Chapter Text
They didn’t even make it to the meagre lodgings their shuttle offered.
As soon as the passenger ramp was raised and locked, Obi-Wan crowded Anakin against the wall, hands pressing into the cool durasteel on either side of his head and nosing into the space between Anakin’s neck and shoulder. Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, as if scenting the sweat and desire rolling off of him in waves, and Anakin was helpless to stop the torrential shudder that spilled through his body.
“Master, please,” Anakin whined, tangling his arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, tugging him as close to his body as possible, though it wasn’t anywhere near close enough. He wanted to climb into his Master’s body, to nestle under the layers of his muscles and ligaments and skin. “Please, fuck me. Right now. I was so good for you tonight. I need you.”
Obi-Wan growled, a feral grating sound from somewhere deep within his chest. Both the scent of Anakin’s sweat and the arousal encompassing them in the Force seemed to overwhelm him for a second, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead on Anakin’s. “Maybe we should wait, Padawan. I’m struggling to control myself right now after that display you put on back there, and I… don’t think I’m capable of being as gentle as you deserve for your first time.”
Anakin inhaled sharply. Something about Obi-Wan teetering on the edge of losing control had him burning. “I don’t want gentle, Master. I just want you. Now—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before Obi-Wan was on him like a starving beast. His Master yanked at his wool cloak from his body before Anakin was roughly spun around and forced face-first into the wall, the surface of the metal frigid against his overheated skin that felt like it was about to melt off his body.
Anakin felt like he was spinning wildly out of control, like a starfighter on a collision course with a certain inevitability.
“Have it your way then, darling,” Obi-Wan grunted harshly, planting a hand between Anakin’s shoulder blades and pushing him harder into the durasteel. “Spread your legs and arch your back for me, my eager slut.”
The shock of hearing such a crass word slip past his Master’s lips, followed by a wave of arousal that almost knocked him off his feet, hit Anakin like a ton of durasteel. Hesitation, interwoven with anticipation, washed over him as he awkwardly moved to obey. Anakin arched his hips and widened his stance on the deck plates with tentative movements. He felt so exposed to Obi-Wan in this position; the underwear did absolutely nothing to cover his ass, currently on wanton display for Obi-Wan’s viewing pleasure, nor did it contain his straining, lewdly leaking erection.
It felt both humiliating and utterly right.
Anakin felt his Master’s hands on him, confidently adjusting the angle of his hips and the arch of his spine, using one foot to kick his legs further apart. The thought of Obi-Wan manhandling his body to suit his needs in tandem with how Anakin could feel the other man’s arousal at the picture he painted spread out before him was devastating.
Apparently finally satisfied with his position, Anakin was rewarded with his Master’s view of him pushed lasciviously through their bond: legs spread wide with perfect globes of golden skin on display, marred by the promise of blossoming bruises. Anakin felt his cheeks heat at the erotic image of himself, entwined with his Master’s appreciation of the image he presented.
Slowly, Obi-Wan dragged two fingers down Anakin’s spine, eyes drawn to the subtle shiver that followed the motion. Two fingers turned into a flat palm as he continued its path down to cup one rosy, abused ass cheek.
The younger man yelped as Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Anakin’s overheated and abused skin, hand strengthened from so many years of combat training, and Anakin whimpered when he realized that Obi-Wan had him trapped between the cool steel of the wall and the hard planes of his body.
There was no way for him to escape, not that he wanted to anyway.
“So coy,” Obi-Wan leered wickedly, emphasizing the words by pushing scalding, hungry flesh contained within leather trousers against Anakin’s almost bare ass. “We both know that you’re enjoying this. Don’t try to pretend otherwise, my dear.”
With one last pointed thrust of his hips against abused flesh, Obi-Wan held out his unoccupied hand behind him almost absent-mindedly, while he focused on pressing sweet, chaste kisses down the long expanse of Anakin’s golden neck. In one brief whisper of motion, he called a small plastic bottle from the bag—carelessly dropped by the door when they had first entered the shuttle—to him with the Force. It hit his palm with a sharp smack.
Suddenly, the air in the cockpit changed from hot and tense to gentle and serious, as Obi-Wan loosened his grip on Anakin’s ass, lightly tracing overheated skin and tracking over his hip to splay on his lower belly. Anakin was pulled up from his slump against the wall to rest against Obi-Wan’s chest, the other man nosing gently into the hair behind his ear. “I’m going to open you up now. I need you to promise me that you will tell me if anything hurts. This isn’t a challenge, we will go at whatever pace you need.”
