of you dueling - you with your lightsaber, and Kit with that lightwhip you'd made, so as to allow him to avoid being labeled a Jedi - on that magcar, after you'd risked your life," he adds with a slight but noticeable scowl, still clearly displeased by the fact that they had been separated for the mission, even over a year after the fact, "leaping ever so theatrically aboard the approaching car. Nate - Jangotat, that is - had the entire thing on vid, and so Forry did as well, and eventually a copy of the vid got back to Kamino and the GAR training grounds. Commander Cody was forwarded a copy of that footage from Alpha, if I'm not mistaken. And Alpha himself provided Cody with some footage of our mission to Ohma-D'un and Naboo, on the condition that updates of the instructional would be sent back to Kamino regularly - which means that the tutorial is most likely also being shown to all of the new classes of clone troopers and commandos being trained for the GAR. If I know Cody, he probably has footage of the mission to Tythe, the Battle of Coruscant, our attack on Invisible Hand and subsequent landing of at least a majority of the ship, our battle with Sidious, and both the attack on the Temple and our rather precipitous ending of that attack already edited into the vid and ready to send back to Alpha, if he hasn't already passed a copy on through the ranks of the GAR to Kamino somehow. After all, Cody is nothing if not thorough."

"But - !"

"No buts, Obi-Wan." Anakin lays a gentle finger across his former Master's still slightly parted lips, his eyes smiling but his voice adamant. "You've always been far too modest about your own abilities. Master Fitso told me, after Cestus, that you were quite possibly the deadliest 'saberist he had ever been privileged enough to fight beside - not because of your forcefulness or your guile or your ability to strike hard, but rather because of your seemingly infinitely adaptable knack for impenetrable defense and your unfailing ability to take anything and everything that might be thrown at you and to roll with it, instantly and constantly, until your communion with the Force can finally reach a point deep enough for you to find a way to make that threat break itself upon or against your 'saber." Obi-Wan's lips move beneath Anakin's quieting finger as if he would like to protest, and Anakin's response is to press harder and to keep speaking, pouring a torrent of words out into the space that Obi-Wan might have otherwise used. "It is not boasting to acknowledge the truth, Obi-Wan, and the simple truth is that we are two of the Order's three most skilled, powerful, and deadly lightsaberists, and there is a very good reason that the third does not spar against you, ever: Mace Windu likes to win, and he knows that his Vaapad would be useless against you, because you have no darkness for him to twist back upon you. Me, he might be able to force to a draw, because our love of the actual battle would compliment each other so that we would mirror one another in our aggressiveness. But you? Mace Windu would shatter himself upon you, and he knows it. He loves to fight - loves the purity of it, when it is done perfectly, with a fierce totality that only Vaapad can safely channel - and he loves to win, enough that he cannot stomach the thought of lessening that love, in losing to you, and so he does not and will not risk it by fighting against you - at least not of his own accord. No," Anakin continues, adding a second pressing finger to his first, sealing Obi-Wan's mouth shut with the pressure, "don't try to protest or deny it. Master Windu is someone I find myself understanding a great deal more than I've ever wanted to, of late. Mace is very like how I might have been, if I had not had you to help me balance that unthinking need for and love of moving, of doing, of striving and struggling both to do more and to be more and yet to also escape the limitations that I felt had been placed upon me simply due to the fact of my being who and what I was, with the soul-deep calm trust in the Force to move or to not move me, as might actually be needed, and the ability to stop and think and remember that trust before rushing blindly and perhaps foolishly into some fight that might not be necessary or even wanted by the Force. Mace has had no one to balance him - or no one he has permitted himself to allow to truly try to balance him - so he has no ability to adapt himself to someone who truly is balanced. He would shatter himself upon you, and so he does not risk it. And that is precisely why most of the footage that Commander Cody has in his training vid is of you. Because more often than not, you don't defeat your opponents so much as you allow them to shatter themselves upon you. And the clones know that the mark of a true warrior is not in how much energy one can flashily expend in order to take an opponent down, but rather in using merely what is at hand and as little effort as is necessary in order to cause that enemy to cut himself down. You provide just enough rope for a noose, and your opponents inevitably neatly hang themselves. It's why Mace called you the master of Soresu, back in the Council Chamber."

The look on Obi-Wan's face as he takes a step back away from Anakin and those hushing fingers is both pained and embarrassed. "Anakin, stop. Please. You should not speak of me as if I were somehow better than everyone else, simply because I am different from them, in the Force. I most certainly am not some pure entity of light. There is darkness in me, Anakin. You know that, far better than most. I nearly slipped down into that darkness and drowned, in that melting pit on Naboo. I almost fell down into it again, when I thought I had lost you, on Jabiim. And I most assuredly would have spent the rest of my life drowning in it, had I lost you to Sidious."

