Archive of Our Own

The sound of footsteps on chapel flagstones rang in Obi-Wan's head like a drumbeat as he sat in the blackness, waiting. He closed himself into the dark of the confessional often, offering himself to redeem the sins of lost souls. It was his part of his calling, his vocation, a duty he performed with pride.

But he knew all too well that, on nights like this one, only one person was coming for him.

The penitent's door creaked open, and then shut.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been a week since my last confession." 

The familiar words curled through the grate like smoke, vibrating in Obi-Wan's very bones. The cloak of anonymity provided by the barrier and the darkness was irrelevant. He would know that voice anywhere. 

"I told you not to come back." His tone aimed for commanding; a slight tremor betrayed him. 

"But I have so much to say, Father Kenobi." The voice lilted teasingly. "Don't you want to help me?"

"I should turn you in. Reveal everything you've done. That would help you."

"We both know that's an empty threat, Obi-Wan." His gut lurched at the use of his given name. It was deliberate, a prod at his vulnerabilities, a breach in the farcical dynamic of priest and confessor. "Who are you going to tell? Who would believe you?" 

The worst part was that he's right. Obi-Wan had turned it over and over in his mind, spent many a sleepless night asking himself the same questions. And the answer was always no one. 

Who would believe that Anakin Skywalker—doting father, politician's husband, and all-around pillar of the community—was a cold-blooded murderer? 

Obi-Wan let out a slow breath. Pressed himself against the back of the booth. 

"Get on with it, then." 

"Fine." Anakin sounded frustrated at his easy acquiescence. He preferred to drag it out. Play with his food. Obi-Wan didn't want to give him the satisfaction. 

"I did it again, tonight. I didn't even mean to. I just wanted to go for a drink, clear my head. Like a normal person, right? But then..." Anakin laughed a little, low and cold and utterly mirthless. "Do you know what it was?" 

"No. And I'm sure I don't want to." 

Anakin ignored him. "He reminded me of you. The way he smiled. His eyes were wrong, and his voice... but it was close enough."

Obi-Wan suppressed a shiver as Anakin continued. 

"I brought him low. I made him beg . But it wasn't right, because it wasn't you." His voice was rising in volume, his rage coming to a simmer. "You think you're so high and mighty, that you're better than me, but you're wrong. You need to learn that." 

"If you want to bring me low, as you say, then maybe you should just get it over with and kill me. At least then I won't have to listen to your depravity." 

It was frightening how easily the words left Obi-Wan's mouth. He'd begun to believe that, if Anakin did intend to harm him, he would do so when he pleased and not a moment before. Nothing Obi-Wan had said had provoked him to cross the barrier he always kept between them—yet. 

Anakin laughed again. "You have no idea what I want. Do you think I killed that man because he looked like you?" 

"That's what you just said, isn't it?" 

"I killed him because I got bored. I fucked him because he looked like you." 

Obi-Wan choked on his own breath. He was aware that Anakin was strangely fascinated with him, obsessed, even. Why else would he confess his crimes to Obi-Wan, and no one else? But he's never thought, never assumed, that Anakin's unsettling interest could take this form. 

Anakin was young and beautiful, graceful and predatory. Obi-Wan was... just a simple priest. He hadn’t even—

He stopped himself before he could continue that line of thought. Gathered himself, slumped slightly against the confessional wall. Anakin's satisfied amusement at having shocked him into silence was palpable. He thought of how he should be reacting, tried to inject strength into his response. 

"So you've stooped to rape as well as murder? I thought you couldn't sink any lower, Anakin."  

"Rape? Is that what you think of me?" He tsked softly. "I assumed you'd know me better by now, Father." 

A slight thud; Obi-Wan could tell that Anakin was leaning against the barrier, pushing closer to him. He shrank back into the opposite wall, trying to create space. Could he feel Anakin's feverish heat seeping through the wood, or was it just his imagination? 

"He wanted it. He was desperate for it," Anakin crooned. "He didn't pretend to resist. Not like you would." 

"I— I don't know what you're saying." Obi-Wan cringed as the words came out in a rushed gasp. Every sign of his disturbed composure was an advantage that Anakin could and would press, ruthlessly. 

"You don't even understand why you keep coming back, do you?" Anakin sounded curious, almost disbelieving. 

"I come back because I somehow, foolishly, hope I can help you."

"No, I don't think that's it. Or, at least, that's not the only reason. You know I don't feel any remorse, but you still come to meet me, despite every rational thought screaming at you to get away. Do you know what I think?" He didn't wait for Obi-Wan to respond. "I think you're so buttoned up, Father, that you've forgotten what it feels like to want something."

" Want?!" No. That was ridiculous. "I don't want anything to do with you." 

What could he possibly want from Anakin, other than to be left alone? He kept meeting him because it was his duty. He was selfish, sinful, as all human beings are, but in this he was trying. How could Anakin possibly think...? 

"You can keep lying to yourself if you want," Anakin murmured. "Keep hiding behind that screen. But I think we both know that if you were looking me in the eye right now, you wouldn't be able to hide how much the thought of me getting my lips around your cock turns you on." 

