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His jaw aches.
Across the courtyard, his wayward lover stands wedged between a small crowd of dignitaries and one particularly handsy Senator Jaiyne, who is the reason they are here on this tedious negotiations mission on some mediocre planet with connections to coal mining, of all things, instead of on the frontlines.
Anakin is resplendent in his GAR blues, the maroon darkening his lower facial features into a mysterious visage of intrigue. The scar bisecting his eye is startling clear. Obi-Wan cannot begrudge the Senator; Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’d be able to keep his hands to himself either.
But Obi-Wan digresses.
Anakin’s facial features are lax and a lazy curl uplifts his mouth. He laughs politely during the conversation and his neck continues lengthening on display the more genuine his laughter takes shape. Anakin blooms under attention. A delicate, pretty little flower blooming under the warmth of daylight, and stars above, Obi-Wan wants night to fall.
He needs to bring his boy to heel.
As Anakin lifts his wine glass for a sip, Obi-Wan mimics the the motion, suddenly reminded of his own drink. He refrains from scrunching his nose at the dissatisfying taste. And then he has to remind himself mid-shelf whiskey with notes of watery amber from another forgotten Mid Rim planet isn’t worth tossing back in one go, least he end up drunk. No, best to let him stew in his anger. They have a role to play while here; Obi-Wan has more composure than this… than allowing Anakin to chip away his carefully crafted persona.
He inhales through his nose.
When a new delegate joins his own circle of persnickety politicians, Obi-Wan bows his head in the customary greeting of the host planet. Too focused on the unwanted touch and Anakin’s seemingly contentment with it, Obi-Wan forgets the being’s name. The older woman’s touch is much too proprietary for Obi-Wan’s tastes and, unfortunately for him, he has yet concocted a sound plan to draw Anakin away. At least not a reasonably sounding plan from a crowd of that size without looking like a fool.
By the time he glances back at the newcomer, he pauses. The individual’s skin tone is a bright violet with translucent eyelids that don’t hide their piercing white eyes when they blink. Despite having been acquainted with a handful of this species since his arrival, Obi-Wan cannot immediately parse why this individual stands out. After a beat of internal processing, Obi-Wan recognizes the familiarity: they are an advisor to the ever-popular Senator Jaiyne, the twilight skin-toned Twi’lek glued to Obi-Wan’s boy’s side.
He tries not to sneer. Obi-Wan decides his least favorite color in the galaxy now is purple.
A hand curls around Anakin’s wrist and Obi-Wan’s vision tints burgundy.
“—say you, General?”
Obi-Wan straightens his spine and dips his head, a fake apology spilling forth. “I must excuse myself. My most sincerest apologies for the abrupt departure.” He hardly has the wherewithal to exit the conversation gracefully.
His strides are long, skillfully skirting around other partygoers and politicians who are blocking his path to Anakin. At some point mischievous blue eyes catch Obi-Wan’s, and oh, Obi-Wan plans to teach Anakin a lesson the second he gets his boy alone again. The imp.
Anakin’s eyes widen as he catches Obi-Wan’s barely restrained fury seeping into the Force, all sharp and jagged teeth snapping at all who dare probe.
So, when Obi-Wan sidles into the small crowd, beings part instinctively and, naturally, Obi-Wan fills the space, the placid exterior of the Jedi Master he is falls firmly into place. His hands link into the folds of his cloak and hides away the white knuckles of his fists. More aware of the larger audience, Obi-Wan respectfully greets everyone and when he straightens his eyes narrow on Anakin.
“Padawan, I am glad to have finally found you.” Obi-Wan makes a humming noise, something not quite chiding but certainly disingenuous. “Have you forgotten to charge your comlink again?” Mouth agape at the audacity, Anakin’s eyes flash at Obi-Wan’s words and the zap of heat suffuses their bond feeds the animal in Obi-Wan’s breast. A good lie is always steeped in some shade of truth; from a certain point of view. “Never mind that, I have received word from the Council.”
“An emergent transmission, I gather, Master?” Anakin licks his lips and swallows, drawing attention to the adam’s apple bobbing the way it does when Obi-Wan’s cock is shoved down his throat.
“Yes.” he raises his eyebrows daring Anakin to question him. An edge of a smirk quirks the side of his mouth. “They require our attendance within quarter of an hour.”
