Archive of Our Own

The train compartment door slides shut with a hiss. Finally alone and unobserved, Obi-Wan scrubs both hands across his face. He holds his breath for a moment, then exhales slowly.

Meditate. I just need to meditate.

Dropping to his knees on the worn carpeted floor, he settles into the familiar pose and tries to focus on his breath, searching for that rhythm that will calm his heart rate and draw him into the soothing currents of the Force.

But all he can smell, thick and cloying, is alpha.

He takes another deep, steadying breath through his nose, and instantly regrets it.

Force be damned, he laments with frustration, fingers curling into tight fists. His last heat, at least a week past, is lingering in ways he hadn't expected. He’s not usually so susceptible to scents. And it's certainly not like him to be drawn so easily into arguments with anyone, least of all Anakin. True, the two of them bicker often enough—but not like this. Not with snarling and accusations and real menace behind their words. Not with such intensity that one of them has to leave before things become explosive.

Obi-Wan ought to be able to keep his head. To behave like the thoughtful and reasonable Jedi Master he knows himself to be.

But Obi-Wan is weak for one alpha, and one alpha only.

Anakin Skywalker.

Obi-Wan lets out a sigh, inwardly cursing the circumstances that brought them to this point. Here they are, he and Anakin, crammed together on a hover train for half a rotation to the far side of the main continent on Mapuzo, a region with no serviceable spaceport for them to land any kind of ship, apparently. They’d just finished separate missions when they’d received the urgent call from the Council. They were ordered to Mapuzo to settle some dispute between two agricultural conglomerates and negotiate a land deal that would include, hopefully, a future spaceport to help with trade and settlement.

The Mapuzans have strict customs around mating. Among the many rules and regulations written into their bylaws and celebrated in their culture, they require that newly mated pairs be cloistered away from the public for a Mapuzan year. Masters T’Nali and Lazul, mated for two Galactic Standard years already, had been the ideal candidates—but when they'd arrived on Mapuzo, they'd discovered that the length of a Mapuzan year could, evidently, extend far past the time it took for the planet to complete a full rotation around its sun.

In short, they had miscalculated. Or, perhaps more accurately, they'd failed to incorporate all the Mapuzan customs and peculiarities into their calculations. A tense renegotiation of plans had followed their arrival, and a new Jedi team had been called upon. And while mated pairs were the Mapuzans’ preference, in this instance an unmated pair would have to do.

Obi-Wan had agreed to the assignment and headed for Mapuzo, knowing he probably, maybe, still carried some of his heat-sweet scent. He had counted on the strength of the Republic-issued filters all their ships carried to pull any wayward pheromones out of the air, as they always did. He had not anticipated being trapped inside of a tiny train compartment with two fold-up bunks, a miniscule fresher, shoddy filters, and one brooding, attractive alpha.

Within the compartment, there’s barely enough room for them to move without touching. Unpacking had been out of the question, and it hadn't taken long before Anakin had begun pacing, or at least trying to, an arm or hip or thigh rubbing against Obi-Wan with each pass. Anakin’s scent had been so strong, so overpowering, and not since Anakin had presented a few years ago had Obi-Wan felt so overwhelmed by it. It was as if his inner omega was trying to claw its way out, as though he could slip right back into heat in short order.

It had been… unbecoming. Uncivilized. Entirely out of Obi-Wan’s control.

The truth of the matter—locked deep away where Obi-Wan had once refused to look—is that Obi-Wan has been attracted to Anakin Skywalker, his own Force-damned Padawan, since before Anakin even presented. The first time Obi-Wan had inhaled Anakin’s alpha scent, he'd known that there would be no other. The Force had been cruel, gifting him Anakin, and making Anakin the only man, alpha, mate, that Obi-Wan would ever want.

And Obi-Wan wants. His inner omega is possessive, always has been, and though Obi-Wan fights against it, he's never had to contend with Anakin's scent almost entirely unfiltered. His desire for Anakin’s knot, for his bite, is almost too much.

Of course, Obi-Wan isn’t deluded enough to think that he'll get what he aches for. Anakin is a young, beautiful alpha. He probably has his pick of omegas during his ruts to satisfy himself. And if not for his duties and dedication to his men, Anakin likely would have partnered and mated by now, perhaps with the lovely Senator from Naboo, or some other pretty, feminine omega Obi-Wan isn’t even aware of. Force knows, there are always plenty hovering about on any given mission. Including this one.

Not for the first time, Obi-Wan regrets agreeing to this. He should have called the mission off, postponed things, called in another pair as soon as Anakin stepped onto the train platform. Obi-Wan had been finalizing the travel arrangements with the Mapuzan officials when he’d felt the jolt in their bond, and he’d turned around to see Anakin, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. Obi-Wan had felt the rumble of Anakin’s low growl, and the urge to bare his neck had been so strong he’d had to hide it with a haughty lift of his chin, as though he were acknowledging Anakin’s arrival.

Of course Anakin could smell him even a week out from his heat. It had been too much to hope that this mission might be simple.

It had been a difficult heat for Obi-Wan, another in a line of increasingly bad cycles that he insists on managing alone. He knows his post-heat scent can be strong—Quinlan had commented on it often enough in their youth, drawling suggestively that it just made him want to knot him all over again. In those days, Obi-Wan had eagerly taken him up on it. But it’s been several years since Obi-Wan has allowed any alpha to share his heat, and he’s not taken a knot since an embarrassing encounter in the back of a speeder on Devaron early in the war.

Now, with Anakin here sniffing the air, growling and posturing—and because it's Anakin, with his beautiful eyes and his strong jaw and his broad shoulders and his incredible scent—Obi-Wan’s unfulfilled inner omega wants nothing more than to submit.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi is here to do his duty. He is better than his instincts, and Anakin is better than his. They will get through this. The people of Mapuzo are counting on them.

Obi-Wan inhales again. Exhales. Allows his fingers to relax once more, palms flat against his thighs. He is more than his designation, he reminds himself. Anakin is his best friend and partner—

And Anakin is also an alpha, some primal part of his mind whispers.

Obi-Wan wipes at his brow, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. The train sways, the rhythm somehow soothing and provocative all at once, and Obi-Wan’s body succumbs easily to the movement.

He would take such good care of you. Fill you up, hold you down and knot you like you need.

That thought makes Obi-Wan whine, a sound he rarely allows himself. He quickly strips out of his belt and tabards until he’s just in his undertunic, then pulls at the collar, opening the tunic the smallest bit so he no longer feels like he's suffocating. He’s so overwarm, and gods, he’s… he’s…

Horny.

They’ve a mission to accomplish, and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi is horny and pining like some schutta of an omega in one of Quinlan’s trashy holonovels.

Kriffing hells, why did he ever accept this mission?

Anakin never wants to see another alpha again.

He'd hoped that a walk around the train, away from Obi-Wan, might help restore his calm. He hadn’t expected to find posturing alphas at every turn. In the train car with Obi-Wan, he'd only been at risk of snapping, or at worst, confessing the reason he can't handle Obi-Wan's scent. Out here, he's at risk of a kriffing diplomatic incident.

It's not entirely his fault. The alphas he's encountered here are more than rude—they're out of line. Territorial of a space that doesn't belong to them. Willing to start fights in the confines of a train traveling hundreds of kilometers per hour, a train with nowhere to retreat to after the conflict and no one to step in if things come to blows.

Obi-Wan would kill him if he allowed himself to be drawn into such a conflict. And yet, these alphas are testing his control in a way that feels dangerous.

More dangerous than being alone with Obi-Wan? some inner voice asks.

Yes, he decides. He won't do anything to hurt Obi-Wan. And nothing he can do—save for accidentally mating Obi-Wan, an idea so far-fetched that Anakin actually laughs—will endanger the mission as much as a brawl with another alpha would.

Which is how he finds himself walking back the way he'd come, down the narrow corridor toward their small shared quarters and the only omega he's ever wanted.

Obi-Wan. His former Master, a fact that should make Obi-Wan less appealing to him. But it doesn't.

It kriffing figures that Obi-Wan is an omega. If he were any other designation, Anakin could've convinced himself it wasn't meant to be. But an omega? One who already knows him so well, who's been his mentor, his partner, his brother in arms—one who's seen him at his best and at his worst? How could the Force expect Anakin to want anyone else?