Obi-Wan was in freefall. He gasped in a harsh breath and instantly froze, knowing Anakin could hear him, knowing he catalogued every sound Obi-Wan made as ammunition for his insane ravings. The way Anakin's voice caressed the obscenity... that heat pooling in the pit of his stomach was, must have been, humiliation...

"I— you— I don't—" Obi-Wan scrambled for a response and produced only stammering. 

"Come on, just imagine it. Me, on my knees in front of you, drinking down your come like it's the holy fucking sacrament." 

And Obi-Wan had never, would never, but for a split second he did. It was in his head before he could stop himself, and he imagined a head of golden curls working between his legs, imagined the slick heat of a mouth where before he'd only felt the comfort of his own hand, imagined the bite of teeth digging into his thigh— Anakin would not be gentle with him— and— Obi-Wan wrenched his mind away. Forced it blank. 

He felt crazed, possessed, like a fire blazed under his skin. He'd never feared Anakin more.

"Has anyone done that for you before, Father?" Anakin's voice was soft, mocking, vicious. "Or would I be your first?" 

Obi-Wan dug deep, found some wellspring of courage that he didn't know he had. (Or maybe , a small, nasty part of him whispered, you're just afraid of what will happen if he stays.)

"Get out," he spat. 

"What?" Anakin sounded incredulous. In all their sick conversations, Obi-Wan had never once dared ask him to leave.

"You heard me."

"Are sure about that?" Was he? 

"Of course I'm sure," Obi-Wan bit out, trying to convince himself. "I've had enough. I don't have to listen to this." 

"Fine, then."

Obi-Wan blinked in shock. He hadn't expected Anakin to actually listen to him.  The door on the other side of the confessional swung open.

"It's really too bad." Obi-Wan listened with bated breath as Anakin stepped out of the booth. "I just thought of a way you could help me." Slow, receding footsteps rang on the flagstones. "You said that was what you'd been looking for this whole time, but I guess—"

"Wait." 

The footsteps halted, and then returned, coming closer. Anakin was just outside, his shadow cutting off the dim light bleeding through the cracks into Obi-Wan's sanctuary. Obi-Wan exhaled, trembling. He knew this was probably a mistake. He couldn't stop himself. 

"What do you want?" 

The door slammed outwards and Anakin was there, silhouetted in the flickering light of the sconces. As Obi-Wan quailed back against the confessional seat, Anakin leaned in, bracketing the exit with his arms, ensuring there'd be no escape. His beautiful face was in shadow, but Obi-Wan could make out the glint in his eyes, the curl of a smirking lip. 

"I want a lot of things, Father." He sounded as unhinged as Obi-Wan felt. "I want to kiss my beautiful wife. I want to hold my children in my arms. I want to feel the visceral fucking rush of a life bleeding out under my hands, again and again. But that last one is a problem for you, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan nodded, unable to speak. Anakin's eyes bored into his. He was hypnotized, frozen, like a rabbit trembling before a snake. 

"I'm a reasonable person, Obi-Wan," Anakin offered, his tone gentling into a mockery of kindness. "I can give up something that I want. But not without getting anything in return." 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He didn't want to know where Anakin is going with this. He was desperate to find out. 

"I think you know exactly what I'm asking for, Father." 

Obi-Wan's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Anakin was smiling down at him patiently. Did he really expect Obi-Wan to guess, to say what's on his mind? He won't. He can't. 

Anakin quickly grew tired of waiting. "Why don't I show you?" 

He ducked his head and pushed into the tiny space of the booth. The space flooded with the smoky redolence of cologne, and a whiff of sharp, animal scent beneath. In the back of his mind, Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin had even bothered to shower before coming here or if he still bore the sweat of his latest victim on his skin.

He felt far too vulnerable sitting while Anakin loomed over him, so he stood up in a rush. It was a mistake. It left them nearly at eye level, but no matter how much he pressed himself to the wall, he's only forced them into closer proximity. Their faces were inches apart. Obi-Wan could feel hot breath fanning against his lips. 

He leaned back, contorting himself painfully, but Anakin matched and outstripped him, closing the distance ever so torturously slowly. He raised a hand to Obi-Wan's face, drifted a calloused thumb along his cheekbone. Obi-Wan's eyes were slipping shut... no!

"Stop!" Anakin jerked back in shock. Panic was bubbling up inside Obi-Wan, granting him the will to act. "You have to stop. This is wrong. You're married, for Christ's sake." 

For a moment Anakin just stared at him, a smile spreading slowly across his face. Laughter began to bubble up; he threw his head back in mirth, exposing the line of his throat without care or worry. Obi-Wan awkwardly watched him howl. Unease curled hot in his stomach. Anakin was wiping tears from his eyes by the time he could respond. 

"That's what you're worried about? My wife? Not breaking your vows?" 

"That is also a concern, yes," Obi-Wan responded stiffly. He didn't particularly want to think about the sheer multitude of sins Anakin was suggesting he commit.

