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Obi-Wan first saw the boy during a winter sermon.
A storm had blown in the day before, coating the city in thick blankets of snow that covered sheets of ice that lurked below. The winds had built walls of snow around cars and against buildings, hiding away entrances and keeping people inside for the coming days. But a few arrived for Sunday sermon and communion, bundled up in coats and scarves and mittens that hid away their hands. They smiled at Obi-Wan as they kicked the snow off their boots, their cheeks and the tips of their noses pink with cold as they said their hellos with familiar voices. Sometimes Obi-Wan could expect congregations of forty or more, but that day there were only eleven to fill the pews of the church.
Mid-way through his homilies, that number changed to twelve.
The door opened at the very end of the long basilica, bright white light flooding the space momentarily before it was swallowed up by the shadows that lurked in the stonework and vaulted ceilings. Obi-Wan continued through his narration, determined to keep the homily under ten minutes.
But it wasn’t until the communion that Obi-Wan saw that the face was a new one. Hands steady he presented the bread and wine to his followers, tongues extended to receive the body of Christ, lips red with the sip of His blood, hearts filled with the blessing of His presence. Eyes he knew peered up at him one by one, until the last of the congregation filed back to their seats save for one.
The boy approached, blue eyes bright like the embers of a fire, striking Obi-Wan like the slice of a hot blade across his palms. His honey-brown curls coiled and shimmered above his proud head, unbowed and unbent, shoulders still slim pulled forward in a hawkish manner, innocence mixed with hunger splashed across his youthful features. He knelt before Obi-Wan, eyes searching, locked on to Obi-Wan like he was the Eucharist itself meant to feed and comfort, instil and fortify with the love of Christ himself.
With steady hands and a soft voice Obi-Wan placed the body of Christ upon a pink tongue, and held the challis as the boy consumed the blood of their Saviour.
“Go in the peace of Christ,” he said softly.
The boy smiled.
XXX
His name was Anakin Skywalker.
He had arrived in the town to attend the local university, leaving behind an even smaller town that Obi-Wan had only read briefly about in a magazine once. He’d attended church back home and felt a need to continue the tradition even though his belief in God had fractured over the years, heartache and loss taking a toll on him as it did with so many of Christ’s followers. Obi-Wan tried to convince him it was a test, but Anakin didn’t believe him, tension curling through his form as he sat in Obi-Wan’s office and stared at him through thick lashes.
But despite the crisis of faith he came to service every Sunday, sat in the back far away from the rest of the community, shoulders hunched and head ducked as he stared at Obi-Wan with eyes that continued to burn him.
After every service he would linger. Hands marred by labour in a workshop and stained with ink from messily written notes would be shoved in his jean pockets, balled up into fists that strained the material as he lurked along the perimeter, waiting for Obi-Wan to finish speaking with the rest of the congregation. Only when the last of them slipped away and Obi-Wan’s fellows of the cloth had disappeared into the labyrinth of the church would Anakin approach.
They spoke of matters of theology at first, Anakin debating without much finesse, his mind running ahead of his words as his thoughts tumbled from his lips. He didn’t like to be contradicted, didn’t like to be presented with opposing ideas, and yet he listened to Obi-Wan all the same. Debates of theology soon turned into Anakin divulging pieces of his life to Obi-Wan, snippets of his fears slipping through the mundane conversations about course work and heavy traffic.
It was in those moments that Anakin would lean forward as Obi-Wan spoke, attention fixed on him, locking him in place as Obi-Wan tried to guide Anakin in whatever aspect he needed. Obi-Wan would feel very exposed in those moments as the pretty boy with eyes like fire would stare at him with earnestness and… seduction, almost.
When Anakin eventually left Obi-Wan’s office either through his own volition or Obi-Wan’s gentle prompting, Obi-Wan was relieved.
XXX
He came to confession three months into his visits.
Obi-Wan recognized him by his footfalls, heavier with a longer stride than most of his congregation. When he slipped into the booth Obi-Wan could smell his cologne, cardamom and roses mixing with the dense incense of the church that swaddled Obi-Wan wherever he went. Obi-Wan had tried very hard not to notice how Anakin smelled and what his heat felt like when he stood near him by the church doors, or leaned against the desk of his office, or knelt before him as Obi-Wan placed the wafer on his pink, wet tongue. But it lingered regardless, scent welling up in Obi-Wan’s nose and deep in his chest, warmth spreading through him with the simple memory even as he prayed.
