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“It’s going to storm.”
It wasn’t something that needed to be said, and if the circumstances were different, Anakin might’ve taken offense; looked at his Master, pointed to the dark, foreboding clouds, and replied something like, “Don’t you think I know that already?”
But the circumstances were different. Behind them, their men were setting up camp. Obi-Wan and Anakin stood next to each other, arms crossed, looking at the sky. They had been on Olkrastrus IV for three weeks. They’d been away from Coruscant for four months. And in the interest of keeping their camp as small as possible, they planned to share a tent with each other.
Never did Coruscant feel farther away than the rare times circumstances fell into perfect alignment to force Anakin and his former Master to share sleeping quarters. At the very least, it would mean he got to hold Obi-Wan; wrap his arms around the older man under the pretense of sharing body heat and know that Obi-Wan wouldn’t say a word of protest—he certainly wouldn’t say a word of encouragement either, of course. But Obi-Wan’s silence was enough for Anakin. He could live on that alone.
The storm, though, meant he was going to get much more. A loud, blistering, thunderous storm meant that they were going to have sex. It didn’t always mean that, but Obi-Wan had said it. He’d acknowledged the incoming storm despite its obviousness. Anakin took it as the invitation it was, and tried not to let his anticipation flood into their bond; lest he kill Obi-Wan’s mood. His Master could be finicky about sex like that.
So, Anakin only curled his toes in his boots and did not look Obi-Wan’s way when he said, “Hopefully it’s not too severe.”
He meant that. The last thing they needed was to be flooded out.
Obi-Wan, though, only shrugged and said casually, “I don’t mind the rain.” As he turned and walked back toward camp, he didn’t meet Anakin’s eye.
Anakin’s stomach blustered with excitement anyway. He waited as long as he could stand it before following, stopping to talk with Rex, telling himself it was to check in and make sure the men were prepared to hunker down in their tents for the duration of the storm, but knowing it was mostly to make himself look like a responsible, informed Jedi General rather than someone who was about to get fucked by one.
When he entered their tent, Obi-Wan was standing with his back to him, laying his belt on top of a crate that was already piled with his gloves, comlink, and lightsaber. Stuffed inside it must’ve been his vambraces and chest plate. Anakin followed suit, laying his things on and in the twin crate beside it in silence.
Then, as they always did, they vaguely circled each other. They fucked so rarely that making the first move never came naturally to either of them, no matter how eager the sex was after one of them eventually did. He and Obi-Wan leaned in and around one another, nearly touching, making eye contact so loaded that it was difficult to resist the urge to break it. Eventually, though, Obi-Wan gave ground, wrapping a hand around Anakin’s bicep and leaning in to trace a line up his neck with the tip of his nose. Last time, Anakin had been the one to give in. Without having ever agreed to it out loud, they always took turns.
Anakin sighed, his body beginning to go lax, then tensing right back up again when Obi-Wan said, “You need a sonic.”
Face scrunching in displeasure, Anakin grumbled, “I don’t want to.”
“I want you to,” Obi-Wan said smoothly, no persuasion in his voice, just fact.
Obi-Wan’s eyes were tired. Anakin wasn’t going to push his luck. Besides, a cycle in the small, portable sonic the men had set up outside wouldn’t be the worst idea, considering what he had in mind. Normally, he wouldn’t take advantage of his rank and cut the line, but tonight he did. Redressing afterward, knowing it was only for the walk across camp back to the tent where he’d just be taking his clothes off again, was so irritating that it almost made him want to forget the whole thing. But he hadn’t gotten this far for nothing. And who knew when the next time the stars—or the weather, their schedules, and Obi-Wan’s mood—would align and serve him up an opportunity to sleep with his Master?
When he returned to the tent again, Obi-Wan had pushed their sad little GAR-issued mats together on the ground, and had piled enough sad little GAR-issued pillows and blankets on them to make it seem like something one might actually want to sleep on. Anakin immediately forgot how annoying redressing had been, and affection filled the place it had occupied. He knew Obi-Wan only did this for him. By himself, Obi-Wan would sleep with a singular pillow and blanket, though, even that was unnecessary for the older man. Anakin, however, liked his creature comforts, and missed them far more. He considered asking at what point did Obi-Wan manage to get all of it from the ship’s stores without looking suspicious, but kept quiet, knowing it would have only raised hackles.
Well, that, and he was also silenced by the sight on the makeshift bed; Obi-Wan, who had disrobed down to just his boxers, laid back with one arm under his head and the other holding a data-pad.
Obi-Wan looked at him over the edge of the data-pad as Anakin stripped. He knew his Master wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction to it, but Anakin still tried to do it with finesse, knowing that Obi-Wan’s unfazed stare wasn’t a true reflection of what was going on inside the older man. If he didn’t want to see Anakin strip, he wouldn’t have looked over the data-pad. If he weren’t affected, he wouldn’t have tossed it to the side once most of Anakin’s clothing was in a heap on the ground. And if he didn’t want Anakin at all, he wouldn’t have been waiting nearly naked for him to return.