Heat washed through Anakin’s body at the gentle care behind those words, and his knees almost buckled with their intensity. “Yes, Master.”
“Yes what, Padawan?”
“I promise to tell you if it hurts! Please, just touch me. I… I just… need you so much right now.” Anakin slurred, the endorphins and intensity of the evening finally catching up with him and making him feel off-kilter, almost dizzy with desperation.
Obi-Wan trailed his hand up Anakin’s sweaty chest and grasped his jaw, pushing Anakin firmly against the wall once again. He slowly tipped the other man's head back and brushed a feather-light kiss against the hinge of Anakin’s defined jaw. “Thank you. I promise I’ll take care of you, Padawan. You’re being so good for your Master.”
Anakin nodded, palms braced flat against the wall, and let his head drop between his arms as his Master released his jaw, damp curls hanging loosely around his face. He listened intently as his Master flicked the bottle of lubricant open, the sound louder and more loaded than it should have been in the stillness of the cockpit. He heard the quiet squelch of lube being squeezed out and a sharp clatter as the bottle was carelessly tossed to the floor at their feet.
With his clean hand, Obi-Wan traced tender fingers in delicate shapes back down Anakin’s chest, this time merciful as he cupped the sore flesh of one ass cheek softly. The skimpy fabric was pulled aside, exposing the tight furl of his hole to the cool air and Obi-Wan’s heated gaze.
The still air around them fractured as Obi-Wan suddenly dropped to his knees.
Anakin could feel his Master’s smouldering gaze, eyes intent on the secret place between his legs, and was grateful that he didn’t have to bear witness to his Master’s intense scrutiny of this part of his body for the first time. Anakin was sure he would have melted through the floor with embarrassment if he had.
High and breathy, Anakin yelped as his Master’s words tickled hotly across sensitive, normally concealed flesh.
“You’re so pretty down here,” Obi-Wan praised.
“Master, what… that, I’m not—” Anakin stuttered helplessly.
“Quiet now. You’re pretty if I say you are,” Obi-Wan hushed, rubbing two lubed fingers together to warm the slick.
Anakin relaxed, allowing his body to collapse forward onto the wall in front of him. The cool metal felt fantastic in contrast to his scorching, sweat-slick skin. He jerked sharply at the feeling of a single digit petting at his entrance, the feeling so foreign and strange.
“Relax. I’ve got you. Trust me, Padawan.” Obi-Wan’s voice was reverent with awe.
Anakin nodded jerkily and raised one arm to rest fully on the wall so he could hide his burning face in the crook of his elbow. He breathed out deeply as Obi-Wan spread the slick around his tight entrance, not yet penetrating him but giving him time to get used to the new sensations.
Obi-Wan gently rested his lips on the hot flesh of his ass as he spoke next, the finger that had been softly petting his entrance starting to press inside of him, “I’m going to put one finger in now. Deep breaths.”
"Th-thank y-you, Master. P-please. I need…" Anakin babbled nonsensically, voice lilting up into a breathy cry at the end. His hips fervently thrusted against Obi-Wan's seeking finger as he slowly but firmly slid it into Anakin's hot passage, as if trying to simultaneously escape and seek out the foreign intrusion of Obi-Wan’s touch inside of his body. Desperation was clouding the Force around him, muddling his rational thoughts; all he could think about was getting more of Obi-Wan inside him right now.
“Mmmm, you're taking it so well for me, my dear,” Obi-Wan growled, eyes intent on where his finger had been greedily sucked into Anakin’s yielding body. He thrust his finger a few times, blowing air out of his mouth with a sharp huff when Anakin’s passage started to relax and become more pliable. “I think you’re ready for another already, aren’t you, my little whore?”
Anakin nodded into the crook of his elbow and whined, nasally and desperate, wiggling his hips with eager assent.
Smack.
His ass cheek smarted with Obi-Wan’s sharp admonishment, the swat of his hand landing harshly against already tender and bruised golden flesh.
“Use your words,” Obi-Wan demanded.
“Yes, Master,” Anakin squeaked meekly.
“That’s not good enough. Ask me nicely.” Obi-Wan's voice was diamond-sharp, brilliantly tearing Anakin’s remaining resolve to shreds.
“Please, Master! I need another finger,” Anakin wailed pitifully, digging his teeth into the meat of his arm with the ferocity of his arousal searing hot traces through his oversensitive body.
