Work Text:
“Anakin?”
Anakin felt…different, in the Force. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He remembered how Anakin had felt back when Obi-Wan had still referred to him as Darth Vader, before he’d learnt his true name – of course, to hear Anakin tell it, they’d known each other in the Force even longer than that – and this wasn’t that. Obi-Wan also, now, knew how Anakin felt when he was happy or sad or asleep or in pain, and this wasn’t exactly any of those, either, although it was also a little bit of all of them at once.
Obi-Wan pushed the door to Anakin’s assigned recovery room in the Halls of Healing open a little wider. The lights were off, both in the room and in the hallway that led to it, but there was a window in the room and there was just enough light coming through it, despite the rainstorm raging outside on a blustery Coruscant night, to make out the shape of a figure clad all in white lying on a bed, made up in crisp white sheets. It was a very small bed, and Anakin the very opposite of a small person, but despite this he’d somehow managed to tuck himself into one corner of it, as if trying to take up as little space as possible. A stark white sheet was pulled up to his neck, but above it Obi-Wan could make out a mop of curly brown hair (even the Darth Vader mask had not been enough to tame Anakin’s natural curls, although it did leave them sweaty and plastered to his head if he wore it too long) and even the dark sweep of Anakin’s long eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks.
Obi-Wan let himself pause in the doorway – he appreciated the respite; he’d done his best approximation of a jog from the hangar straight to the Halls – transferring his weight from the door handle and his cane to the door jamb he’d exposed as he’d pushed the door open, and let himself bask in the reassurance that was watching Anakin’s chest rise and fall. Ahsoka had assured him over comms that Anakin was injured but alive, stable, and expected to make a full recovery (well, from this particular injury, at least), but it was better to get to see it with his own eyes.
Anakin’s eyes fluttered open and Obi-Wan was caught between relief and concern. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” he hurried to ask, as Anakin found his gaze from across the room.
“I knew you were coming,” Anakin whispered back, which in no way answered Obi-Wan’s question. He freed one hand from the bedsheets – his left – and reached toward Obi-Wan in the doorway, although Obi-Wan could not help but notice Anakin did not seem to be able to extend his arm all the way, nor did he miss the hitch in Anakin’s breath as the motion tugged on some other, more injured, body part.
Still, Obi-Wan pushed off from the wall, regained his footing – he was, truly, very tired – and began to shuffle toward Anakin, one hand around the head of his cane and the other outstretched, with the aim of meeting Anakin halfway, lest he stretch and injure himself any further.
Obi-Wan was not fast, unless he used the Force to assist his movements, and he’d already used up quite a bit of that allotment today already. They had a moment, while they both waited for Obi-Wan to finish limping his way to Anakin’s side, and as he crossed the room Obi-Wan had time enough to tease, “I leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens. You go and take on a Sith Lord by yourself.”
Anakin smiled. He looked tired, wan and pale but happy, too. Obi-Wan knew how lucky he was to be privy to so much of Anakin’s joy.
(It had gotten dicey, toward the end. Anakin was in effect serving as a double agent, continuing to carry out his duties as a general in the CIS and reporting to Sidious, while also feeding intel to the Republic and the Jedi. He could have been caught red-handed with military secrets in his pockets, or someone high-ranking might finally have noticed that Darth Vader, usually such an exemplary pilot and marksman, had been missing quite a few shots against Republic ships lately, or any one of the almost a million clone troopers who’d quietly had their brain chips removed – on Anakin’s advice – might have accidentally spilled the truth about the clandestine surgeries to the wrong person at the wrong moment. Any one of a vast number of slip-ups, malicious or not, would have collapsed the entire operation. What Obi-Wan worried about the most, though, was Palpatine noticing the change in Anakin himself. Anakin’s joy was so loud, in the Force, and infectious to everyone around him, and Anakin had to put in fiery yellow and orange contact lenses every time he met with his Master to hide his beautiful sea-blue eyes. How could Palpatine not have noticed the change in him, Obi-Wan had asked just a few weeks prior. He is supposed to be a master manipulator and a Sith Lord to boot. How are you hiding your true self? Anakin had simply sighed, shrugged his bruised shoulders, and admitted, “My pain is even louder.”)
“I wasn’t by myself,” Anakin protested. His voice was weaker than usual. Partly, surely, from whispering so they weren’t so easily overheard, but Obi-Wan also made a mental note to check on it with his Healer later. “Windu, Fisto, Tiin, and Kolar were with me.”
Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief as he finally took Anakin’s hand in his. That was good. That was very, very good. (Anakin’s hand was cold, clammy, and faintly trembling against Obi-Wan’s, which was less good, and Obi-Wan immediately started to rub this thumb across the back of it, trying to warm Anakin up.)
“Of course,” Anakin said with a mischievous smile and a tug on Obi-Wan’s hand clearly meant to convey that he wanted Obi-Wan to sit down next to him on the space on the bed Obi-Wan only now understood had been intended for him all along, “Windu might regret volunteering. He matches me, now.”
With that, Anakin rolled slightly onto his back, which jostled the bed sheets and blankets enough to expose the stump of his right arm, which was carefully bandaged in yet more pristine white wrappings.