Obi-Wan has never given Anakin any indication that his feelings might be reciprocated. Not willing to compromise their friendship, Anakin has kept his attraction to himself. But he can't help but be aware of Obi-Wan. He catches the changes in Obi-Wan’s scent, subtle as they are. He knows when Obi-Wan is on leave for his heats. It’s not just that Obi-Wan’s absence is conspicuous—it’s that Anakin can smell when it's close, and he can still smell it on Obi-Wan when he comes back.

He never smells other alphas on Obi-Wan, though. Anakin isn't sure if that helps or hurts. Is Obi-Wan suffering through heats alone? Or is he fastidious enough that he can remove every trace of whatever alpha is assisting him?

Clenching his jaw, Anakin bites back a snarl. Thinking about Obi-Wan in heat makes his teeth ache. Thinking about Obi-Wan with another alpha makes him want to start a fight.

Which is how he'd ended up arguing with Obi-Wan in the first place—and then had to make an escape before giving himself away.

"Master,” Anakin had growled, “you have got to stop talking about heat and rut and... everything. Just—stop. Please."

"Anakin—"

"Kriff it all, Obi-Wan, I just can't think straight right now, alright? I just... I need a minute."

He'd retreated into the hall, away from Obi-Wan, away from his scent, away from temptation. But convincing himself to just stop being interested in Obi-Wan Kenobi is an exercise in futility. He’ll just have to ignore it. Redirect his thoughts to something else, until he manages to get some time alone with his own hands and his imagination.

Pausing at the door, he takes a deep breath, then rests his hand on the palm-pad that will grant him entry. Now that he and Obi-Wan have both had some time to collect their wits, maybe he'll be able to keep his inner alpha in check.

Of all the things Anakin had been prepared to find upon reentering the compartment, he hadn't expected to see Obi-Wan kneeling on the floor, stripped down to just his leggings and dark undertunic. Anakin has watched Obi-Wan meditate before, more times than he can recount—but it's rare that he gets to see Obi-Wan like this, his tabards and outer tunic discarded, his hair in disarray. It's more vulnerable than Obi-Wan usually allows.

Obi-Wan looks almost peaceful like this, Anakin realizes. Not entirely composed, but… lighter. Unburdened. It's as though in shedding his outer layers, he's divested himself of the invisible weight he always carries, the weight of responsibility and expectation.

Were it not for the flecks of silver in Obi-Wan’s beard and along his hairline, Anakin would almost say he looks younger. Anakin’s eyes catch on the lean lines of Obi-Wan’s shoulders and the curves of his biceps in that tight-fitting dark tunic. Something darker than desire flashes hotly through Anakin’s body. He stares, transfixed, watching Obi-Wan’s slow, even breaths, watching Obi-Wan’s bangs move against his forehead with the very slight movement of the train over the track.

Anakin can see the sheen of sweat where it's started to gather at Obi-Wan’s temples; the silver hair there seems to sparkle in the pale light of the compartment. The laugh lines at the corners of Obi-Wan’s eyes are just barely visible, and Anakin aches for Obi-Wan to open those eyes and smile at him. Force, Obi-Wan is handsome—so handsome that Anakin can hardly stand it.

Calm, welcoming ripples in the Force seem to draw Anakin in, pulling him toward Obi-Wan like a ship toward safe harbor in a storm. The scent in the room has become soothing, and it burns through the last of Anakin’s frustration, making him feel weak with relief. Biting back a supplicating whine, he crumples to his knees in front of Obi-Wan, wanting to be closer to that scent, to that calm.

It's a bad idea to be so close—but his inner alpha assures him that it’s also a very good idea.

"Master," he says softly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, or… Kriff. I acted like the kind of alpha I hate. That's not how I want to be, not with you."

Obi-Wan feels a sense of relief wash through him. He had not expected Anakin so soon. He hadn't been certain he wanted Anakin back in such aggravating proximity. But with Anakin’s body now so close—too close—Obi-Wan finds it difficult to remember why.

Anakin's scent has changed. It’s lighter, sweeter, but no less powerful. No less tempting. It pulls at Obi-Wan, beckoning him closer.

Against his will, Obi-Wan’s palms reach out and find Anakin's. Something flickers across their bond at the contact. The gesture isn't entirely unusual—he's held Anakin’s hands in his own more times than he can count, helping Anakin up off the mat or hauling him away from danger. He's held Anakin’s hand in the Halls of Healing while Anakin slept, a fact he’s neglected to share with Anakin in the months since. But this is different somehow. This is a meeting of their palms for no reason other than connection.

Obi-Wan almost shivers at the contradictory sensations, the cool leather of Anakin’s glove at odds with the warmth of Anakin’s flesh hand. Obi-Wan’s skin looks pale in the soft violet light, and paler still beside Anakin’s, that sun-kissed tan appearing almost bronze. The contrast is strangely complementary, Obi-Wan thinks to himself.

Finally, he glances up at Anakin, feeling another spike of longing. "You have never been any such thing,” Obi-Wan assures him, perhaps too forcefully. “And there is nothing for which you need to ask forgiveness. I am responsible for losing my composure and hurling unfair accusations at you. I know you would never endanger this mission when so many depend upon us. I just..." He smiles, self-conscious now. Looking away, he trains his eyes on their hands, noticing how close their fingertips have come to the sensitive scent glands on each other’s wrists. "I do not wish to make you more uncomfortable, should I… should my… blast."

The threads of Obi-Wan’s thoughts have started to unspool, and he struggles to recapture order in his mind. Dare he attempt to explain the distraction of having Anakin’s body so close to his? Dare he acknowledge his inner omega itching just beneath the surface, aching for more closeness, more touch? Dare he tell Anakin that he fears he might lose control—that some part of him wants to?

"Forgive me,” Obi-Wan finally says, quite sure his expression is one of embarrassed self-derision. “I find this situation rather challenging."

“You and me both,” Anakin murmurs wryly. "And you’re not making me uncomfortable. It’s just…” He squeezes Obi-Wan's hands as he searches for the words. “It's like you say sometimes. My body is at odds with my mind.”

Something pools warm and silky in Obi-Wan's gut at Anakin reflecting his own teachings back at him, not out of cheek, but with self-awareness and maturity. "Listen to the Force and let it guide you as it always has,” Obi-Wan prompts. He brushes his thumbs lightly over Anakin’s knuckles, gently coaxing calming currents into their bond and willing his scent to do the same. He’s not as practiced as other omegas in this skill, and now he regrets his inexperience. “Slow your breaths. That’s right, just like that.”

Anakin hums, his scent turning even sweeter at the praise.

“Can you sense a path to balance?” Obi-Wan continues. “Perhaps I might... if you need..." He blanches inwardly, knowing what he'd like to do, to ask Anakin for, but he dares not. He clears his throat. "Is there any way I might help?"

You could help by letting me kiss you, Anakin thinks. He feels the reckless impulse to say it out loud, though the part of him still in his right mind knows that he shouldn't. That's too much to ask of Obi-Wan.

"I…” Anakin trails off, trying to stay rooted in Obi-Wan’s calm. He focuses on the contact between their hands. Warmth and comfort radiate from even that simple touch, and some small, whispering voice—maybe his inner alpha, or maybe even the Force itself—urges him to seek out more connection. More reassurance. More of Obi-Wan’s scent.

“Can I try something?” Anakin asks in a low voice, leaning in a little closer.

Obi-Wan’s pulse spikes. Even with his outer tunics removed, he feels at risk of overheating. It's only a matter of time before Anakin smells his arousal, either through his sweat or through his slick. “Try what?” he replies warily.

“Just… can I show you?”

Not releasing Obi-Wan's hands, Anakin moves forward a fraction, one knee pressing just slightly between Obi-Wan's legs. He dips his head down, and then Obi-Wan feels Anakin’s curls brush his cheek as Anakin's breath fans against his skin.

"I want to try scenting you," Anakin whispers, barely audible over the movement of the train. “Will you let me?”

Obi-Wan very nearly laughs, not out of amusement, but incredulity. Only Anakin would ever ask something so… so… uncivilized. He makes it sound like an obvious solution, one with no emotional or physical repercussions.

