Warnings: Slash, angst, pre-RotS, implied non-con.
Pairings: Anakin/Obi-Wan
Rating: PG-16
Disclaimer: Owned by Lucas, et al.

Summary: Vignette concerning the aftermath of Anakin's possessiveness.

A/N: Be forewarned—this is a peculiar child of a peculiar brain. Whether the reader may find anything worthy of approbation, the author cannot say—except that she hopes the reader will show enough human respect and dignity to refrain from sacrificing her upon the alter of the reader's indignation. Thank most kindly for your time and for, if you may be so inclined, a memento of your visit. The author is, as always, the humble and pitiable servant of your entertainment.

:In This Land of Sinners:

Little lamb, dost thou know who made thee? Who made the tyger in the bower?

"Do you think this accomplished anything, Anakin?" asks Obi-Wan, recumbent upon the mussed bed in a casual sprawl of naked limbs. The white sheets twist, fetter-like, about his legs and one arm. He regards the golden back and broad shoulders of his one-time student with compassion and sorrow—and, perhaps, pity?

"You want to leave me."

A bracelet of bruises encircles each of Obi-Wan's wrists, and a pattern of finger prints and bloody crescents cluster about the sharp ridges of his hips—and each livid mark pulses with a flame-hot heartbeat. His own semen dries in ribbons of pale glaze upon his stomach; the urge to scratch tingles in his fingertips and plays a discordant tune along muscles and tendons, but the energy to galvanize desire into action has been exhaled moments before in a choked cry.

"It's the natural order of things: Masters and their Padawans part upon the Padawans becoming Knights, and then Masters choose new Padawans to guide along the path of the Jedi."

The earthy spice of the events of the past ten minutes permeates the air and congeals at the back of Obi-Wan's throat.

"How can you consider training one of those—those babies? None of them are even close to me in power. It would be degrading." Anakin's voice is heated by anger and thick with something Obi-Wan suspects to be tears. The young man cannot—or will not—release the tumult of negativity to the Force and, instead, lets it knot the muscles in his back with durasteel tension. The young man looks so brittle, so fragile, that Obi-Wan thinks a single touch will burst him into screaming shards.

"There is nothing degrading in guiding a young mind to maturity. It has never been power that determines a great Jedi; you should know this by now."

"You want to replace me."

"Anakin…"

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and shivers as the whispering currents of air in the room evaporate the sweat upon his bared body.

How has it come to this? Why has it? Obi-Wan cannot account for his former Padawan's actions. Anakin has always seemed overeager to reach Knighthood, to finally stand on his own, but, when Obi-Wan expresses—in passing—an interest in the current batch of Initiates, the young man… does this.

Transgression. Violation.

But he doesn't cast out the net of blame to trap Anakin's conscience. The weight that has settled in his stomach is his own guilt, the consciousness of his own failings. The sharp pains singing up and down through his extremities must serve as his own penance. He will regret for them both, because Anakin will not.

"I won't," the young man says as he sits on the edge of the bed, naked and supremely uncaring that he is. "I won't let them or you. You're too good for all of them, every single one."

Obi-Wan opens his eyes and turns to gaze again to that strong, uncompromising back, to the stranger who wears a familiar skin. Where is Ani? Where is that child who saw the world through star-pierced eyes and listened to the Force with a wildly fluttering heart?

"You speak of attachment. You know—"

"Oh, I assure you I do, Master. You've lectured about it many times."

"To make you conscious of it and the inherent risks of—"

Anakin cuts him a look, blue eyes glittering with unnatural intensity. The words expire upon Obi-Wan's tongue and drift into his lungs like fine ash. The Force swells within the room, pressing against the walls, the ceiling, the floor and him, straining against the confines of physical dimensions.

"It's too late. We are attached. The Force gave you to me. It killed Master Jinn so I could have you. We are bound."

Anakin seals these ominous words within the Force.

And so they are.

A frozen sliver of fear slides deep into the meat of Obi-Wan's heart. He raises a trembling hand and cups the flesh that conceals the aching muscle, the organic center of his newly seeping anguish.

"Do you understand?" Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan looks away.

The bed arrests his fall as Anakin forces him down with brute strength. Surprise steals the advantage from between his fingers and a white-static numbness devours thought. He turns his face away from the heated mouth as hard hands wrench his legs apart.

Eyes closed, he forgives Anakin.

End