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Regret is something Anakin tries not to have, but sitting in this poorly lit, cramped holding cell is quickly making the unpleasant, icy feeling sink its long teeth into him.
“Anakin, quit squirming. Save your energy.” Obi-Wan sits directly across from him, his ever steady hands chained slightly above his head, but otherwise relaxed. Dark shadows cut out the shape of him in the low, dingy light– even though they’re only a few feet from each other, Anakin can barely make out the light color of his eyes.
Anakin grits his teeth, jaw flexing. Straining against these chains is useless, but he works his good wrist raw against the cheap metal anyway, huffing. His lips curl in a snarl as he tips his head back, and it thunks dully against the wall. “I can’t help it, how can you be so calm?”
“How else should I be? They aren’t going to kill us.”
No, they wouldn’t. There won’t be any credits to be gained from their corpses. Obi-Wan makes perfect sense, but it does little to soothe him.
He tries, he does, but sitting still isn’t an option for him. The cell is small, and his boots knock into Obi-Wan’s each time he rearranges himself. “If it takes too long to rescue us they might sell us you know.”
Even as a slave he’d at least had the luxury of never feeling the weight of a collar around his neck – those were expensive, Watto couldn't afford them. He most definitely isn’t eager to find out how it feels, even if temporary.
“Have you so little faith in Ahsoka?”
Objectively, they aren’t in any real danger. Ahsoka will be here any time. They’d allowed themselves to get captured by pirates on purpose in order to root out the source of their weapons smuggling operation. Anakin simply detests being held in such a way. “Its not that.”
“Anakin, you didn’t have to agree to this if it was going to bother you so much.”
“Who says I'm bothered?” he snaps, flicking his eyes to a rust-crusted spot on the floor.
“Do you think I’m blind?” Obi-Wan asks, the hint of a chuckle laced through his words.
The tips of Anakin’s ears burn.
“I won’t make fun of you.”
“I just don’t like being chained up like this. And this cell is too small.”
“Well, at least they had to put us in the same one.”
Because there’s only one on this scrapheap, and it feels more like a closet than a holding cell. Obi-Wan’s knee nudges against his own in an attempt at a comforting touch. It works, at least a little. Anakin exhales deeply, and closes his eyes.
“It won’t be much longer. Don’t worry, dear.”
Knee knocking against him, Obi-Wan’s boot covered foot caresses the outside of his thigh. The low, smooth cadence of his voice calls to mind the earliest days of Anakin’s training – when he was afraid he’d wake up and Obi-Wan would be gone. He’d talk him back to sleep just like this, promising he’d still be there in the morning.
“Can you keep talking?”
Obi-Wan chuckles softly. “I never thought I’d ever hear you say that.”
Anakin groans. “Forget about it.”
Obi-Wan pulls his leg back, rearranging it until it’s between Anakin’s instead of on the outside.
“You know I’d never let anything happen to you,” he says so genuinely it's difficult not to believe. His voice is so warm. Certain.
“I’m not worried,” Anakin grumbles, and he isn’t really, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys anything about the current circumstance.
“Relax, I’m right here,” Obi-wan coos, his boot razing over Anakin’s inner thigh. He does it again, then again, in slow, deliberate motions, soothing and delicate. It goes on like that for some time; with him steadily stroking his boot back and forth across his thigh. A groan wells in Anakin’s throat, but he swallows it before it can escape. He’s…
“Anakin are you… aroused?”
His eyes snap open, and he recoils from his Master’s touch. Not that there’s anywhere for him to go. “What? No.” He is though. His cock is half filled out in his trousers.
With only a cocked brow as a warning, the toe of Obi-Wan’s boot presses right into his crotch and Anakin yelps and cringes despite it not being nearly hard enough to hurt. He doesn’t know why he tries to hide anything from him when his body always so readily confesses what his mouth won’t.
“You are.”
Anakin can’t tell if he sounds surprised or not. Obi-Wan digs his boot in a little harder, and Anakin hisses.
“Look at you, you’re hard.”
Yes. He is, and it's rapidly becoming extremely uncomfortable. He can’t even reach down to adjust himself. “I- I’m-” he croaks and stutters, his cheeks aflame. Suddenly, he’s feeling quite thankful for the low light.
“Shh, it's alright. Master will take care of you.”
The words melt him, and he goes slack, sighing as Obi-Wan gently grinds his boot against the bulge in his pants. “Ah, Obi-Wan…” A harder, more insistent press, and Anakin sucks in an obscenely wet breath and bucks his hips. “M’ sorry.”
The white of Obi-Wan’s teeth show through the heavy dark. “Whatever for?”
“You think this is a good time for me to be getting hard for you Master?” he manages, failing to hold onto even a shred of restraint as he grinds against the sole of Obi-Wan’s boot.
Grin widening, Obi-Wan tips his chin up at him. “Is it ever?”
“Shut up.”
Before Anakin can humiliate himself any further, the unmistakable hum and crackle of a lightsaber cuts through the relative silence, followed by the reckless scramble of boots on durasteel and incomprehensible yelling. He locks eyes with Obi-Wan, and his expression says nothing less than ‘I told you so.’
It takes what feels like an eternity to write his report, but he knows his Master won’t tolerate any procrastination on the grounds of his dick being too hard. The spark Obi-Wan lit beneath his skin seethes relentlessly, and he succumbs to it the instant he hits ‘send’ on his datapad.
