Two Halfs of One Warrior • Obikin/Vaderwan One-Shots

Away From Me (Don't Fall)

The Force felt different, ever since Mustafar. It hadn't stopped screaming. At all times, a constant din that battered his mind, driving him further and further away from the man he once was. It made him hungry. Made him restless.

Made him... yearn.

The darkness sang to him now, and he could not deny that it was a beautiful song. The numbness of the past was fading, replaced by newfound vigor, sharpening into clarity. And he realized, looking back, that the Force had never seemed so keen before. Not during the Clone Wars, not in all the battles he'd fought, not once in his entire life. He'd always thought there was something holding it back, dampening its power. He had thought it was incomplete. But now he knew better.

The only thing incomplete had been himself.

And he had the man at his side to thank for that.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, searching for that spot inside his mind that was always open and raw, like holding fingers over a burning flame. His and Anakin’s fire, once, before it cooled. And now.

Vader drew in a sharp breath.

Obi-Wan turned to face him. He traced the well-defined muscles of his jaw, the long column of his throat, the broad slope of his shoulders. He remembered how it felt the first time he’d relented. The first time he’d grabbed that dimpled chin, had kissed the pulse that thrummed at his neck, pressed his chest against those shoulders and felt the strength that lay beneath.

He looked up.

Anakin had been horrible at hiding his naked want, had worn his emotions on his sleeve for all to see, like a mountain that was simply too great to bury. Vader didn’t even try.

Obi-Wan had stopped trying too.

He stepped forward and kissed him.

It was like being struck by lightning.

A shock wave rippled through the Force, the darkness singing sweetly, drowning out the screams. Obi-Wan pulled him closer. Vader groaned and surrendered, sinking into the touch.

They had fallen together, and yet Obi-Wan knew the truth: this was not about love. This was about possession. About control. About power. About pain. He needed to feel Vader in every sense of the word. He needed to remind him who he truly belonged to. He needed to reclaim what was his.

He wanted to mark his skin and tear it apart, to consume him whole. To devour him and fill him to the brim. To make him his again and again and again.

The way they always were meant to be.

As if hearing his thoughts, Vader shifted his stance, widening his legs slightly, and Obi-Wan took the invitation for what it was. He pressed forward until he had Vader pinned against the viewport. His hands roamed freely, touching, grasping, squeezing. Vader arched into his touch, a whimper escaping his lips. Obi-Wan closed the distance and captured those lips, plundering them in a deep kiss.

His tongue swept inside, claiming, conquering. He tasted the faintest trace of copper and something bitter, a lingering hint of blood. It sent a thrill through him.

Obi-Wan grabbed at Vader's tunic, his fingers digging into the fabric. With one swift pull, he tore it open. Vader gasped sharply, his eyes flying wide.

"Obi-Wan," he whispered, sounding dazed. “Obi-Wan.”

But Obi-Wan did not stop. He kept pushing, until the cloth came loose and slid free, slipping down to pool at Vader's feet.

A strangled moan escaped Vader's throat. "Oh."

Obi-Wan ignored it, tracing his mouth along his jawline, nibbling his way down his neck.