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The first time he and Anakin have sex, it's terrible.
Admittedly, first times aren’t often great, considering they’re first times and sexual intimacy is learnt. Built upon. Obi-Wan knows this. He’s experienced this. Sex in general at the best of times is an awkward, fumbling mess. It should still be good, though. Experimental and fun, if nothing else.
It’s not like that with Anakin at all.
“Oh - that’s - shit, ow - oh - Obi-Wan, are you alright?”
From his sprawled position at the foot of the bed where he’s tumbled off, Obi-Wan tries not to whimper from abject humiliation. Whatever mood they'd managed to scrounge up once their clothes had come off, it's ruined now.
“Yeah, yes, I'm fine.”
He takes a moment to press his palms to his eyes until they bleed colour from the pressure, then hauls himself up. Anakin is looking at him worriedly from where he's leaned over to make sure Obi-Wan hasn't done himself any damage, cheeks a ruddy crimson. He’s covered his erection with a blanket, and Obi-Wan’s body gives an embarrassed shiver.
It’s an effort not to spring up right there and make some excuse to leave, but Anakin reaches out to him and pulls him down until they're side by side, fidgeting with the pillowcase beneath him. He doesn't touch Obi-Wan, and he thinks he might just strangle himself in the sheets anyway.
He is rarely clumsy, especially in this, but something about having Anakin under his hands has made him fumbling and stupid from the very first. It's unbearable.
“You sure you’re OK?” Anakin’s eyes are dark in the low light, expression half concealed by the bedding. Obi-Wan really does not want to think about himself right now.
“Are you? I think I - erm, well my teeth - ?”
“No, no, I'm alright! No harm done.”
Fuck, the placating tone he's using is making the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Obi-Wan feels like a sulky teenager all over again, fumbling around a cock for the first time and pretending he knows what he’s doing as he makes a fool of himself.
It is not his first time.
“Good.”
They lapse into awkward silence and Obi-Wan wishes to anyone or anything that’s listening that some sort of emergency would occur so he can escape the utter failure of whatever that had been. But that’s unfair. Anakin deserves more.
Gods, Obi-Wan knows he deserves more.
“I’m sorry. That was…not how I intended for that to go.”
His face prickles with heat which he's sure is visible despite his beard, and he’s itching to move. Falling off the bed during a blow job is certainly a first for him, even when he didn't know what the hell he was doing. He cannot begin to consider what Anakin must be thinking.
“I ah - assumed that. Is that - I mean, have you ever - “
Brilliant. He really does think he’s never sucked a cock before. Quinlan is surely laughing his ass off somewhere out there. Obi-Wan swallows a groan.
“Yes, I have it's just - I - “
“Nerves? I mean - we, um - we haven't ever done this, so - I’m nervous if it makes you feel any better - “
Obi-Wan latches onto the excuse, even though nerves aren't something he's been experiencing at all tonight. He’s fairly certain, anyway. There was guilt, briefly. Some awkwardness when he got tangled up in his tunic and Anakin had to help him. Slight shame at the glint of grey in his chest hair, which Anakin did not even take notice of. But nerves? No, not once.
“Yes, I - I suppose that must have been it.”
“You don't have to do that. If you don't want to.” Anakin rubs his face against the pillow with his eyes downcast, then presses a hesitant hand to Obi-Wan's belly. It jumps at his touch. “I’m OK without. Um - do you want me to - ?
For him to offer now after Obi-Wan's disastrous attempt is equal parts awful and wonderful. Obi-Wan feels a burst of fondness even though his erection wilted almost as soon as he tried to swallow Anakin's cock and felt his gag reflex - which is virtually non-existent - engage. Anakin isn't the biggest he’s swallowed down, and he’d tasted deliciously of clean skin and bitter pre-come. But for whatever reason, he’d barely fit. Obi-Wan's at a loss as to why.
“No, no, that's alright.” He fumbles for something to say, hands reaching for Anakin’s waist before he jerks them back. He feels inexplicably like he should ask before touching him, even though they're entirely naked and he’s just had his cock in his mouth.
Anakin, blessedly, doesn't notice, too busy trying to hide his hurt look. Obi-Wan's stomach drops.
“Not because I don't want you to!” Obi-Wan winces at his own volume, wishing he could punch himself. His ego feels bruised beyond repair. “I do, I just - not right now? Can - can I hold you?”