Almost always when he prayed.
He could see Anakin through the latticework, specks of light the shape of flowers dashed across his cheeks and jaw. But his eyes were hidden by shadows, head ducked as he leaned forward and took in a breath. He made the sign of the Cross, movements steady despite the ache in his lungs. Obi-Wan turned and bowed his head, willing himself to stare at anything but how the latticework shadowed Anakin’s features.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was… years ago.”
Anakin was silent after that, the air hung heavy with his voice. Obi-Wan was about to ask Anakin to continue but was stopped when Anakin shifted closer to the barrier, his voice closer now.
“I have been having… impure thoughts, Father. Of… of breaking a person. Of making them succumb to my will, my desires. Of having them do whatever it is I want them to do.”
“You wish to extort someone?” Obi-Wan asked, his brows furrowing as he tried to muddy through Anakin’s confession.
“No,” Anakin said, a breathless little laugh on the tip of his tongue that made Obi-Wan want to bite through his cheek. “I want to debase them, Father. I want to drag them down to my level, abandon everything they believe in to be with me. And I know I shouldn’t, Father. They are… they are good. They help people with what they do. But I want so badly for them to abandon it all and come down to the depths with me. To feel as I feel, to be as I am. I want them, Father. Completely and utterly. I want them…”
Obi-Wan could feel Anakin’s breath, smell the tobacco smoke and cinnamon gum on his lips as he pressed against the latticework and spoke his desires into his ears. He gripped the rosary that hung at his waist and pushed his thumb into the beads, his mind catching on his prayers as Anakin’s words tumbled through the muffled space.
“These thoughts… they are still thoughts, are they not?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Yes, Father.”
“Thoughts are not necessarily sinful, my Child. We all have thoughts and desires that we struggle with - what matters is not acting on them. We are, after all, fallible creations despite the infallibility of our Creator.”
“But I can’t stop thinking about this,” Anakin said. He shifted, the wooden seat creaking beneath him, dragging Obi-Wan’s attention back to him. He was staring at Obi-Wan through the barrier, eyes bright. Hungry. “I want to drag him down with me, make him feel as I do - unworthy of God’s love. I want him to cast everything aside and choose the love of the base - the carnal. And I would do it all if given a chance, Father.”
Obi-Wan swallowed. “I don’t believe you would,” he said quietly.
“I would.” Anakin stared at Obi-Wan, the embers quickly building into a firestorm. “Wouldn’t you?”
Squeezing on to the rosaries harder, Obi-Wan turned from the fire and stared into the darkness. Hidden here from the comfort of God, Obi-Wan was left with only his most base senses. There was no sound save for the thunder of Obi-Wan’s heart as it beat frantically against his chest, the artery in his neck pulsing as fear and desire blossomed up inside. The scent of the church - thick incense, crisp linen, fresh brewed coffee - lingered no more, instead replaced by the heady cardamom of Anakin’s cologne and the tinge of smoke that billowed from his breath. And the heat - it was overwhelming, burning through the screen as Anakin pressed against the wood in supplication and desperation, a question on his lips that Obi-Wan should have begged him not to ask.
“God challenges us in many ways, my Child,” Obi-Wan began, voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. He would believe in the power of his faith, letting his words and actions be guided by God and not the whims of his heart. “Sometimes he challenges us with the loss of a loved one, the loss of health, the loss of faith. And sometimes he challenges us with things more tempting, allowing us to choose for ourselves what our best path forward is. But in the end He can only guide and instruct us. It is up to us to take the lessons He has imparted upon us and do the right thing. Trust in God and his love, my Child, and soon these untoward thoughts will slip away.”
“But—”
“My Child, this is not a debate. You came seeking advice in an act of penance, nothing more.”
Anakin pulled back from the latticework, taking his warmth with him. “Then what would you have me do, Father?”
“As you haven’t done anything, reciting the Act of Contrition should suffice.”
“Lead me through it?”