And perhaps there won't be, at least for Anakin. Perhaps for him this is a means to an end. Easy. Transactional.

Does that make you want it any less?

Obi-Wan refuses to admit to the answer.

Force help him. He’s never been scented. He's never wanted to be. Until now. But it's a deeply intimate act, and certainly not something a person just suggests—except for Anakin Skywalker.

The rules never have seemed to apply to Anakin.

Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do. Should he give in, knowing it will mean more to him than it ever will to Anakin? Or should he refuse and separate them before this goes entirely too far?

No. He won't reject Anakin outright.

He can't.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs, turning his head just enough to lean his cheek against Anakin’s. “If… if you think it might help, then yes.”

Anakin isn't sure he believes what he's heard, though his shoulders flare back reflexively as his awareness sharpens. He waits, hoping that Obi-Wan won't qualify his answer, won’t change his mind or take it back. Even if Obi-Wan’s permission holds, Anakin knows—of course he knows—that Obi-Wan isn't actually submitting to him. And yet, every sense seems to speak only of compliant, willing omega.

Guarding his heart against the still-real risk of rejection, Anakin lifts his hands slowly to touch Obi-Wan’s tunic, tracing his fingers over the edges of dark fabric. He's close enough to see the deep brown threads of each seam. The well-worn garment feels familiar; what's unfamiliar is being granted permission to see what's underneath.

He pulls gently at the tunic’s collar, steeling himself against his own desire as Obi-Wan’s bare chest becomes visible in the low light. Anakin stares, his eyes dark and focused, mouth open on a soft ‘oh’. His fingertips trail slowly over patches of freckles he’s never seen up close before, and he watches Obi-Wan’s chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. He wants to taste, wants to drag his tongue over that small expanse of skin, then nip and suck until the evidence appears for anyone to see.

Instead, he parts Obi-Wan’s tunic just a little further, just enough to reveal his mating gland. Carefully—so kriffing carefully, fighting to keep his inner alpha in check—he lowers his head until he’s just a breath away from Obi-Wan’s skin.

"Master... you... Force,” Anakin says softly, swallowing hard between deep drags through his nose. “D'you have any idea how good you smell?"

Obi-Wan inhales slowly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. One hand reaches around to grip gently at Anakin's hair. He wants Anakin to stay close, to keep scenting him—it’s what he's needed all along. He could be happy with just this. He should be. But… if only Anakin would touch that scent gland, brush it with his nose, lower his mouth to plant a kiss there…

"Is this helping?" Anakin asks softly.

"I…” Obi-Wan’s eyes close tight. He cannot possibly explain the perfect agony that is being scented by the alpha he aches to belong to. It feels so good, so right—and it cuts deeper than he could've imagined to know that Anakin is doing this not out of desire, but just to help his old omega Master. “I cannot answer that."

He understands now, blissfully, painfully, why the Jedi do not promote scenting, and why so many romance holonovels devote countless pages to it. For something he’s never experienced before, he’s not sure he’ll survive never having it again from Anakin.

There's a hint of distress in Obi-Wan’s scent now, and Obi-Wan feels more than hears Anakin’s low grunt of displeasure. Anakin presses impossibly closer, and suddenly the warmth of Anakin’s breath is gone, replaced for the briefest instant with the soft pressure of lips as Anakin ghosts a kiss over his mating gland.

Even through his surprise, Obi-Wan can't hold back an affirmative sound. Oh. No one has ever touched him here, let alone kissed him. It feels good, too kriffing good, not only because it lights up every nerve with tingling pleasure, but because Anakin is the one doing the kissing.

He will not beg Anakin for more… but begging hardly seems necessary as Anakin gives Obi-Wan exactly what he wants, parting his lips over Obi-Wan’s mating gland and dragging his tongue gently over that sensitive skin.

Obi-Wan shudders. The frisson of heat that runs down his spine is scalding, and for a few dizzying seconds he feels as though he's caught fire. He's suddenly incapable of moving or speaking, which is just as well. He knows that if he does manage to open his mouth, he'll say something damning, or worse, something desperate.

He should stop this. Any moment he will no longer be able to hide how much he wants Anakin. And yet, he still tightens his grip on Anakin's hair, unwilling, unable to relinquish this new and longed-for closeness.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan begins weakly, his conscience urging him to release Anakin from any obligation. “Please, do not feel that you have to…” He trails off, his throat dry, his heart racing.

As he opens his mouth to speak again, he hears the faint whistle of the train signalling a track change. He recalls from the pre-departure briefing that this route will take them over a high trestle bridge that spans the impressive Chimazu Waterfalls. Those falls, famous across Mapuzo, mark the boundary between the high plains and the lush lowlands where the negotiations will take place.

Obi-Wan had planned to watch this part of the journey, perhaps through the large windows in the recreation car. He hadn't expected to spend this moment kneeling on the floor, his body nearly flush with Anakin’s, the falls and the breathtaking landscape mere afterthoughts in his mind. He has no desire to move or to look up. He wants nothing more than to linger in this moment for as long as it lasts—

But only if Anakin wants it, too.

Suddenly more aware of the train shifting and tilting as it no doubt begins its trek over the bridge, Obi-Wan says, with quiet urgency, “Anakin, if you don't—”

A jolt along the train’s undercarriage steals Obi-Wan’s breath and throws him off balance. As the last few train cars are pulled up onto the bridge, there's the briefest feeling of weightlessness. The train settles into its new track, and Obi-Wan settles with it, his center of gravity shifting, his weight thrown forward until his body is fully flush against Anakin’s, their chests pressed together, Anakin’s thigh trapped between Obi-Wan’s legs.

The impulse to roll his hips is so natural, so instinctive, that Obi-Wan follows it before he can stop himself. His mouth falls open at the perfect friction, and he repeats the motion, slower this time, before finally remembering why he shouldn’t.

He's certain now that he's gone too far. They haven't agreed to this, they haven't… Anakin doesn't want—

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin groans, his voice bedrock-rough. He pulls Obi-Wan closer, shifting up onto his knees to slot their hips together. He ruts against Obi-Wan, just once, then grips a hand tightly into the back of Obi-Wan’s tunic. “Fuck, please tell me you want this.”

Obi-Wan can barely think through the fog of pheromones and the clamor of his pulse pounding through his veins. He’s never felt anything like this. The drive of his omega instincts is stronger than it ever has been, pushing, pulling, urging him. Even the Force seems to entice him to let go.

In one last fleeting moment of sense and sanity, Obi-Wan reaches into their bond, the one that they’ve kept despite the obvious attachment it signals. It’s impossibly open, no barriers between them, and he gasps at the strength of it now, like aurodium-plated durasteel. His mind brushes up against Anakin’s as their Force signatures reach for each other, twining tightly, intimately together. When Obi-Wan rolls his hips again, the bond flares white hot with unmistakable longing.

“Y-yes. Yes,” Obi-Wan confesses, breaths hot and rough against Anakin’s cheek. “Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I do, Force forgive me, I do.”

Time stands still as Anakin’s overwrought mind tries to make sense of Obi-Wan’s words. Obi-Wan wants this. Wants him. Obi-Wan isn't going to tell him no.

Anakin feels a sense of freedom he’s not had since the Boonta Eve race. It's as though a weight has been lifted, as though he can finally breathe. This is all Anakin has wanted since… since before he even knew his own designation. It has always been Obi-Wan. For five years, Anakin has wanted no one else.

And now he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Obi-Wan wants him too.

The Force around them is incandescent with emotion, understanding, acceptance—and beneath that, there’s arousal, pulsing on both sides of the bond, a heated heartbeat tying them together. All but blinded by a desire he no longer needs to conceal, Anakin lets go of every inhibition as his words run away with him.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin growls, “yes, yeah, fuck." He nips at Obi-Wan's neck and throat, his teeth ghosting tantalizingly close to Obi-Wan's mating gland. "Can I—tell me what you want, tell me what... what you'll let me do."

"Gods be damned, Anakin, I… I want—" Obi-Wan breaks off with a soft whine. "F-fuck. Skin," he moans, pulling and pushing at Anakin's tunics. “Need more skin, more of your scent—all over me."