It took Obi-Wan a moment to understand what he was seeing. He’d never seen Anakin’s arm without its prosthetic attachment before. It took him yet another moment beyond that to notice, in the darkness, the web of angry red scarring radiating out from a nexus point underneath the bandages and spreading out across Anakin’s shoulder, up to his neck, and down his torso, or at least down the bit of torso Obi-Wan could see without pulling the blankets back entirely.
Obi-Wan settled more heavily on the bed, perched on the side of it, and held Anakin’s hand firmly in his lap while with his other hand he stretched to prop his cane against the bedside table. The table had a glass of water and a pitcher, also containing water, already on it, and Obi-Wan realized he was thirsty and bought himself some time by drinking half of the water from the glass, then refilling it from the pitcher, all before turning to Anakin once again.
“What’s all this?” he asked, as lightly as he could. His first thought was to lay his hand over Anakin’s scars and feel them for himself, then realized that might be uncomfortable for him and stopped, his hand now hovering a few inches from Anakin’s skin, which was shiny from the copious application of bacta ointment.
“Force lightning burns,” Anakin said lightly, still whispering, as if they were of no consequence. “Palpatine got cornered and brought out the big guns.” He blinked up at Obi-Wan. “We thought he would.”
Obi-Wan nodded, because of course they’d discussed that possibility, but Obi-Wan had always imagined he’d be fighting by Anakin’s side when it happened, not halfway around the galaxy. Obi-Wan felt his mouth set in a thin, unhappy line as he took in more of the raised, angry webbed markings on Anakin’s already scarred skin. He was so young, and had already been through so much.
Obi-Wan had somehow felt, nearly from the moment they’d met, that they belonged together. That Anakin understood him in ways no one else ever had, that despite being a Jedi and a Sith they shared the same sense of humor, that Obi-Wan felt comfortable in Anakin’s presence (even when he was being difficult, prickly, evasive, overly sensitive, annoying) in a way that he hadn’t realized, before meeting Anakin, that he’d been missing in every other area of his life.
The galaxy simply looked…brighter, when Anakin was around. Obi-Wan smiled more. He laughed more. He slept more soundly each night with Anakin beside him than he ever had without him, even on nights when Anakin’s nightmares kept them both up long past dawn, and he looked forward to each morning, curious as to what new and interesting challenge the new day would bring.
And none of it was against the Jedi Code – “joy,” Obi-Wan had told Anakin once, “is evidence that you are doing something right, not that you are doing something wrong” – but Obi-Wan also knew he had to tread carefully. Anakin had lived more in his (likely) twenty-three years of life than any three people did in their entire lifetimes, but he was still a young man, incredibly well-traveled yet still naïve in so many ways, a cold-blooded murderer with a fragile, easily broken heart, who could crush his enemies without blinking yet had burst into tears the first time Obi-Wan had hugged him. (And the second. And the third. Anakin cried quite a bit.)
Anakin, who right now seemed to be taking Obi-Wan’s frown as evidence that Obi-Wan was somehow angry with him. “My prosthetic is shot and the Healers said my chest’ll scar but otherwise I’m okay,” he said quickly.
Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how true that exactly was. Anakin was not known for being perfectly honest about the extent of his own injuries. If they truly were nothing, he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed right then. Obi-Wan held his hand a little tighter. “I realize it was likely an emergency, but I do…” He had to swallow, suddenly overcome with emotion, and tried again. “I do wish you had waited for me,” he finished.
Anakin gave him a crooked smile. “Well. I had to have some fun while you were on Utapau.”
Obi-Wan tried to smile back, but he wasn’t really in the mood to be teased. He was very well-aware of his body’s limitations and how little help he would have been even if he had been present in the Chancellor’s office that evening, but he also could not help seeing a vision of Anakin, broken and bloodied on the Senate chamber floor, breathing out his last without Obi-Wan there to say goodbye.
But Obi-Wan’s fears weren’t Anakin’s burdens to bear. “I killed Grievous,” Obi-Wan said instead, and he reached out with the hand that wasn’t twisted tightly around Anakin’s remaining fingers and smoothed Anakin’s hair back from his face, fanning it out over the white pillow he was lying on.
“I know,” Anakin said.
“Ahsoka told you?” Obi-Wan guessed. He knew his Padawan had already stopped by to check on Anakin in person, and they had to have discussed something while she was there. Satisfied with Anakin’s hair, Obi-Wan slid his hand down to cup Anakin’s cheek in his palm, so he felt it against his skin when Anakin shook his head.
“I felt it happen,” he said.
“You felt…” Obi-Wan felt like he, personally, had just unexpectedly stepped off a cliff and into empty air. There was no logical explanation for how Anakin could conceivably be doing that, yet he somehow was. Obi-Wan understood how someone as special as Anakin would be invaluable to a Sith Lord. He also understood how lucky he was that Anakin had turned his back on that man and chosen Obi-Wan instead.
“That’s my wonderful boy,” Obi-Wan said warmly, and he bent forward at the waist and twisted to the side, aiming to place a kiss on Anakin’s forehead, only Anakin sensed he was coming and tilted his chin up at the last moment so that Obi-Wan ended up kissing the plumpest part of Anakin’s pouty lower lip.