Obi-Wan squeezed the rosary until his hand ached. “Repeat after me; My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Saviour Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In his name, my God, have mercy.”
Anakin’s voice followed along with Obi-Wan’s, soft beneath the roughness of Obi-Wan’s as he clung to the words himself. He would not sin, he would not falter, and through the grace of his God and the power of his belief, he would avoid what would lead him to sin.
He kept his gaze from Anakin as he spoke the Prayer of Absolution for the both of them.
“Go with God, my Child,” Obi-Wan whispered.
Anakin slipped from the confessional, taking Obi-Wan’s weakness with him.
XXX
He dreamed of Anakin.
Anakin spread out on the altar, gilded skin bright beneath the candlelight, jewellery made of gold with gems draped across supple limbs and around a taught neck, muscles flexing with every slow, luxurious breath as he demanded Obi-Wan cast aside his God to worship at his feet.
Anakin curled around the cross, hands like claws that dug into the wood, knees bent, back hunched as the jagged bones of his spine poked through like the sliced wings of a fallen angel.
Anakin knelt before Obi-Wan, mouth spread wide, hands clasped together, the ecstasy of absolution on his features as Obi-Wan poured the blood of their Saviour into his greedy mouth.
Anakin sat at Obi-Wan’s desk, legs crossed, attention fixed and focused, asking for everything and nothing as he led Obi-Wan closer and closer to a precipice he both feared and longed for in equal measure.
Anakin, in all ways and in every way; beautiful and tempting, monstrous and frightening; closer to God than any creation before him.
XXX
Obi-Wan prayed.
He prayed until his knees ached and his chest hurt, tears staining his cheeks as he begged and pleaded with the Lord to take the dreams from him. Sometimes he demanded answers, desperate to know why God would torture him with such debauched imagery. He was his loyal servant, a man of God, draped in the cloth and doused in the fires of His love since he was a small boy full of hope and genuine belief.
Why would God want him to falter?
Why would God place such hurt upon his chest and worry across his brow?
Why would God wish to hurt him so?
Thoughts both traitorous and frightening coursed through Obi-Wan’s mind; of what it would be like to give in, to bite into the flesh of the apple and taste the fragrant juices that swelled up; of what it would be like to abandon his calling and touch that which had been denied to him for so long - to feel another person’s body beneath his hands and across his tongue, to hear their gasps, feel their pleasure, sink into their existence and worship another sort of god.
Obi-Wan’s vows of chastity were sacred, taken by a man who had been far stronger than he was now. He had loved another in his youth, devoted time to them in his thoughts and occasionally in his affections, but they had been chaste and pure, Obi-Wan’s devotion to God coming first and above all.
But this was different.
He craved Anakin. He wanted Anakin to touch him, grab him, devour him; his body to be feasted on, teeth sharp across his neck and between his thighs, tongue hot like molten metal as it slid across turgid flesh, words sinful and base across the back of his neck and the dip of his spine.
Obi-Wan wanted the love of God and yet craved the desires of a boy; he needed the certainty of his faith and yet ached for the comfort of another’s body; he had to prove himself to God and his parishioners, and yet took delight in the thought of abandoning it all for the wants and will of a pretty boy who spoke like an angel and demanded like the fallen archangel himself.
Obi-Wan prayed.
XXX
Anakin returned to the church the following Sunday, but when he approached Obi-Wan left before Anakin even had the chance to speak. He avoided him from thereon out, finding excuse after excuse as to why he could not hold council, why confession was attended to by one of his fellows, and why he could no longer look his congregation in the eye as he had before.
I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.
For a time Anakin respected the boundaries. He stopped lingering in the doorway, stopped coming to confession, stopped standing outside the door of Obi-Wan’s office, his shadow long beneath the crack in the door, his weight heavy against old wood that creaked and swayed with each subtle movement.
I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.
But in the fourth month as spring bled into summer, and as the thoughts of sweat slick thighs and skin that tasted of wine drifted from Obi-Wan’s troubled mind, Anakin returned to confession.
Obi-Wan heard him once again before he saw him, footsteps heavy on the stone floors. He paused outside the door, anticipation and intoxicating fear slipping through Obi-Wan before the door opened and the scent of him enveloped Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan looked away from the latticework and closed his hand around the crucifix of his rosary, pressing the point into his palm.