Anakin's tone became serious. "Not all the blood on my hands?"

Obi-Wan's eyes flicked involuntarily down to the appendages in question. He half-expected to find them stained red. Anakin caught the motion and snorted patronizingly.

"Not right now, obviously. Haven't you ever heard of a metaphor, old man?" 

"I knew what you meant." Obi-Wan grit his teeth against the flush he felt rising in his cheeks. How did Anakin have the power to embarrass him like this? 

"I'd bet you'd like that, though, wouldn't you?" Anakin cocked his head in appraisal. "If I came to you fresh from a kill and took you until you were smeared with blood, until you were just as filthy as me..."

He pressed his thumb into Obi-Wan's cheek again, much more roughly than before, and it was all too easy to imagine it leaving a streak of oozing crimson behind. A fresh shudder lanced down his spine. Anakin pulled his hand away and took a minute step back, giving Obi-Wan a measure of breathing space. 

"Only when you're ready!" Anakin smiled, as if he thought this would reassure him. "I'm not evil, Father. I want you to enjoy this just as much as I will." 

"I won't enjoy anything about you forcing yourself on me, I assure you." He had to believe that was true, even as the feeling of Anakin's touch against his cheek lingered, something inside urging him to lean into it. 

Anakin appeared almost hurt at that. He looked down for a moment, running a hand through his messy curls, then back up into Obi-Wan's eyes. When he spoke, he sounded strangely sincere. 

"I don't want to force myself on you, Obi-Wan. I want to give you a gift. And it's your choice whether you accept it or not. If you say no..." He heaved a sigh. "I'll leave. I promise. I won't bother you any longer. I'll go on, like I always have, except without my favorite priest around." 

Anakin pouted; the expression would have been endearing if Obi-Wan hadn't known what was lurking behind it. The catch in his offer was obvious. 

"And you'll keep killing, I assume." 

"That is how things tend to go for me, yes." Anakin examined his fingernails.

Obi-Wan's voice was now barely above a whisper. "And if I said yes?" 

In the blink of an eye, the smirk returned. "That way is much more fun. Not only do we both get what we want, but if you're around, some of that famous priestly self control might rub off on me. I might not feel thse need to go on so many 'field trips.' You could do a lot of good for a lot of people, Father." 

Anakin gently tipped Obi-Wan's chin up until their gazes met, and held.  "That doesn't sound so bad, now, does it?" 

Obi-Wan let his eyelids flutter closed. The delicacy of Anakin's touch belied the brutality that those hands were capable of. Obi-Wan understood implicitly that Anakin was allowing him this short time to make his choice. The soft pressure of his fingers wasn't an overt threat, just a simple reminder of who held the cards. 

For the moment, Obi-Wan felt no fear for his body's safety. 

His soul, on the other hand... 

What Anakin was offering would violate not only his vocation, but multiple commandments too. Everything he had ever learned was good and right. It was unquestionably condemnable. 

Obi-Wan forced himself to confront his guilt, to look at the situation with clear eyes. He couldn't lie to himself now, couldn't deny the way his body seemed to crave more of Anakin's touch even as his skin crawled in horror. Nor could he deny the sincerity of Anakin's promise— he will make Obi-Wan enjoy this, whether he wants to or not. 

The truth was undeniable. Assuming that he wasn't already beyond saving, if Obi-Wan said yes to this, he would be well and truly damned. A failure as a priest, a failure as a man. He would suffer Anakin's torment in this life, and afterward he would suffer the torment of Hell. And it would be a fitting fate for one such as him. 

But if he said no... 

Obi-Wan swallowed as he remembered the newspapers of the past two years. The crime scene photos he'd forced himself to look at as he choked back revulsion, his stomach churning. The families left behind. Anakin chose his victims carefully enough; no one too close to home, certainly no one Obi-Wan knew personally. But he was still a priest, and as such was intimately familiar with grief and the way it ripped those still living to shreds. 

Anakin would never understand. Anakin had no conscience. 

But Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan could be that conscience. 

He could finally convince Anakin to let him in, steer him back to the righteous path. And at what cost? His soul? From this new perspective, all his fears seemed disgustingly selfish. Who was he to put his own salvation above others? He should have been glad for the opportunity to sacrifice in exchange for only one innocent life. 

Now, he stood to save dozens . How could he say no to that and live with himself? 

Obi-Wan was paralyzed, caught between two uniquely awful tortures. But the longer he considered it, the more he wondered if he'd really known his true decision all along. 

Given a choice between himself and others, Obi-Wan would put his own needs aside every time. That's why I'm doing this. He will keep telling himself until he believes it, until he's convinced himself it has nothing to do with the way that his heart clenched as Anakin's fingers finally tightened their grip on his chin.

"Well?" 

Time's up. Obi-Wan cast his eyes to heaven and rasped three words. 

"God forgive me." 

Then his eyes were on Anakin's, Anakin, who understood him perfectly. Anakin knew him, knew him as if all the time that he'd poured his darkest self into Obi-Wan, he'd been receiving Obi-Wan's darkness in return. His deepest desires, his deepest fears. As Anakin's look of sheer, feral triumph pierced through him, Obi-Wan understood that this night was never going to have any other outcome. 