“Anakin…” Obi-Wan warned, chiding, as he pulled away, but Anakin was already speaking over him.
“There’s room for you here,” he said, ignoring Obi-Wan’s protest, and he let go of Obi-Wan’s hand and reached around, over his hip, patting the (very narrow) section of hospital bed behind him. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
(That was the first thing Anakin, who was still going by Darth Vader then, had ever said to him. His modified voice had rattled out from behind the fearsome black mask and suit: “We meet at last. I’ve been waiting for you, Obi-Wan.”)
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. Hopefully, that would help him ignore the suggestive, hopeful look Anakin – this Anakin, his Anakin - was now giving him. “You mean to…for me to lie down and hold you, yes? Very quietly? Seeing as we are in the middle of a busy hospital, and you are currently an admitted patient.”
Anakin rolled his eyes. “Barely. It’s just for observation. I get to leave tomorrow morning.” He brightened. “We’re having breakfast with my mom!”
“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, then quickly steeled his face into something that (hopefully) looked to an outside observer like ‘pleasant surprise’. “That’s…good news.”
It wasn’t that Obi-Wan didn’t like Anakin’s mother. He did, quite a bit. She was an easy person to like. He also liked what she represented. Anakin had used a few well-timed Force suggestions (‘mind tricks’, as he crudely called them) to get his mother included on a slave transport from Hutt-controlled space to an Imperial work camp on Karthon, and Obi-Wan had led a Republic-sanctioned rescue mission to liberate Karthon. Only a few of the rescued slaves had elected to come to Coruscant, but Anakin’s mother was one of them, and it was that mission that had solidified Anakin’s defection from Palpatine in all but name. (Getting the Council - everyone other than Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, at least - to trust him and his intel had taken quite a bit longer.)
No, the problem was that Shmi Skywalker seemed, at best, cool towards Obi-Wan. He knew that he was quite a bit older than Anakin – Obi-Wan was closer in age to Shmi than he was to her son, which was a fact he tried not to think about too often – and a Jedi, a group Shmi understandably had some complicated feelings about.
And, well…by the time Shmi and Anakin had been reunited, Anakin was already all but attached to Obi-Wan at the hip. Shmi hadn’t seen her son since he was a small child, and now, when they were finally together again, she also had to deal with the fact that Anakin (at first by decree, later, by choice) hardly went further than two or three feet away from a much-older Jedi who Anakin, confusingly, also occasionally called Master. Palpatine had already stolen her son once; Obi-Wan couldn’t blame her for worrying that Obi-Wan was doing the same thing all over again. But they did their best to get along. For Anakin’s sake.
“Yeah,” Anakin said dreamily, and Obi-Wan let out an internal sigh of relief, which of course immediately dissipated once Anakin spoke again, holding very intense eye contact all the while. “And no. I mean for sex. Well, you can hold me after the sex, obviously. But first I really want the sex. You were gone for a long time, Obi-Wan,” he whined, and even threw in a pouty bottom lip for good measure. “And I opened myself up for you already and everything.”
Obi-Wan blinked at him. Then he blinked again. “When?” he finally asked, momentarily forgetting to whisper, and then involuntarily shushed himself. “With all that free time you had between killing a Sith, saving Master Windu, getting injured, and visiting with Ahsoka and your mother?” he hissed.
“I didn’t save all of Master Windu,” Anakin muttered under his breath.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said firmly. Anakin sometimes had trouble focusing. (Of course, other times, he focused far, far too well, and forgot to eat. Or sleep. Or drink water.)
“Right, right. Okay.” Anakin rolled slightly onto his front on the bed, resting his bandaged chest against Obi-Wan’s hip, and at the same time reached behind himself and flipped the blankets aside, revealing his bare ass. The hospital attire they’d put him in clearly attached at the back, and Anakin had left it open, exposing everything from the small of his back all the way down to the backs of his knees before his calves and feet disappeared under the sheets again. He craned his neck to look triumphantly up at Obi-Wan and waggle his eyebrows suggestively.
It was all Obi-Wan could to do to repeat, “Anakin,” again. He only just barely refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose, a gesture Anakin hated.
Anakin’s pout got deeper. “You don’t want me like this?”
Obi-Wan really did roll his eyes then. “You’re injured. I’m trying to think about your health and best interest, darling. There will be other times.”
“I need you now,” Anakin countered, breezing right past Obi-Wan’s reference to his (many) injuries. “I almost died. You almost died.”
“That’s not –”
“And, we’re Jedi.” Anakin added smugly, without waiting for Obi-Wan to respond. “The door is shut. We’ll be able to tell if anyone’s coming,” he said, and took Obi-Wan’s breath away.
It wasn’t, really, about the (self-serving) argument Anakin was only half-heartedly making. It was that, for the very first time, Obi-Wan had just heard Anakin refer to himself as a Jedi.
That was the difference, Obi-Wan suddenly realized. He was feeling Anakin without the influence of Sidious in his head for the first time, and had been since he’d landed back on Coruscant.
“Seems a shame to waste all that work, doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan said, as mildly as he could manage, and he got to watch Anakin’s whole face light up as he let out a gasp of delighted surprise.