Anakin told himself all of this on a self-soothing loop, until he was left only in his briefs. He sunk to his knees and ungracefully crawled over Obi-Wan, sitting on his thighs. And when the older man did nothing in response, just kept looking at him, Anakin inched forward until his ass was over the bulge of Obi-Wan’s cock. It was still soft, he could tell, but Anakin told himself as he always did that it was a symptom of his Master being almost forty, that he couldn’t get it up at the drop of a hat the way Anakin could—and always did. For Obi-Wan, at least. Even as Anakin just began to tentatively rock his hips, his cock was already plumping up under his dark briefs.
For a very long moment, Obi-Wan just watched, eyes flitting back and forth between Anakin’s rolling hips and his face. Anakin, however, did not look away from Obi-Wan’s eyes. He wanted to see it. It being the inevitable moment when his Master wanted him more than he wanted to pretend he didn’t. It always came. Sometimes, Anakin thought it was his favorite part of the whole thing. That it was better than an orgasm, even.
Obi-Wan’s head lolled slightly to the side. He still looked entirely at ease, to the point where it may have come off as bored, if not for the way his eyes glinted.
Chest tightening in victory, Anakin bit his lip. It was the smallest shift in the older man, but it was enough. Anakin had him now.
“What do you want, Anakin?” Obi-Wan murmured in a low voice, accent lilting, making Anakin’s head go fuzzy in a way it never did when he heard it in the company of others.
Obi-Wan always asked, and Anakin could never decide if he loved or hated it. When he was keyed up, he barreled forward, sometimes not even using words to answer. Afterward, like clockwork, he’d always wonder why he was the only one who ever wanted anything. There were times Anakin imagined asking his Master that very same question, what do you want, but something always stopped him. He figured, annoyingly, Obi-Wan would weasel out of giving him a real answer. Maybe he’d even be irked enough by the question that he’d stop sleeping with Anakin altogether. And on a much less subconscious level, Anakin doubted he’d survive that rejection—neither of them would, probably.
But he hadn’t taken that sonic for nothing, and who knew when the next time it would storm like this would be. Anakin put his hands on Obi-Wan’s chest, satisfaction pooling in his gut when he felt his Master’s cock beginning to harden underneath him.
“I want you to fuck me,” he said, watching his fingers curl in Obi-Wan’s chest hair rather than meet his eye as he spoke.
Still, he didn’t need to see the older man’s face to get a read on his reaction; the Force flickered with brief surprise.
“Do you?” Obi-Wan asked. He sounded far more intrigued than he did only a few moments ago. Indulgent, even.
The response was no shock to Anakin; they hardly ever did it that way. The first time they’d had anal sex, it was a result of Anakin rambling mindlessly as he got his cock sucked. He’d said something along the lines of wish you’d let me fuck your other hole too. To his surprise, Obi-Wan did let him, and as he watched his Master ride him, he feared for the first time that nothing else may ever be enough for him after experiencing Obi-Wan Kenobi bouncing on his cock, as in control and focused as he ever was. They did it that way, again and again and again, until one nearly-freezing night on an ice-covered planet Anakin didn’t remember the name of, they tucked themselves into one sleeping bag and Anakin had fucked his Master as he always did. One of Obi-Wan’s hands grabbed his ass, slipped a little too close to his hole, and Anakin had busted right then and there—after explicitly being told to pull out, nonetheless.
It took him a while to get back in his Master’s good graces after that, but eventually, he did, and Obi-Wan fucked him like he was never mad in the first place.
Anakin loved it—well, he loved ninety-nine percent of it. Sometimes, though, he felt a little too at Obi-Wan’s mercy like that. And that one percent could ruin the entire thing if Anakin let it. Anakin really didn’t trust himself to not let it, so the majority of the time, he fucked Obi-Wan, not the other way around.
It’d been on his mind lately, though. He didn’t know why. Maybe he’d been away from Coruscant too long, away from softness and sweetness and smothering. Obi-Wan was always a little nicer when he topped, which was quite at odds with Anakin’s preconceived notions about sexual positions. Occasionally when Obi-Wan bottomed, Anakin felt more like a sex toy than a sexual partner, like Obi-Wan’s favorite part of him was his cock and the rest of him the older man could take or leave without care. Being fucked by his Master was an entirely different story, though. It was as if Obi-Wan’s whole galaxy narrowed down to whatever shitty tent, sleeping bag, or ship they were stuck together in, and that there was nowhere he’d rather be. It reminded Anakin of the early days of being his Padawan, when Obi-Wan would let him get away with far more than he did later on, when he still let Anakin share his bed in the Temple.
That was the sort of thing that always disarmed Anakin. That was why he couldn’t stomach getting fucked by his Master as often as he’d like. The vulnerability, the odd, almost paternal comfort that came from it was addicting—and frightening. More than Obi-Wan’s tight, perfect hole around his cock, Anakin feared that would be his undoing. That one day he’d return to his wife’s apartment and she’d just know, because Obi-Wan’s warmth lingered on him like smoke from a deathstick.