“Good boy. Of course, you can have another.” Obi-Wan mocked sweetly, gently drawing his finger out of Anakin’s hole and inserting a second. He carefully undulated and scissored them to allow Anakin to get used to the stretch but deliberately avoided that sensitive nub deep inside.
Apparently, his Master was intent on having Anakin desperate and begging for it before he granted him that depth of pleasure.
“Fuck, I need you inside me right now,” Anakin whimpered brokenly, wanton shamelessness overwriting the embarrassment of the previous hours, and he desperately rocked his hips back against the firm thrusts of Obi-Wan’s fingers in his ass. He felt almost out of his mind and desperate for the pleasure that his Master’s body was promising.
Anakin needed Obi-Wan inside of him.
Right.
Now.
“Of course, my good boy. Your Master will take care of you,” Obi-Wan snarled, and Anakin could feel the exact moment that his arousal, snapping savagely at the boundary of their minds, finally shattered his Master’s already tenuous hold on his legendary control. Obi-Wan stepped back mere inches to ruck his shirt tails out of his leather trousers with such enthusiasm that Anakin could hear the seams groan with the strain. He frantically tore it open, buttons scattering like the remnants of his control throughout the cockpit, landing Force knew where with little twinkles of anticipation.
Obi-Wan breathed heavily, teeth bared and shirt hanging limply from his shoulders, as he once again pressed the naked skin of his chest to the heaving expanse of Anakin's back. Obi-Wan slithered his arms under Anakin's armpits and took a moment to nuzzle into the the nape of his neck.
Anakin attempted to match his jagged, broken breaths with the other man’s, needing his Master’s reassuring presence to calm his fluttering heart and racing mind.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan panted, desperation colouring each tumultuous exhale, his need revealed by the rustling sound of his pants zipper being drawn down agonizingly slowly, tooth by tooth by tooth. “I need you to promise you’ll tell me if anything hurts.”
“I promise, Obi-Wan. I know you’ll take care of me.” Anakin could feel the moment Obi-Wan drew himself out of those obscenely tight leather trousers, could hear the wet noises of him slicking up his cock with the remaining lubricant on his fingers. “Please—” Anakin’s breath was punched out of him as Obi-Wan lined the head of his cock up and pushed his entire length inside him with one sharp, deep thrust of his hips. “Oh fuck, ah—”
“This is what you asked for. So take it.” Obi-Wan snarled, snapping his hips forward sharply with urgency.
‘Are you alright, Padawan? Is this okay?’
The tender mental caress ghosting across his mind was a balm, a stark contrast to the rough treatment of his body, and it made him melt further into his Master’s fierce control.
‘YES.’
“Yes, more!” Anakin cried out, beside himself with the sensations overwhelming his body. Sweat, hot and slick, dripped down onto his back from where it had become dislodged from the wiry strands of Obi-Wan’s chest hair with the force of his thrusts into Anakin’s willing body. Each drop sent a cascade of shivers down his spine, and he grasped frantically at the wall, sweaty palms struggling to find purchase on the smooth durasteel.
The feeling of someone taking pleasure, freely given, from his pliant body was indescribable.
The thought must have inadvertently leaked through his shields and into their Force bond because Anakin could practically feel the sharp curve of Obi-Wan’s mouth where it was pressed into his neck.
“You like being used like a fuck doll, slut?” Fingers slithered into moisture-laden curls and tightened harshly, bending Anakin’s head back at an awkward angle so Obi-Wan could gaze directly into his blown pupils.
Anakin shrieked as Obi-Wan tightened his grip even further and used the leverage to piston his cock harder into Anakin, the sound of their hips slapping together, the sound echoing through the cockpit salaciously.
Caught as he was between Obi-Wan’s steadfast grip on his hair and the wall, Anakin had no choice but to accept the harsh treatment as Obi-Wan leaned down awkwardly to connect their lips in a kiss that was all teeth and bite.
Before Anakin could even gather his wits about him enough to return the kiss, Obi-Wan abruptly pulled out of his body. Anakin only had mere moments to feel devoid of the loss of his cock before fingers grasped and yanked him by the back of his collar, and he was dragged bodily across the cockpit towards the cramped sleeping quarters located at the back of the shuttle.
Anakin’s back hit the mattress on the bottom bunk, a small oof startled from his prone body. His Master wasted no time tearing at the laces on his boots, ripping them off his stocking-clad feet, and crawling quickly over his indecently splayed body. Forgoing the removal of his own clothes, Obi-Wan immediately zeroed in on the soaked fabric of Anakin’s underwear.