“Would you –”
“Try not to talk too much or I’ll change my mind,” Obi-Wan chided as he got to his feet, and Anakin closed his mouth with an audible snap but he also managed to gloat, a smug, satisfied smile spreading out across his face as Obi-Wan picked his cane back up again.
Anakin’s gaze followed him as Obi-Wan shuffled around the bed, ending up with his neck twisted over his shoulder at an angle that looked like it was probably very uncomfortable, even laying aside all the discomfort Anakin was probably already in.
“Just watch; you’ll end up having some sort of orgasm-induced…hives, or something, and then everyone will know that we couldn’t wait until you were properly released,” Obi-Wan grumbled, mostly to take his attention off of how exhausted he suddenly found himself. (Excited, though, too, both at the idea of touching Anakin again after days apart but also the illicit nature of what they were doing and where they were doing it. Obi-Wan vaguely wondered if that was his excitement and arousal, or Anakin’s, or a combination of both of theirs, and then decided it didn’t really matter and let the thought go.)
“Hasn’t been a problem before,” Anakin pointed out.
“Yes, well, you’ve never fought and killed a Sith Lord before, either, so who’s to say.” Obi-Wan had finally made it around the foot of the bed and sat down heavily, this time directly next to Anakin’s bare backside. He allowed himself a moment to sit and rest, but also took his free hand and rested it on Anakin’s hip, rubbing the soft, pale skin he found there with his fingertips.
“You have,” Anakin reminded him from over his shoulder, then frowned and attempted to roll onto his back. “I want to see you, Obi-Wan. I don’t like this.”
“You suggested this,” Obi-Wan reminded him, keeping him in place with the pressure of his hand. (Anakin really wasn’t fighting that hard; he would have been able to overpower Obi-Wan if he’d put his mind to it.) “And don’t…wiggle around so much. You’ll wipe all your bacta off.”
“I used bacta for…that, too,” Anakin said, waggling his fingers in the air and throwing a very pointed look in the direction of his own ass. Obi-Wan got the message.
“What, the Healers wouldn’t give you any lube? How scandalous,” Obi-Wan teased, pinching a sliver of Anakin’s skin good-naturedly before letting go.
The sarcasm, as usual, went right over Anakin’s head. “I didn’t ask for any,” he answered, very seriously. “Should I have?”
Obi-Wan snorted. “Force, no.” He figured his ‘rest’ had lasted long enough, and let go, a little reluctantly, of Anakin’s warm body and bent to remove his own boots.
“I used three fingers,” Anakin narrated, watching Obi-Wan’s hands in fascination and licking his lips. “It’s better when I have two hands, but…”
“That’s very good,” Obi-Wan praised. (It had taken Anakin a while to get brave enough to admit that there were some positions he didn’t like, and some things that Obi-Wan did that Anakin would rather he didn’t, and Obi-Wan praised him to the skies every time he was honest enough to admit that he was uncomfortable or wanted to move or shift or change. They were getting better at it. It was a work in progress.)
After removing his boots, Obi-Wan then sat up and started working on the robes and belt and tunics that adorned the top of his body. Despite the fact that Anakin wore very similar (if darker) layers, he watched in rapt fascination as Obi-Wan shed various articles of clothing, folding them as he went.
“I laid this way so that you don’t have to lay on your bad leg,” Anakin said, just as Obi-Wan grasped the hem of his undertunic and lifted it over his head. “If you don’t want to.”
“Thank you; that’s very considerate of you,” Obi-Wan said, from inside his shirt. Count Dooku – formerly a Jedi, and Obi-Wan’s grandmaster – had sliced him through the thigh three years previously, during the Battle of Geonosis (later to be known as the First Battle of Geonosis, so as not to be confused with the Second Battle of Geonosis or the Third Battle of Geonosis), and it had healed well enough but still bothered him, sometimes, and moreso when he was tired. Anakin, when he wanted to be, could be exceptionally accommodating. (He could also be exceptionally annoying. It was sort of a toss-up, most days.)
Obi-Wan took off his pants very quickly, standing up and casting a nervous look at the door to Anakin’s room as he did so, which, despite Anakin’s (correct) assessment that this was not something they needed to worry about, still felt like the right thing to do, and tried to ignore Anakin’s smirk as he quickly laid down in Anakin’s hospital bed and covered both of them with a sheet.
“Getting self-conscious on me?” Anakin teased, although he did wiggle his hips and try to scoot a little closer to Obi-Wan on the bed. “That’s unlike you.”
“Oh, do shut up,” Obi-Wan sighed, likewise belying both the tone and content of his words by laying his hand on the dip of Anakin’s waist and caressing the skin and coiled muscle he found there. It was chilly, without his clothes on, but Anakin was delightfully warm, and Obi-Wan felt himself heating up, even with nothing more than a thin sheet to cover the both of them.