"It isn't the same, Obi-Wan. You know that, in your soul, even if the habits and teachings of a lifetime will not let your heart be quiet about it. Darkness - what the Jedi and the Sith have so foolishly thought of as the Dark Side of the Force - isn't of the Force at all. It's a warping of the energy patterns, a disruption and a binding and a corruption of the Force's nature, brought about through the intent - the wildly unrestrained emotionality and lack of true mental stability and calm - of specific Force users. You showed me that yourself, in your method of cleansing the Force of the choking and corrupting taint upon it brought about and nourished through the evil and often entirely insane actions of the Sith and their Dark Jedi allies and dupes and Dark Adept trainees and tools, including the inception and the fighting of this brutal and senseless war. What is of the Force is a natural darkness that balances its natural light, much as what we perceive as the Unifying and Living Force equipose and offset one another. It's something that exists within the Force and helps to bind it together in the same manner that a thread running through a piece of cloth helps to form and stabilize the warp and weft of interlocking weave and make it cloth. The Force is an energy field, remember? Energy is just the potential to cause change. Energy can be radiant light. Energy can be thermal heat. Energy can be electrostatic, gravitational, nuclear, and electrical. Energy can be the power needed to accomplish a specific task. Energy can be mass. Energy can be a great many things - kinetic, potential, and even dark. Is it really so strange, to think that the dark energy of the cosmos might have its counterpart in the Force, the energy field that surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds us all - and the galaxy and the universe and even, one would imagine, the multiverse, too - together?" Anakin's expression is almost weirdly calm as he asks what is clearly meant to be taken as a rhetorical question.

The words ring true. The Force is all but humming around them, vibrating in time to that truth. And yet . . . and yet . . . and yet, Obi-Wan cannot help but hear the voice of Master Yoda, muttering away in the back of his head: Beware the Dark Side . . . Anger, fear, aggression: the Dark Side of the Force are they. Easily they flow, quick to join you in a fight. If once you start down the Dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny. Consume you, it will . . . Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering . . . Fear of loss is a path to the Dark Side . . .

"You know the truth, Obi-Wan. You knew it long before and far better than I - well enough that you were able to guide me through the steps necessary, to cleanse the Force of that twisted taint of corruption we in our folly call the Dark Side, as if it were the same thing as the darkness that is a natural feature of the Force! Why fight to turn away from it, now? Accept it. See the truth for what it is and what it means for you, for us, for all those beings who will train to be Jedi Bendu within our new Order. Please. See the truth. See yourself," Anakin quietly presses, stepping forward as he speaks to close the distance Obi-Wan has put between them until their bodies are touching all along their fronts, swaying closer and winding his arms around Obi-Wan's waist, head lowering closer still, so that he can seal his request by sealing Obi-Wan's mouth with his own, a kiss that breaths love and hope and an absolute perfection of trust between Obi-Wan's slightly parted lips.

And at that, as Anakin embraces him and washes Obi-Wan full of faith and love, Obi-Wan feels himself slipping into a light trance - a state of timelessness created as much by that love as by the Force as it flows over and into him, seeping into his pores and slipping down below, into the complex interplay of muscles and joints, tendons and bones, and all the various components of his body, permeating his entire being and, in the process, affirming who and what he is, as well as why - imprinting itself upon him, body and soul. Obi-Wan finds himself being compelled to recall everything that the Force has meant to him, as a Jedi - serenity and courage and purpose in the form of a fierce justness, an unbending and unfailing source of unforgivingly compassionate justice for all beings; absolute loyalty, a dedication and faithfulness that looks past what others may want or believe that they need to what is truly best for them, and the will to overcome all odds in the pursuit of that greater good; the pure love of the Light, of the fellowship of an Order wholly devoted to the preservation and dissemination of that Light, of friends and colleagues who are as an enormous extended family within that Light, which binds the Jedi together and gives them their purpose, their drive to protect and to foster and disseminate that Light, that love, that close-knit fellowship; and, most of all, the actual strength of a blazing white power that flourishes most in a state of peace and absolute acceptance, in the bright and inherently vital light of day. These memories influence and form the innermost core of who and what he is, both shaping and permeating his memories, his upbringing as an initiate of the Temple, as a Jedi made fierce and vivid, resplendent in the power and glory of the Light of the Force, a living symbol of compassion and courage and justness, justice, a living banner of Light itself.

Then Anakin's mouth moves upon his, breathing in the love and devotion that Obi-Wan is radiating outwards in answer to his presence, as naturally and constantly as a star radiates light, and this time, when the Force swells up from within and all around and throughout him and the light semi-trance comes, it is not his extremely public life as a Jedi but rather his far more private innermost life, his life as the unacknowledged Chosen One, that the Force pulls forth from deep within his mind and heart. And Obi-Wan, in remembering, comes to understand and acknowledge a great many things: the painful but inescapable necessity of lies and deception and manipulation, in times when the truth is simply too dangerous to risk acknowledging, even within oneself, much less registering within the weak or easily influenced or unshielded or simply just too open minds of others; the similar necessity of unflinchingly ruthless decisions, agonizingly made but rightly decided, when no other options are open; of carefully measuring and suspicious glances both at and from those surrounding him, when complacency might otherwise be fatal; of strength that comes when only despair is possible; and, above and beyond all else, Obi-Wan recognizes the might of a profoundly dark and natural power that thrives in the deepest calm of the shadows of restful, ineluctable night. It is a power that is of the Force, that is of the Dark, but it is also purely natural, and it is not in any way evil or unnatural. It is not, by any stretch of the imagination, what the Jedi and the Sith alike have, for millennia, assumed to be and called by the name of the Dark Side of the Force.