“Mmm, you’re so wet for me, Padawan,” Obi-Wan hissed under his breath, sensuously drawing his hand along the wet fabric and hard length barely contained within the thin material. Exploratory fingers turned fierce as he pointedly grasped the garment and ripped it off Anakin’s body in one smooth motion, discarding the tattered fabric carelessly somewhere over his shoulder. He ignored the rest of Anakin’s clothing, if the scant remains could even be called that, and grasped Anakin’s legs behind the knees and pushed forward, pinning him obscenely to the bed.
“Hold your left leg for me,” Obi-Wan grunted, and Anakin scrambled to obey.
Entranced, he followed Obi-Wan’s hand as it reached down to grasp himself around the base of his thick cock and guided it back into Anakin’s waiting body with a low moan.
Anakin’s eyes rolled back, mouth open with a voiceless cry.
“Anakin, look at me.” Obi-Wan hissed desperately through clenched teeth.
He forced his eyes open and was greeted with the enticing view of Obi-Wan, dishevelled and out of control with sweaty hair tangled in his face, looming above him. Hips still, he dragged his hand slowly up Anakin’s sweaty chest until he reached his neck, squeezing the long column gently with promise.
“Grab my forearm.”
“What, please, I need—”
“I know what you need. Grab my forearm. Now.” Obi-Wan grit out between clenched teeth.
Bereft of the lack of Obi-Wan’s glorious cock within his body, Anakin did as he was told, and grasped Obi-Wan’s forearm—the one with the hand now wrapped around his neck, just above the line of his collar.
Sharp, determined eyes scrutinized him seriously. “If it gets to be too much, let go of my arm, and I’ll stop immediately.”
Realization dawned on Anakin.
Obi-Wan was going to choke him.
‘Yes. Fuck yes, Master. Yesyesyesyes please…’ Anakin practically flooded their bond with his approval, desperately trying to convey his eagerness.
Finally, Obi-Wan started driving his hips into Anakin again, this with a steady, deep motion aimed directly at his prostate. With each thrust forward, his hand tightened carefully around Anakin’s neck.
His vision started to blur around the edges and sparks danced lazily along the backs of his eyelids, echoing the fuzzy pleasure pebbling across his skin and mind. Anakin’s mouth opened and he gasped harshly, throat desperately working and failing to pull a full breath in around the gradually tightening grasp of Obi-Wan’s fingers on his throat.
Anakin was too far gone and despite the fact that he couldn’t physically verbalize it, he was sure that Obi-Wan was able to feel his red-hot pleasure starting to peak within their bond. His lips curled around an attempt to vocalize Obi-Wan’s name as the dam broke and he was tossed violently over the edge as he came untouched, a wicked kaleidoscope of colours exploding behind tightly clenched eyelids. His hand released Obi-Wan’s forearm, desperate for a full breath with the intensity of the orgasm spilling between their stomachs.
Obi-Wan cursed violently—though Anakin was unable to parse out exactly what he said through the thick, syrupy feelings overtaking his thoughts—and immediately released his grip on Anakin’s neck, aggressively planting his hand into the mattress next to Anakin’s head for better leverage. His hips started to piston forward brutally and he drove himself deep one last time and came with a full body shudder inside Anakin’s grasping hole.
The force of Obi-Wan’s orgasm stole the breath out of his lungs. Anakin weakly leaned up to connect their mouths, desperate to taste the pleasure on his Master’s tongue. Bodies violently heaving, they collapsed against one another, sharing harsh panting gasps between wet lips.
Breaking the kiss, Obi-Wan groaned out a muffled, “fucking hell, Anakin,” into the space between their heaving mouths, before collapsing tiredly to nuzzle his face into Anakin’s neck.
They lay there panting, no more words needing to be uttered. Anakin marvelled at the sensations still coursing through his body and buzzing under his skin like static. He struggled to control his erratic breathing, to find his way back to solid ground from the fuzzy out-of-body headspace he was currently inhabiting, by focusing on the heavy weight of Obi-Wan’s body laying atop his own and their spend cooling between the rise and fall of their stomachs.
So that’s what all of the fuss was about.
Anakin wanted to do it with Obi-Wan again.
Catching the tail end of that thought through their bond, Obi-Wan let out what was likely an attempt at a chuckle but ended up coming out as more of a choked wheeze as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Likewise, Anakin,” he muttered hoarsely, rolling off of Anakin’s prone body and onto his back before hauling Anakin’s limp body on top of his own in a surprisingly smooth motion.