Anakin gave a grateful sigh and leaned even further back on his bad shoulder, pressing his back against Obi-Wan’s front. He was exuding both exhaustion and excitement, in the Force, and Obi-Wan again wondered how much of that was Anakin feeding off of Obi-Wan’s own feelings, or perhaps the other way around. Obi-Wan tucked himself in a little closer and hooked his chin over Anakin’s shoulder. In addition to the scarring, there was also a ring of bruises, some dark and fresh and others aging into yellow, that ran from the sides of Anakin’s neck all the way down his upper arms. The Darth Vader suit was not only emotionally heavy but physically weighty, and Obi-Wan pressed a sudden, impulsive kiss to Anakin’s skin that should have been more golden than it was and told him, “I like to see your face, too.”
Anakin hummed happily, shut his eyes, and reached back with his (remaining) hand to grab a fistful of Obi-Wan’s hair, although he did it gently enough so as to only tug the tiniest bit. Obi-Wan shut his own eyes, inhaled Anakin’s warm, artificially antiseptic scent, and tried to will himself not to cry as Anakin whispered, “We can be together now, Obi-Wan. I can see you, and my mom, and Ahsoka, whenever I want to. I don’t have to go back to him anymore.”
Obi-Wan wanted to wrap his arms around Anakin’s chest and hold him tight – forever, ideally – but Anakin undoubtedly had multiple bruised, if not cracked or broken, ribs, and Obi-Wan didn’t want to puncture anything important.
“We can. Although we have quite a bit of work to do,” Obi-Wan reminded him, probably unnecessarily. At the moment, the Jedi were largely trusting Anakin’s word about Palpatine, not only that he was a Sith Lord but that he’d orchestrated the war, worked with Count Dooku, General Grievous, and the Separatists, and masterminded the (failed) Order 66 brain chip implant plot, but that was a far cry from being able to prove all of that to the Senate, and Anakin knew he was in for weeks and weeks of depositions and testifying before subcommittee after subcommittee. “But we’ll do it together,” he promised, just as he’d promised when Anakin had first come to him, shaking and trembling, declaring that he knew how to end the war. “I promised you I would stay by your side the entire time, and I intend to keep that promise.”
Anakin let go of Obi-Wan’s hair, but before pulling his hand back entirely he let the back of his hand drag down the side of Obi-Wan’s face, feeling the rasp of his beard against his bare hand. Anakin’s usual outfit included dark gloves, and getting to feel Obi-Wan’s skin – anyone’s skin, really – was still an unexpected treat for him.
“Touch me?” he whispered, pulling his hand back in front of his own chest and squirming his ass again. He was clearly trying to get at Obi-Wan’s cock, and Obi-Wan had half a mind to smack him on the hip in admonishment and the other half crying out to take this beautiful boy in his arms and tell him he was the greatest, most surprising, most delightful treasure of Obi-Wan’s life.
Perhaps a compromise would do. “I believe you promised you could be quiet,” Obi-Wan whispered back. Anakin was already nodding, the ends of his hair brushing against Obi-Wan’s chest as he did so.
“I can.” He, again, tried to roll onto his back.
“Ah-ah,” Obi-Wan tutted sharply, refusing to budge, which meant Anakin had to stay put on his side, too. “You’re in charge of the door. If anyone approaches, you need to let me know.”
“How?”
Obi-Wan pretended to need to think for a minute. “Lick me.”
Anakin snorted. “Lick you? What, anywhere in particular, or just –”
He shut up when Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around his shoulders and slapped his hand over Anakin’s open mouth. Anakin made a muffled sort of noise in protest but otherwise didn’t fight it.
“You are…” Obi-Wan’s other hand was still free to rub up and down Anakin’s bare back, which didn’t have nearly the number of lightning scars the front half of his body did. His dominant arm, the one he held his lightsaber with, seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage. Obi-Wan was glad he’d denied Anakin’s requests to lie on his back. “…hmm, how shall I say this. Delightfully responsive during sex - which usually I adore - but right now this particular situation requires us both to be quiet and still. Are you all right? How’s your breathing?” Obi-Wan could both see and feel it when Anakin nodded his head. “Good. Let me know if that changes.” Obi-Wan rewarded his honesty with another kiss to the back of his neck.
Obi-Wan knew Anakin – still sneaking glances back at him over his shoulder, despite Obi-Wan’s warning about watching the door – wanted him to slick up his fingers with bacta, play with his hole a little, and compliment Anakin on how well he’d readied himself before pushing inside. And Obi-Wan did give in to a sudden, cheeky urge to misuse the Force just a little and snatch a tub of bacta almost certainly meant to aid in Anakin’s physical recovery off the bedside table without touching it.
From behind his hand, Anakin smirked as Obi-Wan unscrewed the cap. Obi-Wan allowed himself a moment of reflection over both what a luxury it was to have readily and plentifully available bacta, which was never a given out on the battlefield, and to consider that perhaps what he and Anakin were doing, while unconventional, was also an important step in Anakin’s healing process. Or, at least, Obi-Wan liked to think it was.
Once his hand was sufficiently wet, however, Obi-Wan brought his hand back beneath the sheets and went for Anakin’s cock, instead, starting by trailing just the pads of his fingertips down Anakin’s stomach, which made him suck in a shaky, surprised breath, and then down through the thicket of coarse hair before bullying his way between Anakin’s warm thighs to run his palm down the length of Anakin’s cock and back up again.