"Skin. Right, yeah," Anakin agrees, nodding as he yanks at his own tunics, trying to peel them off while keeping his lips close to Obi-Wan's throat. When he can't manage the two at once, he growls in frustration, then sits up on his knees to give himself better leverage, every muscle flexing as he yanks the tunics over his head and tosses them aside.

"There," Anakin breathes, his fingers immediately moving to Obi-Wan's tunic to spread it further open. "Now you, come on, need to see you, taste you—want to kiss you, want to..." He cards a hand through the short hair at Obi-Wan's right temple, the gesture in sharp contrast to the roll of his hips as he slots them back against Obi-Wan's. "What if I said I wanted to fuck you? Is that—would that be too much?"

Obi-Wan releases a shaky breath and drags his gaze up to meet Anakin’s. “No. Not too much.” He slides a bold hand between them to grip Anakin’s cock through his trousers. Sith hells, it’s even more spectacular than he’d imagined, unforgiving as beskar, long and thick, with a fat head that he can already imagine stretching his rim and pushing inside.

“After all that,” Obi-Wan says, slipping his hand into Anakin’s trousers to touch that warm, silky skin, “I’d expect nothing less than this inside me.”

His lips curve with a hint of mischief, and he squeezes the head, then groans in satisfaction as a pulse of hot precome smears onto his hand. He releases Anakin’s cock only to lift his palm to his nose; Anakin’s scent is already potent, but it's even stronger here, so deeply arousing that Obi-Wan feels compelled to taste it. He gives into the impulse, licking his palm with a needy whine.

"Alright, just…” Obi-Wan sucks in a breath, his patience fraying. “Just give it to me. I don’t want to wait a moment longer. I want, fucking Force… want you to fuck me."

A flash of possessiveness in their bond is all the warning Obi-Wan gets before Anakin repositions both of them at once, laying Obi-Wan flat on his back in the blink of an eye. Anakin pins Obi-Wan to the floor with hips against hips, his hands bracketing Obi-Wan’s shoulders, his mouth open in a triumphant grin.

The effortless display of alpha strength has Obi-Wan practically panting. “Let me—ah.” Obi-Wan lifts himself up just enough to shimmy out of his open tunic, then settles back, dragging his thumbs appreciatively over the veins outlining Anakin’s straining biceps.

Reverently, he runs his fingers over the planes of Anakin's chest, over the sinewy lines of tendon and muscle that ripple beneath golden skin. Anakin is beautiful, something Obi-Wan has known and kept locked away even from himself, but now he cannot deny that Anakin is transcendent, as if he truly is the majesty of the Force made flesh.

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan hums in appreciation. “Just look at you, darling.”

“Yeah?” Anakin asks, his face warming even as his inner alpha revels in the overt attention and appreciation. “T-that—that's really… Stang.” His head dips down, and he snuffles into the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat before kissing his way down the center of Obi-Wan’s chest. Balancing on his mechno-hand, he quickly works open his own trousers and eases them down off his hips and thighs, hissing when his cock catches, then springs free.

Too much clothing still separates them, a problem Anakin intends to correct as quickly as humanly possible. He swiftly kicks off his boots and sits up to start on the ties of Obi-Wan’s trousers, then pauses, surprised, when Obi-Wan reaches out to halt him.

Obi-Wan’s fingers close around Anakin’s mech wrist, just below the clasps of his gauntlet. “This, too,” Obi-Wan says, inclining his head. It’s half-question, half-demand.

Anakin bites his lip and glances away. It’s not that he doesn’t want Obi-Wan to see his mechno-hand. Obi-Wan has already seen it so many times—stang, he’s even helped repair it. But…

But what omega would want an alpha who isn't whole?

The loss of Anakin’s arm had been devastating. The physical therapy and training that had followed, intended to rebuild his strength, dexterity, and confidence, had also helped mend some of the strain that had crept into his relationship with his Master. With training and technology, Anakin had gained back what he’d lost. He's stronger now than he was then. But something is still missing. He wonders, now that they've come this far, if Obi-Wan will still like what he sees.

As if in answer to Anakin’s inner questioning, Obi-Wan turns Anakin’s mech palm over, bringing it up to his lips to plant a feathery kiss in the center in quiet reassurance.

Anakin exhales and nods. “Alright,” he agrees. He goes to release the clasps, but Obi-Wan’s hand nudges him out of the way.

“Allow me,” Obi-Wan murmurs, slowly opening each clasp with a click.

Obi-Wan stares admiringly as Anakin’s mechno-hand is revealed a little at a time. He's as stunned as ever by the beautiful intricacies of Anakin’s arm, the technological marvel that Anakin has engineered and perfected. It has become an extension of everything that makes Anakin, Anakin, nearly as powerful and impressive as the man himself. Something warm and urgent flares up within Obi-Wan, spilling into the bond. Obi-Wan flushes. Anakin’s competence, both in creating and then using his arm, has become something more to Obi-Wan, too. Something… arousing.

Finally the last clasp pops. Anakin yanks at the glove, then pulls at it with his teeth until it comes off, tossing it somewhere behind him in his haste. “Your turn. Want to see all of you, too.”

Together they eagerly push and pull at Obi-Wan’s boots and trousers, Anakin cursing under his breath when his mech fingers get tangled in the ties, Obi-Wan laughing at Anakin’s expression when Obi-Wan easily teases them loose with a little help from the Force. Rolling his eyes, Anakin heaves a sigh of relief when Obi-Wan’s calves finally slip free of the stanging things.

The strong, unfiltered smell of slick hits Anakin like a laser bolt to the chest. He groans and lets his head hang for a moment, his hands pressed against the floor, his shoulders and biceps flexing. "Obi-Wan, I..." He glances up at Obi-Wan with dark, vulnerable eyes. "I've never been with an omega.”

Obi-Wan’s mind goes completely blank. He wonders for a moment if his heart has stopped. “What?” he says, his voice breaking from sheer disbelief.

“I've never been with an omega,” Anakin repeats, softer this time, as if the confession might make Obi-Wan think less of him. "It's been a kriffing long time since I've been with anyone, and I just—do you need any prep? Do you want any?”

"Oh, Anakin." Obi-Wan frowns, his scent souring at the thought of anyone rejecting Anakin and leaving him to endure his ruts alone. How can it possibly be that this incredible alpha, a gifted Jedi Knight and general, could ever lack the companionship of an omega?

Obi-Wan shakes his head. Explanations can come later; right now, he’s here to take care of this alpha in the way that Anakin has always deserved.

Watching Anakin’s face, Obi-Wan reaches between them, gathering up some slick and spreading it over the length of Anakin's cock. He drags the pad of his thumb over the slight rise of Anakin’s knot, once, then again, and again. He feels Anakin tremble at the touch.

"Everything I need is right here,” Obi-Wan assures him, marveling at how responsive Anakin is. He brings Anakin’s gold fingertips to his lips, pressing a light kiss to each one in turn. He watches Anakin’s eyes track the movement. Then, with a smug lift of his brow, he sucks Anakin’s thumb briefly into his mouth and releases it with a pop.

“No prep is necessary, though I admit I sometimes enjoy a slow, thorough fingering, since you asked." Raising his knees, he nudges gently at the outside of Anakin's thighs. "But right now I would ask that you get on with things and give me that outlandishly stunning alpha cock, if you don't mind?"

Anakin lets out a sharp huff in reply. The humor in the question isn't lost on him, and the corner of his mouth quirks up as he says, “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

Thankfully, the seriousness of the request isn't lost on Anakin, either. He pauses just for a moment—just long enough for Obi-Wan to change his mind—before driving his hips forward and fucking inside.

Obi-Wan's lips part in a silent moan as the head of Anakin's cock pushes in past his rim. Despite the slick, Anakin is big, and the stretch is almost too much of a good thing.

"Oh, kriffing fuck," Anakin growls as he bottoms out. "Obi-Wan, you're so wet, so tight—never felt anything like this." He starts up a rhythm, slow at first, then faster when Obi-Wan’s hips roll to match his thrusts. “Is this okay?”