Anakin let himself be bodily moved, propping himself up on his forearms on his Master’s chest to meet his gaze, “Really?” he demurred coyly.
“Obviously. I know you haven’t realized it yet, but I think many people would like to do that with you.” Obi-Wan murmured, averting his gaze but rubbing both sweaty palms affectionately down the elegant curve of Anakin’s spine.
“Actually?” Anakin perked up slightly before clocking the hesitant and resigned look on Obi-Wan’s face, an expression he was sure the other man didn’t even realize he wore. Anakin furrowed his brow, considering. “But I don’t think I’d be comfortable doing that with anyone else. Only you.”
Obi-Wan smiled, one of his genuine, barely there grins that still somehow managed to illuminate his entire face. “You know that we shouldn’t make comments like that. But I appreciate the sentiment and trust, Anakin, truly.” Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around the other’s languorous body and squeezed him in a tight, brief hug before releasing his grip. He lazily traced shapes down the cooling sweat along the length of Anakin’s vertebrate, stopping when he reached the younger man’s ass to give it a sharp squeeze. “We should get cleaned up.”
Anakin jumped and squeaked as keen fingers inadvertently dug into deepening bruises in their quest to explore as much of his skin as possible. The throbbing pain shot directly to his groin, and surprised by the arousal it garnered, he moaned shamelessly, rocking his hips and his slowly reawakening arousal into Obi-Wan’s.
Obi-Wan, keen and observant as ever, noticed the reaction. “Do you like when I do that, Ani?” he queried slyly, grasping the supple flesh tighter in his strong calloused palms.
“Hell yeah,” Anakin breathed, tossing all inhibition into the wind and wantonly rocking his hips harder against Obi-Wan’s when he felt the other man’s flesh start to stiffen against his body. “And I think you do too. Maybe I should take you up on your offer. Like, right now.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan admonished with a disbelieving huff of air. “I’m not a young man anymore. I don’t think I’ll be able to go again so quickly.”
“Now who's being coy, old man? Someone down here seems pretty interested.” Anakin murmured brazenly, fingers snaking between their bodies to grasp hot, pulsing flesh.
The other man groaned, eyes and head simultaneously rolling back as if he’d momentarily forgotten himself with the tight pressure around his length distracting him. But after a moment, Obi-Wan grunted, gathering his composure, before roughly shoving Anakin off his body and face down onto the mattress. He wasted no time crawling over the other’s prone form, simultaneously grinding his erection into the other man’s sore ass and biting down hard on his trapezius.
That was going to leave a mark tomorrow.
Good.
He wanted to be covered in his Master’s marks.
At Anakin’s moan, his Master chuckled, speaking around teeth clenched into needy flesh. “I take that back. I’ll fuck you again, Padawan, and you’ll take it like the needy whore you are.”
Without preamble, Obi-Wan reared back and finally divested himself of his clothing and grasped himself around the base of his hard cock, lined himself up with Anakin’s loose hole, wet with his spend, and thrust forward into his welcoming body.
After their second round, Obi-Wan all but collapsed against the wall of the bunk and eagerly curled around as much of Anakin’s overheated skin as he could get his hands on. He buried his nose in the boy’s hair, greedily inhaling the scent of his musk and sweat trapped in the tousled strands. The boy eagerly curled closer to his Master’s body, seeking the offered comfort and security…
… he’d made his Padawan kneel for him.
Obi-Wan sighed deeply and wrapped his arms more protectively around Anakin’s relaxed body. The exaggerated movement drew the shivering body of his overwhelmed Padawan even tighter against him, where Anakin was sprawled back-to-chest between Obi-Wan’s splayed thighs. He could feel the exhausted delight and gratification rolling off the boy in waves…
… he’d mistreated his Padawan, had purposely left marks on his skin.
The pads of his fingers pressed firmly into Anakin's skin as Obi-Wan clutched the younger man’s body even closer. The heightened emotions and experiences of the past two days were finally starting to catch up with him; Obi-Wan needed the reassuring heat of Anakin’s skin against his own. Otherwise he feared he would float away, unmoored in his absence. Anakin’s fingers slipped dexterously on top of his own, causing Obi-Wan’s grip to tighten on his skin as though he couldn’t get enough of his touch…
… he’d humiliated his Padawan, had made him cry.