Anakin bites his lip, blinking back tears. Obi-Wan feels like the worst person alive, terrified that his request seems half-hearted when it's anything but. The younger man nods though, and Obi-Wan wraps himself around him, crushing him to his sweaty chest and pressing his lips into his hair.
“I don't know what's wrong with me tonight,” he murmurs, finding it easier to talk without Anakin's eyes on his. His breath shudders, and he squeezes the other tighter. “But it has nothing to do with you, love. You're perfect.”
“...’kay.”
Anakin’s voice is heartbreakingly small, and Obi-Wan grinds his teeth, castigating himself.
What a mess.
x0x0
The most ridiculous thing about it all is that Obi-Wan’s attraction to Anakin is blinding. There isn't a second where he hasn't looked at Anakin shirtless in the training salles, moving powerfully through katas, and felt himself light up like a bonfire. Synchronising with him on a battlefield has become a lesson in control like none other - Anakin’s battle honed body and contradictory sweetness has been Obi-Wan's weakness for months.
Then there's the inescapable fact that he’s desperately in love with him. Despite every reason not to be (the Code, the power imbalance, the familial duty he’s fostered for a decade and cannot seem to escape, making this even more erotic, gods help him), Obi-Wan has fallen harder than a stack of bricks with every instance of competence Anakin displays, every compassionate gesture he makes to refugees and troopers and random citizens. He is everything Obi-Wan hoped he would become and more, and it is fodder for Obi-Wan's affection and narcissism in equal measure.
He’d assumed that would be half the battle, actually. Accepting he’s in love with his former Padawan who is over a decade younger than him certainly took some time. A lot of self disgust and recrimination. Plenty of meditation in a useless effort to let the feelings go. But the Force had pushed them all back as soon as he'd thought he’d shed them, and Obi-Wan has never disregarded a sign from the ancient energy. If it wants him to love Anakin with all his heart and soul, who is he to say otherwise?
It helped that Anakin was the one to bring everything to a head, spitting curses at him after a particularly reckless stunt that ended with Obi-Wan's entire torso covered in bacta. He’d railed about Obi-Wan trying to get himself killed before Anakin had even gotten to tell him he loved him, almost cruelly biting the words into Obi-Wan's mouth, hand on his nape so he couldn't escape.
Obi-Wan had most certainly not wanted to escape. The way he’d crushed Anakin’s mouth to his and licked him open like he was water in the desert, spit sliding down his chin as Anakin whimpered and slumped into him like his strings had been cut - he’d revelled in the captive feeling.
That kiss. All swollen passion and clutching fingers on yielding skin - Obi-Wan had been a parsec away from fucking Anakin into the biobed right there. He'd felt maddened with want, had felt intrinsically that sinking into Anakin would be like feeling the Force for the first time. Joyful and overwhelming and like coming home.
Why was the reality so very different?
x0x0
The second time is somehow even worse.
This time, Obi-Wan is sure there will be less nerves on either of their part (even though he’s convinced nerves are not to blame) since they've already seen each other messy and vulnerable. Surely he can't top falling off the bed in the middle of getting Anakin's cock wet?
Wrong.
“OK, that’s probably enough now - you can start to - gently, Anakin - “
“Sorry! My wrist is just - here, let me - “
Anakin’s finger pushed up to the first knuckle feels foreign and not right, which it absolutely shouldn't. Obi-Wan had known they were going to try this because after that first time they’d decided to discuss things like serious adults in a committed relationship and plan ahead. He’d fingered himself open the prior night with his blood sparking hot at the thought and had to stop himself from cumming after only a few thrusts, his fingers curling against his prostate as he'd imagined Anakin there, watching.
He loves getting fingered. He loves anal and he loves Anakin. Why isn't his body cooperating?
Anakin thrusts a few times as Obi-Wan works on relaxing himself, frustrated and bewildered as the feeling stays intrusive. Eventually, he tries to press another fingertip in, and glances up at Obi-Wan when it doesn't even wriggle in a millimetre.
“Obi-Wan?” He questions unsurely, and Obi-Wan holds back an angry hiss. He breathes deeply and relaxes entirely, nodding quickly and choking on a gasp as Anakin's second finger notches deep.
And stays there as sickly heat flashes through him. Obi-Wan strangles his pained grunt.