"Fuck, yes. Better than okay.” Already they're perfectly in sync, just as they are when moving through katas or dueling side by side. "Can't remember the last time—oh, oh. Let's just say—stars—it's all for you." Obi-Wan can't recall ever being this wet for anyone outside of a heat, nor can he recall any alpha treating him with such attentiveness and care. "You feel spectacular, Anakin, filling me up, fucking me with your cock. Gods, give it to me, I want it. I want you."

Anakin makes a sound that's half whine, half growl as he adjusts his position and starts fucking Obi-Wan in earnest. "Want you too, Master. So kriffing much.”

That growl—something Obi-Wan has never heard at its full strength before, but gods, does he want to hear it again and again—draws an answering growl from Obi-Wan as his scent floods with pleased, aroused omega. Slick drips from his hole, and it makes an obscene sound between each slap of their hips as Anakin gives him everything.

“Wish we could do more than this,” Anakin whispers, and suddenly his lips are pressed against Obi-Wan’s mating gland again, hot and insistent and not enough. "Wish I could mate you. I know it's too soon, but—you're the only omega I've ever wanted."

The utter sincerity in the words makes Obi-Wan's heart clench and his pulse race. "H-how can you… I mean—gods, do that again." He sinks his fingers into the damp curls on Anakin's neck, drawing him back from his gland so he can kriffing think. "I am honored, more than you could know. I want… I want..." He pauses, pressing their foreheads together even as their bodies continue the relentless rhythm, the ridge of Anakin's knot catching on his rim again and again, making Obi-Wan ache with need. "I want whatever you will share with me, Anakin," he whispers, afraid that his confession is too vulnerable, too much of a demand on a young alpha just beginning to experience the totality of his designation.

"Ah," Anakin gasps, unable to speak, overwhelmed by the thought of Obi-Wan wanting everything with him. His rhythm slows, not because he wants it to, but because it's necessary, because if he keeps up the pace from before it will all be over too soon. He needs a moment to get his bearings, to calm the rush of scent and sensation and emotion.

"Obi-Wan," he groans, working his hips slowly, trying to take deep breaths. His nose and mouth linger over Obi-Wan’s mating gland, and it would be easy, so easy, to just give in and mate right here, right now. "Stang, you have no idea how badly I want to—" He breaks off, his lips brushing Obi-Wan’s ear as he turns his face away from temptation. "Tell me I can't. Tell me I shouldn't."

Obi-Wan groans through his teeth, fighting the urge to just give in. The desire to mate is seductive, and every instinct is driving him toward it, making him want, telling him he will never be complete without his alpha's mark. But the logical, Jedi Master part of him knows that this is not the time nor place for such things. Mating now—without planning or forethought or any care for the consequences—would compromise them and the mission.

"Oh, Anakin. Alpha." His hands somehow find their way into matted curls, petting and soothing as he reluctantly encourages Anakin off his neck to look at him. "You cannot. Not now. Force knows, you do that once more and I will be the one begging." He laughs helplessly, rubbing his thumb over the pout settling on Anakin's face. "Please, please believe me when I tell you this is no easier for me. You know all the reasons why we can't. The mission—we must complete it. It is imperative for peace in this sector."

Obi-Wan’s inner omega, bitterly disappointed and unsatisfied, is demanding that they kriff this sector. But Obi-Wan is better than his instincts. He is, even though at this moment he isn't sure he wants to be. Not when he has everything he’s ever wanted right in front of him.

"I promise, we will,” Obi-Wan says. “As soon as the mission is over, you may mate me, leave your mark, make me yours. I do not care if it's in a closet or a cargo container or a luxury suite, all that matters is that we will belong to each other." He moans under his breath, feeling Anakin’s knot tugging against his rim. "For now—fuck—for now, can it be… will it be enough to knot me?"

Anakin lets out an almost wounded cry. His hips jolt. His shoulders and biceps flex with effort, and his nails bite into the short fibers of the carpet underneath them.

"You... Obi-Wan, you want me to—you'd let me..." Anakin closes his eyes briefly, letting out a stuttering breath. "You want that? You want my knot?" He feels his knot swelling at the very idea, and he groans, then says in a rush, "Oh, fuck. If—are you sure? Tell me fast, tell me now, please, Obi-Wan—Omega. Kriff, I'm already close."

Obi-Wan barks out a desperate laugh, caught somewhere between incredulous and beyond aroused that Anakin could possibly think anything to the contrary. "Yes, yes, you foolish alpha, I want it. I want you to fuck me until my eyes cross and then fill me with your come and lock us together for Force knows how long. I'm not allowing you to debauch me here on the floor with nothing to show for it." He uses both hands now to help drive Anakin's cock deeper, his hole stretching and clenching harder as Anakin's knot grows with each thrust. "Have you—ah—ever knotted anyone?”

Anakin lifts his head. "No. Never. Only wanted you.”

Obi-Wan’s scent changes to something he himself doesn't recognize, sweet, honeyed, almost like a confectionery he once had as a young Padawan. Pleasure and something akin to greed send sparks along his nerve endings. His midichlorians are practically singing as both his Force signature and his instincts reach for Anakin, his alpha—his alpha, gods be damned.

Sweat damp curls move with each thrust as Anakin picks up the pace. "Obi-Wan, I'm so close, I'm—fuck, fuck, I'm about to come. Want you to come too, c'mon, Omega."

"Yes, yes, take me with you—touch me, please, touch me, I want to come on my alpha's cock, kriffing hells, make me take it.” There will be time later for embarrassment over such a desperate demand, but right now, right fucking now, all Obi-Wan can think about is being Anakin's first and only.

Anakin does as Obi-Wan asks, reaching down between them to take hold of Obi-Wan's cock. His thrusts become rougher and deeper; his exhales become groans, then low growls. Between one moment and the next, Obi-Wan feels Anakin find his edge and topple over. Obi-Wan gets there an instant later, the sensations cascading one into the next into the next, engulfing them both in the white-hot pleasure of release.

"Alpha, Alpha," Obi-Wan gasps, his cock pulsing between them. "Yes, yes, give it to me, all of it, I want it, I want you, I want—"

He barely stops himself from demanding Anakin’s claiming bite—and then Anakin’s knot swells and holds firm, locking them together as Anakin’s cock fills Obi-Wan with pulse after pulse of hot come.

"Oh kriff, Obi-Wan, yes,” Anakin grunts. “Yeah, take my knot, fuck, that feels so good, better than—better than anything I've ever felt." An alpha growl rumbles through Anakin’s chest, and he buries his face in the other side of Obi-Wan's neck, away from his mating gland, his ragged breaths warm against Obi-Wan’s flushed skin.

Obi-Wan hides a pleased, possessive smile in the tangle of curls behind Anakin's ear. "Oh, darling, that was… you are..." He shifts and lowers his knee, moaning when Anakin’s knot tugs on his rim in a way that's a pleasurable reminder of what they have done, of who they are to each other now. "All that I could have ever wanted and more." His hand finds its way back into Anakin's hair, petting softly. "Are you alright? Comfortable? We could be here for some time, though I have no complaints."

"I should be the one asking if you're comfortable," Anakin murmurs against Obi-Wan's neck. He nuzzles the skin there, then tilts his head to drop kisses along Obi-Wan's jaw. "Floor's not bad, but I think you need some pillows."

He uses the Force to call two pillows toward them. With a bit of shifting and a bit more Force assistance, he gets one pillow under Obi-Wan's hips—oh, the way that just slightly moves his cock and his knot is almost enough to get Anakin going again—and another under his head.

"Better," Anakin says with a nod of satisfaction. "I'm not too heavy like this, am I? We can roll over if you need, but... I like being on top of you."

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, ready to admonish Anakin for his frivolous use of the Force just now, but the alpha’s doting and fussing for him has him thinking better of it.

"Gods, mmm, no, it's… perfectly alright," Obi-Wan breathes, spreading his knees a bit wider so that Anakin can relax deeper into the cradle of his hips. “I like it, too. Having you on top of me.”

It has never felt like this, Obi-Wan decides, letting his body drop further into a lassitude he could get used to. His own scent is thick with satisfaction; it smells syrupy, with notes of honey and Ithorian vanilla. Lazily, he allows his hands to skim up the expanse of Anakin's back, then brings one up to Anakin’s hair to pet gently at those curls he so adores, reveling in the fact that Anakin is his to touch and caress. It feels somehow right, to be what is, by all accounts, pinned to the kriffing dirty floor by his alpha. By Anakin.