“But Master,” the sly edge of his boy’s tone plays hand-in-hand with the flare of smug satisfaction through his Force signature, “you must allow me to conclude my time here—”
Wrapping his hand around Anakin’s throat sounds exquisite at the moment, but Obi-Wan reins in that particular desire and boxes it away for later. All the same, however, Obi-Wan pulls on the exasperation pooling in his gut as he hisses the shape of his favorite name in the galaxy, “Anakin.”
Their bickering is interrupted by the foolish senator intent on interrupting Obi-Wan’s evening. His jaw aches as his snaps it shut.
“May I ask a question?” Senator Jaiyne’s voice is a gentle alto, befitting her age, but Obi-Wan very judiciously decides not to sneer at the grating sound. She does not wait for permission to carry on, so Obi-Wan isn’t sure why she prefaced whatever nonsense she is preparing to spew with a question. “A Jedi Master is similar to having a parental figure, is it not? Would that not make Master Kenobi your father figure, General Skywalker? At least, it appears that is the case considering you continue to refer to him after your… what did you call it earlier, an apprenticeship? After your apprenticeship ended.”
The Force fluctuates with the combined weight of their tumultuous responses to her question. Obi-Wan knows he manages to keep his surprise off his face, but he refuses to glance over and ascertain if his boy manages it, too, because it feels too much like an admission if he does check.
Anakin clears his throat. “It is much more complicated than that, Senator.” He rubs the back of his neck, and the maroon and navy shades of his uniform ripple like spilled ink as it catches reflection on the fairy lights strung across the courtyard. “General Kenobi is—”
Decidedly finished with the conversation, and willing to give his boy some grace at the moment, Obi-Wan interjects, “You may finish the rest of your conversation while I return to our rooms to prepare for our meeting. I expect your presence within five minutes.”
With an about-turn, Obi-Wan strides out of the room. He slams his side of the bond closed to ward off further unattractive, catty behaviors from manifesting because his boy’s enjoyment at his quick departure floods like a lapping lake at a sun’s highest peak.
His brat walks through the door and then the bedroom seven minutes later, jovial in the Force and that same relaxed grin across pouty pink lips remains present. “No important meeting with the Council then, I take it?”
Anakin meanders toward Obi-Wan, who has propped his hip against the four-poster bed and arms crossed over his chest, kicking his boots off as he goes. Anakin reaches for Obi-Wan’s elbow, shakes the arm out until he curls fingers around Obi-Wan’s wrist.
“Did you miss me?” Anakin says with the dry tone of a rhetorical question.
His supposed well of infinite patience finally snaps. Obi-Wan shoves Anakin against the bedroom wall, caging the younger man in with his front to Anakin’s back, his arms bracketing a curly head attempting to flush his cheek to the floral-papered wall.
“You can’t stop playing with fire, can you?” he growls into Anakin’s ear, teeth molding to the shape.
Anakin grumbles, “Wanna suck your cock.”
His nostrils flare. Obi-Wan yanks on carefully combed curls, mouth sucking down until he bites at the new patch of exposed skin between neck and shoulder. Anakin’s cry is a reedy, breathy little thing while he tosses his head back onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His body reacts to the noises and Anakin pressed against him, his cock beginning to plump up.
“You most certainly have not earned the right to suck my cock.” His tongue swirls around his mark then he presses his teeth back into the imprint. “Naughty boys aren’t rewarded, Anakin.”
“M’not—” As Anakin tips his hips until his ass brushes Obi-Wan’s crotch, the older man bodily jams the younger man impossible further against the wall. Obi-Wan’s brat’s breath rushes out as he connects harder.
Obi-Wan swallows, licks his lips. “You are due a lesson, I believe, my very naughty boy.” He takes a half-step back and commands, “Don’t move.”
For once in his life, Anakin listens.
Well, he listens until the crack of Obi-Wan’s hand on his ass fills the room.
Anakin keens and instinctively starts to shove back into Obi-Wan’s weight. “Daddy!”
Arousal is a magma flood through his veins. His palms grip Anakin’s hips and he grounds his cock into Anakin’s ass. “Strip.”
They both disrobe without finesse, not that Obi-Wan has a braincell to care at the moment. He keeps his briefs on, but doesn’t allow Anakin to keep a stitch of clothing on. Anakin’s prick looks painful how strained it looks jutted up from a messy thatch of dark blond pubic hair. It weeps steadily and drips down the length, drawing Obi-Wan’s eye the way an artist studies sculptures.
It takes considerable effort not to reach out and jerk Anakin off to completion, especially knowing how Obi-Wan’s touch alone would ensure Anakin would cum within the first five strokes. His beautiful, needy boy.