Absent-mindedly, he let the fingers of one hand trace ambiguous shapes down the boy's stomach and dip into his belly button and reversed to retrace their path up shuddering, pebbled skin. Obi-Wan felt sleepy and sated, and yet…
He’d fucked his Padawan, had used him in ways that a Master should never use their Padawan.
… and yet, the feelings of insecurity, shame, and discomfort were starting to thread their way greedily through their bubble of warmth and satisfaction.
How could he?
He was a menace for harbouring such depraved desires.
He should immediately resign from the Jedi Order, find some way to atone for his horrific actions—
“... Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan jerked sharply, his Padawan’s soft and raspy voice immediately pulling him from the trajectory of his spiralling thoughts. He cleared his throat twice before he managed to speak somewhat clearly. “Yes, Anakin? What’s wrong, dear one?”
“Are you okay? You feel… strange in the Force right now.” Anakin murmured, nosing affectionately against his collarbone, his breath tickling the cooling sweat on his skin.
Obi-Wan shivered and inhaled sharply. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m… I’m just experiencing a bit of post-scene drop, I think.”
“What’s that?”
The older Jedi smiled softly, expression lost in the younger man's hair, at his Padawan’s sweet, endearing innocence. “Well, some desires can come with a lot of shame and guilt when we act upon them.”
Anakin jerked up and twisted around in Obi-Wan’s arms to meet his Master’s gaze with concern, “So you regret touching me? Then why…” he blurted out, eyes round hurt.
“Please let me finish,” Obi-Wan admonished gently. “The guilt and shame are more so attached to the desires themselves, not whom we act on them with. I’m a pacifist at heart and yet, I foster intense sadistic desires to hurt and control when I’m intimate with my partners. It’s only natural for me to feel a sense of shame and regret after… bearing witness to what I’m capable of inflicting on someone. It’s perfectly natural to struggle with that dichotomy and why we must care for our partners properly after a scene. Does that make sense?”
Anakin blinked and nodded slowly.
“Drop goes both ways, Anakin,” Obi-Wan continued, voice gentle and soft. “You might be feeling some of it yourself, or it might not hit you until later. It can also manifest differently from person to person. Mine appears as guilt and shame, but yours could manifest some other way. I need you to honestly communicate how you’re feeling over the next few days and immediately let me know if you need anything. Promise?”
“I promise, Master,” Anakin affirmed. “What do you need right now?” he asked, resting an open palm on Obi-Wan’s cheek.
Obi-Wan laid his hand on top of Anakin’s and nuzzled his face affectionately into his Padawan’s palm.
What did he ever do to earn such a caring, sweet boy?
“I…” he paused to gather his scattered, spiralling thoughts. “I’d like to check in with you… to fuss over you a bit. And… just hold you for a bit.”
“Absolutely Obi-Wan, anything.”
“Thank you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, turning to press a brief kiss to the palm of Anakin’s hand. “Now, how are you feeling, my dear?”
Anakin hummed in consideration as he shuffled to resettle, this time curled up against Obi-Wan’s chest, gentle fingers caressing his Master’s silky chest hair. “I… I think I feel okay? I’m exhausted and sore in places I didn’t even know could be sore, but I like it.”
“Good. Let me know if that changes.” Obi-Wan murmured, running his hand down Anakin’s side to rest on his thigh, where he could feel the heat radiating from abused skin against his palm. Slowly, he tracked each bruise, scratch, and bite in his line of sight, first with his gaze and then with the tips of his fingers as though retracing his touches across Anakin’s flesh. Guilt at seeing the consequences of his depravity in the heat of the moment was still very much rearing its ugly, wicked head. Though the unpleasant feeling was rapidly being overshadowed by Anakin’s extreme satisfaction radiating through their Force bond, which shone like a light amplified in a room full of mirrors. He couldn’t help but allow himself to feel pleased with the sight of his ownership littering Anakin’s body. “I should put some bacta on your bruises.”
“No way! I earned them and will riot if you try to heal them. Try me.” Anakin stated indignantly before ducking his head and continuing shyly, “I… also like seeing your marks on my body. It makes me feel… loved. Cherished.”
The words were simple, but warmth flooded Obi-Wan’s body at their implication. He wrapped his arms tighter around his Padawan’s body and tucked the boy's head beneath his chin. “Oh Ani, I…” he started before trailing off hesitantly. Instead of trying to parse coherent words out of hopelessly jumbled thoughts, he lifted the hand resting on Anakin’s thigh. A bottle of water and a ration bar quickly zipped into the room, which he gently floated into Anakin’s hands. “Your blood sugar is probably low after all of that… exertion. Eat.”
