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One night, when his brain truly begins to melt out of his ears, Qui-Gon retreats to the cool basement to sleep. The TV is already on, but low, as he's walking down the stairs, and at first he thinks he left it on, until he sees his son sitting alone on the couch.
They haven't spoken much since they both fell asleep beside Anakin, cum staining the sheets — just what gets them by for errands and chores.
The heat has been killer.
The last time Qui-Gon did anything that had felt normal had also turned into sex with his step-son. He almost winces to think of it. In fact, Obi-Wan is watching the very same documentary about cetaceans.
"Too hot to sleep upstairs," Qui-Gon says by way of greeting, and his son replies: "I had the same thought."
So Qui-Gon settles on the couch beside Obi-Wan, sinking into the cool cushions and tries to envision the brisk waters which schools of fish swirl through. It's almost normal.
What's also normal: Obi-Wan leaning against Qui-Gon, and father throwing an arm around his son despite the heat.
What's not normal: Obi-Wan placing his hand on Qui-Gon's thigh, fingers spreading and pulling back slowly against bare skin.
Qui-Gon feels as though he's underwater, the narrator's voice is muffled as he relaxes his legs, thigh pressing closer against Obi-Wan's, and his son's hand slipping between his legs to delicate skin.
He cuts a glance to Obi-Wan, finds Obi-Wan is watching him already, and turns to ask, "Are you trying to start something?"
"I'm just curious," Obi-Wan says, voice so low it nearly disappears. His gaze drops to Qui-Gon's parted lips and he inches forward slowly, as though giving his father a chance to pull away. His fingers slip higher, up that sensitive band of skin, and Qui-Gon gasps lightly just as Obi-Wan presses his mouth to Qui-Gon's.
It's a slow, melting kind of kiss. Obi-Wan isn't as desperate as Anakin usually is, more sure of himself, which is heady in its own way. Qui-Gon had never noticed the way his son kissed paramours, only paid attention at all while watching his two boys kiss, Anakin taking greedily from Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan pushing back. This is different.
His son slips a hand under the hem of his shorts, grasps his cock and whispers, "So big," as Qui-Gon tries to bite back a groan. He's half-hard already and spreads his legs wider before he can think more about it. Obi-Wan presses closer, leaning his body against his father's, resuming their kiss. He pushes Qui-Gon's shorts down and takes his cock out, stroking it properly. It feels so good, it's more than Anakin ever did for him. Qui-Gon pushes the thought aside.
"What are you curious about?" Qui-Gon asks at last.
"What it would feel like," Obi-Wan replies.
Carefully, as though they haven't already launched off this precipice together with kisses and tender touches, Obi-Wan runs a hand up his son's thigh, fondles his son's cock though the fabric of his boxers.
"Do you know how it felt, to have your little cock pressed against mine?"
Obi-Wan squirms a little, making Qui-Gon pull back in alarm, but then his son is shucking his shorts and climbing onto his lap, his body a heavy weight on his thighs.
"Not so little anymore," Obi-Wan replies, pressing his cock against his father's, the hot skin scalding against his own. His cock is only a little shorter, considering the half-foot of height between them, the color more pink, but he is thick and, in his own way, beautiful.
They're both so hard and Qui-Gon is aching; if he has self-preservation left, he ignores it, groping between couch cushions for the lube Anakin snuck down here weeks ago. He doesn't ask, he just unclasps the lid, squirts it into his palm and slicks his cock up before reaching for his son's. He relishes the feel of it, so different from Anakin's, so different from his own.
Obi-Wan's breath shudders through him. He's trembling a little, like he's shivering, and something innately makes Qui-Gon want to pull his son close. He takes Obi-Wan in his arms even while his son is hanging off his shoulders. His son hides his face.
"I don't know how to feel about this," Obi-Wan admits.
Qui-Gon can't reply right away, he rubs his hands up and down Obi-Wan's back, like he would have when his son was younger. He thinks a little, but his thoughts are sluggish, slowed by the heat and his lust. He doesn't want to think.
"That doesn't matter," he finds himself saying. "It doesn't matter what others would think, it matters if we're okay." He pushes Obi-Wan back far enough to meet his son's eye. "Are we okay?"
Hesitantly, eyes half shadowed, Obi-Wan nods.
Qui-Gon sighs and takes his son's cock in hand again, watching Obi-Wan's eyes flutter shut.
"How does that feel?" he asks, perhaps unfairly.
"Good," Obi-Wan grunts. His hands flex on Qui-Gon's shoulders, their grip nearly bruising. "Don't stop."