Anakin let out another ragged breath, and his cock twitched with interest as Obi-Wan switched to rubbing him with the backs of his knuckles. His thighs clenched when Obi-Wan whispered in his ear. “Does that feel good?”
Anakin nodded.
“Not about to pass out on me, are you?”
A head-shake. Obi-Wan shuffled a little closer – he was not above admitting that his body was finding this turn of events interesting, as well, and the pressure of Anakin’s warm, firm backside against his cock felt achingly good – and gave Anakin another gentle kiss to his neck. Someday, the weight of Anakin’s past would fade, and Obi-Wan could replace those bruises with as many love bites and streaks of friction burn as he wanted – mark Anakin up with love, rather than hate – but today, gentleness was the order of the day.
“You feel wonderful,” Obi-Wan admitted, this time wrapping his fingers around Anakin’s cock and feeling the weight of it in his palm as he rubbed up and down. “Warm and soft yet strong and powerful, too – oh. And wet.” Obi-Wan ran his thumb over the tip of Anakin’s cock for a second time, just because he could.
Anakin mumbled something from behind Obi-Wan’s hand. “What was that, dear? I didn’t catch that,” Obi-Wan said, and twisted his wrist at the same time, just because the sensation of Anakin squirming under his touches and trying to get even closer to him even when effectively immobilized felt so good.
Anakin mumbled again, a little louder this time, and Obi-Wan was pretty sure there was a ‘bastard’ thrown in there somewhere. “All right, all right,” Obi-Wan hummed. “I’ll stop teasing you.” He let go of Anakin’s cock, gave a few farewell pats to Anakin’s left flank, and went back to get some more bacta, having used up most of what he’d already applied as he smeared the gelatinous substance over Anakin’s cock.
(They weren’t going to fool anyone, Obi-Wan thought ruefully, looking from Anakin’s sweaty face and blown pupils down to the mess they’d already made of the sheets, through which the outline of Anakin’s erect cock was clearly visible. There was no reason they could give for them to be in bed together, naked, with a tub of bacta and Obi-Wan’s hand on the small of Anakin’s back, other than the absolute truth. But Obi-Wan pushed on anyway. Of course it would be embarrassing if they were caught. But for Anakin, Obi-wan could deal with a little potential embarrassment.)
“Do you think you can keep quiet on your own?” Obi-Wan muttered, thinking how much easier it would be to guide himself in with one hand while holding Anakin’s cheeks apart with the other, but Anakin shook his head no.
He could, of course. But if he wanted the warm weight of Obi-Wan’s hand over his mouth, Obi-Wan would let him have it.
So, Obi-Wan made it work. He felt Anakin gasp behind his hand as Obi-Wan pressed first between Anakin’s legs, catching him by surprise, but Anakin was nothing if not adaptable and almost immediately shifted, lifting one knee and giving Obi-Wan space to press his fingers back and rub the wet lube around his hole. Obi-Wan heard someone muttering, “good, good,” a little breathlessly and was surprised a beat later to find that it was him.
“Right there? Like this?” Obi-Wan confirmed, rubbing two fingers pressed tightly together over Anakin’s rim, and Anakin nodded. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, of course. But it was the first time since the war had ended, the first time they were truly free to be together, Anakin’s injuries notwithstanding. Anakin could simply be Anakin, now, not Anakin-as-Darth-Vader. Obi-Wan’s Anakin. It was a heady thing. Obi-Wan felt nearly faint with it, and he slipped the pads of his fingertips over the edge of Anakin’s rim a little sooner than he might have done otherwise.
Anakin huffed. Obi-Wan didn’t need to be able to hear him to know that he was clearly thinking, ‘get on with it already, old man,’ or something very close to it.
“You know I like to take my time with you,” Obi-Wan said, in response to a complaint Anakin had not yet verbally made. Before Anakin could protest, he continued, “I’ve spent quite some time worried that every time I see you is going to be the last time. Forgive me for not yet having wrapped my head around a future where I get to wake up beside you every single morning.”
The fight drained out of Anakin, as Obi-Wan had known it would. Those broad, strong, bruised shoulders slumped in defeat, and at the same time Anakin brought up his own hand and wrapped his long, thin fingers around Obi-Wan’s wrist, not guiding him or pulling him away but just letting the weight of them rest there, Anakin enjoying feeling the pounding of Obi-Wan’s pulse against his own skin.
They both sighed, nearly simultaneously, and Obi-Wan pushed two fingers in a little further. Anakin was relaxed both in his body and in the Force, which was not a combination Obi-Wan often found him capable of without quite a bit of cuddling, kissing, and then much more strenuous kissing.
(Maybe this was their future, now. Not only would Obi-Wan get to wake up to this man in his bed, he’d also get to go to sleep beside him, too. Perhaps Anakin would grow so confident in Obi-Wan’s love and affection for him that he would melt into relaxation and comfort without having to be coaxed into it, would drop his shields because he felt safe and not because Obi-Wan had to ask him to. It had taken Anakin a long, long time to let himself sleep soundly in Obi-Wan’s presence, to be naked and vulnerable and trust that no one in the Temple meant to come and stab him in the middle of the night. But he could, now. Well, most nights, anyway. Obi-Wan hoped that number would grow.)