“Obi-Wan, you're gonna crush ‘em - we can stop - “
“No!” He barks, gripping his own thighs tighter where he’s folded himself in half for Anakin. For the man he loves. The man he wants to fuck him, and who can't because Obi-Wan's body is a traitorous bastard. “No, just - give me a moment - “
“I don't think so.” Anakin's voice is firm, and the look he levels Obi-Wan with is admonishing. It does something very complicated to Obi-Wan's insides, who feels his half hard cock twitch. It's not enough to make his slick hole loosen, unfortunately. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Obi-Wan growls, pushing himself down onto Anakin's still hand, but it’s impossible to hide his wince. Anakin tsks and puts a restraining hand on his belly, pinning him down as he gently pulls his fingers free. “Don’t even try it,” he warns, cleaning his wet hand on the cloth next to him and stroking it down Obi-Wan's twitching leg comfortingly as he shoots him an exasperatedly fond smile. Obi-Wan scowls. “It's clearly not on the agenda tonight, and that's OK.”
“It's not OK by me,” Obi-Wan mutters under his breath, even as he lets his legs drop. Ignoring the twinge in his hip sockets, he rolls up and onto all fours, pressing his nose into Anakin's belly and inhaling.
“You're going to come tonight,” he states authoritatively, nosing along the line of hair until he reaches the base of Anakin's cock, fully hard still, thank the stars. Anakin makes a noise of denial that turns into a gasp as Obi-Wan gets a hand around him and his lips on the head, letting his mouth slacken so that the heat washes over the sensitive skin.
“Alright,” he breathes, and then says nothing else as Obi-Wan smugly proceeds to wreck him. Properly, this time. Pride sings through him at Anakin's stuttering moan as he bends over his flexing back and fills his throat thickly, not a drop spilling as Obi-Wan swallows delightedly, relishing the taste.
The hollow feeling he’s left with afterwards, wrapped up in Anakin's arms and feeling further away from him than ever, is an awful shock.
How can he feel disappointed with Anakin in his arms? Obi-Wan won't allow it.
x0x0
The third time he can't even think about without feeling his entire body twitch in horror.
He’s never going to forget to clean beforehand ever again. Sith’s hells.
x0x0
They stop trying after that for a while. It bleeds into avoidance while they're still assigned together with their squads, and Obi-Wan chokes on his own fears with every shift Anakin spends in his own rooms. It’s his every feeling of inadequacy realised.
Obi-Wan is called from the front for a diplomatic mission for a week, and when he arrives back at the Temple, Anakin isn't on shore leave for another rotation. He cleans up the spare droid parts the other has left haphazardly spilling from his workbench and fills the laundry chute with the random socks he finds hidden in his sheets. Anakin’s been sleeping in his bed while he was away, clearly, and Obi-Wan’s heart skips.
He has to fix this before it gets worse, he knows. Before whatever intimacy they still have is invariably ruined by their shitshow of a sex life. He still has no idea what’s causing the disconnect, though.
“Stars, Obes, maybe it's because you're fucking your former Padawan?” Quinlan leans over the bar to refill Obi-Wan's drink from the bottle of Corellian brandy he’s swiped, catching a drop on his thumb and sucking it into his mouth as he fills his own glass. Obi-Wan narrows his eyes at him as he takes a healthy gulp, smacking his lips in satisfaction.
He hadn't wanted to accept Quinlan's invitation for a drink, knowing it would probably end with him offering a longsuffering shoulder as he dragged the other’s drunk ass back to the Temple. But then the thought of getting out of his own head had surfaced, along with the appealing offer of someone else paying for his drinks. Quinlan has always been generous like that.
Obi-Wan isn't entirely sure when he’d lost all sense of caution and admitted that he and Anakin were suffering in the bedroom, though. Maybe it's the steady stream of brandy along with the thumping synth beat that drives most other thoughts from his head. Maybe it's just that Quinlan is his oldest friend and has seen Obi-Wan go through a thousand different make ups and break ups without any judgement whatsoever.
“Besides, terrible sex isn't that bad. You've had terrible sex before, I know you have.”
Yes, Obi-Wan has had terrible sex. Mostly when he was intoxicated, but sometimes also with someone who he just wasn't compatible with.
He knows he and Anakin are compatible, though. They know each other down to their broken, brittle bones. Obi-Wan has him in his very marrow. He doesn't want it any other way.