Anakin played him like an instrument, with masterful finesse. And then Anakin's mouth was on his, and he couldn't remember why he cared.  

It's been half a lifetime since Obi-Wan kissed anyone, and he certainly didn't remember it feeling like this. His own inexperience occurred to him. With it came a flash of worry that Anakin would find his skill lacking. Then he realized that it hardly mattered, because Anakin kissed like an invading army.

There could be no give-and-take with a kiss like this, no participation. It was a kiss to be weathered, a kiss that leaves you cracked open and picking up your own scattered pieces.

Anakin's lips closed over his own, hot and demanding. He crowded closer to Obi-Wan, shoving him to the back wall of the confessional. Obi-Wan flung out his arms to brace himself upright as fingers tangled roughly his hair. Before he could find an equilibrium, Anakin threw an arm around his waist, hauling him upwards and tilting him further off balance.

A tongue swiped insistently against the tight close of Obi-Wan's lips, and he acquiesced to the intrusion, letting them fall open with a high, broken sound that to his ears seemed entirely alien. Obi-Wan keened at the feeling of Anakin licking into his mouth, biting into his lower lip; he felt so much and he didn't know what to do with any of it, didn't know where to put it. 

Obi-Wan was falling, and there was only one solid thing left in the world for him to cling to.

Slowly, tentatively, he brought his arms to rest around Anakin, fisting his hands in the fabric of his shirt. Anakin groaned at the sign of reciprocation, and held him even tighter, squeezing the breath out of him. 

As they realigned, something hard pushed into his leg, the heat of it burning through multiple layers of fabric. The insistent press was mortifying; Obi-Wan tensed up rather than risk shifting against it further. 

Anakin chuckled against his lips and pulled back. His hand kept a firm grip on Obi-Wan's hair, which he used to twist his head this way and that as he took in his state. Anakin's blue eyes were blown nearly black; bottomless pits that imparted in their depths a fear of falling. 

Anakin rolled his hips forward, pressing his erection even more firmly into Obi-Wan's thigh. 

"Do you feel that?" he murmured. 

Viper-swift, he relinquished Obi-Wan's hair to catch his wrist in a bruising grip. Anakin guided Obi-Wan's hand to cup his hardness, squeezing his own over it as if in emphasis.

"That's what you do to me, Father." He pushed Obi-Wan's hand down even harder and ground into it in slow circles. "That's how much I need you. Do you like knowing that?" 

Obi-Wan's body was betraying him. His words were his only recourse. 

"It hardly matters what I like, does it?" His voice came out a pathetic whisper. It was nearly impossible to put up a façade with Anakin on him like this, Anakin's cock pressing into his palm.

"It matters to me." Anakin's eyes lit up. "Why don't we find out?" 

He mercifully released Obi-Wan's hand, but relief was soon replaced by even greater trepidation as Anakin began to stroke up the length of his inner thigh. Obi-Wan forced himself to remain still, every muscle in his body tensed against the urge to squirm away. 

Anakin's hand finally came to rest between his legs, over the arousal he'd been trying so desperately to ignore.  

"You do like this," Anakin said wonderingly.

Obi-Wan couldn't stifle a moan as Anakin's hand closed over his cock, no matter how much he wished to. 

"You want this. You need this." 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, going limp at the waves of sensation. Without Anakin's hand to support his head, it thunked painfully into the back wall of the booth. "You're touching me and my body is reacting. That means nothing about what I want," he lied.

Anakin's expression turned cold, his brows drawing together, and a thrill of fear cut through the haze of stimulation. The hand on Obi-Wan's cock constricted cruelly, and the gasp that escaped him then was more pain than pleasure. 

"We'll see about that," Anakin snapped, letting go of Obi-Wan's cock.  "Put your hands flat on the walls." 

Obi-Wan stared at him uncomprehendingly. Anakin gave a huff of impatience and grabbed Obi-Wan's wrists, placing one of his hands on each side of the booth so the palms were pressed flush against the wood. 

"Now, you keep those there, okay?" He pressed on them for emphasis. "Or I'll be very upset with you." 

Obi-Wan nodded reluctantly. The position left him exposed; Anakin would have unfettered access to his body as long as he obeyed. He shivered. 

Anakin noticed. "Don't be scared, Father," he purred. "I'm going to make you feel good, now."

Obi-Wan stood there helplessly as Anakin took his time exploring his body. He ran his hands over the black fabric of Obi-Wan's shirt— first his shoulders and arms, then slowly, teasingly, up and down his chest. He stopped to circle his thumbs over Obi-Wan's nipples. Even through two layers of fabric, the sensation was so strong that he squeaked in protest as it sent a jolt straight down to his cock. 

"Interesting," Anakin mused, and did it again, taking in Obi-Wan's startled reaction. "I'll have to come back to this another time."