No, this is something else altogether, something as wholly natural as light, as the Light, itself. It isn't a thing of insanity or anger, of hatred or fear, aggression or suffering. Instead, Obi-Wan's thoughts acknowledge and give shape to the darkly beautiful seeming of a shadowy dancer full of deadly grace and patient plans, an image hypnotic in its calculating coldness and brutal in its will to survive, primitive and unabashedly open in its dedication to that will to live and to propagate, a natural symbol of endurance and steadily patient, painstaking, and perhaps even painful growth, and a living and natural banner for all Dark things and creatures and beings. To the protection of this darkness, the siren lure of this Dark standard alone, would the broken and downtrodden come - all those who were too damaged by war and abuse and chaos and evil and mischance to be able to simply calmly trust in hope any longer, all those for whom bright joy would be a strange language that they could no longer instinctively understand. Yet, Obi-Wan did and could and does understand - not just the revealing warmth of the Light, but also the protecting cover and embrace of the Dark, of darkness - and with the part of himself that has always been of the Dark, he would still be able to touch them, and they would see themselves in him, and so allow his touch, his protection, his teaching, and his healing love. In darkness, he could find the lost and despairing, and in darkness he would be able to gather them home again.

Obi-Wan's face is wet when he resurfaces from that particular revelation. "Anakin - "

"I know, Obi-Wan. I saw and I felt it, too. Please, don't worry. I'll be with you, in this as in everything. We'll find a way to make the others understand and to make what the Force wants to happen become a reality. No matter how impossible it might seem. We'll find a way. We always do. We're /Anakin and Obi-Wan/, /Kenobi and Skywalker/, remember? We can do anything, as long as we're together."

"But - !"

"Now, Master, what did I tell you about buts? Unless, of course, you mean that as an offer - or perhaps a demand?" Anakin asks, batting his eyelashes wildly and brazenly sliding a hand down Obi-Wan's back until he is cupping one of Obi-Wan's buttocks, all in an attempt to distract Obi-Wan from his worry and his sorrow and the lingering self-doubt that not even the Force can entirely erase yet - not after decades of living with the constant burdens of self-doubt and guilt from being told by the Code and Council and everything within the Order that has been so in need of eradication that nothing he could ever do is or ever could be good enough. The outrage Anakin feels for that obvious sense of lingering doubt and guilt infuriates him so utterly that he wants to spin around and go back to the Council Chamber, demand to know of Yoda and Mace and, Force take it, yes, even Qui-Gon Jinn just what they were thinking, to inflict something so inexcusably horrible and deeply scarring on someone as fundamentally/ good/ as Obi-Wan Kenobi. But instead of giving in to the temptation to rub their noses into the evil that they've done, Anakin squeezes his handful of firm flesh until Obi-Wan gasps and colors when his hips buck, thrusting him first back against that grasp and then forward into the solid bulk of Anakin.

"Anakin! We are in public here!" Obi-Wan's cheeks and throat are flushing a deep red, but in spite of his scolding he doesn't try to pull away. And when Anakin's mouth spreads into a self-satisfied and cocky grin, Obi-Wan can no longer help himself. Uncontrollably, he begins to laugh, chucking quietly at first but inevitably giving in to a steadily increasing mirth until finally he is shaking helplessly with laughter in Anakin's arms, hands clinging tightly to Anakin's tunics in an attempt to anchor himself so that he won't just slide down into a heap on the floor, utterly undone, and laugh and laugh until the tears just spring from his eyes.

With a quiet but confident murmur of, "Yes. But you love me, anyway," Anakin simply holds Obi-wan and lets him laugh his fill.

As far as he's concerned, he'll take laughter over tears any day.


***

Between their not quite arguments over Cody's instructional vid and Master Windu and the intervention of the Force, lending the weight of its power and surety to Anakin's declarations, the two of them end up spending a good extra half an hour in the stairwell, and because of this Grand Masters Qui-Gon and Dooku catch up with them at the bottom of the Council Spire. Qui-Gon takes one look at Anakin's stance - one arm curled protective around Obi-Wan's waist and the other raised so that his hand is burrowed in the folds of Obi-Wan's outer robe, fingers latched tight around the material and fingertips no doubt closed around at least the upper layer of tunic beneath that robe as well - and Obi-Wan's wet face and instantly takes a fighting position, hand shifting to rest upon the hilt of his lightsaber as if to ward off an actual foe of flesh and blood, as he demands, "Has something happened? Young ones - "

"Too much. And not enough." Anakin's voice is quiet, controlled, but he cannot hide the hurt in his eyes, and Qui-Gon's hand falls limply to his side as he forehead creases in anguished regret and his head lowers in shame.

"If there is anything we can do - " Dooku begins, brows creasing in concern and an odd, unfamiliar hesitancy in his voice.

"I think the Jedi have already done more than enough. Anything more must come from the Jedi Bendu. And we're not quite there yet, are we?" Anakin only cuts in, his lips curling slightly in a small and mirthless smile.

"Anakin. Peace. Please." Obi-Wan's voice is extremely soft, and yet there is something in that gentle voice, in his simple, straightforward request, that shatters Anakin's outrage and sends what, until that moment, has been a deep and abiding anger rushing out of him just as if it were nothing more than poison draining from a lanced boil, so that Anakin finds himself standing at the bottom of the stairwell up into the Council Spire, body angled between Obi-Wan and the Grand Masters as if to protect his former Master from an actual physical attack, blinking in sudden astonishment at his behavior.