“That’s perfect; my love,” Obi-Wan praised again, stroking his fingers along Anakin’s velvety-soft walls as his own cock swelled against the curve of Anakin’s ass. Anakin, unaccustomed to praise but absolutely starving for it, shivered in his arms. “Just breathe with me. We’re safe here, and you’re doing so very well.”
Anakin gasped as Obi-Wan twisted his wrist, and it was such a lovely, if muffled, sound that Obi-Wan was tempted to do it again, but he held himself back. Anakin so rarely asked for what he wanted, and he deserved to be rewarded. “Deep breath,” Obi-Wan warned, and pulled out his fingers. Anakin exhaled, his air warm against Obi-Wan’s palm, and Obi-Wan tried not to jostle either of them too much but also worked quickly to take himself in hand – not squeezing too hard; just in case – and slicked up his own cock as the image of Anakin reaching around behind himself one -handed, in his hospital bed, to play with his own ass, filled his mind.
“Did you think of me?” Obi-Wan nearly growled in Anakin’s ear, tipping his chin to get his lips just so. “While you held yourself open and pushed those incredible fingers of yours inside?”
Anakin nodded frantically, his chin bumping against the flat of Obi-Wan’s hand, and Obi-Wan held himself steady and tipped his hips forward just enough to catch the head of his cock on the edge of Anakin’s rim.
Anakin whimpered, so loud and so high that they both paused simultaneously, waiting for the door to fly open and some Healer to catch them. But no one did. Obi-Wan pressed forward a little harder. The tip of his cock disappeared inside Anakin’s body and Obi-Wan let out a sigh of relief. He wanted very much to brush the bedsheet aside and actually watch Anakin take him – and from the way Anakin was attempting to crane his neck and look over his own shoulder he assumed Anakin did, too – but then he caught Anakin’s eye and they both suddenly broke out smiling.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin, his eyes bright with enthusiasm, nodded back.
(It wasn’t their first time. But it wouldn’t be their last, either. Because Anakin was here. He’d gone up against the Lord of the Sith himself and come away victorious. And now he was in Obi-Wan’s arms, safe and [mostly] sound.)
From there, it was nothing but the work of a long, sighing moment until Obi-Wan had pushed in all the way and found himself hip-to-hip with Anakin, as fully seated as he could be at that angle, and Anakin squirmed again, somehow trying to get even closer. Which shouldn’t have been possible, but, well, Obi-Wan had never been very good at saying no to his boy, even when he was a Sith. He used his hand to hold Anakin’s hip, trying to find a balance between firmness and gentleness, and then tilted his hips back, pulling out a few inches, before rocking forward again.
Anakin planted his elbow on the bed, which necessitated him rolling his shoulders forward a bit but it gave him enough leverage to meet Obi-Wan stroke for stroke, and also afforded Obi-Wan a truly mouth-watering view of Anakin’s broad, muscular – if scarred - back, which shifted, contracted, and relaxed in turn as he tried to keep pace with Obi-Wan. If Obi-Wan had had any more hands available he would have dearly loved to press a palm right there, in the sweaty space between Anakin’s shoulder blades, and just feel.
Sex must have been making him stupid, because it took an embarrassingly long couple of seconds before he realized he could press his face into that exact spot instead and inhale, filling his lungs with the almost stiflingly hot, heady smell of Anakin, who was making little grunting noises as Obi-Wan slammed into him and Anakin slammed back, flexing and using his thighs to keep himself upright.
Obi-Wan’s face and chest were overwarm, probably flush with exertion, and Obi-Wan felt a droplet of sweat roll down his forehead that he couldn’t rightly determine the ownership of. He exhaled with a pleased, punched-out sigh of his own. This was exactly where he dreamed of being every time he’d sent Anakin away, back to that monster he’d been forced to call Master. Right here, joined together with Anakin so tightly that they stopped knowing where each of them ended and the other began.
Obi-Wan was in such a haze that he almost didn’t notice a sudden wet spot on the palm of his hand, but the moment the sensation clicked in his brain he withdrew his hand like Anakin’s mouth had burned him. Anakin had given him the signal, and it would not do for Obi-Wan to ignore it. Behind Anakin, Obi-Wan’s hips stilled.
“Touch me,” Anakin croaked lowly, his voice rough from disuse and lust, and Obi-Wan twisted his hand around Anakin’s cock before he had a chance to ask again. He was thick and warm and heavy and Obi-Wan nearly wanted to cry with it.
Neither of them were going to last long. Obi-Wan didn’t even have to move his hand – Anakin was pistoning his own cock in and out of Obi-Wan’s loose fist for him, his thighs shaking with the effort – and Obi-Wan had his face buried in Anakin’s shoulder as he rocked his own hips. The slide of Anakin’s walls surrounding his cock was incredible, hot and wet, but more than that it was Anakin’s presence surrounding the both of them that really made Obi-Wan want to let go. His stomach muscles clenched and he breathed out a shuddering gasp that took them both by surprise.