Anakin stroked him for a little longer, pulling out more shivers and gasps, then slowly sank to his knees. It was just like he'd imagined earlier. Anakin was on the ground in front of him, looking up at him with an expression of naked want. 

No one had ever looked at Obi-Wan like that before. 

He screwed his eyes shut. He couldn't watch this, couldn't let himself want this. It was almost too much anyway, the sounds of Anakin unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants, the shock of cool air on overheated skin. He didn't want to see Anakin's expression at the exposure of his shameful desire, his sin. 

Obi-Wan concentrated on unpleasant things—the twinges of pain from holding his arms up for an extended period, the disgust that he clung to for the man touching him. 

It almost worked. Then a finger trailed down the naked skin of his cock, and his attention snapped back to that single overwhelming sensation. He needed to escape his body, to think about something else, anything else. 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and his voice automatically brought forth the words of the Anima Christi.

"Soul of Christ, sanctify me." The familiar litany was comforting, even as more teasing touches skimmed his flesh. "Body of Christ, save me. Blood of Christ— ahh!" He squirmed as Anakin's thumb brushed a sensitive spot. "Blood of Christ, inebriate me. Water—" 

"Stop that." The movements ceased. Obi-Wan looked down to see Anakin frowning up at him. 

"Stop what?" 

"You know what." Anakin rolled his eyes. "The praying. It's distracting." 

Obi-Wan shrugged as best he could with his palms still pressed to the walls. "I'm a priest. It's what I do." 

"Believe me, Father, I'm well aware." Anakin let go of his cock and stood up. 

"While we're together, I don't want to hear you saying any man's name but mine," Anakin growled. He reached up, tugged the white tab out of Obi-Wan's collar, and gripped his jaw hard enough to force his mouth open. "This'll help you be good until you've learned." 

Anakin shoved the strip of cotton between Obi-Wan's lips. 

"Bite down," he commanded. 

Obi-Wan's eyes watered in humiliation, but he obediently closed his teeth, letting Anakin take away his speech—his last weapon, his last line of defense. 

"Good boy." Anakin pressed a tender kiss to the hollow of his throat, wiped away the tears threatening to fall. "Don't worry. You're going to love this, I promise." 

Anakin dropped to his knees and took Obi-Wan all the way to the back of his throat.

Obi-Wan keened around the makeshift gag, the sound echoing in the tiny space. Nothing, nothing had ever felt like this. He was on fire, crawling out of his skin. The entire universe narrowed down to the singular point of Anakin's mouth around his cock.

Obi-Wan's hips jerked involuntarily forward, a movement he tried to stifle, but Anakin noticed and moaned around his cock in appreciation. He seemed to love nothing more than to make Obi-Wan come undone, in fear or horror or, now, pleasure and lust. Anakin performed the act as if born to it, the movements of his lips and tongue commanding, a unique, sweet form of violence that he never wanted to end. 

As a string of moans escaped through his clenched teeth, it occurred to Obi-Wan to be grateful for the gag. Without it, he would no doubt be praying. 

Not to God, but to Anakin.

Anakin took Obi-Wan even deeper, and he raced towards completion, pushed along by the other man's vicious expertise. It felt wrong, it felt too soon, he had no idea how long he's supposed to last but surely it should be longer than this. 

But he couldn't hold back, he he didn't know how, and humiliation was stifled by a blinding flash of pure ecstasy as Anakin roughly jerked a hand around the base of his cock, once, twice, and Obi-Wan spilled into his mouth, biting down on the tab so hard that his jaw twinged in pain. 

His ears were buzzing. Anakin stood up and gently extracted the tab from between his teeth, throwing it aside. He lowered his face to Obi-Wan's once more, slipped his tongue languidly into his mouth. Obi-Wan's senses filled with the taste of his own seed, bitter as sin. 

Still inexplicably gentle, Anakin guided his tired, shaking arms back down his sides. Obi-Wan groaned in relief at the feeling of strong hands kneading into the sore muscles. He was far too shattered to resist taking comfort in Anakin's touch. The feeling of anyone being so tender with him was overwhelming. 

Anakin pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

"You did well, Obi-Wan," he murmured. "I'm proud of you." 

They stayed there, for how long he couldn't quite tell, Obi-Wan's face buried in Anakin's shirt, Anakin's hands running up and down his back reassuringly.

Finally, Obi-Wan cleared his throat. His faculties were beginning to return, and his self-consciousness with them. He stood encircled in Anakin's arms, his softening cock still hanging out of his pants. How could he have enjoyed that? What was wrong with him? 

"Are we done?" he asked quietly. 

"Done? I'm disappointed!" Anakin pulled back. Just like that, the novel mask of tenderness was gone, replaced by a far more familiar attitude of mockery. "I thought you priests were supposed to be all about serving and giving." 

Anakin ruffled a hand through Obi-Wan's hair and kissed his nose. "No, Father, you're not going to get off that easy." He tilted his head and flashed what could only be described as a shit-eating grin.  "Well, I guess you did get off pretty easily, if you know what I mean." 

Obi-Wan just stared at him, watched him deflate a little at the nonreaction.