Once his boy is rearranged back on the wall, Obi-Wan retakes his place behind him. His hands explore the exposed planes of tanned skin and lean muscles. Because he cannot help himself, his hands are quick to grab Anakin’s generous asscheeks, rubbing the muscles one, two, three passes before he spreads them.
Saliva gathers on his tongue. “Oh, you naughty boy. When did you put a plug in your needy hole?”
“Didn’t wanna wait,” whines Anakin, shaking his head and glancing over his shoulder to make sure Obi-Wan sees how put-out he is by Obi-Wan’s supposed lack of attention on the poor, miserable, neglected boy.
“Let me make certain I have understood you. You are saying you could not wait for my fingers to work you open, to shape you to take my cock, is that it? Did I hear you correctly?” he asks for clarification only for Anakin to talk himself deeper into a hole Obi-Wan plans to exploit.
A sheen of sweat glistens along the base of Anakin’s neck. “Daddy.”
He rolls his eyes. If Anakin wants to play petulant, Obi-Wan is feeling magnanimous enough to satisfy his brattiness. “My needy Padawan, will you allow me to give you what is rightfully yours?”
Anakin nods rigorously.
He reaches down and swirls his index finger around the plug’s base. His heart thunders into his throat, his tongue throbbing with the force of his need to touch, to taste, to brand. Without warning Obi-Wan yanks the plug out and tosses it off to the side. The hole on display flutters and winks, and Obi-Wan can see how much lube Anakin used earlier.
“Oh fuck, Obi-Wan!”
The use of his full name is unexpected, so he quickly taps at their bond to ascertain Anakin’s true feelings. He need not, because Anakin spills an endless river of every shade of green the boy knows down their connection. Reassured by the color, Obi-Wan pets Anakin’s ass for a couple moments. One a final pass where his palm swivels down, Obi-Wan smacks the curve where ass meets thigh.
“You know my name, Padawan.” he chides, a throaty tsk clicks from the back of his throat. “How many more times must I redden your pretty skin until you remember, hmm?” Though the idea of marking Anakin is too enticing.
His brat to the very last, Anakin retorts, “Remember what?”
Smack!
The wet noises that leaves his boy’s mouth sounds like a silent begging for Obi-Wan to shove his aching cock down Anakin’s throat.
“I saw how naughty you were this evening, darling.” he murmurs against Anakin’s ear, blowing hot air just to feel the way the younger man shivers against him.
The responsive younger man arches back into Obi-Wan. “I wasn’t, though; I did everything you wanted me to, everything I’m supposed to do!” The petulance saturates Anakin’s tone and he sounds two seconds away from picking an argument he thinks he will have a shot at winning. “I was good; tell me I was good.”
Obi-Wan pinches the thin skin above his brat’s hipbone. “Oh? I did not realize we were in a state where you were demanding things from me, Padawan.”
“Daddy.”
The bratty tone ensures Obi-Wan’s fingers curl into a fist. “So you flirting with that—” he bites off the unkind accusation, torn between wanting to explicitly call out Anakin’s behavior and wanting to get past it.
Anakin has no such qualms about carrying on. He begins to turn around, smirking all the while. “Did I flirt with that old schutta Senator. That’s what you wanted to ask me.”
His stomach swoops remembering the Senator’s touch on Obi-Wan’s boy. Next he twists Anakin back into place, yanks his arms above his head and Obi-Wan uses one of his own to pin both wrists up high. He purposefully speaks under his breath, drawing out the vowels, “Well then, darling; did you flirt with that old schutta Senator?”
Anakin purposefully pauses.
Brat, Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. Now, he bends down and plugs Anakin’s empty hole with two thick fingers. They crook and scissor and pump lazily. He keeps the pressure light enough Anakin remains coherent but persistent enough Anakin will gag for more. Which is right where Obi-Wan wants him to be: gagging on and gagging for his Daddy’s cock.
“Ooh!” Anakin breathes out, “She came onto me first.” He tries his hardest to fuck back onto Obi-Wan’s fingers.
Obi-Wan scoffs, and abruptly removes his touch as quickly as he granted it. “And that is very much not reassuring to hear.” He pauses long enough to redirect the pace and halt Anakin’s incessant wriggling. “Do you not prefer your Daddy now, Anakin? Is the Senator someone you would prefer: a pretty little thing on your arm—”
“No!” the vehemence from his boy’s statement is a tad shocking, though the beast in his chest preens hearing it. A bony elbow jabs back and prompts Obi-Wan to handcuff his wrists at the low back with both of Obi-Wan’s palms. “Never. All I wanted was to keep your attention on me all night.” He curses while he is manhandled. “Clearly it’s worked since you have me pinned against the wall, where you’ve wanted to put me all night.”