Feeling suddenly very young, and very tired, Anakin sighs an apology. "Forgive me, Grand Masters. It is not your fault. Or at least not entirely your fault. It is no one person's fault, and that is the entire problem. Things would be much easier, if there was someone who could take all of the blame for everything that has gone so entirely wrong in the Jedi Order. Force forfend anything should ever be easy." With another hitching sigh, Anakin bows his head contritely. "We are going to need more than just Healers - more, even, than Soul Healers - to heal the hurts that the Code and all the other impossible rules and expectations have torn into the psyches of all of us. Not even the Force itself can heal so much damage, undirected. We're going to need better Healers than the ones we have. Mind Healers, maybe, if such a thing even exists . . . "

Obi-Wan's gasp is so soft that Anakin almost doesn't hear it. But the sudden tensing in his body is impossible to miss. Anakin snaps his head around and is about to demand to know what's wrong when Obi-Wan begins to speak, the words tumbling over themselves in his haste to get them out. "The General Recall - Grand Masters, when you give it, it must be for all. Not just the Jedi and the Padawans. The exiles, too. The ones who've never been to Coruscant, because they are heterodox, not truly recognized by the Temple as Jedi, taught by the maverick and the outcast and the Grey Jedi, like Master Djinn Altis. The order must be for them all. We need them! The New Jedi Bendu Order will need all of them. They are as much a necessary component for the future of this Order as are we. The exiles. The outcasts. The half trained and the only partially instructed, taught by others whose own training was never completed. Those of differing Force traditions. All! We will need them, Masters: we'll need them all. And the sooner they come to us, the better it will be, for us and the Republic - no, not the Republic. The Galactic Republic is no more, and it will not come again. The New Alliance of the Republic. For the New Alliance of the Republic and the galaxy."

"The General Recall will be drafted for all who have even the faintest of ties to the Order, including those who have been sent to the Agri-Corps, the Medi-Corps, and the Exploration Corps," Dooku immediately promises, voice firm but soothingly calm. "Even those few souls who have been turned out of the Temple on charges of various wrongdoings or failures to adhere to the Council's orders or the Code's rule of conduct will be asked to return, if only so that we will have the chance to reevaluated their fitness for this Order."

"There are some who asked to be released from the entire Order, who instead of being reassigned to one or another branch of the Jedi Service Corps have become attached to the GAR. The General Recall will include them, as well," Qui-Gon elaborates, finality in both is voice and stance. "We will not exclude anyone, Obi-Wan. They will all be called home to the Order."

"It's not enough. It won't be enough. But it's a start - a necessary beginning. We must have all of them, to garner the numbers we will need for the task ahead. This Order can no longer afford to remain isolated on Coruscant. We cannot remain at a remove from the beings we are sworn to protect. We must spread out through the galaxy, establish chapterhouses and schools and Temples in as many different systems as we can, grow into as many different gathering enclaves as we can muster, spread out among the stars like an unfurling net of light," Obi-Wan insists. "We need more Jedi. We should ask the Ithorians, the Twi'lek, the Wookiees, the Thisspiasians, the Iktotchi, the Quermians, the Lannik, the Ongree, the Kel Dor, the Sullustans, the Nautolans, the Blubreen, the Sunesi, the Shards, the Draethos, the Barabel, the Vurk, the Cathar, the Nazzar, the Weequay, the Neti, the Togruta, the Klatooinians, the Aleena, the Anx, the Wol Cabasshites, the Falleen, the Bothans, the Trandoshans, the Kaminoans, the Gran, the Chev, all subspecies of the Nikto, the Dressellians, the Epicanthix, the Boltrunians, the Gotal, the Fosh, the Chadra-Fan, the Mon Calamari, the Christori, the Arconas, the Vultans, the Anzati (if they can be taught to embrace the Light and forego draining others of their /'luck'/), the Krevaaki, the Anomids, the Rodians, the Celegians, the Eirraucs, the Vuvrians, the Rindaoians, the Whiphid, the Armalats, the Duinuogwuin, the Omwati, the Tchuukthai, the Coway, the Shistavanens, the Teevans, the Arhan, the Ansata, the Duros, the Kushiban, the Amphi-Hydrus (if they can be persuaded to embrace the Light), the Ho'Din, the Gand, the Cereans, the Equani who survived that terrible weapons test malfunction . . . there are so many we must contact, about testing! Others are so strong in the Force - the Arkanians, the Miraluka, the Zabrak, the Kiffar, the Korunnai, the Chalactans, the Mirialans, the Zeltrons, the Ithorians, and the Qiraash, among others - that we would be best served by inviting them whole into the Order."

"Obi-Wan, we've spoken of some of this already," Anakin gently reminds him, firmly suppressing his worry over his former Master's wild and staring eyes. "What are you seeing now, that bothers you so?" he then quietly asks, his hand tightening a fraction upon Obi-Wan's hip.

"When you said Mind Healers, I saw the others, a flickering progression of different mavericks and self-exiles and those who were not fully trained within the Temple, if they were even trained on Coruscant at all. And then a couple. Associated with Master Altis, somehow. His students, perhaps? Young, but probably old enough to have been Knighted, by now, if they had been trained by the Order. The woman has a lightsaber at her belt and is quite tall and slender, with gentle gray eyes and a thick cloud of loosely curling dark brown hair. The man is still taller, with close-cropped auburn curls and very large, very bright, but obviously shuttered blue eyes. I cannot see that he has a lightsaber, but there is something about him . . . something strange. The Force moves around him differently than it would around Jedi, even one only partially trained in Jedi ways. It moves more like the way I've seen it move around those of the Miraluka or the Kiffar, the Chalactans or Mirialans or Qiraash, who have not received Jedi training," Obi-Wan explains, his wide eyes intent on Anakin's face and yet also fixed upon far distances as he reels off the names of a handful of different species of near-humans whose people are well known to be at least marginally Force-sensitive. "Though perhaps . . . perhaps he is merely of a tradition so different from that of the Jedi that the Force responds to him differently than it does to us."