"Never mind." He took Obi-Wan's wrist in a vice grip and tugged him forward. "Come on." 

Obi-Wan stumbled out into the rear of the dimly lit chapel nave, hastily tucking himself back into his pants with his other hand. The feeling of a cool draft on his neck was indescribable; he hadn't realized how hot and close it had become inside the confessional. Obi-Wan gasped like he was surfacing from underwater, relieved to get a breath of air that wasn't thick with Anakin's intoxicating scent.

He tried not to think about where he was, about the cross that hung high over the altar, accusing him at every moment.  Anakin pulled him over to the nearest pew and twirled them both around, playful and fey. He pinned Obi-Wan to the back of it and kissed him lightly, taking several sharp nips at his bottom lip.

"Alright, Father, you've had your fun. Now," —he thrust his hips forward, rubbing his hard cock against Obi-Wan's achingly sensitive one— "it's time for you to take care of me."

Heat rose all the way to the tips of Obi-Wan's ears. "But. I've never— I don't know how to—" 

"Shh, shhhh." Anakin smoothed back a stray lock of Obi-Wan's hair. "Don't worry. I'll teach you how to suck cock some other time. I had something else in mind for tonight." He leant in closer, his lips brushing Obi-Wan's ear. His voice dropped to a low rasp. "Tell me, Father, have you ever been fucked before?" 

Obi-Wan went stiff, every muscle in his body tensed to flee. But he didn't. He made his choice, and it can't be unmade. There will be no respite for him, tonight.

"I've been faithful to my vows thus far.

Anakin grinned. "So that's a no?" 

Obi-Wan gave a near-imperceptible nod.

"No, you've never...?" Anakin raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

"Never." 

"Never what? I'd like to hear it all, please." 

Obi-Wan looked down. "I've never been... fucked, before." 

The admission hung in the air like someone else said it in his voice. Obi-Wan had never imagined himself saying such things. 

"Well, Father, that's going to change tonight." Anakin kissed him softly before stepping back. "Strip." 

Obi-Wan glanced around the nave in horror. The doors were locked from the inside, they would be private, but still—

"Right here?" 

Anakin crossed his arms and tapped his foot, and Obi-Wan decided not to argue further. Staring straight forward, he unbuttoned his shirt in short, jerky motions. He was determined not to put on any kind of show for Anakin, who was watching his every movement with fixed interest.

The black button-down went on the seat of the pew next to him, followed quickly by the rest of his clothes, until he was down to his boxer briefs. It was rather uncomfortable: the chapel was quite drafty, and Anakin's gaze felt like a spotlight on his exposed skin.

"Go on, no need to be shy." Anakin gestured at his underwear. "I've seen it all already, haven't I?" 

"I suppose," he sighed, and obeyed, quickly bringing a hand forward to cover himself. 

"Stop it. I want to see you." Anakin moved the hand aside, exposing Obi-Wan's soft cock. Obi-Wan stared at the flagstones, holding his arms rigidly at his sides. He still felt Anakin's cruel eyes on him. Humiliation made itself known in the lurch of his stomach, in the flush spreading down his chest. 

"Please... don't." 

"Don't what?" Anakin sounded legitimately confused. "I'm not doing anything." 

"I know I'm not much to look at," Obi-Wan grated out, hanging his head even lower. "You don't have to rub it in." 

"Not much to—" Anakin laughed disbelievingly. "Obi-Wan, do you have any idea how you look? How long I've wanted you?" He stepped back into Obi-Wan's space, curled large hands around his biceps. "God, I could just eat you alive." 

Anakin claimed Obi-Wan's mouth again, licking and biting as he ground his hips in slow circles. Obi-Wan whimpered painfully as the rough fabric of Anakin's jeans brushed his cock. 

"Turn around for me." Anakin murmured, grabbing Obi-Wan's hips and rotating him until he faced the pew. His hands naturally fell to grip the back, granting a small reprieve to his wobbly knees. 

He was out of energy to resist. Even through his embarrassment, he pliantly obeyed, even when Anakin yanked his hips backwards and kicked his legs apart until he could feel the chill air whisper over the juncture between them.

"Very good, Father, stay just like that."

Obi-Wan kept his eyes forward, gripping the pew so hard his knuckles went white. Anakin's touch ghosted along the cleft of his ass and then roughly spread him open. A high and unrecognizable whimper escaped his throat. 

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Anakin hissed. "I can't fucking wait to get inside you." 

Cloth rustled behind him, and he heard the pop of a cap. He didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified that Anakin came prepared even for this. 

"I'm going to touch you now, is that alright, Father?" 

"Just get on with it," said Obi-Wan through gritted teeth. 

"It's so cute how you keep pretending you don't want this," Anakin said, and slid two slick fingers between Obi-Wan's cheeks. He bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood and still utterly failed to hold back his whine as Anakin traced circles around his rim. His cock stiffened even further. Anakin continued to tease, applying slight pressure and then pulling back, never pushing inside. 