Between one breath and the next, Obi-Wan releases Anakin. Next, his palm meets Anakin’s asscrack until it glows with the heat of the hit. After, Obi-Wan grips Anakin’s hips, pressing with bruising pressure, and he kicks Anakin’s feet apart. “You are an absolute, infuriating brat."
Anakin wiggles back and moans when he feels the heat of the cock nestled below his ass. “Hmm, only yours, Daddy.”
And Obi-Wan will be Force damned to deny it: Anakin is his.
The plug Anakin chose earlier is one of their larger sized ones, but all the same Obi-Wan stuffs his boy’s needy little hole first with two fingers again. He calls forth to hand the bottle of lube he left out on the bed so he can drizzle more gel onto his fingers. His boy whines at the loss, then squeals when Obi-Wan fills him back up. He quickly adds a third, and when he gets the tip of the fourth in, he can’t stand waiting any longer.
“Spread your legs more and tilt back your hips,” Obi-Wan instructs, swatting Anakin’s ass to prompt the moaning boy into action. “And let me see how well you arch that pretty back for Daddy.”
He steps out of his underwear and moans with relief as his cock is released from its confines. He pumps it lazily while watching Anakin scramble to obey his directions. His naughty boy really isn’t very naughty, Obi-Wan allows.
Once in position, Anakin strains to find and hold Obi-Wan’s gaze without moving. “Daddy, please.” His eyes are filling with tears.
He hushes his boy, “Here, Padawan; let me give you want you need.” He lines up the ruddy colored cockhead against Anakin’s hole and taps there in a teasing manner. His toes curls with the tenor of Anakin’s whining. “So perfect for me, Padawan.”
All Anakin is capable is chanting an intoxicated sounding string of, “Please, please, please!”
It takes considerably more strength and patience than he cares to admit to stay standing and watching Anakin without touching. All the while his cock is drooling. He fists the base, squeezes, and tries to concentrate. “Do you know who is on the other side of this wall?”
Anakin makes a dissatisfied noise, sending inarticulate emotions down their bond that Obi-Wan pieces together means his boy wants him to stop talking. The muscles in his back flex. A beautiful, enticing image.
Too bad for Anakin that they both love dancing on the other’s last nerve and for thinking that he has say in what Obi-Wan decides is best.
Obi-Wan cannot help the wolfish grin at the thought of lengthening the teasing. After all, his boy needs a reminder who he belongs to, and how unkindly Obi-Wan takes any whiff of possibility of sharing.
He pushes the crown of the mushroom head inside, eyes closing at the tight heat encasing his cock. He props himself up on his forearms on either side of Anakin’s shoulders. He breathes through the pleasure until he is able to continue speaking. “Go ahead and guess, sweet boy.” He pauses, whole body trembling. “Or I suppose I could tell you, since the slide of my fat cock inside your tight hole seems to have shut down that pretty little head of yours.”
His beautiful Anakin’s chest heaves as his fingers scramble at the wall, as if ready to tear it down to reveal who their neighbor is.
“We share a wall with your little senator friend.” When a tiny gasp exits his boy’s parted mouth, Obi-Wan huffs with a wicked sense of delight, of vindication; Anakin belongs to him. And the hussy next door will know it. “But she can’t give you what you want, never mind what you need.” he rolls his hips forward and feeds more of his cock into Anakin. Against Anakin’s ear Obi-Wan growls, “And you need Daddy’s cock, don’t you my darling?”
The jealous beast in his chest roars, and the only way to pacify the monster is gorging it. On a grunt, Obi-Wan shoves the rest of his length inside until he bottoms out.
“Yes!” wails Anakin. “Oh, kriff! Daddy, I need you I need you I need you!”
Obi-Wan stays in place only for a moment. A little reprieve to luxuriate in their connection, while shucking the last of his mental restraint. He kisses down one side of Anakin’s neck, prods his tongue along the ridges of his teeth indentations, only to proceed down the opposite side and imprint a twin tattoo. He edges back to admire his handiwork; only then is he ready.
Anakin’s hips twitch in small, abortive jerks.
