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The alley behind the Coruscant Skate Temple was littered with broken bottles and cigarette butts. The smell of weed and beer and sex almost overpowered the dumpster and whatever rotting hotdog and hamburger remains resided within it, and Obi-Wan leaned against the building with a sigh as he pointedly looked away from the gaggle of kids standing twenty feet to his left as they stumbled to the street, howling with laughter and fresh puke on their shoes.
The cigarette in his hand burned down closer to the filter between detached, absent drags, and Obi-Wan glanced distractedly at his watch and noticed he should have been back inside almost ten minutes ago. He pushed up off the wall and ran a tired hand through his hair, stubbed his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe, and flicked it neatly into the seldom-used trashcan by the back door before letting himself back inside.
Ignoring the wobbly feeling in his stomach, Obi-Wan put on a smile as the flood of light and sound pounded into his head. The Coruscant Skate Temple was almost loud enough to shake the basement free of its foundations. On top of the music, hundreds of screams and laughs and conversations, and the sound of the penny arcade cramped in the back corner, the sound of roller skates on hardwood rattled loud enough to shake the teeth out of your head.
For Obi-Wan, who had inherited the business after his longtime friend and mentor Qui-Gon Jinn had passed, nothing was quite as soothing a feeling. He loved Friday nights.
Or, he used to.
The back entrance let into the Temple close to the snack bar and the smell of about fifty plates of cheese fries assaulted his nose immediately. Feeling a headache coming on, Obi-Wan made a beeline for the office just on the other end of the back wall, and he stuck close to the wall with a nimble and determined grace as he kept his eyes firm on the safe and welcome sight of his office door.
“Hey, Boss.” His ticket girl said, looking up from her readings and catching Obi-Wan happily in her warm and kind eyes. He paused, looked at her, and marveled at her powers of concentration that she could read at all in such an environment. “You haven’t forgot about my favor tonight?” Padmé asked, folding an index card neatly into the seam of her book as she leaned back in her seat to look at him.
“Ah, yes.” Obi-Wan said, squaring his shoulders to her, feeling his gut twist again, forcing his face to remain serene and calm. “Of course, Padmé. It is really no trouble. Where was your interview again?”
“Washington D.C.; my flight leaves tonight at eleven.” She said, turning her gaze to the white plastic clock that ticked away primly and reminded them it was already ten after seven. “If you don’t think you can cover me, I do believe Aayla is free after all.”
“I’ll be alright, thank you. At your convenience, Miss Amidala. Best of luck tomorrow, my dear.” He said with a smile as she nodded graciously to him and began to pack her things. Obi-Wan turned from her, swept his gaze over the rink, and spotted the source of his headache naturally before making his way to his office with a strange feeling in his throat. Really, if Anakin Skywalker were to have this kind of affect on him all the time, he should put the kid on morning shifts.
--
A world away, on the glossy hardwood floor of the rink, Anakin Skywalker turned gracefully in a circle and tongued absently at the whistle between his teeth as he watched some rowdy showoffs jockey for the position to the immediate left of a pretty girl. She merely rolled her eyes and pulled away from them with an easy flourish and wove between the bodies around her with a natural grace until she was coasting lazily by Anakin’s side.
“Everything all set for tonight?” Ahsoka asked, draping her arm around Anakin’s elbow. “I think you owe Padmé.”
“Well she does fly out at eleven,” Anakin said, turning them around to float backwards over the floor, watching Padmé collect her things as he hoped to catch her eye. “Just not until tomorrow morning.”
Really, it was perfect timing. Early enough in the season for closing to only take two people. The Temple was thinly staffed, to boot. Across the floor, Padmé stood up and turned to look for them and waved her hand and flashed a thumbs-up their way before making her way to the exit. If everything went according to plan tonight, Anakin would indeed owe her.
Anakin moved his gaze to the office habitually and watched Obi-Wan disappear inside, and he had to work hard to release his excitement through anything other than a shiver, and broke away from Ahsoka’s arm to stretch his arms up over his head and shake his hair out instead. He’d been on the floor an hour already, and the rest of the night loomed in front of him in five long hours. God, he could not wait.
“Are you sure he’ll go for it?” Ahsoka said, popping his bubble with a hand on his shoulder. “He does know you’re only 17, right?”
Anakin shrugged, unperturbed, and his smile arrested some younger girls behind Ahsoka abruptly. With his long and curly hair and bright blue eyes, Anakin was easily the most admired and envied man on the floor. It was no mistake that Obi-Wan scheduled him for floor duty during the weekends, and maybe, in the end, that would be his undoing.