But when he felt his Master rest his hands on his hips, Anakin knew there was nowhere else in the galaxy he himself would rather be than that tent, not even Coruscant.
“Yes,” Anakin admitted, “I’ve been thinking about it for days.”
Obi-Wan didn’t comment on the latter part of the answer. He probably had no experience with the reoccurring thoughts of want want want that ensnared Anakin quite a lot of the time. Obi-Wan’s want probably only occurred to him when the weather report showed heavy rain, and other excuses.
“Turn over, then,” is all Obi-Wan said, with a push to his hip.
Anakin rolled off of him, and when Obi-Wan moved to grab a packet of bacta from his belt, Anakin laid on his stomach in the spot the older man had just been, soaking in the warmth. It became even warmer when Obi-Wan came close again, sitting on his haunches behind him. A big hand groped one side of his ass, and he heard his Master let out out a small, gruff sound that made his toes curl. Then, Anakin’s briefs were being pulled down, and it was the hottest of all when that hand returned to his now bare ass, pulling him open just barely.
Obi-Wan’s other hand tapped his thigh. “Get your knees under you, please.”
For the smallest moment, the order was a welcome distraction from the swift mortification of his Master just looking at him there. Anakin didn’t know why he could never get used to it. He loved it and hated it at the same time, as he did with many things regarding Obi-Wan. When the older man watched him train, Anakin could feel his judgement, and resented every bit of it. But he never sent Obi-Wan away, because that judgement might’ve lead to a flickering of pride in the Force, a single line of praise that Anakin’s ego would run on for weeks.
Having his Master’s discerning gaze on his asshole was decidedly different, but the way it made Anakin feel wasn’t—not entirely.
Then, of course, after doing as Obi-Wan said and propping his knees under him, he was only putting himself on even greater display, so the embarrassment returned. The muscles in Anakin’s legs jumped when Obi-Wan ran both hands up his thighs and over his ass.
“Relax,” Obi-Wan said. “You’re so tense.”
Anakin didn’t relax. He wasn’t at that point yet.
His breath hitched when he felt his Master drape himself over his body, coming close enough to nose through Anakin’s curls and speak into his ear.
“I’ll never understand why you get so shy,” he murmured, before kissing Anakin’s neck. “Think of the way you feel when I’m in your place. Is there something I should be embarrassed about when our positions are reversed?”
Too quickly, Anakin’s response poured out of him, encouraged by the mental image of Obi-Wan face down, ass up. “No. Force, no, Master. Never.”
“Exactly.”
Against his skin, Obi-Wan smiled, and then he retreated, running a hand down Anakin’s spine as he did.
Anakin had always been jealous of Obi-Wan’s lack of shame about that kind of thing; his body, sex and all the other things he could do with it. The sexual education courses in the Temple were more liberal than anyone who wasn’t a Jedi ever could guess. They were certainly healthier, too, given that Obi-Wan seemed to be comfortable in his own skin, unashamed of his nakedness in all things, and assigned no morality or particular importance to sex. Anakin, on the other hand, struggled in all of these regards.
Once the image of their positions in reverse faded, he was left once again with the terrible, exposed feeling. The sharpness of it had dulled some, though, after Obi-Wan’s words. Still, even if Anakin could assume his Master liked what he saw, given the way the older man was groping him and thumbing over his rim, it didn’t completely eradicate the knee-jerk discomfort in response to being seen so up-close and personal.
When he was alone and imagined this sort of thing, Anakin was never shy. And he always had the best intentions of bringing that confidence into his next sexual encounter with Obi-Wan, but failed every time. He could never start off confident. The ability to stop caring only came when his Master brought it, gave it, fucked it out of him in any number of ways. There was no bliss like being at Obi-Wan’s mercy, completely unaware of himself with the exception of the pleasure he was experiencing. The fact that Anakin knew they’d get there eventually only made him more impatient for it.
As Obi-Wan grabbed his ass and spread him open, both thumbs sweeping soft trails on either side of his hole, Anakin pushed into it and breathed a sigh of relief; the first step toward a cliff Obi-Wan would push him off soon enough.
“Would you be opposed to me putting my mouth on you?”
How Obi-Wan managed to still sound poised and graceful when asking to eat him out didn’t baffle Anakin. Not at this point. It only turned him on.
“Definitely not,” Anakin answered, and he knew he sounded entirely un-poised and un-graceful. Two little words and they came out rasping.
The sound he made as Obi-Wan’s tongue swept over his hole was even more damning, but Anakin only cared a little bit; another slice of fight gone out of him. Hanging his head between his shoulders, he silently thanked the Force for sending the storm and all its thunder. It meant he could let his jaw drop open without a care, and let more and more of his resistance fade. It was like Anakin was all ice, and his Master’s warm mouth worked him over until he was a puddle. Until he was nothing at all.
Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was silent and meticulous, other than his huffing breath and the soft, damp sounds of his mouth. Though Anakin’s cock was hard and dripping, his Master ate him out like he didn’t care about that at all, like he was swirling his tongue around Anakin’s hole until it was loose enough to dip inside for his own pleasure. Anakin shuddered and twisted his hands in one of the blankets beneath him, then let out something like a yelp when Obi-Wan’s tongue became Obi-Wan’s lips, kissing his rim and sucking gently. More fight leaving him, Anakin languidly rocked his hips back into it.
Then, he squirmed. “Your beard…” As he looked over his shoulder, Anakin saw Obi-Wan retreat and swipe his wrist over his face.
“What about it?”
“Scratchy.”
Obi-Wan frowned, causing a little crease to form between his eyebrows. “I ran out of oil,” he said, and Anakin got the impression that was something his Master had forgotten about, but now that it had been brought up again, it was bothering him as much as Anakin was sure it had when he’d first noticed. Obi-Wan was odd; he could forget to eat, or willingly forgo sleeping, but had to grit his teeth to bear life without his beard oil.
For a moment, Anakin was sorry he’d said anything. Then, he wasn’t. He liked seeing his Master’s idiosyncrasies. He knew Obi-Wan tried very hard to hide them from everyone else.
And it wasn’t as if Obi-Wan cared much about Anakin’s opinion of his beard. After he spoke, he went back to his task, making out with Anakin’s hole, apathetic to the jumping of Anakin’s muscles whenever the facial hair rubbed him just right—or, just wrong. Anakin could only be irked by this for a very brief span of time, and then he was growing more and more apathetic himself, uncaring of the scraping of the beard against his sensitive skin. It was becoming hard to care about anything except how badly he wanted Obi-Wan.
Eventually, when Anakin had just crossed over to more puddle than man, he felt one of Obi-Wan’s fingers press at his rim, teasing before it slid in. His flesh arm felt as heavy as his mech one, but he managed to lift it and swipe backwards, though Obi-Wan dodged it.
“I don’t need it,” Anakin insisted, not bothering to lift his head from the pillow he was drooling into. “I’m ready now.”
Obi-Wan pushed a second finger into his ass, and Anakin huffed.
“It’s supposed to storm all night, Anakin. What reason do we have to rush?”
If Anakin was still more man than puddle and not the other way around, he’d fill with greedy satisfaction at the idea that his Master didn’t want to simply go through the motions of having sex as plainly and quickly as possible to get to his release, that Obi-Wan actually wanted to take his time with him. But, Anakin didn’t feel so greedy at present. He didn’t need to be when it felt like his Master was going to give him exactly what he wanted, even if it took a little longer.
Anakin’s arm returned to its prior position. “Fine,” he managed, letting his eyes fall shut as he heard Obi-Wan opening the bacta packet before hissing at the cool drip of it over his rim.
“Sorry, darling,” Obi-Wan murmured thoughtlessly.
As his Master fingered it into his ass, it warmed, and so did Anakin’s whole body. Being called darling always did that to him. Obi-Wan only ever said it without intending to—at least, that’s what Anakin assumed. Obi-Wan’s accidental sweetness was better than nothing, and it made Anakin’s cheeks burn and chest ache no matter what. He looked under himself and saw his cock dripping pre-come all over his Master’s things, and thought that was sweet too. Surely, there was a towel that could have been swiped as well, but Obi-Wan hadn’t taken one. He was letting Anakin’s cock make a mess.
A lazy grin grew on his face, Anakin sighing out a pleased sound against the pillow, and then his hips were bucking as Obi-Wan very deliberately stroked his fingers against his prostate.
“What are you smiling about up there, pretty boy?” Obi-Wan asked from behind him.
Dimly, Anakin mourned the fact that he wasn’t going to remember being called that tomorrow, at least not clearly enough to be sure of it. Obi-Wan only ever really began sweet talking him when the majority of Anakin’s blood was pooled in his groin and his brain seemingly wasn’t getting enough anymore as a consequence. The next day, his body would ache, and flashes of Obi-Wan in the throes of pleasure would occur every time he closed his eyes, but memories of the sweet, sticky words that had been doled out would evade him. It would be as if his Master’s affection expired—an experience Anakin had grown very used to.
But it hadn’t expired yet, not now. As Obi-Wan massaged that sensitive spot inside of him with deliberate, skilled fingers, and used his other hand to slowly tug at Anakin’s cock under him, his Master’s affection was ripe. Ripe and sweet and being offered to Anakin in the most open of invitations, the most coaxing of hands.
Obi-Wan’s thumb pressed against his balls, and he asked, “Are you going to answer my question?”
After a noise of pure neediness, Anakin wracked his brain until he remembered. Well, he remembered Obi-Wan’s question, but the answer was long gone.
“Don’t know,” he said, twitching and trying to get his cock stroked faster, “Just feels good.”
“Mm,” Obi-Wan hummed. Then, his tone was casual, observational, but laced with indulgence. “I can tell. Your prick is leaking like a faucet—all over my things, too.”
