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Obi-Wan glances up as Anakin comes out of the fresher, loose beige trousers hanging low on his hips.
“Put on some clothes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, trying his best to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach. He has so much work to do, and he really can’t let himself be distracted by a certain Jedi’s beautiful hipbones. Or perfect abdominals. Or gorgeous eyes. Or soft, dark hair which he so wishes he could run his fingers through and pull roughly —
Obi-Wan clenches his fist in his robes, rubbing his forehead with his other hand. Anakin is going to be the death of him.
“Too hot,” Anakin retorts, flopping onto the bed, hair still damp. Damn right, Obi-Wan thinks, then mentally slaps himself.
“Should have taken a cold shower, then,” Obi-Wan shoots back.
“I thought you liked seeing me shirtless.”
“So you’re shirtless to entice me?” Obi-Wan asks, but doesn’t deny that yes, he does like seeing Anakin shirtless.
“No. Wait. Maybe,” Anakin replies, turning onto his back so his words aren’t muffled by the sheets. “That’s a bonus.”
Obi-Wan sets the datapad down, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the absence of the blue glow. Swallowing his pride like a handful of pills, he manages to say “Anakin, I can’t concentrate on with you just —“ He grimaces, steeling himself for what he’s about to say. “— lying there, bare-chested, distracting.”
“Sorry, Master,” Anakin says, not sorry nor surprised in the slightest. “Not my fault you’re so easily distracted.”
Obi-Wan wants to say Yes, yes it is your fault, you have no right to look like this but it would most likely result in Anakin teasing him for the next week, and he can’t even tolerate Anakin teasing him for twenty minutes.
“If you’re not working, you can come lie with me,” Anakin says. “Sleep. It’s late.”
“If I come lie with you, we are absolutely not going to sleep,” Obi-Wan points out. And I’m only not working because it’s completely unfair that you look this good and I’m about to ram you against the wall and fuck you stupid, he doesn’t say.
Anakin considers this, thankfully having not heard that sinful thought. “True,” he admits. “But not too bad of an idea either.”
With a sigh, Obi-Wan gives up on the datapad, stretching as he stands.
He would do anything for Anakin.
“No funny business,” he warns, moving closer to the bed, like he’s walking into a trap or cornering a criminal or something. Which really isn’t far from reality.
Anakin hops off the mattress before Obi-Wan reaches it and practically saunters to him. Every inch irresistable. He places his hands on Obi-Wan’s waist and kisses him hungrily, pressing his hips right against Obi-Wan’s so he can physically feel his arousal.
“You’ve been waiting all day to do this, haven’t you,” Obi-Wan says through a gasp, as Anakin messily kisses along the edge of his jaw and down his neck.
The answering maybe is warm and muffled against his skin.
“Or is it because I’m simply too alluring?” Obi-Wan continues.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Anakin retorts, though that is not inaccurate, either. He’s really getting into it, lips moving further down to graze Obi-Wan’s collarbone, hands mussing up Obi-Wan’s hair when he runs them through the soft strands.
Alluring is too mild a word, Anakin thinks. Ravishing, perhaps. Or tantalising. Tempting. He glances at Obi-Wan again, just to confirm his thoughts.
Debauched would also be appropriate. His pupils are blown and his hair is a mess and those lips — those lips — are already swollen from the one bruising kiss Anakin has granted him tonight.
In an instant, Obi-Wan grabs Anakin by the hips and shoves him against the wall, and Anakin can only think yes please yes please yes please. The only thing keeping Anakin’s head from slamming against duracrete is Obi-Wan’s hand, which is carded into his hair to hold him steady. Obi-Wan kisses him with a ferocity he’s only ever seen in battle, tongue roughly pressing against his own, bodies locked together with not a millimetre of space between them.
Anakin grinds his hips once, just to see what kind of a reaction it garters.
He is not disappointed. Obi-Wan growls, which is impossibly hot on its own, but combined with how he somehow manages to push Anakin further against the wall and shove his thigh between Anakin’s legs, it’s a miracle Anakin doesn’t come right then and there. His hands have slipped under Obi-Wan’s tunic and now rest on his back, nails digging and clawing into solid flesh, sure to leave angry red scratches come morning.