“Blatant misuse of the Force, Master. You’re setting a bad example for your poor, impressionable Padawan.” Anakin feigned annoyance, a poor mockery of his Master’s usual lecturing tone.
Obi-Wan snorted at his Padawan’s antics. “Quiet, you fiend. I’m comfortable and can’t bring myself to care right now.”
Anakin chuckled and shook his head with exasperation, the movement shaking Obi-Wan’s body as he reached for the proffered items. The wrapper of the ration bar crinkled sharply in the bubble of silence in the bunk as he removed it and took a large bite. “Exertion, hah. If that’s what we’re calling what we just did,” Anakin muttered between bites of food. He broke off a piece of the bar and pressed it against Obi-Wan’s lips. “You need to eat too.”
Butterflies, colourful and brilliant, burst to life in the pit of Obi-Wan’s stomach at his Padawan’s casual regard, and he was all but helpless to obey. Obi-Wan opened his mouth and grabbed the bar with his teeth, winking affectionately as his tongue curled around Anakin’s fingers when he pulled back.
Anakin flushed bashfully and ducked his head to take a sip of water to cover the reaction. He cleared his throat and passed the water to Obi-Wan before starting again. “Well, uh… what do we do now?”
Obi-Wan took a sip of the water to give him time to consider Anakin’s words. There were two paths forward: go back to the way they were before and forget everything that happened over the past two days, or… “We should probably address the bantha in the room, preferably before it becomes more than a simple nuisance.”
Anakin gawked in mock chagrin. “Master, are you calling me a nuisance?”
“Yes, but that’s beside the point,” Obi-Wan countered with an amused smirk, using humour to cut through the thick tension that had suddenly closed in around them. “I’m referring to the fact that I just put my dick inside you. Twice.”
“MASTER!” Anakin squawked, this time with genuine surprise, and smacked Obi-Wan’s bare chest. “What… I—I didn’t know that you were capable of being so… vulgar!”
“One of the many benefits of gracing my bed.” Anakin’s shock at his uncharacteristic crassness was palatable in the Force, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help the wide grin that pulled at the muscles in his cheeks. It lasted all of a moment before his features settled back into a more sombre expression. “I was referring to where we should go from here, now that I… that we’ve… well.” Obi-Wan faltered uncharacteristically and averted his eyes.
“We should explore this, see where it takes us,” Anakin stated matter-of-factly.
“Anakin, the Code—”
“Screw the Code.” Anakin spat. “We’re about to go to war, Obi-Wan, and it’s not going to be pretty. Either of us could lose the other at any time, and I don’t like the thought of waking up one morning without you and having regrets.”
Obi-Wan surged forward, threading the fingers of both hands through Anakin’s hair at the base of his skull, forcing him to meet his heavy gaze by pressing their foreheads together. “No, Anakin. If we do this, we need to figure out how to honour our commitment to the Code and the Order at the same time.”
Anakin raised his hands, resting them on top of Obi-Wan’s. “And just how are we going to do that when the Code strictly forbids attachment?”
Obi-Wan’s breath faltered. “Honestly, Anakin, I haven’t the slightest clue. I think we should start by figuring out how to balance our responsibilities as Jedi and to each other. We must put the Order and the safety of the galaxy before our commitment to one another. Is that something you’re prepared to do?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes, Master. For now, anyway.”
“Good. That’s all I can ask.” Obi-Wan murmured, finally closing the space between them and brushing a chaste kiss against Anakin’s lips. “Now that I’ve gotten to experience you, your body… your pleasure, I don’t think I would have been able to keep my hands off of you had we decided otherwise.”
“Obi-Wan!” Anakin yelped, blushing furiously and slapping a palm over his mouth. “You can’t just say things like that!”
“You’ll find I can, darling,” Obi-Wan drawled, muffled from behind Anakin’s palm, “and besides, I do it because I love hearing the way you say my name.”
“I guess I’ll allow it.” Anakin huffed indignantly and removed his hand, a wide yawn interrupting the response.
Obi-Wan wrapped his arms securely around his Padawan’s waist and quickly flipped them over so that Anakin was on his back on the mattress. He leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve a blanket from the floor—carelessly dislodged during their impassioned frenzy—and pulled it over their bodies as he nestled into Anakin’s side. He slung one arm and leg possessively over his Padawan’s body as though he could hide him and protect him from the rest of the world outside the shuttle.