--
Deep inside the comforting piles of records and stacks of paper coffee cups, Obi-Wan tucked into his paperwork with all the practiced tranquility of a monk. And why shouldn’t he? There was something calming about tending to the Temple. Qui-Gon had understood that, certainly. There was something special here, something different about it. Something that settled into the soul and brightened whatever darkness might be growing. Undoubtedly more soothing than the dark and dreary Coruscant Bowling Alley across town, with its decaying manager Palpatine. God that place gave him the creeps.
Back to the task at hand. It was best to not linger upon such things as the bowling alley and its unnatural custodian too long.
It was the calm before the storm, no doubt, but dauntless and determined to not waste an entire evening on his petty and perverted problems, Obi-Wan inched his eyes along the financial records of the Temple with all the confidence of a CPA and absolutely none of the formal training. The next three hours passed in a pleasant lull of paperwork and pencil marks. Electricity bills, licensing renewals, maintenance, and inventory. Calls had to be made, hours had to be counted, schedules had to be fixed and posted, contests to be planned. He’d never envisioned himself to be the managing type when he was younger, but there was something satisfying about filling out spreadsheets and tallying up totals. The expenses were always intimidating, but the Temple managed, just as it had under Qui-Gon.
Maybe he should be thinking about a successor, too. The thought startled Obi-Wan out of his work, and he sat back, fidgeted with his pencil, stared at the lists of his employee names and thought.
At thirty-five, Obi-Wan didn’t exactly have one foot in the grave yet (or two, last time he had seen Sheev the man looked more than half dead), but Qui-Gon had passed before his time. Before Obi-Wan was ready, certainly. But who could he turn to?
Padmé was graduating this month. The college she attended was nothing to sneeze at and her degree in international affairs was going to take someone as bright as her far – already interviewing in Washington, worlds away, might as well be another galaxy far far away from here. He wouldn’t ask her to stay.
Who, then? Mace had retired shortly after Qui-Gon’s death. Shaak had moved to the big city on the other side of the state. Aayla was on her own way to bigger an better things. His eyes fluttered over the list of names in front of him – halfway through putting the next schedule together – and he skipped over his name several times, reigniting that ball of anxiety in his stomach, thinking about the evening to come. But why not Anakin? He was a local, or so he had gathered, and must be enrolled with Padmé in college. He worked hard. Seemed to find that same peace in here that Qui-Gon did.
Christ, what a horrible idea. Obi-Wan could see it now – the two of them stuck in here mumbling over the numbers in the heat, with that flush Anakin got, just right on his cheeks, the sweat in his bangs and on the hair that stuck to the back of his neck. The smell of him in this small space.
A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts somewhere just south of full daydreaming, and Obi-Wan jumped as Aayla stuck her head in through the door and announced her departure.
“Right, dear, enjoy your evening.” Obi-Wan said, running a hand through his hair and thankful that his beard obscured most of his blush. He stood up from his desk and followed her out, glanced over the Temple as he walked over to the rental counter, and took in all the familiar sights once more as he sighed and braced for whatever catastrophe the evening had in store for him.
“Friday night…” He mumbled as the lights and neon flooded his vision. On the floor, laughing with his friends, tossing his hair, and rocking a pair of suspiciously tight pants, Anakin Skywalker looked up from his fun and turned his blinding smile on Obi-Wan. The breathless look of ecstasy matched with the sudden heat in his eyes just about winded Obi-Wan as he fumbled for a pair of skates to lace to drag his eyes off his employee’s face.
My god, was he in trouble.
--
Anakin spent the last hour of his shift in a daze of anticipation and adrenaline. Every time he turned his back on the skate counter he could all but feel Obi-Wan’s gaze on his back, his hips, his shoulders, and each slow turn to face him found the Temple’s manager looking firmly down at whatever pair of skates he was tending to in his hands or devoting his entire attention to the customer in front of him with vigor.
It was so obvious it was delicious, he could taste it, the heat and electricity in the air, the smell of sweat and the sounds of stolen kisses around them. Heated exchanges and the swell of Friday night fun and the promise of an hour in the backseat afterwards with a bottle or a joint and panties cast aside on the floor. Three knuckles deep in pussy because that is all that mattered in the world to small town Coruscant kids in these early days of summer. You in that dress, my thoughts I confess. Anakin could taste it all.
And then the clock struck midnight. The crowds washed away through the double doors, Anakin watched them and everything seemed muffled and gauzy, the lights around them were still on, ethereal, the DJ was gone and the hall just echoed and boomed with catcalls and laughter and shrieks and the cook had gone an hour ago and it was going to be just the two of them.