“Yes, but it hasn't gotten any better. We've tried. We even planned properly because we’re responsible.”
“Ugh, that makes it even less fun, if you ask me. Besides, like I said - maybe you're still hung up on how things used to be.”
“No, I don't think so. I’ve loved him for ages, Quin; I've had time to sort all that out.”
“Don't I know it,” Quinlan sighs gustily, kicking his shin playfully. “I had to listen to you crucify yourself every time you saw a flash of his godsdamn ankle. ‘End me Quinlan, I’m the dirtiest old man alive because I want to lick my old padawan’s toes - ‘“
“Shut up, you insufferable idiot.” Obi-Wan kicks back, hard, hiding his smile when Quinlan yelps. “You're the one with the foot fetish.”
“Only yours, baby - “
“Maybe I am just nervous. Anakin said he was, at least to begin with.”
“Yeah, I mean, experience helps.” Quinlan rubs his arm with a pout where Obi-Wan had pinched him, taking another sip of his nearly depleted drink. He's onto his fifth, and Obi-Wan eyes the half full bottle by his elbow. Might be time to hide it somewhere. “Wasn't Skywalker fucking that frenemy of his when he was a Padawan?”
“What, Ferus? Yes, I did wonder that. If they were, I'm not sure it went very far.”
“Handjobs in the communal showers but no bum stuff? Typical teenagers.”
“As if you were any better.”
“Aw, come on, babe, you know how good I was with my fingers.” Quinlan's lewd grin looks fond, and Obi-Wan answers with a nostalgic grin of his own. Half that aforementioned terrible sex was with each other, after all. Clan brothers stick together, and all that.
“So, maybe it is just experience. Or, maybe it's still too new and you just need time. Have you talked about it?”
Obi-Wan shifts uncomfortably, pinching the bridge of his nose when Quinlan scoffs. “I know, I know,” he gripes, throwing his hands up. “We should talk about it properly, but every time I even consider bringing it up, something stops me.”
“You think he won't be honest with you?”
“No, he would be. We don't keep secrets anymore, not after - well, we just don’t. It just - “ Obi-Wan stops, runs a hand through his hair agitatedly. The drinks have gone to his head enough that he’s not as shaky as he could be, but he’s still uneasy. “It feels as if this shouldn't even be an issue in the first place. Quin, do you know how much I've wanted this?”
“Yes, I absolutely fucking do.” Quinlan levels him with an unimpressed look, folding his arms against the bar top. “That's probably part of it, then. You gotta make peace with the fact that this is a problem so you can start to fix it. With him, not with me. Kriff, please don't involve me.”
Obi-Wan groans, scrubbing his fingers through his beard and then knocking back the rest of his drink. “OK,” he decides, shaking himself on the barstool like it will get rid of the nervous energy rushing through him. “OK. I will. Right now.”
“Your boy’s still on route,” Quinlan reminds him archly, grabbing the bottle from where Obi-Wan had squirreled it away behind his back. Obi-Wan sniffs. “But let's get you back so you can be drunk while you wait and I can forget everything I've learnt about your sex life in the last hour.”
“Don't let me have a hangover,” Obi-Wan pleads morosely, trying to remember how to place his feet as Quinlan hauls him up and starts to lead him towards the door and a vacant speeder. “I don't want Anakin to see me like that.”
“Pretty sure he’s seen worse,” Quinlan huffs, having managed to get Obi-Wan into the passenger seat and the brandy safely tucked between his thighs. “But, sure. I'll make sure Skywalker never knows you know how to let loose.”
x0x0
Obi-Wan's brain still feels like it's melting out of his ears by the next afternoon, and the loud sounds of the Temple hangar surrounding him are not helping. But he’d promised to be there when Anakin docked with the Twilight, and so that is where he is.
He’s trying to remember for the thousandth time what he'd said to Quin the night before by the time the sleek ship enters, lands and idles towards the bay, blinking himself back to awareness as it powers down and the ramp descends. Anakin’s boots appear and are followed by the man himself, and Obi-Wan immediately forgets everything else.
His brain comes back online once he has Anakin in his arms, bodies hidden from everyone else behind the ship’s wide strut. Anakin sighs against his mouth and grips his tunic tighter, melting into him as Obi-Wan kisses him greedily. He smells like oil and faint dirt, but no hint of bacta or blood. Obi-Wan pulls him further into his chest.