I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Anakin mumbled into the confessional. His voice was sweet and soft as it always was, but there was a tremble just below that spoke of thoughts left to rot. “It’s been four months and two days since my last confession.”
Obi-Wan waited for Anakin to continue, but he did not. It was then that he realized he wasn’t to make sure it was Obi-Wan who was seated in the darkness.
“Go on, my Child,” Obi-Wan said.
“The thoughts have returned,” Anakin said as he pressed closer to the barrier, one hand touching the delicate woodwork, ink stained fingertips visible in the lowlight. “I know you told me to stop thinking as I was, but I didn’t want to. I can’t stop thinking about you, Father.”
Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. “Anakin - my Child. You mustn’t give in to your desires. God’s love is only given to those who follow his path. To allow traitorous thoughts such as yours to linger is unhealthy, my Child. Especially when they are desires that will never come to pass.”
“You don’t believe that,” Anakin said quickly.
“I do—”
“God’s love is endless,” Anakin continued. He was leaning further in, breath hot across Obi-Wan’s cheek as he spoke through the latticework. Obi-Wan finally turned to look at him. His eyes burned behind the shadows, bright like fire, heating Obi-Wan up as he stared back at him. He both seemed desperate and yet in control, words firm but features uncertain. “And God loves us even though we have sinned and will continue to sin. He knew that when He created us that we were imperfect, but He loves us and cherishes us all the same. He has to. He has to love us, Obi-Wan. Otherwise what good is He? What kind of God cannot love their own fallible creation?”
I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.
“God loves us despite our sins, my Child, not because of them. And he would not wish us to give up on our fight for perfection, because it is through this struggle that we find—”
“I don’t want to find God’s love. I just want your love,” Anakin said.
He was just a boy, young and brash and idealistic. Obi-Wan was none of those things - not anymore, not when it counted. He’d devoted himself to God and not a mortal who looked every inch a deity himself. But it didn’t make Anakin’s words mean anything less. The way in which he spoke the words, the conviction of them, it meant something. He squeezed his hands together tightly, pressing the beads into his skin, reminding himself of his prayers and his oath.
He could not fall into temptation.
But he was bound to help his flock.
I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.
“Come to the church every evening after your classes, my Child, and I will guide you through proper meditations and prayer. Hopefully, through my guidance, you will be able to find… peace with God.”
Anakin slumped back in the booth, clothes rustling. Obi-Wan looked away from him and ducked his head as he recited the Prayer of Absolution.
XXX
In the evenings Anakin appeared.
Things had changed. Where once Obi-Wan had been welcoming of Anakin’s presence - excited even - he now dreaded the sight of him. His skin had become a pretty copper colour beneath the rays of the late spring sun, brown locks turning slightly blonde as the rays bleached them with their heavy touch. He wore loose fitted shirts with collars that hung low across his neck, his form no longer bundled up in layers of sweaters that hid his slim, powerful figure.
It was harder to ignore the heat he inspired in Obi-Wan, harder still to retreat into his dreams when Anakin continued to follow him. God had done little to guide Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan had come to the conclusion that perhaps he’d done something to offend Him. No longer did he feel His guidance and His radiance, but rather was subject to a cold silence that both frightened and intrigued.
Anakin knelt next to him in front of the altar and the two would fall into prayer. At first Obi-Wan guided him through the words hoping that Anakin felt them as he did, but as the weeks passed they would slip into quiet meditation next to one another. With the familiar scent of incense thick in the air, the warmth from the candles that glittered beneath the vaulted ceilings, and the calming sight of the painted frescoes looking down at them, Obi-Wan would finally feel peace if just for a moment.
Perhaps this was what He wanted for Obi-Wan - to find Anakin, guide him to His light, and find peace in the purpose of his work. Perhaps Anakin was not a temptation, but a job sent down to him.
But peace lasted only so long. As soon as Anakin had left, the church quieted, and Obi-Wan was in bed, he saw only him. The dreams followed him, goaded on by the remembrance of Anakin knelt next to him, his head ducked and soft lips pressed against his knuckles, impossibly long lashes dashed across rosy cheeks as he followed Obi-Wan’s guidance, the little furrow in his brow receding for just a moment. These images followed Obi-Wan, pursuing him until Obi-Wan thought perhaps it was better to go mad by lack of sleep than the visions he was subject to.