"Other Force traditions, like those of the Korunnai, are detailed within the Archives, and they will all be contacted, at length, about the possibility of allying with or even joining the New Jedi Bendu Order outright. But not until this war has ended and the Jedi have had a chance to at least begin to adapt to the new Order and to reaffirm their mandate, to obey the will of the Force and to aid in spreading its Light through the protection and increase of peace and justice in the galaxy. Is there anything else that we need to do, aught else that we should know about or plan for now, that cannot wait until peace is certain?" Qui-Gon asks quietly.

"There will be more. But not - not now, apparently," Obi-Wan blinks, body relaxing as the frantic need leaves his voice, eyes refocusing solely on the two Grand Masters. "I am sorry. The far-sight - it comes and goes, as it wills."

"It is the will of the Force. If we needed to know more now, then the Force would provide. Do not worry, young one. What you have is a gift, and we will treat it as such," Dooku explains, his calm voice carefully diffusing both Obi-Wan's budding frustration and rising sense of guilt, over his inability to completely control the far-sight visions. "We would be ungrateful indeed to clamor for more, like greedy children."

"Dooku is right: the Force will provide. You should go on and pack your things, as you were intending, instead of worrying. Whatever else there may be, it will come when it is ready. And we will be at the landing deck, to see you off, if there is anything else you need to ask of us or to tell us," Qui-Gon assures his former Padawan, his smile deep but gentle.

"Yes, Grand Masters. You're right, of course: there's no sense worrying about it now. Grievous will be more than enough to keep us occupied," Obi-Wan nods is head slightly, lips twitching in wry amusement. "No sense in chasing after trouble when we've already got enough troubles as it is."

"We'll see you in another couple of hours then, Grand Masters," Anakin quickly agrees, bowing his head. "Come on, Master. We still need to go by my suite, before we can start packing, remember?" he adds then, gently pulling Obi-Wan along with him as he begins to walk away, in the opposite direction from which the two Force Spirits are already starting to move.

Several long moments later, Obi-Wan turns a curious but slightly preoccupied gaze to Anakin, asking, "Do we really need to go to your rooms, Anakin? I thought there were still some droids about that you'd cobbled together that you trust enough to pack for you, for missions?"

"There are, Master, but I'll need to reprogram a few of the Temple's droids to help them start moving my things back into your suite, now won't I?"

"Oh. Yes. I suppose so, at that," Obi-Wan nods distractedly, mind obvious still on the far-sight vision.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Hmm?"

"Stop dwelling on the vision, or I'll tell Bant you've been fretting about things that you can't change, again, and not eating enough, and she'll hound you from here to Utapau and back."

Obi-Wan starts at that, turning to look at Anakin, eyes narrowing at his innocently serene expression. "That is blackmail, partner-of-mine."

"There's a difference between blackmail and a promise, Obi-Wan. Besides," Anakin adds, mouth spreading into a cheeky grin, "there are some extenuating circumstances that you're forgetting to take into account."

"Oh?" Obi-Wan arches a challenging eyebrow. "And those are?"

Leaning in close, so that his mouth is almost touching Obi-Wan's left ear and his breath tickles warmly at his neck, Anakin conspiratorially explains, "That we still have the better part of three hours, and it shouldn't take more than half an hour for me to give the droids some new orders and the two of us to get packed."

"And?"

"And my bed is guaranteed to already have clean sheets on it," Anakin laughs quietly, leaning forward to press a kiss against the pulse point at the side of Obi-Wan's neck - thankful beyond words that when they had dressed, he'd been able to substitute the high-necked, darker brown inner tunic that Obi-Wan's hands had automatically reached after with one of the older, lighter colored, less formal (and, hence, less restrictive for Anakin, who always wants to have easy access to Obi-Wan's lovely neck) tunics Obi-Wan still has from the time before he had been officially recognized as a Jedi Master and had therefore begun dressing even more conservatively (as is apparently traditional and expected of most Jedi Masters - yet another item Anakin looks forward to changing, with the New Jedi Bendu Order).

When Anakin raises back up again, Obi-Wan's eyes are once again wide and startled, his lips parting - whether for a protest or an acceptance or perhaps simply to loose a moan of pleasure or even anticipation, Anakin doesn't know and doesn't care to wait to find out. Instead, shifting forward, hands planted firmly on Obi-Wan's hips, he leans back down and kisses Obi-Wan, before any sound can emerge from his opening mouth. After that, there's no room for protest or denial. Obi-Wan's body arches up against him, and his opening mouth moves beneath Anakin's, helping to shape a searing kiss. Several long moments later, when the kiss is over, Obi-Wan wraps one arm tightly around Anakin's waist and slides his other hand up to his nape, tunneling his fingers into Anakin's hair before cupping the back of his skull and drawing Anakin's head down to rest against his left shoulder. Nuzzling into the thick golden locks, he inhales the warm fragrance of shampoo-fresh hair and clean skin, his exhaled breath rippling across the surface of Anakin's scalp and eliciting a shiver of pleasure. Snaking his arms further up beneath Obi-Wan's outer robe in answer, Anakin slides his palms caressingly up and down his back, trailing fingertips up and down his spine and kneading at the tensed muscles of his shoulders as they sway together, Obi-Wan's face still buried in Anakin's hair. Yielding to the pressure playing up and down his spine, Obi-Wan melts into Anakin like warm honey, giving in. Anakin shivers as Obi-Wan's lips trace wetly up the side of his neck, pausing to suckle at the hollow beneath the crease behind his ear, nibbling at his lobe gently before continuing up the side of his jaw, licking a moist path up from chin to cheek. Clear gray-green-blue-indigo eyes meet his then, a whisper of a smile lighting their depths and creasing their edges ever so slightly as their noses brush together, back and forth and back again, before Obi-Wan angles his head to the side and claims Anakin's lips.