He realized with a flip of his stomach that something in him did want that. Something he didn't understand made him ache to press back into Anakin's fingers, to take them, take his cock... 

As if he knew what Obi-Wan was thinking, Anakin pushed harder, one finger slipping past the resistance of Obi-Wan's body, and, oh—

"That's it, you're doing so well..." 

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, eyes stinging. He didn't understand why Anakin was suddenly so gentle, murmuring praises into his ear even as his finger plunged further inside. He found that clenching his muscles only increased the strangeness of the feeling, so he forced himself to relax. A second finger joined the first, stretching him open inexorably.  

"Anakin— I—" 

Anakin brushed something inside him that was so incredibly sensitive and he choked out a dry half sob. 

"Too much?" he asked, even as he deliberately prodded the spot again. Obi-Wan's hips stuttered forward. 

"It's, ahh— somewhat overwhelming, yes." Words seemed on the brink of failing him again. He realized with horror that his cock was beginning to fill again. 

"This will help." Anakin's other arm wrapped around to press two fingers against Obi-Wan's lower lip. "Don't bite." 

Obi-Wan allowed the fingers into his mouth. They slid slowly in and out, mirroring what Anakin was already doing to him. His lips closed reflexively around them and he began to suck. It was oddly grounding, even as he churned at his participation in his own debasement. 

I'm doing what is right for others, he reminded himself, as Anakin pushed a third finger into his ass, as he moaned around the ones in his mouth. What I want doesn't matter either way. This has nothing to do with me. 

He cried out desperately when Anakin withdrew, clenching around nothing. He pulled back his other hand as well, fingers releasing from Obi-Wan's mouth with a wet pop and smearing saliva down his chin. 

The sound of a belt unbuckling seemed to echo off the stones of the chapel. 

"A- Anakin?" 

"Yes, that's right, Father." A zipper opening. "It's time." 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, bracing himself. Heaven preserve me. Anakin had waited so long now to take his pleasure; he would surely stake his claim violently. It was his nature. It was the punishment that Obi-Wan deserved. 

Instead, Obi-Wan felt a warm arm wrap around his chest, a kiss pressed to his ear. 

"It's not too late to change your mind, Obi-Wan," Anakin murmured. "You can still tell me to stop." 

After all I've done? All I let him do? Obi-Wan shook his head. "I made my choice." 

The arm tightened until he's crushed to Anakin's chest, and the scalding heat of Anakin's slicked cock slid against him.

"Then I want to hear you say 'please.'" Anakin's hips rutted slowly in a pantomime of sex. "I want you to beg for my cock. I want you to pray for me." 

Please, Obi-Wan mouthed, but he choked around the words. 

"Go on, you can do it," Anakin stroked down his belly to squeeze teasingly at his cock, sending tiny shocks of pleasure through him, and begging became all too easy. 

"P- please, Anakin. Please..." He didn't have the vocabulary for this. He would have to resort to Anakin's terms. What was a little more blasphemy on his long list of sins, after all? "Please, just fuck me." 

"Oh, Father," Anakin crowed, "All you had to do was ask." 

And then he pushed forward. 

For a moment, Obi-Wan teetered on the edge of pain, and he thought the pew might crack under the pressure of his fingers, but Anakin had prepared him well. Far crueler than the slight stretching twinge of discomfort was how easy the rest was; how smoothly Anakin's cock slid into him, how pleasant shivers already radiated each time his body clenched around the foreign presence. 

Anakin groaned wordlessly as he seated himself to the hilt. His voice peaked high, the sound strangely vulnerable and young, and for a moment he panted into Obi-Wan's neck, clutching him. Then Anakin grabbed him by the hair and began to move, and the moment ended. 

"Fuck," Anakin breathed, thrusting slowly. "You're so tight. Can't believe I'm the first one who gets to do this." He twisted his hips, finding the same spot from before with unerring precision. 

"Ahh—" 

"You like that?" He repeated the motion. "Not so pure and perfect now, huh?"

Obi-Wan let Anakin draw forth more whimpers, giving himself over to his body's reactions. I never was. 

Anakin shifted closer, mouthed at the side of his neck.  "That's right, Father. I'm the only one who gets to defile you like this. The only one who gets to—" he thrust in forcefully, "fuck you like this." 

Obi-Wan's gasp of pleasure echoed off the flagstones. He closed his eyes tight, hung his head in a parody of prayer, trying to forget where he was. Anakin was wrong. He was the one who was defiling himself, whose damnable body craved every bit of use and abuse Anakin gave it. 

Anakin began to gasp his own noises into Obi-Wan's ear as he set a faster rhythm, each thrust shaking Obi-Wan to the core. He had one hand braced over Obi-Wan's, their fingers entwined, while the other roamed every inch of his flesh, seeking to drive his reactions to a higher pitch. His fingers found a nipple again, and this time he dug them in mercilessly until Obi-Wan keened and threw his head back, not knowing whether he wanted to escape or lean into the sensation. 

"Yes, that's it," Anakin growled, "Let me hear you." His touch burned a path down to Obi-Wan's cock, stroked it roughly. Obi-Wan realized that he could and would come again from this, with Anakin impaling him, wrecking him from the inside out.