"How is it?” Obi-Wan asks, curiosity and his own damnable pride getting the better of him. “How… how does it feel?"

"It feels good. So good, Obi-Wan, I can't—never felt anything so good before. And it's even better because it's you." Anakin lifts his head and grins almost sheepishly. "Can we do it again? Soon? As long as it... is it good for you? D'you like having my knot inside you?"

Obi-Wan huffs at the absurdity of the question, even as his cheeks flame hot at Anakin’s bluntness. "Yes, it feels good, and yes, I… I like… Kriffing hells, Anakin.” Struggling to form the words, Obi-Wan laughs ruefully at his own bashfulness. How he can be embarrassed to speak such things while on his back on the floor, with Anakin still inside him, he cannot understand. “Yes, I like having your knot inside me.”

Anakin’s vulnerability, his eagerness to please his omega is equal parts touching and arousing, bypassing Obi-Wan’s logical mind and appealing directly to his hindbrain. His inner omega finally feels satisfied now that he’s stuffed full of this alpha’s knot, and he wonders hazily if he'll ever again feel complete without it.

You won’t, Obi-Wan thinks, already certain that it’s the truth.

Cupping Anakin’s cheeks in his hands, he traces a fond thumb over the damnably attractive scar across Anakin’s eye. “Come here,” Obi-Wan whispers, drawing them into another kiss, one that is full of promise and affection. After a moment he pulls back, a twinge of regret in his scent and their bond.

“Listen to me.” Obi-Wan gently guides Anakin back to look at him. "I want you to keep knotting me, again and again, and again after that.” He brings their foreheads together, then brushes his nose against Anakin’s. "But we must also consider the needs of the mission and our duty here. We cannot afford to be unduly distracted."

Anakin suppresses a sound of frustration. He licks his lips, then swallows, trying not to telegraph his disappointment. He knows they're here for a purpose. Achieving peace in this sector and across the galaxy is more important than the two of them and their personal desires. Still, his inner alpha wants to howl in anguish at being so cruelly brushed aside.

“You're right," Anakin finally admits, letting out a slow sigh. "But... denying ourselves completely would be even more distracting, wouldn't it?" He tucks his head under Obi-Wan's chin and breathes deeply, savoring the scent of happy, possessive omega. "Want to knot you again, soon. Promise we can?"

Burying his nose in that riot of curls, Obi-Wan nods. He basks in Anakin's scent, knowing it will be on him for hours now. Not quite the same as claimed, as mated, but gods, it's already addictive. The flame of arousal flickers brighter in him as Anakin's knot recedes just enough for there to be a little give between them. Anakin's knot is large. Obi-Wan is going to be sore tomorrow—and by the Force, he doesn't care in the least.

"Absolutely,” Obi-Wan replies, if only to be sure Anakin hears how badly he wants to do this again. He's grateful for the pillows now, and for Anakin's warmth, as sleep begins to tug at him. “And if you don't, I shall be quite insufferable about it, I assure you."

Anakin laughs, a low, rumbling thing laced with alpha contentment. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving you wanting, Omega.” His knot is slowly starting to recede, and he wonders if he should try to pull out; he can tell that Obi-Wan is tired. “Should we move to the bed?”

"Couldn't move if I wanted to," Obi-Wan replies. With a yawn, he presses a kiss to Anakin's temple. Don't want you to pull out, either, Obi-Wan pushes into the bond sleepily, and were he less tired he might have the decency to blush. He raises a lazy hand, summoning a blanket to them with the Force.

"Kriff, you still smell incredible, even after all this uncivilized behavior,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “Where was this during your apprentice years?" He stops himself from going further, not exactly sure he wants to explore that line of thought while his former Padwan's knot is still inside him. Anakin's scent is soothing now, tea leaves and juniper, lulling Obi-Wan into a sense of security he doesn't recall having had in a long time. His eyes drift closed. "So good."

A fond smile crosses Anakin’s face, and he drops an answering kiss to the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth. "You smell good too," he mumbles. Obi-Wan's sleepiness is contagious; Anakin finds his limbs growing heavy as his eyelids droop. "'Night, Master," he manages, pressing in closer, turning off the light with a wave of his hand and surrendering to sleep himself.

It’s several hours later when Obi-Wan wakes. For the briefest of moments, he wonders why his back is aching, and why he’s so incredibly warm. Then the overpowering scent of fresh grass and warm sunlight hits him, familiar and comforting, and so very Anakin.

Through the blur of curls tickling at his nose, Obi-Wan opens his eyes to the ceiling of the train compartment. He groans softly, then shifts, hoping to find a more comfortable position—but without Anakin’s knot keeping them locked together, the movement makes Anakin’s soft cock slip out of him. Obi-Wan purses his lips, frowning at the sudden sensation of emptiness.

Anakin whines a little in his sleep, his scent deepening as though he knows he, too, has lost something, His arms tighten around Obi-Wan. He mumbles something unintelligible, then noses into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck with a needy sound.

That sound goes straight to the most primitive parts of Obi-Wan’s brain. He knows he should allow Anakin the sleep he’s so often deprived of—but Obi-Wan can't withstand his inner omega’s demands for more. Anakin’s scent has Obi-Wan’s cock hardening, his breath quickening, his empty hole clenching on nothing as the smell of slick hits the air.

With kisses and soft, insistent touches, Obi-Wan tries to rouse Anakin, whispering Anakin and darling, please, and if you wake up I’ll make it worth your while, Alpha.

Anakin lifts his head, suddenly awake, eyes dark and searching as he realizes he’s got his Master beneath him on the stanging floor propositioning him. He’s instantly achingly hard, cock dripping with precome just from the suggestion that this omega—his omega, he reminds himself—wants to go again.

“Pretty sure I'm still dreaming,” Anakin says, already starting to grind against Obi-Wan’s equally hard cock. “Worth my while? W-what, mmm, what’re you gonna do, Omega?”

“Kriffing hells,” Obi-Wan mutters, arching up to meet each roll and grind of Anakin’s hips. “I can assure y-you, no dream of mine would include an interlude on the flo-or,” he complains, breaking off in a whine when Anakin’s teeth nip his ear. With a retaliatory smack to Anakin’s ass, Obi-Wan rolls them over.

“This is what I am going to do,” he announces with a determined expression, his lips quirking up. Without further preamble, he straddles Anakin’s hips and shifts back, lining himself up and sliding down onto Anakin's cock.

Fuck. It's tight—gods, Anakin is definitely an alpha—but his knot lasted for so long that Obi-Wan is more than loose enough for this.

"Come on, Alpha, fuck me,” Obi-Wan urges. “Give me what you've got.” He doesn't wait for Anakin; instead, he starts moving, riding Anakin hard. A part of him is appalled at his own language and behavior, but oh, just now his inner omega is in charge, and it feels so good to let go and give in that he can't help but say it, his voice crackling with sleep and pleasure both. "Feels so good, ngh. You, your cock, your knot, so good, Alpha, so good."

Anakin whines and bucks up into Obi-Wan, seating himself even deeper. "Fuck. Obi-Wan. Do we—ah, stang. Is there enough time for me to knot you? If we take too long, we won't have time to get r-ready—oh, kriffing hells, Master, you feel so good too." He rocks his hips upward in a rapid rhythm, gripping Obi-Wan's thighs as he does. "Yeah, stang, you're so tight, feel so good on my cock."

With a fierce scowl and bitten-off curse, Obi-Wan shakes his head, sweat-dark hair falling across his eyes. No, there's not enough time. Not if they're going to be presentable when they get off this train. Reeking of sex and pheromones would not be well received by the Mapuzan delegation.

Obi-Wan rolls his hips harder, faster, taking his cock in hand. "No, but I want it, Alpha, I want it. Fuck. Tonight, ngh, tonight, I want you to. Will you, Anakin? Give me your knot?" Obi-Wan feels wild, unhinged, as he lets his instincts loose for the first time in years. He eyes the chrono and grunts, working his cock faster. "'m close. You?"