Across the Temple, Obi-Wan watched Anakin take his last turn on the floor and felt the chill of the early summer night air raise the hair on his arms and do nothing to cool the heat rising in his blood.
Anakin turned to face him, a knowing smile on his pretty lips, and Obi-Wan exhaled shakily and strode out from behind the counter.
“Good evening, Anakin.” He said, coming to pause by the barrier as Anakin floated close and braced himself on the other side. It struck him suddenly that Anakin would be two inches shorter out of his skates, and their height difference was startling even now, as he looked down into his blue eyes and the sweat-soaked bangs that wouldn’t obey his hand and stay off his forehead and he looked so young and fresh like this. Suddenly he was not at all sure he remembered the boy’s age. “If we’re quick about it we can be out of here in half an hour. I’ve already got a start on the skates.”
“Sounds good to me.” Anakin said, coasting over to the rink exit and hopping out, effortless and practiced and natural. “What would you like me to do?”
Obi-Wan laughed uneasily as his eyes tracked Anakin’s hips while he bent at the waist to unlace his skates. My god, he must be in college. Had to be. Just a freshman; Padmé would not have occasion to interact with him, that was all.
“You can get the stage lights,” Obi-Wan felt himself say, worlds away as Anakin straightened up, and yes, was even shorter out of his skates, Christ he probably had a whole head on him, “After that you can sweep the rink, and wipe down the tables by the bar. I shall handle the floor back there when I’m done fixing up the rental counter. Then we close up the arcade, and I count the cash.”
Anakin nodded, said something about hard work, and strung his skates together and slung them over his shoulder before pushing his hair back over his forehead. His curls bounced back like some kind of animated statue of David clad in a skintight shirt and pants. Obi-Wan watched as he paced over to the staff lounge to retrieve his sneakers with as much smoothness as he possessed in the rink.
--
Fifteen minutes passed without incident, and Obi-Wan was just beginning to believe he would make it home without embarrassing himself. The rental counter was quick and familiar work to him from long hours spent at the scuffed shelves sorting the skates and noting repairs under Qui-Gon’s watchful custody. He had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed it; there was something meditative and serene about the repetitive work. He only had to re-lace three pairs.
A quick trip to the ticket booth and Obi-Wan snatched up the cashbox with a whistle and a light skip to his step. The lights went off smoothly without a hitch, Anakin had closed before it seemed and knew his way around the mess of wires with confidence apparently. As far as he knew, only Qui-Gon had truly understood the mess of wiring that held the halo of lights together before his little protégé had arrived on the scene only one summer ago.
Had Anakin really been on the staff only that long? With the Temple closed during the winter months, nearly everyone was seasonal aside from himself. He tried to recall Anakin from the summer before, how young and fresh-faced he seemed, how easily he fell into friendship with Padmé, how handsome he was even then.
“I wonder what he studies.” Obi-Wan mused to himself, trying to picture him behind a desk and finding the image funny as he packed the cashbox away in his office and looked out across the hall to spot Anakin busy finishing the floors. A fast worker, then, or eager to please. He should thank him, at the very least. Maybe just some light conversation. That wasn’t too challenging. Normalcy, just normalcy. Just your average roller rink owner and his inappropriate crush on his floor guard. They could chat about the weather.
Anakin looked up as he approached, with his boyish smile and the now-dry curls on his forehead bouncing beautifully against his tanned skin. Obi-Wan let himself wonder if his skin looked quite the same across his thighs under the tight seam of his pants, and met Anakin’s smile with his own.
“Very quick work, Anakin.” He praised, noting the slight blush that overtook the top of his cheeks, and of course he would be so easy to please like that. “You can go ahead and get started on the arcade if you like.”
“Oh, I haven’t been in there, before.” Anakin said, glancing at the roaring corner of the Temple and all the machinery that lay entombed in the cacophony of sound. “Padmé usually does that part; I do the floors for her instead. I’m sure I could do it, though. I’m quick with machines.”
“Oh no, it’s no trouble. We’ll do it together.” Obi-Wan heard himself say, feeling far away from himself and a lot less in control of the situation as Anakin’s pretty eyes warmed into a conspiratorial smile. A misstep, perhaps. The boy was standing close to him and even after the sweat of the night had evaporated from his skin he could still feel his feverish body heat. The possibility that Anakin and Padmé were somehow involved had not occurred to him until then, and the prospect dug a little into his chest. “I see you two make quite the team. Do you have any classes together?”
Anakin laughed, sharp, bright, and taken aback, and Obi-Wan could only stare.