And suddenly, Anakin remembered. He was grinning like a fool because his Master was letting his cock drool without a care. Half-lidded eyes blinking until he was staring blankly at the wall of the tent, Anakin wondered if Obi-Wan knew. If he had asked what are you smiling about up there while already knowing the answer. While already knowing Anakin would forget, and that he’d have to remind him. Or maybe the reason Anakin had forgotten it in the first place was that his Master had deliberately plucked it out of his brain for later use.
It certainly didn’t seem like that, not really. Logically, Obi-Wan had made an offhand, dirty remark about his cock in the midst of playing with it. The fact that it happened to be the very answer to the question he’d just asked Anakin had to be strange, dumb luck.
Obi-Wan didn’t believe in luck. Anakin did, though. Maybe if he wasn’t on the verge of coming, he’d believe in it a little less. But he let Obi-Wan’s hands work, and let his eyes slowly glaze over again, until he felt his balls begin to tighten.
“Go on, then, Anakin. Come all over my hand and I’ll use it to wet my cock when I fuck you.”
With a choking, groaning sound, Anakin did. His ass rhythmically clenched around his Master’s fingers while his cock pulsed and spilled all over the blankets and Obi-Wan’s hand. He bit into a pillow, writhing and shaking through it, knowing distantly that if there was any fight left in him, it was leaving his body with every rope he shot. As Obi-Wan made encouraging, soft noises behind him, Anakin wondered if he had even put much of one up in the first place. It was hard to remember. That kind of thing was why bottoming for his Master always unmoored him so.
That—and a thousand other things. But every one of them was slipped from Anakin’s mind’s grasp as soon as he thought it. His desire for Obi-Wan had him swimming in circles after himself.
Obi-Wan milked him until Anakin made a quiet noise of oversensitivity. After giving his cock one more gentle squeeze and sliding the fingers from his hole, his Master petted over his ass.
“Good job,” Obi-Wan told him.
There was something about phrases like that that did Anakin in. Phrases that he’d heard Obi-Wan say a million times in a million different contexts over the years. The dirty talk was one thing, but this was another. It was a reminder that the man who was about to fuck him was no different than the man that had taught him lightsaber forms. His Master, the man that had raised him and given him nearly everything, and Obi-Wan, who offered up the rest; his body. They were one in the same. The way Anakin felt now, hearing something as simple as good job—as if Anakin had actually done anything, as if he hadn’t just laid there and let the older man do all the work—made his stomach flutter and his face heat with joy at having pleased his Master the same way it had when he’d first been told such a thing by Obi-Wan at nine years old.
In his lucid moments, Anakin was sure there was something entirely wrong with him for thinking like that. It made his stomach twist in a very opposite way, that he knew deep down part of the reason sleeping with Obi-Wan was thrilling and addicting and the best sex he’d ever had was that Obi-Wan was the same person that used to braid his hair and read to him and had taught him how to swim. That was the part of himself he was afraid of Padmé seeing. He knew she wouldn’t understand, not when Anakin himself hardly understood it.
“Catch your breath, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. He hadn’t realized it, but he was still panting like a dog. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly.”
As Anakin’s breathing steadied and he quieted, he could hear rustling, then saw Obi-Wan’s underwear land not far from his head. The idea of reaching out, grabbing the piece of clothing, and bringing it to his face to inhale crossed his mind, but that thought too slipped away from him as Obi-Wan pressed closer, hard cock pushing between Anakin’s legs and nudging his softening one. He laid completely over Anakin, until they were breathing each others air; lungs filling and deflating in tandem, like Anakin had never lost his breath to begin with.
“Well done,” Obi-Wan murmured.
Anakin had to squeeze his eyes shut. “Thank you,” he said weakly, and it was gross how much he meant it.
Obi-Wan kissed the side of his face gently, then he was taking their cocks in his hand together and stroking slowly, spreading Anakin’s come over both of them. Sensitive, Anakin gasped and squirmed. With Obi-Wan’s weight over him, though, there was nowhere to go. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to get away, anyway, but the instinct was there, and his Master denied it, taking Anakin more firmly in his grip, pressing their cocks together tighter. It brought back an inkling of embarrassment as Anakin looked under himself and saw the way Obi-Wan’s hardness dwarfed him. He knew when they were both erect, his Master really didn’t have that much on him in the size department, but even so, Anakin’s fingers curled in the blankets as he watched Obi-Wan handle his smaller, messy cock in the same hand he held himself; heavy looking and hard.
For a few minutes, that was all there was. Their matching breaths, the soft, wet sounds of Obi-Wan’s hands on them both, and the continued rage of the storm outside. Anakin sunk even further in the nest of blankets, twisting his neck in a bad way to keep his eyes on his cock as it slowly began to fill again. The interlude allowed his lagging mind to wander, and he huffed out a laugh when he thought of what it would be like if their positions were reversed. For as much as Obi-Wan enjoyed being topped, he loathed the oppressive heat of Anakin’s weight on him. If Anakin collapsed post-orgasm, Obi-Wan shoved him off. If Anakin lowered too far while fucking him, Obi-Wan flipped them over and rode him. Anakin had realized some time ago that his Master seemed to really enjoy his biceps, giving them quite a lot of attention with his mouth and hands and words, and it took even more time for Anakin to realized that might’ve just all been a ploy to make sure he kept himself propped up while he fucked Obi-Wan.