“Hi, master,” Anakin manages to gasp out when Obi-Wan finally detaches himself, rubbing his cheek against his exposed neckline just to feel him shiver. “Missed me, did you?”
“You’ve no idea,” Obi-Wan hums, thumbs circling his leather-clad hip bones under his robe. Anakin sighs softly, and Obi-Wan rests his lips against his steady pulse. “I’m glad you're safe.”
“Rex made sure of it.”
“Good man, that Rex.” Obi-Wan leans back and strokes a finger down Anakin's cheek, watching his lashes flutter. “Remind me to thank him later.”
He steps back out into the open hangar, glancing over when Anakin ambles over to his side. They begin to make their way back to their quarters, Obi-Wan wishing he could take hold of the other’s hand as they walk through the halls. But discretion is still preferred in a relationship like theirs, and he can be patient.
“Your report?”
“Done and waiting for the Admiral’s signature. Proud?”
“Profoundly. Look at you, doing your paperwork on time.”
Anakin grins, blue eyes flashing silver in the sunlight bouncing off the marble. His skin gleams, and Obi-Wan loves him so terribly much.
“I wanted to make sure there was nothing else to do when I got back. Um - not for anything in particular! Just so I could spend time with you.”
Obi-Wan feels a stab of guilt, warring with the lingering affection still lighting his blood. He keys them into their rooms and walks through to the kitchen before replying, switching on the burner to heat the stew he’d finished earlier and turning to where Anakin lingers in the doorway.
“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. Though, I wasn't planning on rushing into it before dinner.”
Anakin nods jerkily after a slow moment, removing his robe and placing it on the hook by the door and removing his boots. They're interrupted by a knock on the door and then a droid brings Anakin's packs in, beeping placidly as it places them in the closet Anakin directs it to and leaving again. Obi-Wan stirs the reheated stew and then ladles it into bowls, bringing them to the table along with bread and tea.
They eat quietly, the atmosphere a strange mix of tense and relieved. Obi-Wan's sure Anakin will simply give up and say something, but he surprises him by staying still in both the Force and in body, simply allowing the space to fill with whatever it will.
Only once they've finished and the dishes have been cleaned does Obi-Wan take Anakin’s wrist and bring it to his lips, there by the kitchen sink in the middle of the domesticity they created years ago. It's easy to pretend that nothing is missing, but as soon as Anakin’s breath slips and his pulse jumps, it comes crashing back.
“I’m sorry I avoided you before you left, dear heart.” Obi-Wan thinks beginning with an apology is best, so that there's no misunderstanding of how he feels about this. “And I'm sorry as well if I've made you feel like there was anything lacking.”
“But isn't there?” Anakin looks at him with worry in his eyes, and Obi-Wan's heart breaks.
“No,” he says emphatically, taking Anakin's face between his hands and staring at him imploringly. “No, of course not. I love you, Anakin Skywalker. Whatever we have, right now, is enough.”
“But it could be more.” Anakin threads his fingers into Obi-Wan's belt, tugging a little as he blinks over-bright eyes. “I know I'm not as - experienced, but I know what it can be like. How good it can be.”
“I know you do,” Obi-Wan soothes, even as he feels a flare of unbecoming jealousy that he quickly smothers. Anakin’s mouth twists, like he caught that, and Obi-Wan huffs before it can become a smirk. “Which is a good thing, truly. Perhaps we have different ideas about what that looks like, though?”
“...you think we have different ideas about what sex is? Wait, like, kinks and stuff - ?”
“No,” Obi-Wan repeats, a little mortified that that’s where Anakin's mind went. But then he takes the time to think about it and - well, he’d certainly meant physical intimacy, but what if -
“Unless…is that - have you been afraid to tell me something you want?”
Anakin blinks, pink cheeks staining a darker shade, and suddenly, Obi-Wan’s entire grasp of the conversation veers wildly. He hears himself make an enquiring sound, something dark and hungry, and watches in shock as Anakin’s pupils dilate.
“Oh,” he breathes, suddenly sure that he’s found the answer. “Oh, you have been too afraid, haven't you? Did you think I would be turned off by whatever it is?”
“I - I didn't want to disappoint you,” Anakin gasps, leaning into him as Obi-Wan runs his tongue along his jawbone and flicks it into the hollow behind his ear. “Ah - it’s nothing weird, I just didn't know if you would want - oh, that’s - “
Quin had been right, they really did just need to talk. And that’s exactly what they’re going to do.