"Oh God," he sobbed, overwhelmed. "Oh, God." 

"God?" Anakin wrenched him mercilessly back by the hair, his thrusts relentless. The cross that hung at the head of the chapel swam into his vision. "Is that your God? Is that who you belong to? Who you're pledged to?" 

"Y– y– yes." He shut his eyes in shame, unable to face the symbol as Anakin debauched him in this holy place. 

"Not. Anymore." Anakin began to savage his exposed neck, raining down sucking, marking bites in between each word. "You belong to me now. You're mine, and no one else's, do you hear me?"

Obi-Wan shook his head desperately against the hold in his hair. What Anakin said might be true, in all but name. He was quickly losing himself to the darkness, falling ever more into Anakin's grasp. But he refused to forsake his vows openly. Not like this. Not here.

"Come on. Say it, Father. Tell me you're mine." Anakin's hand left his hair to take his cock back in a vice grip.

"No," he gasped out. "I won't." 

"Say it!" Anakin sounded crazed, unhinged, even as he stroked Obi-Wan towards completion, even as his hips snapped forward with brutal accuracy. 

"No," Obi-Wan repeated, and slipped over the edge, arching his back and coming into Anakin's hand.

Anakin snarled wordlessly in frustration and hauled him even closer, carelessly smearing his own release into his skin. His arms tightened possessively, as if he feared Obi-Wan would slip away. For his part, Obi-Wan rode the edge of the storm, letting Anakin do as he wished as his thrusts grew more and more erratic. 

Anakin buried his face in Obi-Wan's neck. "I— Please say it. Please, Obi-Wan." 

He sounded so young. So desperate and needful. For a moment, not in control at all. Something deep within Obi-Wan twisted. 

"I'm yours," he whispered, so low that he could barely hear his own voice speak the words. 

It was enough. Anakin came undone with a broken shout, pulsing through orgasm inside of him, clutching him close as he shuddered and spasmed.

They caught their breath in unison, slumped together against the back of the pew. Anakin traced circles on Obi-Wan's bare skin, disarmingly tender. After a few minutes, it was no longer enough to stem the panic that threatened to claw its way up his throat. 

Anakin must have noticed his breath quickening again. He withdrew and gently turned Obi-Wan around, pulling him into his chest. Obi-Wan's arms drifted to Anakin's waist of their own accord. 

"Come here... I've got you." Anakin patted Obi-Wan on the back. Such strange comfort. Gravity seemed to be shifting... or was he just dizzy?

"Is your room near here?" 

"I can get there myself," he tried. 

"Don't be stupid," Anakin said quietly. "And don't worry, I'm not going to try anything else. You already did so well." He pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Obi-Wan didn't have it in him to argue. "Through there." He made a vague gesture at the walkway that led to the parish house. 

Thankfully, he was allowed to clothe himself with Anakin's help. No one but him would be stalking the halls at this hour, but he was grateful for the bit of dignity. Anakin himself was still fully clothed, only the flush on his delicate cheekbones speaking to their exertions. 

They made it halfway there before he stumbled, his legs wobbly and unsure beneath him. Without a word, Anakin swept him up as though he meant to carry him over the threshold. His protests were muffled by Anakin's shirt as he was borne up the stairs and laid into bed.

"Shh... you can rest now." The sink in the tiny adjoining bathroom ran briefly. A weight came to rest on the bed next to him. Anakin was sponging off his forehead with a cool washcloth, unsticking sweaty strands of hair from his skin. 

He didn't understand. 

But sleep was so close, reaching out to preserve him, to spare him from all his wants and fears. He embraced the black, and the last thing he felt was the heat of a palm over his own.

He woke, and the night came back to him in stages. 

First, there was the deep languor that suffused every muscle, as though he'd run a marathon. There was a little stiffness too, and here and there a twinge of pain, but overall the feeling was not unpleasant. 

Far less savory was the sensation of griminess as he shifted his limbs beneath the sheets. He had fallen asleep filthy, sticky with sweat and... other things. His lips twisted in a grimace—he badly needed to bathe. 

He tried to ignore the other ache, the one that peaked deep and sharp behind his ribs when he groped out with an arm to find himself alone in his narrow bed. Alone was good. Alone meant safe. 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. 

It was a beautiful morning. A light breeze ruffled his curtains. Sunlight spilled through the window onto his bedside table, refracting in dazzling sparkles through a full glass of water left there.

Next to the glass sat a Bible. His own personal copy, one page marked with a torn scrap of paper. 

Obi-Wan sat up laboriously and stretched, what felt like every bone in his back cracking in the process. His mouth felt dry and fuzzy, so he took a reluctant sip of water. It was so refreshing that he drained half the glass. Only then did he pick up the Bible. 

It fell open easily in his hand, well-worn from many readings. Proverbs. Bright red ink bled through the delicate paper, underlining a single verse. 

Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy. 

The scrap of paper bore the same ink, three words in an untidy scrawl. 

See you soon.