Work Text:
In all the times Anakin has come into Obi-Wan’s quarters, Obi-Wan has learned to read Anakin’s mood from the many arbitrary motions he runs through. One, for example, how hard he closes the door — if he closes it at all, that is. Another is the aggressiveness with which he places the mug on the kitchen counter, as well as the grace of his footsteps and whether the padawans down the corridor outside will be able to hear him stomping across the room.
That particular scenario happens when he’s angry, which seems to be the case more often than Obi-Wan would like to admit.
Today, he decides Anakin is in the mood for a quiet night in, as he closes the door almost silently, places his mug of caf on the counter with barely a clink, and treads so softly that Obi-Wan doesn’t even hear him from where he stands looking out the window until his hands are on Obi-Wan’s waist and his chin is on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
With a soft smile, Obi-Wan turns to meet those striking blue eyes, the corners of Anakin’s lips turned up coyly. He pulls Anakin to himself so their bodies are pressed flush against each other, so he can feel the comforting warmth of another life form against his skin.
Anakin rests his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and Obi-Wan slips his hand into his hair to cradle the back of his neck — slotted together like puzzle pieces, bodies as close as physically possible, as if the both of them are one; with the slightest, gentlest sway, steady and rhythmic and at peace.
The Force hums around them, a testament to how much they cherish such moments.
“I love you,” Obi-Wan whispers, his hands on Anakin’s waist. Anakin responds by kissing him softly, both hands coming up to hook around Obi-Wan’s neck.
Somehow, Obi-Wan is not surprised when Anakin moves away from his mouth to kiss his jaw. A kiss which turns into a nibble which turns into the beginnings of a love bite.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, amused. He supposes it is too much to hope for one night alone where no clothes are thrown onto the floor and no sheets are rumpled wildly and no bruises are left along the column of his neck, obvious enough that he has to make a conscious effort to wear a high-necked tunic the next day (and Anakin grins knowingly each time he sees him, and Obi-Wan has to fight not to whap him across the head for his carelessness.)
I haven’t seen you in weeks. The thought trickles in from Anakin’s side of the bond.
“We won’t be disturbed,” Obi-Wan says, gently pulling away from Anakin’s insistent mouth. “There’s no hurry.”
Anakin mumbles something unintelligible into Obi-Wan’s neck, kissing him again. “I missed you,” he murmurs.
“Shh,” Obi-Wan whispers, smiling at Anakin’s eagerness. “We have time. Just — enjoy the moment.” He slides his hand between Anakin’s mouth and his skin, like the most useless barrier ever constructed.
Anakin laughs softly, but obliges.
Only for a few seconds, though.
Because Obi-Wan can say whatever he wants, but nothing will stop Anakin from rolling his hips against Obi-Wan’s — especially when they are already pressed together, practically inviting him to instigate something.
“Force, Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathes, hands tightening on Anakin’s waist. “You’re so impatient.” He’s smiling, though he can’t deny that the persistent rocking of Anakin’s hips against his isn’t doing a lot to quell his growing arousal.
The rough cotton of Anakin’s tunic sleeves is chafing on Obi-Wan’s neck, and the skin there is growing tender and sensitive.
Anakin pulls away to gaze at Obi-Wan, his head tilted to the side and a wry smile gracing his lips, flushed from the rough kisses he’s been pressing to Obi-Wan’s neck. It’s easy to be struck dumb by how beautiful Anakin looks like this, standing right in the middle ground between “respectable Jedi Knight” and “absolutely unhinged.”
Obi-Wan wonders how quickly he can get Anakin to stray from that middle ground.
It’s not like he doesn’t know with complete certainty which side Anakin will end up on tonight.
But for now, Obi-Wan is content to revel in his deep affection for his former padawan, drinking in the sight, even if it means waiting a little longer before they’re both naked.
I love you, he thinks.
Anakin must hear his thoughts, because his smile widens and he leans forward for a chaste kiss, pulling away so his mouth is barely brushing Obi-Wan’s.
“Enough romance, Master,” Anakin growls. “Let’s fuck.”
Ah.
It’s immensely unfair, really, that Anakin has this effect on Obi-Wan.