“Alright then, sweet boy,” Obi-Wan rumbles against Anakin's ear as he slides the thigh he’d pressed between his legs against his bulge, applying slow pressure to his balls. Anakin whines. “Let's get you to the bed and then you're going to tell me every. Single. Thing.”
Anakin’s head tips back as he moans high and sweet at Obi-Wan’s teasing, and he just knows that this is what they need. No more expectations or assumptions between them, only outright communication. Anakin’s going to tell Obi-Wan exactly what he wants and Obi-Wan is going to give it to him.
Eventually.
x0x0
Despite what outsiders might think, Jedi do not have the ability to mind read. And a Force bond, particularly one that has already been cut, does not relay another’s exact feelings.
Still, as Anakin lies naked and glowing in the low light of the lamp, watching as Obi-Wan settles into a chair at the foot of their bed, curiosity and anticipation fills the air. Obi-Wan can feel it curling around his bare chest, tendrils of warmth.
“Now, then,” he coaxes, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, drinking in the vision Anakin makes as he tries to ignore the heavy pulse of his own arousal. “What do you dream about me doing to you first?”
Anakin’s mouth parts as he slides a foot up, giving Obi-Wan a tantalising glimpse of his taint between his partly open legs. He’d had the forethought to prop himself up against the headboard with a few pillows so that he’s able to see Obi-Wan properly and Obi-Wan can see him, as much of him as he wants. The image is going to be burned behind his eyelids forever after this.
“I dream about you kissing me.” Anakin’s low voice is only a little hesitant, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his nerves and arousal. His cock is full and pointing toward his belly despite that, and Obi-Wan’s eyes snap to the twitch of his hands where they're resting carefully against the sheets. He smiles darkly, slow and deep.
“Where?” He rubs a hand over his chin, feeling the rasp of beard against his own fingers. Anakin tracks the movement, licking his lips, and Obi-Wan feels his belly swoop. He wonders at the reaction, tucks it into the back of his mind for now.
“My mouth first,” Anakin breathes, and Obi-Wan sucks in a breath when the wicked thing brings a hand up to his own mouth, running his thumb slowly along his bottom lip and then dipping it into the hot depths. He brings it out slowly, shining in the shadowy light, and runs it down his chin to the hollow of his throat.
Oh, Obi-Wan is in trouble.
“Where else?” He asks, speaking through his fingers as he lets his eyes go half lidded, watching that thumb move with Anakin’s swallow. This is dangerous on a level he hadn't expected, but if there's one thing Obi-Wan is, it's determined. He won't be the one to give in.
“My neck. Right here.” Anakin’s fingers slide around to where neck meets jaw, the thin skin flushed and speckled with golden stubble. “And my throat, here.” He rubs them over his jugular, a fleeting touch that Obi-Wan sees makes his cock twitch. It's obscene. “T-then you bite.”
There's a groan building deep in Obi-Wan's chest, and he has to clench his free hand against his leg, almost tearing the linen fabric of his pants. His cock is throbbing with every word, and he thanks whichever Jedi decided to make such loose fitting pants as the standard issue. He relishes the ripe feeling of his own want, the way it's spurred on by Anakin giving voice to his own desires.
“Do I bite hard?”
“Yeah,” Anakin rasps, voice catching when he pinches the skin between his fingers. “Your teeth are sharp and you mark me, ‘cause you can’t help it.”
“Is that what you want? My marks?”
“I want whatever you give me, master,” Anakin says feverishly, mech hand creaking as he clutches the sheets. His other hand has migrated to his chest, fingers teasing a nipple lightly.
“You've skipped a scene, darling.” Obi-Wan watches gleefully as those fingers stop their flickering, jumping back up to pinching the skin of his neck. “Or do I move directly to your lovely tits?”
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin groans, palm sliding back down and cupping his pec, thumb nail digging into the peaked bud. He bites his lip and Obi-Wan sees a bead of pre-come pearl, sliding down the curve of his flushed shaft. His mouth waters.
“Keep going, Anakin.” Obi-Wan rubs his thumb across his mouth, back and forth in a slow drag as his cock begins to leak at the visual Anakin makes, both knees splayed wide now as he teases one nipple and moves the other hand up to his throat. It doesn't escape Obi-Wan's notice that it's the metal one, and that the grip Anakin uses tips his own chin up and back, a sweet arch of vulnerability.