Smiling into the kiss, Anakin slides a hand back around Obi-Wan's side, counting each rib as he works his way steadily beneath the layers of his tunics, pulling them apart on its journey from waist to chest until finally the hot weight of his palm can settle over Obi-Wan's pounding heart, his thumb sliding outwards to rasp across the nearest nipple, coaxing the nub into taut hardness with each scrape of his 'saber-calloused skin. Opening his mouth to swallow the moan that elicits, Anakin deepens their kiss, pulling back only to trace Obi-Wan's lips with his tongue, prodding nimbly at the creases where they meet before thrusting inside. Obi-Wan tastes so good, the cavern of his mouth hot and humid, the spicy flavor of the hot tea he had drunk before their journey up to the Council Chamber still lingering on his tongue, and Anakin savors that sweet spiciness, rasping his tongue across first the slightly rough top surface and then the smooth underside of Obi-Wan's tongue before angling upwards to stroke the roof of Obi-Wan's mouth with slow, thorough sweeps. Carefully angling his head, he opens his mouth even more, sucking Obi-Wan's lips into his mouth as he continues to thrust within, alternating deep probes with sharp nibbles against Obi-Wan's lips, followed by soothing licks. Obi-Wan tenses against him at that, his fingers digging into Anakin's waist and chest as he groans, the sound greedily swallowed by Anakin's mouth, devouring his.

Breaking the kiss, Obi-Wan gasps for air, turning dazed and darkened eyes up to meet his. Gaze sharpening, Anakin simply smiles at him, a feral expression ripe with promise, before leaning forward to nudge Obi-Wan's head slightly back so that he can bury his face in Obi-Wan's neck, biting sharply along the tendon just below his jaw at the same time he hauls Obi-Wan even closer, cupping his left hand around Obi-Wan's buttocks and squeezing as he thrusts his hips in time to his rhythmic tugging at Obi-Wan's taut nipple, alternating between teasing at that peaked hardness and sucking the hot skin of Obi-Wan's neck as his other arm continues to bind them together. Obi-Wan throws his head back, the thought that they are in public no longer registering, sagging against the supporting arm still wrapped tightly about him, mouth opening and closing in a vain attempt to speak as what feels like jolts of raw electricity runs from his nipple to his groin, now straining almost painfully against the material of his pants as he arches helplessly against Anakin's churning hips. Anakin is the only thing keeping him grounded, the sweet pleasure-pain of his teeth against his neck and the heavy, solid weight of the powerful young body pressed flush to his slighter form the only reality in the sensory whirlwind.

Dragging his mouth up Obi-Wan's neck once more, teeth scraping lightly against his skin along the way, Anakin works his way back up to Obi-Wan's mouth, catching Obi-Wan's lower lip between his teeth, licking at the lush flesh before bringing their lips together in another scorching kiss. Afterwards, pulling away only far enough to allow himself enough room to speak, Anakin tells him, "I think we need to go to my suite now."

"I - I don't know, Anakin, shouldn't we - Force! Anakin!" His protests die on his lips, every rational thought fleeing as Anakin, greatly daring, lifts him bodily astride one hard thigh, rocking Obi-Wan's groin against tensed muscle as his fingertips work their way up and beneath the waistband of his pants to slide caressingly against the bare skin just below the lowest dip in his back, where the rich swell of his buttocks begin.

"No more talking now," Anakin all but growls, pulling Obi-Wan more firmly astride his thigh and sliding him upwards until their groins are pressed together, sliding his hand farther down Obi-Wan's pants to cup his right buttock and increase the leverage of his hold. "No. More. Thinking," he commands, each word emphasized with a short but demanding thrust.

And then there is no more time for either talking or thinking, because Anakin is cradling Obi-Wan entirely up off of the ground and, with a short burst of speed, they are moving along the twisting corridors, Anakin's haste so great that they are bursting their way into Anakin's suite far more quickly than Obi-Wan would've believed possible, their clothing already being stripped off and flung about the furnishings with wild abandon, Anakin all but tearing off and flinging away their outer robes and belts and tunics. Then a dark blue coverlet and soft indigo sheets are being ripped back from the bed without a care for cost or decorum, and Obi-Wan is being spread out before Anakin, scorching flesh sliding down his bared chest as Anakin slides down his body, hands tugging at Obi-Wan's pants and scrabbling hastily at his brown boots before his fingers turn to the problem of his own pants and boots. Anakin stills for just a moment, afterwards, after he has slithered his way back up Obi-Wan's now gloriously naked body, taking a moment to just see all of Obi-Wan, flushed and aroused and so incredibly beautiful that Anakin finds himself staring unabashedly, entranced enough that he jumps slightly when Obi-Wan slides a hand up to cup the ball of his shoulder. Fingers pressing gently against the heated golden flesh stretched across that scapula, Obi-Wan's face warms with a smile.

