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[ Anakin's voice is soft between them, gentle and curious. He thinks of how strained things had felt when they first arrived, how strained things had felt for months in the thick of the war — and yet here his friend is, still trusting him with his life. Are you going to eat me? he asks, as though it doesn't come with the suggestion that Obi-Wan could kill him to do it. That realization is how Obi-Wan finds steady ground around drunken desire.

This could be very dangerous. Might have been, if he found himself in front of anyone else — but he could not kill Anakin. Never Anakin.

His thumb traces back up over Anakin's adam's apple, then back down, then up again. Obi-Wan feels himself moving his grip into something familiar more than he makes the conscious choice to do it, clasping the nape of his friend's neck. ]

Yes, [ His voice is just as gentle, warm and indulgent in it's honesty. He doesn't want to lie to Anakin; he knows he needs to do this. Won't be able to stop himself unless Anakin does it for him, and he has utter confidence that the man in front of him will keep them both safe. Anakin is more than just a Padawan or a brother or a friend. He's all of that, and more. Funny, he muses at a distance, that it has taken something like this to make him admit it to himself. ] I think I am.

[He doesn't feel like he's in danger. He knows that its there the way he's suddenly aware that only his reflection is in the mirror behind Obi-Wan's head. The way he's aware of Obi-Wan's focus on his pulse, the temperature of his skin, the words that come out of his mouth. But this is the man who looked after him since he was young. Who took on the task of feeding and caring for some kid he never asked for, for teaching him. This is his friend.

He isn't afraid of Obi-Wan, even if he's here, saying these things- he'd never kill him.

So Anakin nods just once, a small tipping of his chin that allows him to graze Obi-Wan's knuckles. Every time he swallows he can feel the contraction of his throat. Of Obi-Wan's fingertip rising and falling with it. Slowly, carefully, his side of the bond begins to open- the slow peeling back of layers until he can be felt in turn. Until they meet again and Anakin's quiet, tentative trust is offered between them. True affection. His hands, useless and empty at his sides, come up and rest the only place they can- on Obi-Wan's knees. His voice is an exhale.] Okay.

[ When Anakin opens up to him, unfurling carefully in the Force like a sunbeam breaking fog, Obi-Wan sighs. Relieved. Some part of him had needed to hear it, because for all the damage they may have done to one another in all their secret keeping, he would never want to actively hurt the person he is so fiercely devoted to. Once was more than enough; especially now that he has the frame of reference for how deep those wounds lie.

The palms on his knees are weighted against the linen, and the touch spurs Obi-Wan into drawing the other Jedi toward him. Coaxing him close, leaning into the space between them until what little is left sears with the nearness.

It has been a long while since Obi-Wan has been intimate like this with someone, though he isn't sure that is what he can blame on the caution with which he moves. His eyes close and he touches his closed mouth to the soft spot underneath Anakin's jaw, feeling the tickle of his own beard and mustache against smooth skin, feeling the heady vibration of his pulse throbbing under his skin. It buzzes against his lips, like the electricity of his cells firing are doing so right into his mouth. Instinct guides Obi-Wan as he sightlessly follows the path down without lifting his lips from Anakin's throat, reaching up with his unoccupied hand to tug aside the collar of his shirt. Making space. Exposing his target. ]

[Maybe its meant to be subtle, but even though Anakin cooperates, allows himself to be drawn in, he's still aware that its happening. One lifetime on Tatooine and one serving the Order, he recognizes steel jaws when he sees them. He knows they're going to close on him.

But they touch first.
Obi-Wan's closed mouth touches just beneath his jaw; Anakin jolts inside his skin, as if an electrical current runs through him. He thinks right away of a kiss only to dismiss the comparison a beat later. Great blinders come up around him, duracrete and steel that make the vastness of possibility disappear. A man clutching a lifeline, Anakin grounds himself in familiar defaults. Their undisputed friendship and the way they've handled every strangeness before- by looking away. By not looking right at it.

Hyperaware of the damp warmth of his friend's breath on his skin, Anakin's hands don't even flex atop his knees. There's no animal panic in him, no instinct to freeze, no frightened obedience or the mindlessness of a trance. The collar of his shirt begins to move, drawn away towards his shoulder. It raises every hair on the nape of his neck and shuts down the rest of his thoughts. Makes the noise in his brain quiet. His own reflection meets him, makes Obi-Wan a ghost that only he can see.]