Either way, he didn’t mind, not really. Even if it didn’t make much sense to him how Obi-Wan couldn’t stand heat and skin and sweat pressed to his front but not his back. There were too many differences between them to count in every arena, sex included. But he knows sometimes his Master likes him like this—and Anakin certainly didn’t mind it either—sweet and lethargic and slow, even if Obi-Wan would never accept that kind of treatment from him. Which was probably for the best. It was a thought he’d never dare say, but he didn’t think Obi-Wan had it in him to fuck Anakin the way he liked Anakin to fuck him. Hard and mean and nasty.
Obi-Wan’s body peeled off of him. Anakin felt the way some of his chest hair clung, stuck to his back with sweat, and imagined the pinching sting that Obi-Wan did not even seem to wince at as he sat up. Tacky hands rolled him onto his side, and Anakin again had to squeeze his eyes shut when his Master laid down behind him and huddled close. Even though he was warm all over, Anakin shivered, and hiked his leg up without needing to be told to do so.
Cock nudging against Anakin’s hole in a warm, slick kiss, Obi-Wan teased him for only a moment, rutting softly, rubbing his tip over Anakin and making him twitch, before Anakin felt the older man steel slightly behind him, and then his Master’s cock pressed into him, slow and smooth. Anakin ached—it didn’t hurt, but he ached. Which wasn’t anything unusual. With how rarely he was the one getting fucked, Obi-Wan’s big cock always took a little getting used to. Though, Anakin sometimes got the feeling he’d be aching even if his Master wasn’t as well hung.
With his balls pressed against Anakin’s ass, Obi-Wan caressed a calloused hand over the curve of his hip and up the thigh of his bent leg.
“There you are, my beautiful boy,” he murmured into Anakin’s hair, sounding breathless and content. “It’s been too long since I’ve had you.”
Anakin bit his lip, but his breath still came out shaky through his nose. He knew he had the technical physical advantage these days, but nonetheless, his Master remained the only being in the galaxy able to make him feel small. He didn’t always like it, but when he did, he really did. And right now seemed to be one of those times; Anakin’s cock jumped and he had to resist the urge to reach down and stroke it. He was his Master’s beautiful boy, and if he really put his mind to it, maybe he could get another good job. Maybe even a good boy, Anakin. Just the thought of that particular endearment made him clench around the cock inside of him.
“Obi-Wan,” he sighed out quietly, unable to help it.
Achingly slow, Obi-Wan pulled his hips back before sliding inside of Anakin again. He grunted when he sank in to the hilt, rubbing his forehead against Anakin’s shoulder. Anakin felt his nipples harden against his back, two heated points in the midst of his sweaty chest hair, and momentarily longed for things to be the other way around so he could play with them the way he knew Obi-Wan liked. His Master had all kinds of sensitive spots that Anakin had never dreamed of being able to explore. Anakin’s own nipples didn’t have the same sensitivity, no matter how many times Obi-Wan had sucked on them in an effort to make him squeal. He usually succeeded in the squealing part, but they weren’t the kind of sexy, wanton, I-think-I-could-come-just-from-this squeals that came out of Obi-Wan when Anakin got his mouth on his chest. They were more like pealing squeals of oversensitivity that always ended in laughter, and with his Master pushing Anakin away with a roll of his eyes and a comment about Anakin’s only erogenous zone being his dick, and how very disappointing that was.
If Anakin had the presence of mind, he’d remind Obi-Wan right now that he had another erogenous zone, thank you very much, and it was getting fucked by the older man’s cock right at that very moment. But all he could do is lay there and welcome his Master inside of him over and over, going lax as Obi-Wan used his hole and sucked kisses into the back of his neck. He had to be getting many mouthfuls of hair, but at least Anakin had showered, so his curls were clean. One of Obi-Wan’s hands came down to cradle Anakin’s cock, not to jerking him off or even teasing him, he just held it in a gentle grip, caging it in and surely getting his fingers wet and messy with all the pre-come Anakin was still managing to drip out somehow.
“Force, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said against his skin. “You feel like heaven. I always forget. I’m always far too preoccupied with this pretty cock of yours.”
Anakin let out a sluggish laugh, followed by a gasp when Obi-Wan’s hips drove into him a tad sharper. “Is it really my cock you’re so preoccupied with? Or your own ass?”
Somehow, Obi-Wan got even closer, grinding into Anakin hard and slow. “You lack faith in my ability to multitask.”
Typically, Anakin hated to give up on their bickering so easily and let the older man have the last word, but the circumstances allowed it to happen now without his ego making a fuss. Obi-Wan had a tendency to run his mouth during sex; it seemed his Master was talented in all things related to that part of his body. But the vast majority of the time the words that fell from his lips were so dirty Anakin still wasn’t entirely used to them, and often had to stop whatever he was doing immediately and wait for his cresting orgasm to retreat again. This always lead to the other type of talking Obi-Wan did during sex: criticizing Anakin’s performance. Just like giving his Master the last word, that was a lot easier to stomach and let roll off his back when his cock was hard.
