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Anakin used to join him during his heats when he was a pup. It was normal, encouraged, even, to have a pup around an omega in heat. They elicit caretaking tendencies, maternal instincts, and the sorts. There was the Code to worry about, attachments and such, but as long as their duties to the Order were fulfilled, the Council generally tended to dismiss it away. And so Obi-Wan would let Anakin join him, smother him with his scent like a mother would do with its child, bury his nose on top of Anakin's head, smelling of milk and vanilla, the scent of a pup. He remembered Anakin enjoying it as much as he did, if he wasn't mistaken. If he remembered it clearly without the tinge of fond nostalgia for days long past.
He put a stop to it when Anakin was grown, somewhere around thirteen, fourteen, when his peers began to present. This, he remembered clearly, without bias: Anakin's betrayed look, his angry tears, his furrowed brows, and everything that came with being denied something. Maybe it was Obi-Wan's fault. He rarely did refuse Anakin anything. But this— this. Lines should be drawn, should be established, especially when the markers of what Anakin would present into was becoming more and more impossible to ignore. The random spikes of pungent, harsh scent, the bursts of possessiveness, the inability to let go of a certain something—
And so they stopped. And so Anakin drifted away. It was normal. Masters and their padawans— former padawans— were meant to drift apart. Attachment was bound to happen in such a bond, but for it to be maintained even after the padawan's knighting? It was the sort of thing the Council would click their tongues on. So, here they were, equal now. Alpha and omega. Knight and Master. Both a part of the Council.
He didn't hesitate to whisk away Anakin the moment the Council had dismissed them, though. He dragged him towards a secluded corner, held him there. “You reek,” he said. “Are you not wearing your blockers? Anakin—”
Anakin glared and tore his arm away. “I'm fine.”
“I assure you, you don't. The other masters are just far too polite to call you out in the middle of it,” Obi-Wan looked into the skin under where his curls gathered, and saw it empty of the bacta patch alphas wore. He gave Anakin a firm look. “What is this, is this your attempt to act out? You're no longer a Padawan. Besides, you're part of the Council.”
“Really? I sure don't feel like it. They just want the glory of having the Chosen One in their ranks. And what's it to you, anyway?”
Because you're my responsibility, except he wasn't. No longer. Obi-Wan let him go; watched Anakin take a deep breath, eyes gaining an edge of desire, but that wasn't entirely correct, either. What was there to be desired in this place, where it was forbidden itself? “Right,” he said. “I'm just telling you that it's not allowed to parade your scent everywhere. It might cause disruptions, especially when…”
“Especially what?” Anakin spat. His scent grew spicier, hot— the type that prickled eyes. Obi-Wan swallowed and blinked. “You know what, just for this to be over. Fine. I'll wear it. Happy now?”
They weren't as close as before, but Anakin seemed so— cross, with him, today. Before Obi-Wan could think about it, think about his actions before he did, he placed his hand on Anakin's shoulder. Instantly, he felt the muscles there, hard-earned in the walls of their formerly shared apartment where Anakin disturbed the silence with his grunts during katas. Also in an instant, he felt the sudden stiffness, then its gradual disappearance into relaxation. He smiled, helpless. “I'm just worried about you.”
Anakin's eyes were a mixture of blue and green. They disappeared when he lowered them. “Sorry, master.”
“It's fine,” Obi-Wan said. He squeezed his shoulders before he pulled away. “You're my friend, so I don't want to— see you in trouble. And, maybe, if you—” he swallowed, “feel like I can do something about what you're going through, then, just tell me.”
“Really,” Anakin lifted his head. “You’d do that for me?”
“As long as I'm capable of it.”
Anakin hesitated. Then he seemed to think of it as useless, irrelevant, when he reached for Obi-Wan's hand, and pressed it to his nape. The gesture reminded him of when he'd caress Anakin there, when he was having troubles with his presentation. It hurts, Anakin would say. It hurts so much, master, I need you, and Obi-Wan would scent him there, and he'd be fine. He was twelve the last time they did it. He was twenty-two, now, but the expression on Anakin's face didn't seem to change one bit, still needy, still open, still desperate for his master's comfort.
Obi-Wan melted, “Come here,” and took Anakin in his arms.
Then they were in Obi-Wan’s quarters, in his bed, Anakin wrapped around him like the old times. Their legs were entangled, Anakin having removed his boots somewhere during the scuffle, and he was pressing his body on him, rippling with hard muscles and softness alike. Obi-Wan sighed, fingers clutching his back, breathing in the musk and leather, heedless of the way his eyes burned and how heat gathered in his gut. Not Anakin. Never Anakin, that way.
“Master,” Anakin exhaled. He buried his face in his neck, licking a stripe along his jaw. Obi-Wan whimpered; he felt feverish, about to go down sick. “Oh, master. I miss you, master. I miss this, master.”
“Don't—” Obi-Wan said, “Don't lick me. Just—”
Anakin pressed their chests together, their hips, too. Their bodies slid against each other, fitting, suitable, like pieces in a complex puzzle. Obi-Wan's arms around Anakin's neck, Anakin’s around his waist. His pup, although grown now, still seeking him out, needing him like nothing changed, like time was a mere construct. In the haze of his flickering consciousness, he saw Anakin nosing along his collarbones, fingers parting his tunic and there it was, what he saw, earlier: desire. He figured he should stop it. It was why he stayed away, in the first place. It was inappropriate. It was dangerous. But Anakin— he made him feel so good—
Instead he curled his fingers on Anakin's curls, and pressed him into himself further. “Go,” he murmured softly. “I’ll be with you. Always.”