[ Anakin goes perfectly still underneath his touch, almost dissociative. The Force goes silent in his periphery, in the hot place where Anakin's signature had glowed fiercely, shields building back up where he'd caught just a glimpse of something underneath. All red flags that he is unable to process as instinct swallows him in the drumbeat of Anakin's pulse.

He thinks I won't hurt you (or maybe he says it; or maybe he only pushes the intent into the Force between them with what sliver of his rational mind remains) before his hold on Anakin's nape splays wider, gripping the base of his skull to control the movement of his head. Then he opens his mouth, leaning in as much as he pulls Anakin into him, and slices the ultra sharp points of his canines into the other Jedi's neck.

Flavour bursts across his tongue, like that scent he had been following through the suite has been distilled down to it's most powerful essence. He grunts from low in his chest; a sound like relief. Obi-Wan feels like a man who has been thirsting in the desert for decades, finally faced with the only man who can bring him reprieve. He swallows, the warmth in his mouth flooding down his throat, and everything in him tightens, possessive. His free hand finds the back of Anakin's shirt and closes into the fabric, a fist between his shoulderblades that he uses to try and gather Anakin against his chest. ]

[Anakin's shields haven't returned, he hasn't walled himself off in the Force or across their bond. But for a creature that spent so many years constantly running through the temple hallways, sneaking away to the pilot's hangar, building droids or drinking out of decorative fountains- it must be easy to mistake his stillness for such a thing.

He defaults to the stark, sterile safety of the black and white. Of what he knows to be true and what he knows isn't. The hand on his neck splays wider, fingers stretching out across his skin in a way Anakin doesn't associate with ownership and instead recognizes as an attempt at control. It must be instinct, he decides, with no further probing. The same instincts that sink teeth into his throat.

There are plenty of stories he's heard across the years, and deep space pilots always have the best ones. But this is his first experience of vampires. Other travellers here on the train seem more familiar with them, so maybe they're a kind of normal legendary being back there- but in the absence of any first-hand knowledge there's only what exists in the moment. That Obi-Wan is acting a little differently, that Obi-Wan is his friend and might hurt him, but he isn't really in danger. He expects, in the back of his mind, that it'll hurt. Something that bites your neck and drinks your blood sounds like it should hurt.

But it's warmth that Anakin feels first. The heat of Obi-Wan's open mouth.
And then a deep, low grunt- a noise that feels like it's starting in his own stomach. A blurring of the edges between them. They connect and for just a moment Anakin's pulse kicks up, his fingers flex. And then stillness reigns once more. Over his shoulder Anakin's eyes are open and looking back at him, like a man frozen before he could get to prayer. He feels the weight of Obi-Wan's hand in the back of his shirt, a closed fist that seems too desperate for something like him. Too uncontrolled. Obi-Wan's beard rubs against the sensitive, rarely exposed skin of his collar. He has no idea why this particular detail is the one that leaps out at him, why it lodges in his brain and keeps drawing his attention to it, but like a hyperspace lane he keeps finding himself in it.]

[ The first bite floods his mouth, but once isn't enough, so he sucks. Obi-Wan has been drunk; has been high; poisoned; knocked around the head so hard that his concussion left him confused for days; felt that specific wooziness of too much bloodloss; and still nothing comes close. It isn't just predatory instinct, it isn't just slaking a thirst he hadn't realized was consuming him, but it's the rest of it:

Anakin's body warm and alive in his arms, the way each beat of his heart flushes blood into his mouth, the jolt when his pulse increases, the carefulness of his Force signature lining up with his own — impossibly loud, impossibly warm. A burning sun that has been in his life for fourteen long years. It drives home just how much he can't bear to lose him. A future without Anakin is a future not worth living; an un-Jedi-like thought that has existed in his bones and never been released from it's cage. Suddenly, Obi-Wan reels him in the last few inches, pushing his hand up into Anakin's long hair and leashing it into his knuckles. He bears down, flexing his jaw and burrowing against Anakin's throat, grasping at him hungrily with his body and with the Force. ]

[He doesn't really know what to expect. He's not unused to pain, so in the moment before those teeth sink into him Anakin is already preparing himself. There are plenty of examples to compare it to, and even though he's never been one to flinch, Anakin pays special attention to the grounding of his feet. The last thing he wants is to jolt and end up hurt; Obi-Wan would never forgive himself. Uncomfortable looking at his own reflection, Anakin's gaze lands on the wood panelling around it. Is it going to sting, or feel like it burns? Is it going to be like getting clipped by a 'saber, or catching a blaster bolt?