“Any – time, darling – my darling,” Obi-Wan huffed out, louder than he meant to, and Anakin shuddered at the endearment and came a second later, hunching into himself as his balls drew up and his cock spilled over Obi-Wan’s hand and up Anakin’s sweaty abdomen and his flushed chest, and Obi-Wan suppressed a full-body shiver to keep stroking him through it, keeping his hand loose but present as Anakin gasped, his stomach heaving as he sucked in air.
“Good boy – good – there –” Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t making much sense as he grew more and more frantic, the movement of his hips erratic and off-tempo, Anakin valiantly pushing back to encourage him even as he was still shivering with his own orgasm, and Obi-Wan wasn’t above calling on the Force a little to finish more quickly than he’d usually be capable of. Anakin deserved it.
Obi-Wan came with a muffled shout, burying his face against the back of Anakin’s shoulder the instant he realized he was doing it, but he worried he wasn’t fast enough. Anakin just felt so good, squeezing his walls around Obi-Wan’s overheated, swollen cock, and he was pushing so much joy and encouragement through the Force that it spilled over to Obi-Wan, who found himself so close to giddiness he almost broke out in post-coital giggles.
“Obi-Wan – Master – Obi-Wan-”
“Shh,” Obi-Wan hushed him, far too comfortable and loose-limbed to actually do anything about it, but he did want Anakin to at least whisper rather than speak in his normal voice.
“I didn’t say anything,” Anakin said.
Obi-Wan was feeling so good that it took him a long few seconds to realize how ridiculous that statement was. He, almost bubbling over with his good mood, snorted against Anakin’s warmed, damp skin. “Sure you didn’t,” he said. It wasn’t worth an argument over. Almost nothing was.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said again, more insistent this time, and he hauled himself up onto his elbow, dislodging Obi-Wan behind him. There wasn’t quite enough space for Obi-Wan to roll entirely onto his back, not without falling off the edge of the bed, but he unstuck his own sweaty body from Anakin’s sweaty body and leaned back on his side, at least. Anakin turned his head and looked at him over his shoulder, his curls long and loose. He held very intense eye contact and enunciated very carefully as he continued. “I didn’t say anything.”
Anakin’s lips didn’t move. Obi-Wan gaped at him. There was a long, silent beat in the room. “Do that again,” Obi-Wan said firmly, and this time, he kept his gaze locked on Anakin’s plump, plush lips.
I can hear you in my head, Anakin said, or, rather, Anakin’s voice somehow said, sounding like he was speaking completely normally without ever opening his mouth.
Obi-Wan was familiar with getting impressions through the Force, even sometimes emotions so strong they sounded like complete thoughts, but never entire conversations.
This is incredible, Obi-Wan thought, concentrating very hard, and Anakin grinned toothily back at him, looking even younger than his actual years. Obi-Wan vaguely wondered if he was catching a glimpse of what a teenaged Anakin might have looked like, if he’d had a happier upbringing.
I know, right? Anakin thought back happily. He hadn’t stopped smiling.
Obi-Wan flopped back on the bed and couldn’t help but break out in weak, tired laughter. He threw one arm across the bed and motioned for Anakin – drying come mixed with bacta on his chest notwithstanding - to lie down and snuggle against him. Anakin’s eyes lit up with joyous anticipation and he crowded himself against Obi-Wan’s side almost immediately.
You are an actual, literal miracle, Obi-Wan told him through the Force Bond they had in no way intended to create but apparently had. He was just so proud of this boy lying beside him, curled up inside the protective circle of his arm. Anakin could do things with the Force Obi-Wan couldn’t even dream of until he was watching them happen. And somehow, Anakin was choosing to share this connection with Obi-Wan. It was the middle of a rainy night out-of-doors and yet in here, in the little bubble of love and mutual affection they’d created, Obi-Wan felt like he was stretched out in the middle of a sunbeam.
You’re not so bad yourself, Anakin said, rubbing his cheek against Obi-Wan’s chest like a purring tooka, and Obi-Wan did laugh out loud then, and rolled a little so as to be able to tuck Anakin even more securely against him. Anakin went happily, although…
We’re quite the sight, Obi-Wan sighed, as the sticky mess on Anakin’s chest got caught on his chest hair, already starting to dry tackily. Anakin had rolled on his opposite side, but his ass was probably a mess, too.
That’s a problem for, oh, four hours or so from now, Anakin replied carelessly, letting his eyes slide shut. He was projecting so much contentment Obi-Wan was having trouble keeping his own eyes open.
He was right, of course. Obi-Wan curled his fingers against Anakin’s shoulder, holding him tight. The Healers would be in and out all night long, doing their jobs and checking on Anakin, and no doubt they would offer them both a bath at some point. Obi-Wan knew, intellectually, he should probably take care of it now and spare them the sight of having to look at his come coating Anakin’s strong thighs, but he didn’t dare leave Anakin just then, and besides. They were Healers. It was very difficult to surprise them with any manner of bodily fluids.
Anakin was sleepy and warm and breathing steadily and alive, against Obi-Wan’s chest. Tomorrow - if Anakin really was healthy enough to be released, and hadn’t just been telling Obi-Wan that to explain away his horniness – they would tackle not only breakfast with Anakin’s mother and a hearing with the Jedi High Council but also their own, possibly unprecedented, Force Bond.
But for right now…Obi-Wan was going to let them both get some much-needed sleep.