“Nn - you pin me down. Keep me on my back. Ah - t-tease me.” His fingers pinch his nipples in a steady rhythm, plucking them every now and then. Obi-Wan can imagine it, his own tongue rolling the pink bud and then his teeth biting, pulling. An echo of pleasure pain sparks in his own chest, his thumb migrating into his mouth. The taste of his own skin transforms into the taste of Anakin’s, faint hints of sweat and Temple issue soap.
“Teasing you is my speciality. Then what?”
Anakin gasps, feet slipping a little in the sheets as he brings them up so that his hips hinge wide. Obi-Wan’s hands find the arms of the chair and clench tight as he gapes at the wet sheen of Anakin's pubic hair, the trails slipping down his balls. He must be soaking to be so wet, and Obi-Wan groans deeply at the sight.
“You’re dripping, love,” he coos, unable to stop himself from leaning as far forward as he can and inhaling, trying to catch a whiff of Anakin's smell. He feels like a lothwolf, scenting the air, and the image of stalking forward and grabbing Anakin's ankles, hobbling him as he feasts on him, makes something feral rise in his chest.
“W-wet ‘cause of you, m-master,” Anakin moans, mouth like a bruise as he pants and lets his fingers wander from his chest to his thighs, skimming them along his balls and painting trails onto the skin where hip meets thigh. It's like he’s creating paths to where he wants Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan is very good at following directions. He follows Anakin's fingers until they reach his taint, inhaling sharply when Anakin draws circles, tightening them until they're centralised on a specific spot.
“Oh, darling,” he grates, watching ravenously as Anakin's cock spills thin, milky fluid, glancing up to his face in time to see his eyes rolling into the back of his head. It's the most erotic thing Obi-Wan's ever seen, and he can't do it, he has to get a hand on his cock, right now.
Shaking, he leans back and unties the drawstring, sliding a hand down to play with his own pubic hair, fingers just stroking the base. Anakin has opened his eyes and is watching him with a dazed look, fucked out already from his own hands and Obi-Wan’s coaxing. He licks his lips and gazes at Obi-Wan's concealed hand, glancing up at his eyes as he slows the relentless press of his fingers. Obi-Wan wonders what he sees when he looks at him.
“I - I like feeling it from the outside.” Anakin tilts his head, curls sliding across his forehead. He looks angelic, the most beautiful thing Obi-Wan has ever seen. Like a classic painting limned in gold leaf. “I’ve thought about your fingers on me for months. How rough they'd be. How hard you'd press them into my skin.”
“As hard as you'd like,” Obi-Wan croaks, swallowing around a mouth full of drool. “What about my mouth? Have you thought about that there too? My teeth?”
“Oh,” Anakin gasps, fingers turning pinching and suddenly harsh. “Fuck. I am now.”
“Good boy,” Obi-Wan says, and has to tug his balls sharply when Anakin suddenly cries out and his cock spurts more pre-come. “Oh fuck, Anakin.”
“Again!” Anakin’s eyes are screwed shut, and Obi-Wan is sure he sees tears at the corners. But what's even more shocking is that Anakin has moved from his perineum straight to his hole, fingers rubbing swift and sure against the furled skin. He must be dry, even with all the pre-come he’s been drooling, but as Obi-Wan watches on the edge of his godsdamn seat, Anakin works his mouth and spits onto his fingers, gathering the foamy wad and spreading it across the skin so that it shines before plunging a slick finger in to the hilt.
The noise Obi-Wan lets out doesn't even sound human, and he fears for a moment that he’s going to come right then in his pants like a fucking teenager. Anakin’s mech hand has grabbed behind his knee and pulled it up so that Obi-Wan has an unimpeded view of his hole literally clenching around his own curling finger, which he must have targeted directly to his prostate. The little whimpering ah ah ah’s he’s letting out are driving him crazy, and Obi-Wan doesn't know how much more he can take.
“Good boy, fucking hells, look at you, milking your own fingers.” Obi-Wan sounds wrecked even to his own ears, his hand gripped around his cock not even moving because he’s so sure he’s about to shoot. “Is this what I do to you?”