He wanted Anakin.
Perhaps more than the love of God.
XXX
“Sorry I’m early.”
Obi-Wan glanced up from his desk to see Anakin standing in the doorway. He was wearing a tank-top that bared his shoulders, his hoodie hung loose in his hands. He smiled when he saw Obi-Wan, a soft little thing that curled warmth through Obi-Wan’s stomach like the sight of his Lord did before.
“You need to cover your shoulders,” Obi-Wan said as he put his pen down.
Anakin shrugged as he entered. “Sorry.” He made no move to do as asked.
Obi-Wan hadn’t had Anakin in his office for some time. It was too intimate, and he was afraid his weakness would finally break free after decades of being held back. The door was open and Obi-Wan could see his fellows walking the corridors, oblivious to the temptation that stood in the centre of Obi-Wan’s office.
“How was your day? Classes go well?” Obi-Wan asked, eyes skirting back to Anakin. He was leaning against the back of the chair in front of Obi-Wan’s desk, his small smile still doing things to Obi-Wan’s resolve.
“Classes are done.” Anakin drummed his fingers on the wood. “I told you that three weeks ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I… it must have slipped my mind.”
“Blame it on the meditation and prayer you’ve been dragging us through.”
Obi-Wan smiled, though it didn’t last. “Speaking of…”
He rose from his desk and made move to exit the office, but Anakin caught him by his wrist. Jerked back slightly, Obi-Wan locked eyes with him. He was close now, with no latticework to keep the sight of his hungry eyes at bay. His grip was strong - demanding almost - wrapped tight around Obi-Wan’s wrist, fingers pressing into his quickening pulse point. He smelled of something sweet mixed with his own musk, the scent of it as familiar to Obi-Wan as the perfumed air of the sepulchre.
“We should pray here tonight,” Anakin said with a low voice.
Obi-Wan swallowed and retracted his hand from Obi-Wan’s grip. “We can use the alter as we—”
“There’s a wedding, Obi-Wan…”
Wedding. Obi-Wan had forgotten. Even now he could hear the chatter from further down the halls, of excited voices he didn’t recognize as they prepared the food in the basement.
He glanced down the hall, hoping that one of the other priests or deacons would see him. But they were all gone, slipped away into their own offices or to join the wedding on the couple’s bountiful day.
“I need your guidance today, Father… please… pray with me here?” Anakin asked quietly, breath ghosting across Obi-Wan’s cheek.
Obi-Wan turned back to Anakin. Was this what Eve felt as she gazed upon the apple - ripe and plump and for the taking? Did she obsess as Obi-Wan had? Did she try to resist for the sake of her own sanity? Or did some part of her want to give in? Had she just been waiting with an eager heart to be told that it was okay to succumb; that this would ruin them all, but that she needn’t care any longer?
“Have you strayed once more?” Obi-Wan whispered.
“Yes, Father…”
Obi-Wan pulled away from Anakin and shut the door. The latch resounded with a heavy click.
Ducking his head he headed to the small table in the corner of his room. A crucifix hung high above, centuries old and passed down to Obi-Wan by the former priest who guided the congregation for decades. Obi-Wan stared up at it as he lit a match and guided it across the tops of the candles, the fire burning bright across the wicks as they danced in the air. He could feel Anakin behind him, hovering close enough to touch but far enough away to tease and tempt.
O Holy Spirit of God, take me as your disciple; guide me, illuminate me, sanctify me. Bind my hands that they may do no evil; cover my eyes that they may see it no more; sanctify my heart that evil may not dwell within me. Be my God; be my guide.
O Holy Spirit… O God. Please…
Anakin touched his shoulder. The simple act of it crumbled Obi-Wan, and he fell to his knees and wept before his God and the one who would take him from Him. Anakin followed him down to the ground, hands firm along his shoulder and across his jaw, both soothing and maddening in touch as he firmly guided Obi-Wan’s head, angling him so he was forced to look up at him.