"No more thinking, remember? Come here, Anakin," Obi-Wan breathes, tugging him down for another kiss. Following the urgings of that hand, Anakin lowers his body to lie flush along Obi-Wan's side, pressing up against his warmth and peppering a series of kisses across his cheeks. Then, closing his eyes, he loses himself in Obi-Wan's mouth again, tunneling his arms under Obi-Wan's body to pull him closer. A muffled moan is Anakin's only warning before the twin grip of Obi-Wan's hands on his hips slide his body up and across, draping him flush atop the body that is now writhing shamelessly beneath him. A solid thigh presses up between his own, and in answer Anakin presses his own long right thigh down between Obi-Wan's, his left leg framing Obi-Wan's right as Obi-Wan arches upward, his hardness sliding up against the skin of Anakin's hip as the light covering of silky hair on his upper thigh slides deliciously against Anakin's own aroused flesh, naked and wanting.

With a flashing smile, Anakin takes advantage of that bowing body to trail his hands down Obi-Wan's back, squeezing the taut flesh at his waist before bringing his palms around to rest on the jut of hips, thumbs caressing the sharp press where pelvis meets leg. Obi-Wan shivers at the touch, goose-bumps rising on the surface of his arms and legs, and in response Anakin slides his right hand upwards until his palm is cupped across Obi-Wan's navel, rubbing back and forth with his thumb just below, the touch hard enough not to tickle and light enough to make Obi-Wan arch into the contact, seeking more, his body instinctively working to try to shift Anakin lower, to bring that gliding thumb into contact with the proof of Obi-Wan's arousal, nestled heavy and flushed against his right thigh and hip. Instead of immediately complying, Anakin bends his head, laving Obi-Wan's left collarbone with languorously thorough sweeps of his tongue. The path glimmers wetly, saliva-slick skin glowing in soft contrast to the warm expanse of the flush surrounding it. Blowing softly on the skin so recently painted wet, Anakin is rewarded with an unabashed full-body shudder of appreciation. Replacing tongue with teeth, he nips his way back along that same path before heading south to suckle the skin around one dusky nipple. With a mixture of short, soft kisses and hard, deep, open-mouthed suckles that scrape his teeth across Obi-Wan's skin, Anakin sets out to drive Obi-Wan to distraction, always varying the pace of his caresses and always being careful to avoid the hardened nub of flesh that is all but begging for his attention. Then, switching to the neglected right nipple, he repeats his torture, teasing and arousing until Obi-Wan finally cups his head in his hands, pressing and tugging and guiding his mouth directly to that nearest peaked hardness. Smiling, Anakin acquiesces, biting ever so lightly into the firm resilience of pectoral muscle before suckling in earnest, mouth sealed tightly to its prize as his cheeks hollow with the strength of his sucking.

After attending to both nipples, Anakin licks a path down Obi-Wan's torso, swirling patterns across his flushed skin with his tongue and kissing his way wetly along the ribcage that is heaving with labored breath beneath him. Lapping softly at the crease where Obi-Wan's left leg meets his hip, Anakin brushes his nose down against the soft swirls of silky coppery hair curling across Obi-Wan's groin, nuzzling into the hot space between his straining hardness, still at stiff attention against Obi-Wan's right hip and thigh, and the pendulous flesh dangling below. Pressing the blade of his tongue flat against the undersurface, just at the base, Anakin licks his way slowly upward from base to tip, laving the straining and heated skin as his hands rise up to Obi-Wan's nipples, squeezing and tugging in a point-counterpoint rhythm. Encircling the blunt head of that hard pillar of flesh with his lips, Anakin sucks strongly, trapping the tip of Obi-Wan in his mouth and drawing upon it as if he were pulling on the end of some enormous straw for several long moments before releasing the turgid flesh to slide across and probe at the slit at its center with the tip of his tongue. Continuing in his efforts, Anakin releases one nipple to angle his right hand up around that straining hardness, nestling around its base but also twisting back and forth around it and sliding up and down to caress the thin skin, his fingers stroking up along its length, loving the feel of that thin gliding layer of flesh under his hand, deliberately working it up and down to add to the sensations wracking Obi-Wan's body, stretching it until it is almost fully retracted and then gently trapping it under his palm. His mouth has already covered most the distance down to his hand when Obi-Wan's arches sharply, his hardness slamming up against the roof of Anakin's mouth and plunging the rest of the way down the squeezing muscles of the column of his throat.

"Anakin! Stop! I - "

Giving one last swallow around the unyielding bulk of that hardness, Anakin slowly levers himself higher, gliding up off of Obi-Wan and then sliding up along his body until he can brush his lips against Obi-Wan's, his hand wrapped snugly around the hardness now trapped between their straining stomachs. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing a hard kiss against Obi-Wan's lips. "Don't fight it. Just feel." With those words he begins to pump his encircling hand around that straining hardness, tightening his grip for a few seconds at the base on every downstroke and rubbing his thumb across the tip with every twisting upstroke. Soon, Obi-Wan's hips are rising helplessly to meet his hand, and a constant litany of whining moans and groaning, guttural noises are issuing from the arched throat in front of him, bared to the attention of his teeth and tongue, the tendons taut with strain.