“Oh, stars no.” Anakin said, bright and glossy eyed with his mirth. “I’m still in high school, Mr. Kenobi.”
--
To say the bottom dropped out of Obi-Wan’s stomach was a bit of an understatement. He could only stare, heat licking fast and hard up his chest and to his face, and feel his heart squeeze in his chest and then pound hard enough to burst. His pulse was nearly one constant scream in his ears and the whole world seemed to go a little foggy behind Anakin’s radiant smile.
“You’re…”
“Seventeen, Mr. Kenobi.” Anakin said, unperturbed by the sudden winding Obi-Wan had undergone, even as his knees threatened to buckle under his suddenly very heavy weight. “My birthday was a month ago, around opening day.”
The world still zipped headily across Obi-Wan’s unseeing eyes as he felt himself look Anakin up and down one more time. He must have still been fifteen when he hired him first, only one summer ago. Just fifteen. Stars. He had nearly twenty years on the boy.
“I had… no idea.” Obi-Wan said, finally finding his voice and shuffling the words across his thick and stupid tongue. Anakin’s sly little smile stabbed something hot into his gut. Sixteen only a month ago. He couldn’t even step back when Anakin twisted just a half-step closer.
“Padmé says I’m mature for my age.” He said simply, as if that solved all the problems he had caused for Obi-Wan, as if he wasn’t standing there smelling like sweat in an empty hall with only the exit signs for company, in a tight shirt and tight pants, like his parents let him out in those clothes and didn’t care that he worked for some thirty-five year old man who stared at him every night as he sweat and moved and put on a show for him.
“Yes.” Obi-Wan said, because Anakin was, it was painfully true. Everything felt slow and hot and by God he was going to go to jail for this kind of behavior. Anakin had a heavy blush on his face and he was standing close enough for Obi-Wan to feel his heat, to be reminded of how much smaller he was and how much sense it made now. Just a boy.
“Is that a problem, Mr. Kenobi?” Anakin asked, with some low and heated tone in the pitch of his voice. He’d nearly purred it, and wasn’t that sweet? Did he know what he was doing?
“No.” Obi-Wan said, watching as his reply emboldened the boy and the second twist and half-step forward brought Anakin right under his face. He was towering over him like this. Distantly, the thought that he’d have to disappear tonight’s security tapes crossed the fogged part of his mind where all his higher thinking resided.
Anakin’s beautiful blue eyes danced across Obi-Wan’s chest and down to his zipper and the space between his hips, and what he saw there was cause enough for the boy to blush.
The set-up was suddenly very obvious, entirely plain, and Obi-Wan could only sigh as he set an arm down at the table, just to Anakin’s side, and box him in against the wall to their left. His pulse was still shrieking in his ears, but Anakin only submitted, such a lovely boy, and maybe he could test these dangerous waters just a little more.
“I suppose I have Padmé to thank for this.” Obi-Wan said, sliding one leg forward to suggest a nudge between Anakin’s thighs. His heart leapt up into his throat because it was all out there, now, he might as well have just kissed him, but the hypnotic scent and sight of the boy was drawing him in and Obi-Wan crowded closer, measuring his progress in half-inches and aching fingers. He should grab him. Take a fistful of his hair. Taste his lips and that laughter he ached for. Time slowed around them as Obi-Wan waited, tipped his head to the side to feign indifference, and pondered his own impending incarceration.
But stars.. The boy only sucked in a breath and backed up against the table, and spread his legs slowly so that Obi-Wan’s jeans rasped against his own inseam. This was madness. Obi-Wan cleared his throat through his surprise, could do nothing to hide the want in his tone. “You two appear to be thick as thieves.”
“It was my idea.” Anakin breathed, staring down at the space between them and affording Obi-Wan a lovely view of the crown of his head, his halo of curls as he nudged his own hips forward and shivered. He was shy, such a darling boy, and his hands fluttered anxiously in the dead space between them before he tucked one graceful finger into a belt loop close to Obi-Wan’s front and tugged imploringly.
“You’ve no patience at all.” Obi-Wan observed, knocking his hand aside and pushing his own palm neatly into Anakin’s chest to force him back onto the table in one quick motion. Anakin went willingly, almost banging his head against the damn thing as he pushed his shoulders back and arched up against him, reaching back to grip the edge behind his head and choking on a whimper.
“Stay there.” Obi-Wan said, watching the heat in Anakin’s eyes burn hotter as he passed his hand down in a quick, rough motion. He stopped at his hip, felt the cut of his jeans give way to toned flesh, thought about the tanned skin under his palm, and bent down to kiss him.