The kind of talk Obi-Wan was giving him tonight, the kind he almost always did when he was on top and it seemed as if the only thing on his to-do list was Anakin, combined with the unserious moment of banter that was so typical of them outside the rare times they slept together, threw Anakin off balance in a way he didn’t anticipate; in a way that Obi-Wan certainly wasn’t trying for. It reminded Anakin that the version of Obi-Wan that would pretend as if this never happened tomorrow and would throw lighthearted barbs at him as he always did was no different than the man that was balls deep inside him. Anakin often thought of his Master as a man of many faces, and usually he disliked this trait, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he loved every one of them far too much. More than Obi-Wan could ever be allowed to know. It killed Anakin every time he remembered, and the guilt of feeling such a way behind his wife’s back was just insult to the injury. When he was overcome with it, he always reached for her, but most times she—literally—was out of reach.
So, yes, Anakin reached for Padmé first. But the arms he ended up in somehow always turned out to be Obi-Wan’s, and Anakin was too weak to resist his grip.
“Master,” he said, part-moan and part-sob. If Obi-Wan asked, he’d say the raw desperation in his voice came from a well-angled thrust grazing his prostate.
Obi-Wan didn’t ask—not about that, at least.
“Yes?”
Unable to hold it back any longer, Anakin said, “Will you kiss me?”
There was no answer, and Anakin felt horribly stupid. He knew he would feel horribly stupid even if Obi-Wan immediately obliged him, though. Anakin always did when he made such childish, flowery requests.
If Obi-Wan was going to deny him, really deny him, he’d have said so, though. His Master was just as vocal about his dislikes as he was his pleasure during sex, and Anakin still remembered the sting of rejection from the time he’d tried to put his hand around Obi-Wan’s neck and got whacked upside the head for it, before Obi-Wan practically bit his head off during the consequent lecture. And because of that, Anakin knew he was going to get what he asked for, get his kiss in one way or another, because if the rejection was to come, it would have already came.
Without a word, Obi-Wan slid out of him, then rolled Anakin onto his back. Not gently, not harshly. A simple, practical move using only enough strength to move Anakin; perfunctory almost. Still not speaking, and still with Anakin not resisting, he settled between Anakin’s legs and pushed back into him.
Rare as the times Anakin was the one getting fucked were, rarer still were the times Anakin got fucked like that; face-to-face in the missionary position. Even when Obi-Wan was on the bottom, he tended to avoid that position, and dodged all of Anakin’s attempts to get him in it. The handful of times Anakin had actually succeeded, it had been when Obi-Wan was drunk.
If Obi-Wan felt fucking Anakin like this was anything out of the ordinary, he didn’t let it show on his face. When they could get no closer, and Anakin was full of him again, Obi-Wan rested both elbows on either side of his head and leant down to kiss him. In the singular moment he had before their mouths connected, Anakin wrapped his arms around his Master’s neck and his legs around his hips. It was intimate, almost too intimate, and Anakin’s last thought before their lips touched was that if he weren’t about to be kissed into complacency, he might get that strange, sick, hollowness in his stomach that made him want to run away. He knew he was teetering on the edge of too much vulnerability; dancing on the line, nearly about to fall over it completely and have the whole thing go sour.
But before it could, Obi-Wan was kissing him. Slow and steady, the same way he began to rock his hips into Anakin again.
For all the talents Obi-Wan’s mouth possessed, that was by far Anakin’s favorite. He hadn’t known sensuality was a thing his Master was capable of until the first time Anakin had talked him into a kiss. So many campaigns ago, when Obi-Wan actually obliged him and pressed their mouths together, he had kissed in a way that put every second of the sixteen years of experience he had on Anakin on display. Normally, such reminders of the way Obi-Wan completely outranked him in the sex department—and likely always would—irked Anakin, but the kiss was different. It made Obi-Wan’s experience sexy—erotic, even. Anakin liked it. He liked his older, wiser, distinguished Jedi Master’s well-practiced tongue licking into his mouth, while his own fought to keep up.
It never got old. That was part of the reason Anakin tried not to ask for it too much. He never wanted to get used to getting kissed by Obi-Wan.
And he certainly hadn’t yet. For a long moment, Anakin’s hole, full of Obi-Wan’s cock, became an afterthought. As did his own cock, trapped between their bodies, dribbling pre-come into the trail of hair on Obi-Wan’s stomach. Anakin’s galaxy narrowed to their mingling spit and the way Obi-Wan lapped at his tongue and roof of his mouth, the way the kiss sounded, slick and messy. One of Obi-Wan’s hands came down to cup his face, and Anakin whimpered into the kiss. If the older man wanted to, Anakin would let him slide down further, take him by the neck, and choke him until black spots bloomed in his vision—perhaps even longer. He’d never deny his Master, not the way Obi-Wan denied him.