“Don’t fucking move,” he grits out, swallowing against the sight and the sensations. His hands wander back down to grab Anakin’s hips as he shifts his own weight around. “Your only job right now, Padawan, is taking every single thing I give you. Do you understand me?”
The second Anakin’s pitiful little, Yes, Daddy, parts his pretty pink lips is the second Obi-Wan draws his hips back. His eyes dart down as his cock tugs out and his boy’s stretched rimmed tries sucking him back inside. He stops short of pulling out entirely…and thrusts forward with enough force Anakin’s forehead bangs on the wall.
He sets a fast, brutal pace.
“Let me hear you sing for me, sweet boy.” Obi-Wan pants and moans with every downward press.
Anakin sighs out, “Daddy.” like it is the most natural thing in the entire galaxy. Kiss bruised lips and a beard burned chin shapes the most important epitaph of Obi-Wan’s life. “Oh, please, Daddy; please don’t stop.”
If Obi-Wan were thinking more with his head instead of with his dick, he might consider creating a way to amplify Anakin’s pleasure for everyone in the hotel to hear; wants the appreciative eyes that tracked his boy during the banquet to hear how beautifully he sings, but they also are reminded the noises are because of him—because of Obi-Wan.
Instead, Obi-Wan fucks into Anakin, reveling in the smell of sex and the noise of their skin slapping and the combined noises of their appreciative moans. He swivels his hips in search—
“Oh holy hells,” cries Anakin, his hole clenching down near painfully now that Obi-Wan’s found his prostate. “Oh fuck me,” his head lolls between his shoulders.
It is perfection. Utterly, extraordinarily, incandescently perfect. The heat of it; Obi-Wan bottoms out with the tip of his cock resting along Anakin’s prostate. Obi-Wan grinds, which means his every jerk or swivel or breath the tip of his cock glides and prods against Anakin’s sensitive bundle of nerves.
“With pleasure,” he seals the vow by biting at the top of Anakin’s spine.
The harder Obi-Wan pounds against Anakin’s prostate, the louder his boy’s moans go. It comes to a point where Anakin goes inarticulate and all his sweet noises are breathy grunts and squeals fed right into the bedroom wall.
Obi-Wan wants Anakin to cum on his cock, without touching Anakin’s cock and only from prostate stimulation. He knows Anakin is more than capable of it, they do it fairly regularly. But wants and reality do not always coexist. Obi-Wan’s core is tight and his balls are drawn tighter. He cannot draw this out much longer.
“Padawan,” the name comes out more as a moan than the beginnings of a directive. He takes a few more moments to thrust at his normal pace then tries to speak again. “Padawan, touch your pretty cock for me.”
Anakin whimpers, but is quick to tip more of his weight against the wall to sneak his left hand down.
“So good for me,” he coos. He slows his hips long enough to ensure Anakin’s following direction. “Now, I want you to fuck your hand like I am fucking your hole.”
“Gods, yes.”
He grows sloppy within moments. Anakin mewls and begs and Obi-Wan is only a man and he wants to give them what they both want. He starts yanking Anakin’s hips back as his thrusts grow shorter. His breath is heavy and drool has soaked the bristles down to his chin as he chases their high.
When Anakin gives a full body shiver and a pitiful whine splits the air, Obi-Wan grunts his acceptance. He finds Anakin’s prostate for the final time and drills into it again and again and again.
“Cum for me, Padawan.”
As if waiting for Obi-Wan’s permission, Anakin shakes and screams while his orgasm rips through him. Spurts of white spill past Anakin’s fist and dribble down toward the carpeted floor. His cheek is smooshed against the wall, the paper damp with the moisture of his panting, and there is positively no way his noises aren’t heard through the hotel rooms’ shared wall.
Obi-Wan fucks his boy through it, drawing out his pleasure into oversensitivity, vindictive enough to drag this out as long as Obi-Wan can last, the primal part of him vibrating with the need to stake his claim.
In between sobs, Anakin says, “Need you. Need you to cum inside me, Daddy; fill me up. Please, please, please.”
Four strokes later Obi-Wan follows after Anakin. His orgasm is just as strong, filling his boy’s greedy little hole in long spurts until even Obi-Wan thinks Anakin is overly full of cum. He presses them inelegantly up against the wall and rains kisses down any patch of skin he can reach, arms wrapping around his boy’s midsection to hold them upright.
They take a moment to breathe together.
When Obi-Wan gingerly pulls out, he groans at the sight of his cum dripping out of Anakin’s abused hole. He swipes two fingers through the mess and offers them to Anakin.