To begin with: “Master.” He’s not Anakin’s master anymore, nor is Anakin his padawan. But his frivolous use of the honorific is just another one of the ways he knows to tease Obi-Wan, reminding him that he is no longer Anakin’s master, and despite what Anakin may call him, there is no way he can have any authority over his former padawan when they’re in bed.
Secondly: “Let’s fuck.” No teasing, no goading, no skirting around the subject. Determined, decisive, and undeniably hot. Obi-Wan almost laughs at his enthusiasm, but he’s known from the very moment they kissed earlier that Anakin had only one very clear intent for this evening.
These thoughts only manage to skim his mind, and they’re gone before he has a chance to process them properly, because Anakin has taken advantage of his distracted state to drop to his knees and undo the front of his pants, and is now taking him into his mouth.
All plans for a restful evening go out the window. His hands fly into Anakin’s hair immediately, but not before Anakin has managed to suck him a couple of times, which admittedly has way more of an effect on Obi-Wan than he would like to admit.
“Anakin,” he gasps. “Slow down.”
Obi-Wan may as well be talking to a duracrete wall for all the effect those words have on him.
It’s not the first time he has to wrench Anakin’s head up by his hair (which evokes a whimper,) and it’s not the first time Anakin moans at the tug and deep ache in his scalp (which is exceedingly sexy.)
It’s definitely not the first time Obi-Wan is tempted to slam him right into the wall and fuck the sense out of his head.
It is, however, the first time Anakin decides to boldly take initiative and do exactly that, pushing Obi-Wan against the wall beside the couch and attacking his mouth with nothing short of a vengeance.
Obi-Wan wonders how easy it would be for Anakin to pin his hands down, keep him here all night if he wanted. He is stronger, after all. And it’s not as if Obi-Wan doesn’t think to defile the Force by pushing Anakin off, but something in his blood sings at the notion of being held down and made to take whatever Anakin subjects him to.
He’s not entirely sure if he’s keen on not being in control as he usually is, but he’s not opposed to the idea either.
Whatever he thinks, Anakin is pretty set on his own goals at the moment, eagerly shedding the layers of clothing which prevent him from touching Obi-Wan’s bare skin, hips are pressed hard against Obi-Wan’s.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says breathlessly. “Can you just — slow down for a moment?”
“Why?” He’s almost whining, and Obi-Wan would be lying if he said that didn’t turn him on even a little bit. He wonders what the rush is. He will admit that Anakin’s eagerness is endearing, but they do have all night.
It’s not long before all thoughts go out the window, and trying to quell the rush of arousal through his body is all Obi-Wan can think to do. Anakin wraps a hand around him, their lips pressed together hard, as he starts to stroke Obi-Wan — who groans quietly, forcing himself not to buck into Anakin’s hand.
“If you’re so eager,” Obi-Wan says, fighting to keep his voice even, “how many times — ah —“ A hiss between his teeth, as Anakin twists his wrist sharply — “do you plan to make me come —“ Another gasp, head thrown back against the wall.
“— tonight?” He barely manages to get the last word out. He barely even manages to stay upright.
“Twice, maybe, if I’m feeling kind,” Anakin says, and kneels again, his hands curved delicately around Obi-Wan’s hips, holding him in place as Anakin takes his into his mouth again. Obi-Wan’s hands return to Anakin’s hair, the nape of his neck, running through the strands, desperate for purchase.
Anakin’s words ring true, and it’s not long before Obi-Wan comes with a choked gasp, legs threatening to buckle as he tightens his hold on the back of Anakin’s neck. Anakin hums around him, the wet heat of his mouth sending obscene sensations through Obi-Wan’s pleasure-riddled body. He swallows, immediately standing up to kiss Obi-Wan again.
Anakin drags his lips along Obi-Wan’s jaw, and Obi-Wan wonders how he’s not even sweating. He’s stroking Obi-Wan to hardness again, even before the surges of pleasure have finished cascading over him.
“I take it you’re feeling kind,” Obi-Wan says, surprised he’s able to catch his breath. “Though I must say, twice is not very generous.”
Anakin just smiles, nipping Obi-Wan’s earlobe. “I didn’t say I was going to stop at two.”