“Sleep, Padawan. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
The shuttle ride home had been a sinful blur of ardour and realization.
Three days of constant play and sex and exploration of every inch of each other's bodies. Of sweaty, sated limbs tangled together as they trembled, panted, and reassured the other with soft touches as they floated in and out of awareness. Of reverent caresses of skin against skin while washing away the evidence of their mutual pleasure in the shuttle's small refresher.
It was like they were physically incapable of taking their hands off of one another. Their undercover ruse had opened a door that neither had realized was even there in the first place, one that couldn’t be closed now that it had burst wide open at the hinges.
Obi-Wan had taken his time and explored every inch of Anakin’s golden skin and long legs with both gentle and rough caresses. He had mapped out the entire expanse of his Padawan’s musky, sweet-smelling flesh with soft swipes of his tongue and the sharp sting of his teeth. He had set out to find out exactly how many different exclamations of pleasure he could draw out of Anakin.
Obi-Wan hadn’t realized he still possessed that kind of stamina.
Apparently, Anakin brought out both the best and worst in him, and he was intent on seeing what other unknowns Anakin could coax out of him.
Even the necessity of preparing the shuttle to land on Coruscant and disembarking at the Temple hadn’t managed to fully curb their desires for each other's pleasure and presence.
Before they had reluctantly donned their Jedi robes, Obi-Wan had insisted that Anakin wear a black silicone plug in his sloppy hole. He attempted to convince himself that the order was practical; he wanted to keep Anakin open and ready for him, as Obi-Wan had every intent to ravage him again once they had completed their debriefing with the Council. Although selfishly, he relished the idea of Anakin walking around with Obi-Wan’s spend indecently contained within his hungry body.
Which is how they ended up in front of the Council, Anakin stretched full of silicone and their mutual depravity. Obi-Wan struggled to maintain his composure and decorum that was usually second nature to him, but the knowledge that Anakin was wearing his collar and Obi-Wan’s marks on his skin underneath layers of Jedi robes very nearly managed to break his usual air of indifference.
Feeling impish, Obi-Wan pushed an image of Anakin blindfolded and spread eagle on his back in his bed, arms and legs tied securely to each of the four posts with cords of scarlet rope through their bond. Obi-Wan observed the man keenly out of the corner of his eye as he did so, a wicked smile almost blossoming on his lips as Anakin visibly shuddered—though his voice did not falter—as he continued to give his portion of the mission report to the Council.
Anakin flicked him harshly through the bond in retaliation as he finished speaking, and Obi-Wan turned his head to the side just enough to catch the matching grin dancing across plush lips in his peripheral vision.
His Padawan was going to be the death of him.
Something fundamental had changed for them on that mission. Well, maybe changed wasn’t the right way to describe it, as that something had likely always existed in some form. That something definitely didn’t start out that way, but it grew and matured over time, as both Master and Padawan-come-Knight had grown into their own, and had been irreparably altered by the war. Maybe that mission had been a blessing in disguise and had forced them to acknowledge the feelings that had been lurking underneath the surface, untapped and full of potential.
Would they have ever ended up here, where they were now, if they hadn’t ended up on Orta unprepared?
“Master?”
Ahsoka’s voice from across the room broke Obi-Wan out of his internal musings. He took a careful sip of his much too hot tea, burning his mouth in his attempt to hide his distraction, and turned his attention to his Padawan’s Padawan.
“Why do you still call Obi-Wan ‘Master’ all the time? You’ve been a knight like… forever at this point.” Ahsoka asked, narrowed eyes focused intently on Anakin.
Anakin snorted and then choked slightly on the harsh noise. “Well, it’s a hard habit to kick, especially after being the old geezer’s Padawan for thirteen years. Not to mention the fact that he still acts like I’m his Padawan.”
“Well, maybe if you stopped acting like a Padawan, I’d stop calling you one,” Obi-Wan deadpanned. He levelled an outwardly serious glare at Anakin, but he was sure the other man could feel his amusement, underlaid by anticipation bouncing around like energized atoms within their bond. Further buried underneath, Anakin could sense Obi-Wan’s awe and amazement at being permitted this depth of connection with him, though Anakin suspected that the other man hadn’t meant to share that private thought.
‘Insolent brat. You’ll be punished for that later.’
‘Wizard. Why do you think I said it in the first place?’
‘Mmm, good thing that your old Master is still around to take care of you.’
This is how things ended, with two luminous beings gravitationally bound like binary stars, destined to find solace in each other's arms.