His boy wraps his lips around the offering and suckles, humming merrily.
Obi-Wan lets out a shaky laugh. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, hm?”
Anakin attempts pushing off the wall but stumbles backwards. “I think you’re a mess, but I love you anyways.”
Now Obi-Wan snorts. “And I love you despite being the biggest brat I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.” He steadies them and guides them toward the bathroom. “And I intend for everyone to know my brat is mine.”
In front of the refresher mirror, Anakin kisses Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Through a cheeky grin, he murmurs, “My guess is you informed everyone here tonight.”
The beast in his chest puffs up with pride. “And I love you for your assistance.” He drops a lengthy kiss against Anakin’s previously unattended to mouth. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”
The next morning at breakfast, Obi-Wan makes sure Anakin looks ravishing and like he has been recently ravished. Which he has been recently ravished; Obi-Wan fucked him in the shower before they departed. And, oops, Obi-Wan accidentally hid Anakin’s hair care products, so his boy’s curls are extra wild this morning; quite fetching, if Obi-Wan’s honest, how the sunshine brightens the golden strands. Anakin glows like an angel.
If he weren’t here on a diplomatic mission, Anakin would be sitting on his lap as Obi-Wan hand feeds him berries and offers him sips of caf. His beautiful boy belongs wherever it is Obi-Wan rests.
Alas, they are here on a diplomatic mission. So Obi-Wan must content himself with having pulled Anakin into an alcove steps away from the banquet hall’s entrance to kiss him within an inch of his life, all the while fists his still damp curls. As they entered, Anakin called his hair hopeless, but Obi-Wan knows better than to disagree.
However, they are not returning to Coruscant after their departure. So Obi-Wan may have left a particularly noticeable purpling mark underneath Anakin’s jaw. A mark that screams his, stakes claim and speaks for Obi-Wan.
Maybe purple is Obi-Wan’s favorite color in the galaxy after all, seeing how lovely the shade is against Anakin’s golden-toned neck.
“How long did you say it will take to rendezvous?” Anakin asks, his fork stabbed with a green berry held aloft next to his cheek. He gives it a twirl as he continues, “I know what Snips said, but as much as I love her, we really gotta work on her ETA skills.”
Three tables down on the righthand side, Obi-Wan finally spots Senator Jaiyne. Their eyes momentarily meet. He has the good fortune watching her parlor drain and then rapidly refill with stark color. If Obi-Wan were a more generous or altruistic man, he reckons he might inquire after the Senator’s health. Alas, Obi-Wan claims no such virtues where his boy is involved, so he remains seated and smiling.
He keeps her in the corner of his eye while he turns the rest of his attention back on Anakin. He knocks their boots together until he is rewarded with Anakin’s timid blush.
“We will have to help her,” he nods. Emboldened by the purring beast in his chest, Obi-Wan reaches out and snags Anakin’s raised hand. They maintain eye contact as Obi-Wan guides Anakin’s fork closer until he flicks his tongue at the speared fruit, tasting it. He sucks it into his mouth, then makes a show swallowing it. “And, to answer your first question, we have roughly six standard hours ahead of us. Any particular reason you want to know?”
A punched out breath prompts Anakin lean his elbow on the table, his wide eyes dark as navy skies, and his upper body leans closer toward Obi-Wan’s. “What’s gotten in to you?”
He winks. “I’m not sure I gather your meaning.”
Anakin looks askance at him and then he glances over his shoulder looking for… yes, he finds her. He turns back around with a bit of pink at the tip of his ears. “Haven’t you—” he clears his throat, but the corners of his lips curve a hint of a grin that belies any true embarrassment. “Haven’t we traumatized her enough?”
They both note when the Senator rises from her seat and begins to leave. Unfortunately for her, she has to pass their table on her way out.
“I am sure I don’t catch your meaning,” he hums. With a charming smile, he swipes the fork and stabs another berry, offering it to Anakin.
Anakin rolls his eyes and accepts the bite. “Whatever you say, Daddy.”
A squeak of surprise precedes a flurry of activity behind Anakin’s chair.
His boy turns his head to watch the senator flee from the banquet hall. Facing forward once more, Anakin’s lips are pursed and beg for a kiss. Obi-Wan plans on branding Anakin more again later—sooner rather than later. Anakin raises an eyebrow as if to say, Well then? Are you proud of yourself.
Yes, Obi-Wan smirks, yes he is quite proud of himself.