“If I am to fall into disgrace,” Obi-Wan began, voice wet with tears, “then I need to know you will follow me down this path. That you will not stray from me as I have from God. I need to—”
Anakin kissed him.
It was simple. Sweet. Like a mother’s lips across a babe’s brow. It did not feel anything but kind and soft; there was no terror to the embrace, no loss of anything.
When Anakin pulled away Obi-Wan looked up at him to see he was framed by the light of the candles, the crucifix just behind, reminding Obi-Wan of his inherent sin and the sacrifice He had made for him; a weak, foolish mortal.
Forgive me, Father…
Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s face between his hands, thumbs pressing into the soft skin and hardened bone, locking him in place. Here was his seducer, his temptation, his sin. Here was his salvation, his purpose, his grace.
He kissed Anakin as if parched for his embrace. Anakin’s lips parted, a whimper slipping past his lips as he swallowed Obi-Wan’s weakness. He tasted of gum and tobacco, sweet pepper mixed with sour tar, a contrast that revolted and pleased Obi-Wan. His tongue was hot across his bottom lip, goading Obi-Wan on until he was forced to succumb to the intrusion.
A kiss this sweet, this torturous, made even more delightful by the presence of Anakin’s weight on top of his lap.
They continued to embrace, Obi-Wan goaded on by the sounds Anakin was making, the weight of him across his lap, the feel of his tongue against his own as he mewled and gasped, hands course through Obi-Wan’s hair. He’d never done this, wasn’t sure what he was doing, yet Anakin didn’t seem to care, eager in all ways as he pulled Obi-Wan from his perch beneath the feet of God to wallow in the filth with him.
His heart ached, his soul grieved, and yet his body hummed with delights unparalleled. His cock strained against the materials of his trousers, the black cloth of his priestly position defiled with each swipe of Anakin’s tongue. With greedy hands Obi-Wan slipped them up Anakin’s shirt, groaning softly as Anakin’s muscles flexed beneath his warm, smooth skin.
If God had created man in his image, then Anakin must have been his masterpiece.
Falling back on to the floor, Obi-Wan stared up at Anakin as he remained poised above with the crucifix hanging behind him. His lips were red and wet, tongue peeking out to slick along the bottom one, teeth flashing in the amber light of the space. His hair framed his face, beautiful curls that curved along his jaw and across his brow, still smooth from youth.
“See, Father?” Anakin said, voice taught and sweet, “if God didn’t want this to happen, then why did he make it feel so right? So good? Don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel the peace? Hasn’t the doubt stopped - can’t you feel how right this all is?”
Before Obi-Wan could answer, Anakin was pawing at his shirt, ripping open the buttons but keeping the clerical collar tight against his neck, leashing him to his sin. Anakin’s hand pressed against his bare chest, pushing into his bleeding heart as he started rutting against Obi-Wan, sliding his clothed ass against Obi-Wan’s cock. There was a madness to Anakin’s expression, inspiring both fear and excitement in Obi-Wan as he lay prone on the floor.
Anakin leaned back down and they kissed once more, Obi-Wan grunting softly as his lip was bitten and then sucked on. Anakin’s mouth was hungry, his touch brutal, and Obi-Wan allowed himself to be dragged further down until he could no longer act with any thought - just instinct. Grabbing Anakin’s hips he flipped him down onto the floor, wincing slightly as the room shuddered, old floorboards creaking with their weight.
The thought of anyone being able to walk in on the moment only fueled Obi-Wan’s desires, the guilt and shame he’d feel at being found out by those who respected him, making his cock ache and his balls tighten. Grabbing a fistful of Anakin’s hair he pulled, wrenching a gasp from Anakin as he kissed down his jaw and along his neck, biting into the flesh that had bent beneath the weight of God.
They clawed at each other’s clothes, Obi-Wan’s dog collar pushing against the fluttering pulse point until he thought he might choke. Grabbing it, he ripped it off and tossed it across the room, not caring anymore about it. Perhaps it would be a relief in time, to have abandoned the leash that kept him from experiencing this. Perhaps one day he wouldn’t want to weep and tear at his own insides anytime he thought about just what he’d done; how he’d thrown it all away for this boy.
This beautiful, torturous boy.