"So close," Anakin groans in answer, throwing his head back and rocking his hips harder. A growl rises in his throat, the sound hardly enough to convey his devastation that they can’t knot or mate, that he has to be satisfied with just this, regardless of how good this is. "N-need your help—not sure I can hold myself back from knotting you. Don't know if I have that much control.”

An unbridled instinct rises from the depths of Obi-Wan’s hindbrain, and before he knows it he’s acting on it with a snarl. “Mark me, then. Cover me with your come, Alpha,” Obi-Wan demands, using his leverage and his thighs to roll them over. He pushes at Anakin's hips enough so that he slips out, Anakin’s thick cock and knot dragging against Obi-Wan’s rim enough for him to curse.

”M-Master,” Anakin groans helplessly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He’s right on the edge, so close, and when Obi-Wan uses his coiled strength to take what he wants, Anakin can’t hold himself back any longer. It’s too hot; it’s too much. He bucks up, once, twice, his vision whiting out as his orgasm rips through him. His cock jolts as he comes hard, pumping out load after load of his come.

“Omega,” Anakin cries, elongating the word with each pulse of his cock. “Obi-Wan—oh yes, yeah, fuck. Gonna m-mark you. Mine, mine, mine.”

"That's it, make me yours,” Obi-Wan begs. “Make it so no alpha will step near me, even without your bite.” With a pleased hum, he arches his neck, feeling Anakin’s come land there as Anakin's cock continues to spill rope after rope of his release. Obi-Wan has never felt so uninhibited, so… omega, and it's that thought, of being Anakin's omega, that gets him there. He comes with a drawn-out moan, his release mixing with Anakin's and adding to the mess between them. "Fuck...yes, Anakin, fuck."

When Obi-Wan finally returns to himself, he opens his eyes to see Anakin grinning breathlessly down at him, obviously spent but still somehow holding himself up to drink in the sight of his omega.

"Kriffing hells, Master," Anakin huffs. "Look at you." His expression turns almost apologetic, a hint of embarrassment in his scent. "I... didn't know I had that much in me. I guess we should clean you up."

Feeling his face heat a little, Obi-Wan's scent also reflects some of his embarrassment, but mostly it's threaded with hints of omega pride and pleasure, cinnamon and vanilla, neither of which he's had in quite some time, he realizes. His fastidiousness gets the better of him anyway, and he groans, though it's with a lazy smile.

"Yes, well… I did, ah, rather demand such a thing, I suppose." Obi-Wan runs his hands up and down Anakin's thighs, knowing that he'd without a doubt do it all again, if just to have Anakin right here with him, this powerful, beautiful alpha, smiling down at him. "Both of us, it seems. Come here," he says softly, pulling Anakin into the mess between them, wanting him close for a few moments longer.

He kisses Anakin gently, putting all of his feelings and intentions into the careful press of lips. A kiss that says mine and yours and need you and later, I promise. "A shower, then? I believe we've fit into tighter situations, with some creativity." Obi-Wan gently pushes Anakin back and off, then sits up, tucking a curl behind Anakin's ear.

"Anakin. I just want you to know. I do not, and will not, regret anything that has transpired between us. This is what I want, but if you decide later you do not...I-I will understand." It is painful to say the words, but Obi-Wan will not pressure Anakin into any sort of commitment, even when it’s the very thing he’s wanted every day in the interminable two years since Anakin presented.

Even longer than that, and you know it.

"I would never want you to feel… obligated,” Obi-Wan says. “But please know that having you as my mate would be an honor."

"I'd mate you right now if I could," Anakin says, whisper-soft and still so emphatic that it leaves no room for argument. He stands up and holds out a hand to Obi-Wan. "I'm not gonna change my mind, Master." One corner of his mouth curves up. "You're stuck with me. Just like you always have been. Now c'mon. Let me clean you up."

Obi-Wan sighs and nods. His scent deepens, notes of satisfaction carrying through soothing vanilla. He takes Anakin’s hand and gets to his feet, noticing as he goes that Anakin is, apparently, already aroused again. Obi-Wan’s gaze lingers on his alpha’s cock, and his own cock stirs with renewed interest. He can only shake his head; of course his normal refractory period does not apply with Anakin Skywalker.

He leads them to the tiny fresher stall and turns on the water, squeezing them both into the space. Dipping his head under the spray, he noses along Anakin's mating gland mischievously. "While I wait for your bite, I do expect a decent scenting later… Alpha."

He reaches behind Anakin’s shoulder and gets two pumps of shower gel in his hand, working up a lather over the broad, smooth planes of Anakin’s chest. He teases briefly at Anakin’s nipples before moving downward, and Anakin bites his lip and moans, a reaction that Obi-Wan catalogues for later exploration.

“While we have bathed countless times together, I never expected to be able to do this,” Obi-Wan admits, thumbs circling Anakin’s navel with hands splayed over his slim waist and hips. “But, oh, I wanted to. Do you recall that outdoor fresher on Felucia?”

“I remember wanting to look at you, and telling myself I shouldn't,” Anakin replies, his eyes closing briefly at Obi-Wan’s touch. “Didn't make me want you less, though.”

Hands sliding back to wash down over the curve of Anakin’s backside, Obi-Wan chuckles as his mouth lightly travels the stubble along Anakin’s strong jawline. “I understand the sentiment. I was certain I was an absolute deviant for wanting to not only look, but to come over to you and do this,” he adds with another laugh, cupping each cheek in his hands with a gentle squeeze. “Blast, I turned the water icy cold immediately before I betrayed myself.”

“Should've turned it warm instead,” Anakin growls. “We both could've jerked you off.”

Obi-Wan hums and shakes his head, imagining what that might have been like, Anakin turning around and taking him in hand. Stars. “I would have, had I known,” he admits, voice low and rough. He drops soft kisses over Anakin’s collarbones, then nips at the bump on his throat. “But I suppose better late than never.”

While his hands continue to wash over Anakin’s back and up the outline of his biceps and broad shoulders, Obi-Wan mouths his way up the column of his alpha’s throat, tasting the remnants of sweat and musk there. He inhales with deep satisfaction; Anakin’s scent is still strong, despite the water and soap. With a pleased sound, he noses his way over to Anakin’s mating gland, unable to resist the urge to flick his tongue over it to taste. “I do not wish to presume but… would you… want my mark too? If we mate?” he murmurs against Anakin’s skin, dragging his lips and tongue over the sensitive spot.

“When we mate,” Anakin corrects. The smallest thread of strain in his voice betrays just how affected he is, not only by Obi-Wan’s attentions, but by the idea of wearing Obi-Wan’s mark. “Yes, I would,” he replies, unwavering. “I do. I want everyone to see that I'm yours.”

Obi-Wan lifts his head. “When we mate,” he agrees, watching Anakin’s face as his fingertips trace over and around his mating gland. “I like the idea of that, seeing my mark right here, knowing everyone will see that you are a claimed alpha.” He kisses Anakin, slowly, thoroughly, even as his thumb presses down, just enough to make Anakin gasp. “My alpha.”

Anakin exhales weakly as his body responds to the touch, his cock thickening, his blood rushing south. He rests his hands on Obi-Wan's hips, then tilts his head to the side in invitation. "That feels good," he breathes. "Obi-Wan—I know we just finished, but I need... will you—could you touch me? Please? Stang, I need your hands on my cock."

Practically purring—an omega trait Obi-Wan did not know he possessed and would not admit to if asked—he mouths over Anakin's gland again as the water washes down over them. Kriff, even through the steam of the shower, Anakin's alpha scent calls to all of Obi-Wan's instincts. He can already feel his cock stirring and the slick gathering at his hole again. His hands find Anakin's cock, hot and heavy, the ridge of his knot starting to swell.

"Like this?" Obi-Wan asks, keeping his fingers lightly wrapped around Anakin's length but letting his thumb rub long, slow strokes over and around his knot. He kisses his way along Anakin's neck, nipping along his jaw until their mouths meet.

"I want to take care of you,” Obi-Wan says when they break for air. “I always want to take care of you.” He rests his forehead against Anakin’s, glancing down to watch the movement of his hand as he strokes Anakin’s knot. "How does it feel? Has anyone ever touched you like this?"