The hard muscle of Obi-Wan’s thigh is nothing short of perfect for Anakin to grind against, and Obi-Wan notices, pushing his knee harder against the wall and forcing Anakin’s crotch against the rough fabric of his pants. Swallowing Anakin’s moans, lips hot against his own.
“Bed, okay?” Obi-Wan says, and Anakin nods.
The sheets are cool compared to the heat of their bodies, and Anakin allows Obi-Wan to push him onto the mattress, allows Obi-Wan to rid him of his pants, allows Obi-Wan to wrap his hand around his length, stroking lightly —
A moan escapes his mouth before he can grit his teeth against it.
“The sounds you make,” Obi-Wan breathes. “I could listen to them all day.” As if on cue, Anakin lets out another one of those sounds, and Obi-Wan hums appreciatively, leaving a kiss on Anakin’s shoulder as a reward. Anakin moans again, canting his hips into Obi-Wan’s hand. A garbled string of curses slips past his lips. “Shh,” he soothes, smoothing a hand down Anakin’s torso, as if that’s going to calm him down.
Just as he’s about to fall off the edge, Obi-Wan stops.
“Fuck,” Anakin gasps, wrenching his arms from Obi-Wan’s grip behind his back. He doesn’t even manage to touch himself before Obi-Wan’s hands are around his wrists again, forcefully pulling them back.
“I’m going to kriffing kill you,” Anakin whines, and Obi-Wan smiles against his skin. “No. No, I’m not. I’m going to die first.”
Obi-Wan huffs, kissing his neck where it is arched back, with such tenderness that Anakin has to fight the voice telling him to scream, abandon all dignity and beg as much as it will take for him to be fucked into delirium, without enough sense in his head to scrape together enough brain cells to form coherent thoughts.
He must take pity on Anakin, because he obliges. It’s a familiar routine, now — the stretch of his fingers, Anakin’s fevered moans, the way his grip tightens on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, sure to leave fingerprints.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin gasps, unable to stand the waiting any longer, even though he knows he needs the prep or it’s going to burn like hell. Still — “You. you. In me. Now. Please.”
With another kiss to Anakin’s parted lips, Obi-Wan curls his fingers just right and Anakin lets loose a garbled string of words, sharply turning his head into the mattress.
“Since you asked so politely,” Obi-Wan says, ignoring Anakin’s desperate panting.
Then his fingers are gone, and Anakin whimpers at the emptiness. A second later he is being flipped onto his front, and he’s biting on a pillow so he doesn’t wail as Obi-Wan presses into him, not bothering to go slow and let him adjust.
Anakin cries out at the hurt and Obi-Wan stops immediately. “Sorry, Ani,” he says gently, a little worried. “Do you need me to go slower?”
A shake of the head and soft moan is all he gets in response.
“Words please, Anakin,” he says, grip on Anakin’s hips tightening as he tries to push back against Obi-Wan to take him further.
“No, keep going,” Anakin breathes. “Feels good,” he adds.
Once Obi-Wan is as deep as he can go, Anakin is a keening, whimpering mess, the fullness of Obi-Wan buried in him reducing his speech to incoherent babbling, punctuated only by the occasional gasp and moan. If that in itself is enough to put Anakin in this state, it’s a wonder his brain doesn’t short circuit when Obi-Wan does start to move.
But he doesn’t. Much to Anakin’s frustration.
Obi-Wan does not swear very often. As a result of this particular circumstance, every filthy word he utters is amplified tenfold through Anakin’s surprise, and the effect those words have on Anakin is magnified all the same. When Obi-Wan speaks again, to say Anakin is turned on would be the understatement of the century.
“Go on, then,” Obi-Wan says softly. “Fuck yourself on me.”
That was what he was planning to do anyway, but now that Obi-Wan has asked him to do it, he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being obeyed.
There’s fun in defiance.
So instead of desperately rutting his hips backward, Anakin slowly — torturously slowly — drags himself off, slides down again, eyes rolling back as the overwhelming sensation of fullness threatens to shatter his self control. He knows if he can keep this up long enough, he can maybe, maybe, beat Obi-Wan at this game —
As expected, he hears a pained groan from Obi-Wan behind him, and the hand which was previously splayed across his lower back moves to press between his shoulder blades, with the one intention of shoving him down to take —
Anakin’s chest is against the mattress before he can remember to take a breath. Which is a little unfortunate, because the pressure on his shoulder blades also seems to have taken away his ability to take a breath. He manages to force some air into his lungs, but before the woozy, lightheaded feeling dissipates, Obi-Wan is thrusting madly into him, and his hands come up beside his head to claw at the sheets.