But it isn't like any of those things.
It's warm.

It's warm- and gentle, and slow. Like a kiss. Arms come up around him, holding him... differently than he's used to, but this touch to his neck, the way he feels it through his whole body? His body remembers the moments- Padmé braced over him, her hair a dark, beautiful curtain. The warmth in his face as he lifted his chin for her, breathless with happiness and desire. Her kiss against his throat, inside his pulse.

Anakin misses a breath and his hands move forward slowly, the gentle search for a different tether, a different nearness. His fingertips find Obi-Wan's waist as another pair slide through his hair and they finally slot together. Click into place.]

[ The touch to his waist brings him back into his body and out of drunken feeling. A majority of his time has been taken with the thought of how wrong things had gone between them, what he didn't see to miss things so important that the man he trusted implicitly had gotten lost so acutely. Loyalty has always been the most important thing to Anakin, Obi-Wan knows this. It's loyalty that has him here, trusting Obi-Wan with his literal life when neither of them understand the potential danger of this act. He had not asked any probing questions other than affirming what they were going to do.

He has always assumed that Anakin knew that those feelings were returned, but he wonders now — has he ever said it in a way Anakin understands? He had never told the boy he loved him until they were here, after fourteen years; he had assumed Anakin knew. But does he? Really?

Obi-Wan knows he is attached — though he had not realized quite how deeply — but he has never said as much. The Jedi Code forbids it and therefore doesn't come up in conversation, but saying it or ignoring it does not make it so. As his throat works and his tongue soothes the puncture wound he's feeding from, a sort of blank understanding settles over him. Like reaching the deepest point of meditation and finding that miraculous, hard to attain sense of peace. ]

[After that, time sort of gets strange at the edges. Anakin isn't thinking about how long they stand here or the gentle, warm pressure against his throat. He hears his own pulse in his ears, and now that they're closer he isn't sure if he's also hearing Obi-Wan's heartbeat, or if he's somehow feeling it even though his hands are settled near the man's waist. He doesn't sense any gradual changes, doesn't feel himself being steered or manipulated, but it's like his thoughts are slowing down. Not in a bad way, but enough that for the first time Anakin notices that the galaxy itself isn't screeching past him. It doesn't feel like he's trying to climb out of his skin.]

Obi-Wan?

[His voice is quiet so close to Obi-Wan's ear. Not meek, not timid, but pitched as if he's trying to wake him from a dream. Maybe wake them both. His trust in Obi-Wan is such that he makes no attempt to dislodge the teeth, he doesn't squeeze or tap to signal his urgency. He only says his friend's name and trusts that it'll reach him, that he'll withdraw before Anakin gets dizzy, and that he won't need to fight to be set free.]

[ Like a drop in a pool, that soft sound reverberates through him and drags him up from the deep well of instinct and languid ease. Obi-Wan? He would know that voice in his sleep. He would know it blind. He would know it deaf, permanently seared into his brain.

With great care, his jaw loosens and he unhooks his canines from Anakin's throat. The taste of him lingers in his mouth, rich and warm, and he laves his tongue over the wound. Equally to get the last of that flavor, but he can also feel the puncture coagulate under his attention. He somehow knows, with perfect confidence, that Anakin will not bleed out from it.

As he withdraws his hand slides from Anakin's curls and down his arm, the other smoothing along his waist. When he blinks back to himself, he sees the blooming bruise he's left behind. The puncture marks, the circle of his teeth where he had worried the blood to the surface. Obi-Wan knows he should be repulsed by what he has just done, putting Anakin in danger like that, and some great maw of guilt prepares itself to open up underneath him. But then he looks into Anakin's face, and is blown away all over again by the level of trust this boy has shown him.

So, in place of the apology that had been on the tip of his tongue, Obi-Wan holds Anakin's bicep and asks softly into the intimate space between them: ]

Are you alright? [ ... ] Did I hurt you?

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