A wounded noise breaks from Anakin's throat as he shakes his head. "No," he gasps. "No one has ever... Force, Obi-Wan, it feels... so, so good. Ah. This isn't going to take long—I'm close already, fuck."

Anakin tries to kiss Obi-Wan again, but it ends up more of a mess of parted lips. He turns his head to bury his nose in Obi-Wan's neck, close to his mating gland, but not so close that he gets carried away.

"You smell good," Anakin rumbles, feeling half out of his mind with desire, overcome by the potent, pleasurable pheromones between them. "Ah, ah, yes—taking such good care of me, Omega, love the way you smell, love the way you feel, wish I could fill you up with my come."

"A-Anakin," Obi-Wan gasps, nodding as his hand works his alpha's cock a little faster. "I want that, too. That, and your knot," he emphasizes with a stronger press of his thumb. “And your bite. Gods, I… your scent. I know I complained before, but only because it is so enticing. You have no idea what it… what it makes me want," he confesses, barely hearing himself as he focuses on getting Anakin there. "Want to be the only one to do this, the only one to have your knot, your cock and your come inside me." He presses his cheek to Anakin's, his eyes fluttering closed. "I know perhaps I shouldn't, but… I want to be your omega. It's all I've wanted since you presented."

Anakin is right on the edge, so close to losing himself—but something stops him, something Obi-Wan has said. Anakin's eyes open wide, and in a matter of seconds, he has Obi-Wan pinned against the tile wall.

"Since I presented?" he demands, not entirely sure why that confession makes him feel crazed in the most feral alpha way he can imagine. "You've wanted me that long?" A low, rumbling growl, possessive and proud and full of alpha pleasure, is the only warning he gives before pressing their lips together in a near-bruising kiss. "Fuck, Obi-Wan, if I had known—kriffing hells, I've wanted you too, wanted to be your alpha since the second I found out—ah, fuck."

Need and instinct urge him to mate Obi-Wan here and now, to fuck him, knot him, bite him. Growling again and clenching his teeth, Anakin holds himself back, instead reaching around to gather some of Obi-Wan's slick and then closing a hand around both of their cocks together. He works them hard and fast, his grip almost on the wrong side of painful, but kriff it all, he needs it like this, rough and intense, and there's nothing in Obi-Wan's scent to suggest he might object.

Nodding, Obi-Wan’s eyes slide shut with a long groan. "You—ah—you did? All this time… we could have been—kriff.” Anakin's fingers dance over his hole and if they had more time, Obi-Wan knows he’d not be above begging to come while gold-tipped fingers fuck him open. Once Anakin’s hand wraps around both their cocks, knocking Obi-Wan’s hand out of the way, he finds he doesn’t care anymore, he just needs to come.

“Want that,” Obi-Wan says. “Want your mark, want to be your mate.” He swears as his hips buck up, his cock sliding into the tight circle of fingers. It's almost too much, the frantic pace and fevered confessions, but at the same time it’s not enough.

Anakin moves his hand faster, mesmerized by the sight of both of their cocks pressed together and fucking up through his fist. "Fuck, yeah, Obi-Wan. As soon as this mission's over, the second we can get away, I'll mate you. I want you, more than—more than anything, f-fuck."

Anakin topples over the edge with a grunt, letting out a few half-voiced murmurs of Obi-Wan and Omega.

Obi-Wan is only a few seconds behind. "I want, want that—fuck—you, too,” Obi-Wan breathes, so close that he can hardly form the words. “All of it. We will… yes, yes... we will find a time, I promise, Alpha, I promise. Oh, oh." Obi-Wan moans as he comes, watching their cocks spill together over Anakin's hand, ropes of white combining and swirling together until the water washes them away.

Obi-Wan’s forehead drops to Anakin's collarbone as he catches his breath. His hands skim up and down Anakin's arms, and he whispers, gods, my alpha, gods, a wide grin coming to rest on his lips. His scent is warm with notes of happy, sated omega.

"Is this how it is going to be then?” Obi-Wan teases. “I suggest we shower and complete the mission, and you defile us instead?"

"Yeah, it is," Anakin replies with the smallest hint of a smirk. "Especially if you keep saying things that make me want to knot you." He presses a feather-light kiss to Obi-Wan's mating gland, then reluctantly tugs them both back to the center of the stall and fully under the spray of the shower. "So we should hurry up and get clean fast, before you get me hard again, Omega."

"As you wish, Alpha." Obi-Wan turns around slowly, deliberately pressing himself against Anakin wherever he can. "I do not see how it's my fault you are unable to control your impulses, but we will"—he pauses, cocking an eyebrow as he looks back over his shoulder, then kisses Anakin's cheek—"press on."

“Stop it.” Anakin growls, nipping and licking at Obi-Wan’s shoulder, just a hint of alpha command seeping into his inflection. He’d never outright command his Master to do anything, but there’s a growing possessiveness now, having to wait to claim Obi-Wan as his mate.”You’d be awfully disappointed if I just gave in and mated you here, Master.”

Obi-Wan hums noncommittally. Not as disappointed as you might think.

He leans into Anakin’s arms one last time, tilting his head back to leave a kiss on his future mate’s jaw. “Alright, alright.” He ducks under the spray, quickly finishing up, then steps out of the small cubicle. “Do you think the Mapuzans are ready to come to terms?” he asks, returning to business, even as their bond thrums with a new undercurrent of anticipation and need.

Anakin leans back, combing his fingers through his curls to rinse out the last of the shampoo. “They’d better be. They’re not going to get a better deal, and with the equinox just a few weeks off, they’re gonna regret not having a contract in place for the spaceport, otherwise.” He knows this is important—this is what he and Obi-Wan do, when they’re not on the battlefield—but kriffing hells, his instincts, his inner alpha, really wants to forget it all and knot Obi-Wan six ways to Taungsday. “You’ll get them to sign, you always do, Negotiator.”

As they’re dressing and going over the details, interspersed with gentle kisses and warning growls, soft whimpers and teasing touches, Obi-Wan feels the train slow and then come to a halt, a long whistle signalling they have reached their destination. He looks in the mirror one last time, adjusting his collars, fingertips lingering over his unmarked mating gland.

Anakin crowds in behind him, quickly brushing his fingers through his curls without much success. His eyes meet Obi-Wan’s in the mirror, dark and focused. “Soon. Right?”

Obi-Wan nods. “Yes. As soon as this mission is over.” His inner omega wants it to be right now, and Force knows Anakin’s not making it any easier. All he can do is hope his negotiation skills are up to the task.

Clothes well ordered but hair still damp, they leave their compartment and head for the platform where the Mapuzan delegation is waiting. Obi-Wan breathes in sharply through his nose, wondering if they still stink of all they’ve been up to, and he glances over to Anakin in question.

“How bad is it? Is it still strong?” The Mapuzans do not seem to have quite the olfactory senses that humans have, but after the fiasco with the last Jedi pair, he doesn’t want to take any chances.

Anakin takes a moment to sniff the air, then leans in close to Obi-Wan, scowling. “No, not really. Nothing they’ll notice, probably.” He hates the thought of Obi-Wan not wearing his scent; it sets his teeth on edge. It just feels wrong.

Obi-Wan senses Anakin’s agitation in the bond and in the way his scent changes, still potent though somewhat diffused by the shower and fresh air wafting in from the open train car doors. With a contrite smile, he leans into Anakin, kissing him soundly.

“Well then. I’ll just need to rectify that later, now won’t I?” Obi-Wan whispers, dragging a finger over one of Anakin’s scent glands before turning to head out to greet the delegation.

This omega, Anakin thinks, growling under his breath as his cock stirs in his trousers again from the touch as well as the promise. His Jedi reflexes reach out to grasp Obi-Wan’s wrist.

”Master, I swear to all the gods…” With an impish grin of his own, he brings up Obi-Wan’s wrist and licks a long, quick stripe over his scent gland there. “There. Much better.” He lets go, then shoulders past Obi-Wan out to the platform.

Obi-Wan stares for a beat, bringing his wrist up to inhale the scent of his alpha. Yes, yes it is, his inner omega purrs in satisfaction.