When Anakin releases him, the air is shockingly cool against his wet and sensitized skin, and Obi-Wan whimpers helplessly, head thrashing back against the pillows. A moment of swift shifting motion, and then Anakin is sitting across his lap, crooning to him softly, wordlessly, soothing him, stroking his face and his hair and smiling, smiling fit to split himself in half with the smile, as he lifts and slowly settles, one hand holding Obi-Wan still, holding him in place while Anakin skewers himself upon him, in an almost slick seeming slow glide of incredible heat and almost painful constriction and clenching, greedy muscles and Anakin. Flames lick at the edges of his mind, sear their way across his senses, and Obi-Wan groans up towards Anakin's now almost maniacal grin, all teeth and feral need, a slight widening of that grin the only warning before Anakin slams himself downwards. There should have been pain, would have been pain, if they had been any other than who and what they are, but instead there's only stroking tightness and heat and the open acceptance of Anakin's body, eagerly taking in every last millimeter of him. Then Anakin leans in to kiss him, his hands searching and touching, finding sensitive places that make Obi-Wan respond to his touch with heat and motion and a wild pumping of his hips. When a thumbnail scrapes its way over his right nipple, Obi-Wan's entire body jerks rigid and he growls, sliding down the bed, grabbing the clenching muscles of Anakin's buttocks and shoving himself upwards into him with almost brutal ruthlessness. Anakin just arches, bowing back so suddenly and so sharply that for a moment he almost appears to be striving to bend himself double, his eyes closed and his mouth open in the unvoiced squared shape of a scream. Obi-Wan pulls him back forward, close enough to bite into his skin, teeth scraping greedily across Anakin's right nipple as his mouth opens to suck it inside, teeth closing around it not quite hard enough to hurt but more than hard enough to make a point.

An image flares into his mind, edged in flame, and Obi-Wan nods, once, hands coming to rest firmly on Anakin's hips, before he moves, using his considerable strength to roll them over in the bed, their motions so in tune that they miss not even one beat of the rhythm already forming between them as they turn. Trustingly, Anakin spreads his legs wider and raises them, helping Obi-Wan raise him up and bend his body until his legs are resting firmly across Obi-Wan's wide shoulders, the altered angle of penetration from this new position so deep that a deep keening cry of pleasure catches in the back of Anakin's throat and winds itself up, spooling and unspooling in wild shrieks and cries of passionate pleasure and affirmation. This position gives Anakin enough leverage to piston him upon Obi-Wan's body, hips thrusting violently to meet the hard thrusts of Obi-Wan's pelvis. When Obi-Wan trails his right hand across Anakin's belly, Anakin cries out in a slip-slide of panic, not ready for this end just yet, but then Obi-Wan's hand is wrapping snugly around the base of Anakin's own hardness, mirroring Anakin's earlier touch upon Obi-Wan's flesh and drawing the moment out with a swift application of constraining pressure. With a grin as wide and wild as Anakin's own earlier grin, Obi-Wan thrusts his entire body forward, sinuous in a way only passion can permit, leaning down to capture Anakin's mouth in a bruising kiss, and then begins to move that hand upon him. The combination of friction from their writing bodies and the thrusting of Obi-Wan within him and that hand moving upon him swiftly rises to a pleasure so complete that everything else whites out, nothing left in Anakin's awareness but love and need and desire and pleasure, nothing else real in his perception but movement and Obi-Wan and heat and the ecstacy wracking his body and sizzling mercilessly up and down his nerves.

Obi-Wan leans forward at the same instant Anakin curls his torso upwards, bodies striving for more closeness, and their mouths meet again, in a deep, long, drawn-out kiss. Their bodies continue to move together even as their tongues twine sinuously around one another, dancing together even as their bodies are, in perfect counterpoint rhythm to the pushing and thrusting and straining clash of hips, moaning wantonly into one another's open but sealed mouths as their bodies strive for an impossible closeness. After several long moments of this dance, Anakin can feel Obi-Wan's arms begin to shake, one hand trembling upon his chest and the other jerking slightly before stilling once again at the base of him, and so Anakin tilts his head back, gasping after air, before lunging simultaneously up and down, to drive himself more firmly upon Obi-Wan and to penetrate Obi-Wan's open and panting mouth with a ruthlessly deep thrust of tongue. Several times they do this, bodies hanging together as trapped screams reverberate between their sealed mouths, until neither one can bear it any longer. Pulling his mouth away from Obi-Wan's and shutting his teeth firmly upon the scream that wants to come, Anakin deliberately opens his eyes wide, capturing Obi-Wan in his gaze, before raising his body up into one last violent thrust, deliberately relaxing and then clenching his muscles as tightly as he can all around the throbbing, driving length of Obi-Wan as he slams down into him one more time. Even as Obi-Wan's mouth opens to the shape of Anakin's name - a hoarse, deep shout of affirmation and devotion - Anakin surrenders and looses a high, wailing cry, Obi-Wan's name tearing its way up out of him in a spiraling shriek of absolute love.

Their shared release is violently ecstatic, heat and pleasure and so much energy that they blaze uncontrollably with Light. Obi-Wan's throbbing convulsions inside of Anakin peak in time with an explosion of scalding wetness over Obi-Wan's pumping and twisting right hand, spilling out between their tightly cinched bodies as Anakin spasms helplessly, and it's too much, the heat and pleasure and spiking, bursting energy breaking over them as they explode into and through one another, love blinding and deafening them and binding them together and combusting with a flare of absolute /whiteness/, more than bright enough to make even the brightest, hottest glare of a noonday sun look pale and dim as single candle flame in comparison. Simultaneously rocketed up out of themselves and forward into one another, into the now wholly single shining soul shared between their two bodies, by breaking waves of ecstacy and the unrestrained explosion of energy between them, they hang together for an all too brief moment or an eternity, joined and joining in a conflagration of love that binds them completely together, in so many different senses of the word that it would be impossible to try to explain the sensation in anything so frail and fallible as words alone.

For a long time afterwards, when they finally find their shared way back to their bodies, back to their physical senses, they merely lie still, without speaking, entangled and sated and blazing with love, their shared Light washing the room with an almost painful intensity.

***