As a matter of principle, Obi-Wan keeps his awareness of the emotions around him at a distance, layering himself in shield upon shield to preserve the privacy of his own mind and the sanctity of thought and emotion of other sentients. Their lives, external and internal, are their own. Simply because he is able to peruse does not mean it is right for him to do so without permission. Even several glasses of wine in and pressed so close the low buzz of attraction and distant, mild arousal (purely physiological reactions to extended physical contact with a compatible partner, nothing he takes to be an invitation or mark upon his person) fizzes between their clasped palms like bees thrumming in a hive-
Obi-Wan keeps his mind to himself.
But the sheer depth of that emotional pain- that worry, that sense almost of a limb lost startled Obi-Wan into sobriety; his brows pinching, his concerned gaze upon his friend's expression. No luck in the search, apparently, and that is troubling. Neither here nor in the Horizon-
Castiel moves past to a different subject, and Obi-Wan follows, shifting from leading the dance (Castiel has learned enough to manage) to following as he's directed, turning under his arm and leaning back against Castiel's chest with a faint frown. There's a distinct absence of emotional resonance tied to the mention of the pit- meaning whatever horrors there were? Castiel's not only familiar with such difficulties and trauma, he is seasoned against them.
As a celestial wavelength, these events might land differently, but-
Questions for another time.
"He showed me a drawing of what he saw- the acolytes allegedly called it a gift? A triangular structure before three moons- one crescent, two full- before a field of...bodies floating in stasis behind. Considering all I've heard, I assume them to be corpses. I'll share the image with you in the Horizon; I've some experience with interpreting these things." Which is distinctly a distressing and not at all enjoyable thought for the levity of the situation, he's finding that despite himself?
His vibe has been harshed.
Not enough to put him out of harmonious resonance with Castiel- but switching to the Trench Coat? That's a lighter topic. Lighter still may be a twist, turning in Castiel's embrace as he considers the tan bulk that is a comfort and his mind goes to his own earthen robes, lost to him outside of the Horizon. "I know something of what that's like- hold firm, please."
Gentle instruction as he's offered with nudges of his hands, his hips, and the Force when required; though now as he's following and there is space enough? The hand not clasped tightly in Castiel's skims up to his shoulder, one leg sliding in between Castiel's thighs, hooking around as he leans close and turns with his partner, trusting the hand at the small of his back to hold him in place as they pivot. "And, lean forward-"
As he arches backward, head tilted, throat bared in supplication, held in position by the grip of his own thighs around Castiel's leg and the solidity of the hand holding him in a graceful curve while the music wells and lilts around them. His calloused fingers clasped with Castiel's tap idly in time with the music, two, three four before he lifts himself and turns with a rakish, deeply pleased smile. "That certainly impressed a few locals; we're doing wonders for your reputation."
no subject
Obi-Wan keeps his mind to himself.
But the sheer depth of that emotional pain- that worry, that sense almost of a limb lost startled Obi-Wan into sobriety; his brows pinching, his concerned gaze upon his friend's expression. No luck in the search, apparently, and that is troubling. Neither here nor in the Horizon-
Castiel moves past to a different subject, and Obi-Wan follows, shifting from leading the dance (Castiel has learned enough to manage) to following as he's directed, turning under his arm and leaning back against Castiel's chest with a faint frown. There's a distinct absence of emotional resonance tied to the mention of the pit- meaning whatever horrors there were? Castiel's not only familiar with such difficulties and trauma, he is seasoned against them.
As a celestial wavelength, these events might land differently, but-
Questions for another time.
"He showed me a drawing of what he saw- the acolytes allegedly called it a gift? A triangular structure before three moons- one crescent, two full- before a field of...bodies floating in stasis behind. Considering all I've heard, I assume them to be corpses. I'll share the image with you in the Horizon; I've some experience with interpreting these things." Which is distinctly a distressing and not at all enjoyable thought for the levity of the situation, he's finding that despite himself?
His vibe has been harshed.
Not enough to put him out of harmonious resonance with Castiel- but switching to the Trench Coat? That's a lighter topic. Lighter still may be a twist, turning in Castiel's embrace as he considers the tan bulk that is a comfort and his mind goes to his own earthen robes, lost to him outside of the Horizon. "I know something of what that's like- hold firm, please."
Gentle instruction as he's offered with nudges of his hands, his hips, and the Force when required; though now as he's following and there is space enough? The hand not clasped tightly in Castiel's skims up to his shoulder, one leg sliding in between Castiel's thighs, hooking around as he leans close and turns with his partner, trusting the hand at the small of his back to hold him in place as they pivot. "And, lean forward-"
As he arches backward, head tilted, throat bared in supplication, held in position by the grip of his own thighs around Castiel's leg and the solidity of the hand holding him in a graceful curve while the music wells and lilts around them. His calloused fingers clasped with Castiel's tap idly in time with the music, two, three four before he lifts himself and turns with a rakish, deeply pleased smile. "That certainly impressed a few locals; we're doing wonders for your reputation."