Qui-Gon shuts his eyes and leans in for an open-mouthed, almost careless kiss. He keeps a hand on Obi-Wan's back, holding his son steady as he rolls his hips against him. Focusing on the feeling of sweat beneath his palm, of two cocks in his hand, he can admit to himself he enjoys this; enjoys the little thrusts as his son fucks into his hand, against his cock, while the orchestral soundtrack of the documentary absurdly accompanies their lovemaking.
He wants more, but he's not used to asking.
"Have you ever let Anakin fuck you?" Obi-Wan asks, breath sticky against his father's lips, still undulating against him with an unsteady rhythm.
Qui-Gon shakes his head.
"You should ask him sometime," Obi-Wan says.
Qui-Gon isn't the one usually asking, so he doesn't. He squeezes his fist around their cocks, trying to siphon off the whimpers and moans from his son's lips with kisses. He wants to feel Obi-Wan come, to hear that deep-rooted groan of pleasure that haunts his dreams. He wants a lot of things, but he can't ask for them.
His hand slips lower, he grips his son's hip so tight he thinks it will bruise.
"Unh— don't stop, 'm so close," Obi-Wan whispers.
Qui-Gon keeps stroking him even when Obi-Wan's thrusts have become pitiful twitches. His son snakes one hand down to mirror Qui-Gon's touch, moaning as he's desperately coming closer to the edge. Qui-Gon's breath is ragged, he's aware of his own climax in the way he always knows the dawn is about to break. That's usually when he sneaks out of bed if Anakin forgot to go back to his own bed. He doesn't want to think about Anakin right now. He wonders if Obi-Wan would be here, would fantasize about fucking his father, if they'd never taken Anakin in. He certainly never would have entertained the thought of ever touching his son like this before he'd caught the boys together.
"Gonna cum," Obi-Wan moans, pulling Qui-Gon closer.
"So come for me," Qui-Gon whispers, and he does.
The splashes of cum spurt hot and sticky over their cocks, over their hands, but neither of them stops touching. Obi-Wan lets his cock slip away and then he's kissing his father once more, pumping his hand up and down the shaft.
"Your turn," he says, something wicked in his voice that makes Qui-Gon ache. He pulls on Qui-Gon's cock like it's made to be man-handled and he nearly goes boneless at the touch. He nuzzles into his son's embrace, cupping the head of his cock gently while Obi-Wan jerks him off.
"Obi-Wan." The name is strained, awkward on his tongue, like this, while his son is holding his neck, holding his cock, pressing a kiss to his throat.
"You close, old man?"
He nods.
"So come," he says, like it's a challenge, pushing Qui-Gon's own hand off his cock to stroke just the tip with his lube-and-cum-slicked hand. He nibbles at the skin just above Qui-Gon's collar bone. "Wanna feel your cum on my hand," he says, "wanna taste it."
It's something about the twist of his son's hand that does him in. He grunts and curses as he comes, letting his son interrupt his words with kisses, coaxing him through it with his touch.
"There's so much," Obi-Wan mutters. "What a mess." He licks droplets of cum off Qui-Gon's chest, scrapes it from his father's stomach with his thumbnail and sucks it off. He flicks his glance up at Qui-Gon before he pulls away.
He doesn't climb off Qui-Gon's lap right away but he reaches for his shorts, rubbing them gently around his cock before wiping his hands. He lingers even as Qui-Gon finds his legs are growing numb from the weight, he should probably put his cock away too but it's messy and he's tired. And still his son lingers.
"You don't clean up Anakin either," he says instead, not liking the passive aggressive undertone, but the heat is still addling him. He reaches for the tissue box and cleans himself up.
Obi-Wan sighs and gets off his lap, settling beside him, watching his father wipe his pubes with undue interest. He's not putting his shorts on but Qui-Gon doesn't like sleeping bare on the couch so he finally tucks his cock away and leans back.
"I'm gonna lie down," is all he says, and then he does.
Obi-Wan lies with him, curling his shoulders as though trying to make himself small and now the credits for the documentary are playing and Qui-Gon lets his mind go to blissful static. It's easier after sex at least.
"Do I remind you of mom at all?" Obi-Wan asks after the room has been silent for some minutes.
"Sometimes," Qui-Gon says after a long pause.
Obi-Wan huffs impatiently and half sits up. "I meant, like this… Does this remind you…"
"No," Qui-Gon replies. "Only a little, and it's in other ways, not how you are when we're… It's the shape of your eyes or the way you tuck your hair behind your ear sometimes." He touches his son's back gently. "Sometimes."
Obi-Wan doesn't stay. He seems upset but doesn't say anything as he gets up, and Qui-Gon is afraid to ask. He forgets that Anakin isn't as vulnerable as he pretends and Obi-Wan is more delicate than he looks. He hears a shower turn on upstairs. He doesn't hear the floorboards in Anakin's room creaking. He falls asleep when a wind stirs a distant wind chime.
The heatwave breaks.