The sound coming out of Anakin’s mouth might be pleas, curses, maybe even Obi-Wan’s name, but whatever they are, Obi-Wan thinks they’re the prettiest sounds he’s ever had the pleasure of hearing.
Anakin twists his upper body around, arching his head back to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze. His master looks as wild as he feels, sweat glistening on his skin, lips parted as he breathes heavily, canting his hips at a relentless rhythm.
Obi-Wan watches as Anakin’s eyes squeeze shut, and he bends down to kiss him, swallowing his cry as he comes, hard, Obi-Wan still moving in him. Obi-Wan follows a few heartbeats later, gasping as he unravels, and collapses over Anakin to catch his breath for a moment before pulling out and rolling to the side.
He swears he sees stars.
“Are you alright?” he asks, once he’s caught his breath.
The muffled mmpfh he gets in response is definitely not good enough of an answer.
“Anakin,” he says, firmer this time.
Without opening his eyes, Anakin says, “I’m okay.” Then — “Are you?”
Obi-Wan moves closer. “Yes, dear one.” Always, when it’s you.
They lie in silence for a while. Obi-Wan watches the rise and fall of Anakin’s back as his breaths even out.
Anakin rolls onto his side to face Obi-Wan. “Thank you,” he murmurs, reaching out to lightly brush Obi-Wan’s hair away from where it has fallen past his brow.
“My pleasure,” Obi-Wan replies. He takes Anakin’s hand from where it’s skimming down the side of his face and presses a kiss to his knuckles.
“I’m sure it was,” Anakin says, grinning. Obi-Wan laughs, propping himself up on one elbow to trace a line down Anakin’s chest, down his sternum.
“No thanks,” Anakin says, flinching a little, and bats Obi-Wan’s hand away from where it is stroking down his front. A shiver runs through him and he almost gasps as pinpricks of heat spark in his core.
Obi-Wan stops touching him immediately. “You okay?”
Anakin nods. “Yeah. Just —“ his brow creases as he carefully phrases his next words so Obi-Wan doesn’t freak out. “— still a little sensitive.” Overstimulated, too.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan says softly. “Sorry, Ani. Thank you for telling me.”
“It’s okay,” comes his reply. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologise for.”
The sweet silence returns. After a minute, Obi-Wan sits up on the bed, taking a deep breath, not taking his eyes off Anakin.
“Are you not tired?” Anakin asks. He’s exhausted, and he knows he should probably go wash up in the fresher before the soreness in his body starts to become a problem. It’s a good soreness though.
Obi-Wan tilts Anakin’s chin up with a finger, dips his own head and kisses him sweetly. “I am.”
“You wanna go clean up?”
“You’re only asking because you want me to carry you to the fresher.”
“Hmm.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Obi-Wan smiles, running his fingers through a tangled section of Anakin’s hair. “Wait here.” Then he’s off the bed, and Anakin relaxes into the sheets, allowing himself to drift off a little before Obi-Wan returns with a towel and a glass of water.
He must have drifted off more than a little, because when he opens his eyes again, Obi-Wan has cleaned him up and he’s lying on his side.
“Hey,” Anakin mumbles, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes from where he sits up against the headboard.
“Hey yourself,” Obi-Wan replies. “Drink.” He gestures to the glass on the bedside table next to Anakin.
Anakin notices that he’s put some pants on. Anakin also notices that he gazing at him with such love and adoration he could probably melt into a little puddle of warmth. He holds out his arms and Obi-Wan obliges, slipping a hand under his back and shoulders to pull him up. He lets go the moment Anakin can sit on his own, though.
“You can touch me,” he says softly. Obi-Wan smiles, exhaling. Those arms come up around his shoulders, and his face is pressed into the crook of a warm neck, smelling of mild soap and clean laundry.
“You can distract me more often, if this is what I get in return,” Obi-Wan says.
“Turn the heater down. Your quarters are way too warm.”
Obi-Wan laughs, and Anakin joins him a second later.
Anything for you, my dear, Obi-Wan thinks. Anything for you.