Anakin groaned against his mouth and opened to his tongue easily. He was wet, his lips were soft, his spit was sweet. Obi-Wan licked across his pallet and again against his tongue, stuffed his mouth and dragged his hips to the edge of the table easily.
Here, their height difference was no matter. Anakin’s cock, straining against his jeans and dark at the tip through the denim, was a hot and heavy weight against Obi-Wan’s thigh. He rocked against him slowly as he let one hand travel up Anakin’s side until he could wind his fingers through his hair and pull. The pressure against his scalp turned Anakin into a taught bowstring underneath his chest and Obi-Wan bore down on him heavier as he began to rut himself against his thigh.
He pulled away from the kiss and Anakin shuddered beneath him. His lips were flushed and glossy, matching his cheeks and eyes, and the boy panicked his hands down between them to work at his fly.
“Patience.” Obi-Wan impressed on him as he let go of Anakin’s hair and knocked his hand away again.
“But – I – Mister Kenobi, please!”
Obi-Wan quite liked the sound of the title, and the thrill it gave him prompted him to drop his hand to the boy’s fly just to reward him. He would spend many long hours contemplating how nice it sounded on the tongue of his new little pet but maybe he shouldn’t spoil the kid with such things too early. He might still be a virgin, after all.
“Call me something else tonight, Anakin.” He said, flicking open his button and dragging down his fly with a lazy pace before going for his own. Anakin swallowed as he watched Obi-Wan pull himself out and bring his hand up to spit in.
He was silent for a moment between them – wonder of wonders that anything could shut the boy up, Obi-Wan was surprised – when a deeper flush overtook his cheeks and Anakin squirmed, bucked his hips, and took his own hand up to grip at his hair.
“Please, daddy.” He said, rocking his hips against Obi-Wan’s hand and smearing the tip of his cock against his knuckles. A thin bead of precum wet his skin, but Obi-Wan once again felt the roar of his pulse in his ears. Stars. The boy was heaven-sent.
“Whatever shall I do with you, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, taking them both in his hand and relishing in their size difference, the sight of Anakin’s skin under the rising hem of his shirt, the dark curls at the base of his cock and the delicious scent of his excitement. “You must be the greediest boy in the galaxy.”
Anakin nodded in delirium, pleaded with him through his gaze, and was about to babble something else into the air before Obi-Wan decided he had put a stop to it before he just turned the kid around and fucked him there, so he reached up and slid his thumb into his mouth, slotted it back between his molars, and stroked them a little faster as he sighed.
“Tomorrow night I’m going to have to take this lovely mouth of yours, my boy.” He mused, angling Anakin’s face for him to admire, pressing his eyes down his lovely jaw and neck, feeling the heat of Anakin’s gaze and the ragged pace of his breath hot and wet over his finger. Spit slicked down his thumb and into his hand, and Obi-Wan pulled it away and licked it off before setting it back into his hair. “Though I am wary I’ll be playing right into your hand again.”
“Please, I want it, anything you’d like.” Anakin promised, reaching with both hands to grab at Obi-Wan’s shirt and bicep to pull him closer. His head was heavy and it created the most appealing image – pushing his chest out, fucking forward with his hips, mouth open and wanting and hands eager to take.
“I know, dear one.” Obi-Wan said, tightening his grip, quickening his pace, watching the pleasure take Anakin as he let his arms fall back as he raced towards his finish – something more, though, just to get him over, to feel the boy spill in his hand against his own cock and make a mess between them. “Daddy will take what he wants.”
Anakin sobbed, dropped his head back on the table with a cry, and shook as his orgasm rolled down his spine. His cum streaked up and across his lower belly and between his hips where his jeans had been yanked down. Just the sight of it was enough for Obi-Wan, who bit his tongue and huffed out a curse as he spilled over Anakin’s dick and promised himself that next time he’d have that lovely face.
Obi-Wan stood over him, taking ragged breaths as Anakin panted and twitched, nerves sizzling with heat and the smell of sex in the air. He straightened, fetched the napkin holder from the table to their right, and began to mop up the mess on Anakin’s stomach while the kid just sighed happily into the air.
As Obi-Wan smiled into the empty hall, the Coruscant Skate Temple felt alive as ever around them, imbued as it was with that kind of racy and ephemeral electricity of quick-kisses and stolen-glances that only summertime can weave into the very air. It was certainly not the first time it had been defiled, and as Anakin slouched into an upright position to his side with a lopsided grin and a cocky glint in his eyes, Obi-Wan thought they might try it over the rental counter tomorrow night.