“Da-ah, m-master, yes, you fuck me so good - “ Anakin’s tear-streaked face flushes an even deeper red than what it currently is, and his eyes suddenly snap open and flick to Obi-Wan, his finger stuttering from its rhythm. It's infinitesimal, but Obi-Wan, whose entire vision is taken up by that pink, hungry muscle, notices immediately. He also sees the flash of fear in Anakin's eyes, blown out as they are.
“You’re hiding something, aren't you?” Obi-Wan feels his demeanour shift subconsciously, his cock taking on a second heartbeat from how much blood has rushed to it. He leans back in the chair, sprawls his legs out as his hands come to rest against the arms. It's the exact same pose he uses in his Council chair, like it’s a throne for him to languish in as he sees fit. The effect on Anakin is instantaneous, confirming the theory Obi-Wan's been slowly working towards. His belly trembles and his cock jumps as his finger curls harder, the moan he lets out guttural.
Anakin likes his authority. He's turned on by it. And, Obi-Wan suspects, it's not just because he’s his master.
“What is it, sweetling? You can tell me. I know when my boy is hiding something from me.”
“A-ah! Master! D-ah - “ Now, Anakin is reaching for his cock, but only to grip it tightly, barely moving. His finger, on the other hand, is continuing to curl into his prostate, his hips jerking down like he can’t stop himself. Apparently he doesn't want fullness, because he hasn't attempted to add another, instead choosing to work the nervy gland exclusively until it swells. Obi-Wan knows from experience how sharp the pleasure turns the closer one gets to coming, everything becoming devastatingly, painfully good.
He sprawls further down, tilts his head as he smiles, soothing and expectant. Anakin mewls, throat working as he tries to swallow the words Obi-Wan knows he wants to say. What Obi-Wan wants to hear with a desperation he hadn't even really acknowledged until now. “Come on, beautiful boy,” he breathes, shifting forward again as Anakin grinds against his prostate and thumbs it from the outside, so saturated now that his hole is glistening. “Say it.”
The cry Anakin lets out seems to come from the depths of his soul, his cock pulsing in his still fist as he comes. “D-dad! Daddy, dad, please - f-fuck - “
“Baby,” Obi-Wan gasps, out of his mind at the sight of Anakin coming all over himself as he fingers his hole and calls him his father. His hand pulls his cock quickly from his pants and fists it hard and fast, his orgasm almost painful with the release of tension. Anakin’s voice rings in his ears, the words daddy, daddy, dad making him feel like he’s about to shiver out of his own skin.
He’s breathless and blind for several moments, coming back alive suddenly when he feels hands sliding along his thighs and a hot tongue licking along his spent shaft. He opens his eyes to Anakin on his knees between his legs, cleaning his cock as he watches him through tear-clumped lashes. Obi-Wan hisses and threads a shaky hand into his curls, gripping tight and pulling. Anakin’s drowsy gaze goes even more hazy.
“Daddy’s perfect boy,” Obi-Wan's mouth says independently of his brain, but he doesn't regret it at all as Anakin sobs softly and a tear slides down his feverish skin. Obi-Wan catches it and licks it delicately from his thumb, savouring the salt. Anakin’s tongue on his cock goes slow and clumsy.
“Come here, precious thing.” Obi-Wan’s hands smooth through sweaty curls and down to Anakin's arms, prodding him up until he crawls into Obi-Wan’s lap, a shivery mess of come, spit and tears. He runs soothing hands down Anakin's back and presses him under his chin, marvelling at how small the lanky young man can make himself. “You did so well, telling me what you wanted, giving yourself over to me.”
Anakin sniffles a little and then presses a featherlight kiss to Obi-Wan's chin, rubbing his lips against his beard curiously. He seems beyond words right now, so Obi-Wan simply holds him and breathes steadily, waiting for them to sync. When they do, he tips Anakin's chin up, catching his sleepy eyes.
“I love you,” he brushes against his mouth, feeling Anakin's lips part sweetly under his and melting into it. “My darling boy, my Anakin.”
“Love you, master,” Anakin slurs, kissing him slowly, sharing the taste of his cum from his drunk tongue. Obi-Wan squeezes him tighter, loving him so much it hurts. “‘m yours.”
Yes, he is. Moulded by his hand, made in his image. Obi-Wan’s. He shudders, content. Whatever was wrong feels long gone now, dissolved along with any inhibitions either one of them might have had.
Nothing could be more perfect than this.