#we could be getting dicked down tonight if you don't go to the capitol(Coruscant)

[tennessoui]

“Kiaree is pregnant,” Obi-Wan says, as if Anakin is supposed to care about this woman and her baby. “If her name is drawn from the victor‘s pool, I will take her place.” “Like hell you will,” Anakin snarls. “There are other victors.”

“Magdeline is old,” Obi-Wan’s eyes cut away, fall to the space between their hands. Good, Anakin thinks viciously, he should find it hard to look at him. “She should not have to go back to Coruscant. Not ever again in her lifetime. If her name is drawn—” “Then you will let it be!” Anakin rounds the corners of the counter, unthinkingly fast. He clasps his hand around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, squeezing the fine fabric that Coruscant has dressed him in tightly. “Why would you volunteer for them, Obi-Wan? They have never volunteered for you.”

“The actions of others do not control my own, Anakin,” Obi-Wan snaps, pushing him away, freeing himself from his grasp. “I will volunteer to serve as master and mentor, as I am the most suitable to be victor—” Anakin grinds his teeth together, pushing himself back into Obi-Wan’s space, pinning him against the counter. “You would do that to me?” he asks, low, voice a dark growl in his throat. Obi-Wan has styled his hair carefully, slicked it back and trimmed his beard. Anakin touches the lines of his beard, ghosts over the glossy locks before shoving his fingers into it, messing up the tidy strands. “You would take yourself away from me, for months more?”

“The Games will last no more than a fortnight,” Obi-Wan murmurs, keeping his back straight, unwilling to melt into Anakin’s touch. “I will be back on Stewjoni soil before the leaves turn gold.”

“You will be parsecs away from me until the spring,” Anakin replies, and he gentles his hold, smooths over the mess of Obi-Wan’s bangs and slots himself up against him. Not fighting, not pushing. Pressing, coaxing. “Your body will be here, but your mind will not. Do not pretend as if you do not know what I am talking about.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth falls open, a flash of red as he wets his bottom lip and looks away. Of course he knows what Anakin means. The years that he must go to Coruscant, the years that he is made master of two children who are destined to die bloody and screaming, those years haunt him in his eyes. It is the price he pays as a victor—it is not just his Games that haunts him. It is every Game he has ever been made to watch, to participate in even from the sidelines.

And he may be willing to pay that price so that his other victors may live without it, but Anakin will not allow the same.