Laid out naked on the floor, Anakin spread his legs and stared up at Obi-Wan with delight in his eyes. He was even more perfect than Obi-Wan could have imagined, chest broad and hips lean, stomach still soft with youth. His thighs were thick, legs long as they wrapped around his waist, hands strong as he tugged at his own curls and slid one down his stomach to his cock.
Obi-Wan licked his bottom lip and greedily admired Anakin’s length.
It was slim and long, foreskin pulled back to show the ruby red head that leaked profusely, strings of precome slick across the length and across his belly and balls. It twitched with each breath, pulsing out more and more of his seed, and without thought Obi-Wan ducked down to collect it on the flat of his tongue. It tasted pungent and dense, like Anakin’s humanity had been diluted into this one expression of lust.
It tasted divine.
Without warming up he took Anakin’s cock into his mouth, tasting the head, grimacing when Anakin tugged at his hair and warned him to cover his teeth. Holding Anakin inside his mouth should have felt wrong - it should have inspired sickness. Yet all he wanted was for more; for Anakin’s cock to fill his mouth and his throat, his seed to slide down into his belly to mix with the blood and flesh of their Lord, mortal and immortal colliding and coalescing until both became unholy and divine.
He lavished the head with attention, licking up what he could of Anakin’s seed before pressing down, filling his mouth and just the base of his throat with Anakin’s cock until he had to pull away. But he was locked in place by Anakin’s hands, face pressed against his groin as he gasped for breath. Anakin rubbed Obi-Wan’s face against the base of his cock and his balls, spit and seed streaking across his face, staining him in their shared filth.
With another groan he settled against the crook of Anakin’s thigh, the scent of him coating him like a perfume, washing away the incense of his church. Anakin played with his hair and rubbed his seed into his skin, thumb pushing into his cheekbone as if to press the stain in as far as he could, marking Obi-Wan with his disgrace.
But the peace didn’t last. Almost as if in sync Obi-Wan pulled away as Anakin tugged him up, Obi-Wan collapsing on top of Anakin, falling into his eager, waiting body. With messy hands Anakin pulled at Obi-Wan’s belt and pulled it out, tossing it across the room before he shoved Obi-Wan’s trousers down and freed his cock. With an embarrassing whimper Obi-Wan bucked into Anakin’s touch, hands pressed into the wooden floorboard as he shoved his length into Anakin’s skilled hand.
“A-Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, voice thick with spit and pleasure.
He’d never been touched like this before, not even by his own hands. The bliss he felt was almost infuriating, his mind going blank as he chased his pleasures, rutting into Anakin’s hands like an animal - depraved, desperate, so pitiable that Obi-Wan was surprised he’d lasted this long without it.
Collapsing on top of Anakin, Obi-Wan kissed him as he thrust his hips against Anakin’s, seeking pleasure as the guilt dissipated for just a moment, having lost its battle against the certainty of Obi-Wan’s desires. Anakin was soft and hard against him, demanding and patient, innocent and filthy. Obi-Wan swallowed his gasps of pleasure and filthy prayers, trying to consume him in every way that he could, desperate for the taste of his flesh and blood and seed across his tongue.
He came with a grunt, hips shuttering forward as he spilled against Anakin’s hip and stomach. It almost hurt the pleasure, stinging and pulsing sensations rippling through his groin and cock as he strained against Anakin. Falling into the abyss was easier than he’d thought it would be, the certainty of the moment washing away all the doubt, the guilt, the feelings of failure. His body took over, wiping his mind clear as he let out an expression he knew he wasn’t fit to speak any longer.
“Oh God,” he whimpered against Anakin’s temple, voice weak and broken as he collapsed on top of Anakin.
Anakin wrapped his arms around him and cradled him close, lips soft along his temple as he stroked Obi-Wan’s skull and shoulders. A soft sigh slipped past Obi-Wan’s lips, contented and pleased as he lay in the embrace of his sinner. Perhaps that was the sound Eve made as she bit into the apple, collected the juices along her tongue, and drank deep.
O Lord, Please understand that I am a weak man, a foolish man, who cannot help but be the way he is. Please, O Lord, do not take your light from me. Do not abandon me as I have done to you.
Please, God, forgive me for what I have done.
And for what I will continue to do.