Before that thought could ignite fury the way many like it did when they were not in the middle of fucking, Obi-Wan pulled back an inch and spoke.
“Touch your cock for me, Anakin.”
Could he sense Anakin’s thoughts? Was it a well-timed distraction? Was all of this meant to sate Anakin’s fury and every other nasty feeling inside of him that was entirely unbecoming of a Jedi—all of which Obi-Wan seemed to be caught on to, regardless if Anakin ever spoke a word of them?
Did it matter?
Anakin supposed it didn’t. Not right now, anyway. He held his palm up to his Master’s face, and let out a weak sound of arousal when Obi-Wan spit in it, then went a step further and laved his tongue over Anakin’s fingers, coating them in drool. When he pulled them from his Master’s mouth, Anakin swallowed and rasped, “Thank you,” before reaching down between their bodies and taking his cock in hand.
A small, lopsided smile appeared on Obi-Wan’s face. His teeth were as sharp as they always were, but his eyes were soft and tinged with mirth.
“Aren’t you polite?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and working his hips in a way that had the same effect as his kiss; making Anakin think about all the people and bodies Obi-Wan had practiced on before the two of them slept together. For someone who had such a preference for bottoming, Obi-Wan really was one hell of a top. Anakin, in his more delusional, self-important moments, liked to think that was because Obi-Wan topped everyone else he’d ever had sex with but had saved the special privilege of being inside of him for Anakin. It was a nice thought—ridiculous, and probably so far from the truth that Obi-Wan would laugh at him if Anakin ever spoke it aloud—but nice nonetheless.
The way Obi-Wan was looking at him now was nice too, and so was the indulgent, teasing tone of his voice. He hadn’t gotten a good boy or anything like that, but Anakin would take what he could get. At this point, with a hand around his cock and his ass full in the way he’d been imagining all week, Anakin’s orgasm was close enough that it didn’t matter what Obi-Wan said in the next minute or so—he’d be coming regardless. He was sure that was reading not only all over his face, but even more so in the reedy, gasping moans that were getting fucked out of him every time Obi-Wan bottomed out.
His Master—as usual—was harder to get an accurate read on. Anakin didn’t like asking questions like are you close because it brought forth unpleasant feelings about how not in-control he was. And he was out of control when he was at Obi-Wan’s mercy. He just wasn’t a big fan of making it any more obvious than it already was. So, instead of asking such a thing, Anakin reached up with the hand that wasn’t stroking his cock and rubbed the heel of his palm against one of Obi-Wan’s nipples.
When Obi-Wan gasped, bit his lip, and buried his face in his shoulder, Anakin grinned in victory, before moving to rub the other nipple, smile growing wider and his orgasm growing even closer when Obi-Wan’s impeccable rhythm faltered.
“Dear one,” Obi-Wan panted. “Would you let me come inside of you?”
Finally, finally, Anakin had taken back an iota of control. It was a tiny slice, a percentage so slim that it was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but the grand scheme of things didn’t matter. It would matter tomorrow in the light of day, but that was tomorrow. And even though it wasn’t much, hardly anything at all, Anakin clutched onto the minuscule amount of control he had and told himself that as long as he had it, as long as he had the ability to take even the smallest bit back, he could survive until the next time Obi-Wan let Anakin have him like this.
He pretended to think about his Master’s question, making a contemplative sound, only to hear the older man pant out, only the slightest bit desperate, “Anakin, please.”
Maybe Anakin had the ability to wrestle back more than just a little control, but he knew he wouldn’t find out—he never did. When Obi-Wan got like he was now, vulnerability carved out of him in the shape of Anakin’s control, Anakin caved every time.
“Yes, Master,” Anakin moaned. He arched his back, rubbing his chest against Obi-Wan’s, hand flying over his cock. “Please, please, please.”
Between them, he began to come, but experiencing his own orgasm was less important than experiencing Obi-Wan’s.
Anakin dared to clutch the back of Obi-Wan’s head, sinking fingers into his hair, and whispered into his Master’s ear, “Fill me up, Obi-Wan. Fuck me full of your come.” And because he knew Obi-Wan; no matter how good he was at being sweet, he really was a nasty old man, Anakin added, “Are you going to clean up after yourself?”
The idea of licking his come out of Anakin’s hole had the exact affect on Obi-Wan that he had expected. His Master bit his neck and groaned, long and low, as his cock pulsed and released inside of Anakin.
Staring dazed at the roof of the tent, Anakin shuddered and tightened his legs around Obi-Wan. He clenched his hole, trying to prolong the older man’s orgasm so that he could have him that close as long as possible.
As always, it was never long enough. After a few minutes, Obi-Wan tried to pull away, and Anakin gave a singular attempt keeping them locked together before Obi-Wan made a sound of displeasure.
“Let go of me, Anakin,” he said gruffly. It wasn’t unkind, but Anakin’s afterglow dimmed nonetheless.
When he did as Obi-Wan said and let him go, his Master rolled off of him and said, “Good boy.”