The path from his cabin to Obi-Wan’s on The Negotiator is one Anakin knows by heart. He slips inside, crawls up behind where Obi-Wan is laid on his bed half undressed and still scrolling through something on his holotablet. Anakin isn’t quiet or sneaky in the slightest, especially not when his cock is so hard it feels like it's seriously affecting the blood flow to his brain, but Obi-Wan allows him to think he is. He doesn’t turn around or acknowledge his presence until he’s pressing up against him from behind. Anakin buries his face in the back of his neck, and inhales deep, licking at the sweat there. He hasn’t washed off yet– Obi-Wan knows how much he loves the taste of salt on his skin.
“Need to fuck you,” he rasps into his hair, his mechno-fingers curling around the jut of his hip.
“Oh do you now?” Obi-Wan teases, arching his back into the dig of Anakin’s cock against his ass. “Did you make sure Ahsoka finished her report as well?”
“You cannot be serious,” he groans, humping into the clothed crease of his Master’s ass. Surely he won't be cruel enough to make him walk across this entire star destroyer with a raging hard-on.
“What makes you think I'm not?” he asks, looking over his shoulder just enough to meet Anakin's ravenous gaze.
“Because,” Anakin starts, craning his head forward to graze his teeth over Obi-Wan’s ear, “you want to fuck just as badly as I do.” He punctuates his claim with a brash grope of the hard cock tenting Obi-Wan’s pants, and the harsh intake of breath he gets is a damning condemnation for any continued teasing.
“So worked up aren't you? I suppose that's my fault,” Obi-Wan coos.
Of course it is. It's always his fault, with his pretty posh voice and his neatly trimmed beard. That obscene little mole on his cheek and the purposeful lay of his hair. Anakin's been thinking about him with a hand down his pants for as long as he can remember. Actually getting his cock into him has done nothing but exacerbate the issue.
Mercifully, Obi-Wan allows him to strip them both bare, and Anakin wastes no time getting two slicked fingers into him. He doesn't even spare the time to eat him out, only taking the time to make sure he won't hurt him. His cock aches too badly to think of anything other than getting it into the velvet plush of his Master’s ass.
Once he's bent him over and gotten his cock in him, Anakin sets a brutal pace, whimpering and whining as he licks all the salt from the skin on Obi-Wan's neck. He bites. Hard. Until his teeth come away with a fond metallic tang. Obi-Wan shudders, keens, but only arches his back deeper, threads his fingers through Anakin’s curls and tugs in a silent plea for more. Obi-Wan can take it, he always does.
Typically, Anakin’s want to come is never so desperate that he doesn't spare a thought to Obi-Wan's pleasure, but the way he ruts into him now is so animalistically single-minded that he can't possibly make space for anything other than the way Obi-Wan's hole clenches tight and perfect around his cock. Anakin needs to come, and Obi-Wan feels so good, but something deep and fundamental is pulled taut within him – Anakin’s stomach still in a thousand gentle knots over the way his Master spoke to him and touched him in that decrepit holding cell.
Unbidden, his mind drifts to a version of events where Obi-Wan isn't restrained at all, but he still is. Utterly helpless and available to him in any way he wants. On the next hard thrust into him, Anakin falters, a moan getting stuck in the back of his throat.
The need building up behind the base of his cock grows hotter, but the molten pressure will not reach a breaking point no matter how hard he rails Obi-Wan into the mattress. He whines. He growls. Fretting he'll burn to cinders from the inside out if he doesn't find the relief he's searching for.“Talk to me,” he breathes, soothing over one of the bitemarks on Obi-Wan's shoulder with his tongue.
“You- ah! Want me to tell you how good you're fucking me?”
“Please.”
Obi-Wan’s entire body is jostled with the force of Anakin’s every harsh thrust, throaty noises being punched from him each time Anakin buries his cock inside him. Still, he does what Anakin asks, his fingers bunching in the sheets and his voice lust-soaked and breathless. “Anakin, my darling boy. Fucking Master so well –oh just like that– that big cock of yours always feels so good inside me, splitting me open, taking what you need.”
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Anakin whines, his blood thundering in his ears and singing in his veins, but he can’t grasp the reprieve he’s so frantically chasing. It remains barely, infuriatingly out of reach.
“Mmn, mmn, uh! You’re so strong, so beautiful– fuck! I love it when you take me like this, when you fill me up with come, Give it to me Anakin. Give Master your come.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Anakin is close. Tremendously, tortuously so. The heat, the pressure, the tension drawing the whole of his being into a strained line– it builds and builds with no end in sight. Near snarling, he rolls onto his back, pulling Obi-Wan with him. He slips out of him for a brief moment, and both of them whine in protest. “Ride me.”
“Ah, whatever you want, darling.”
Obi-Wan’s pretty like this– peachy thighs splayed out on either side of Anakin’s hips, strands of his red-gold hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. Following the line of dense hair down his body, he makes it to his cock as Obi-Wan reaches to touch Anakin’s to line him up. The breath that’s still half-caught in Anakin’s throat tears out of him in a ragged groan as Obi-Wan sits on it, taking all of him in a single fluid motion.
“Master!” Anakin’s hands practically slap down onto Obi-Wan’s thighs, fingers digging into the soft, muscular flesh.
“There you go, is that what you need?”
“Uh-huh.” It’s strangely comforting; his Master’s weight on him, his broad hands bracing on his chest as he works his powerful thighs to fuck himself on Anakin’s cock. He tries to meet him halfway, but Obi-Wan’s hands bear down on him harder, telling him to be still.
Every cell in Anakin’s body is aflame and begging to be doused before his bones are charred black from the inside. He’ll die if he doesn’t come soon. Eyes rolling back, Anakin lets Obi-Wan use him. Obi-Wan leans over him, palms pressing over the curves of his sculpted shoulders, his biceps, pushing his arms above his head until Obi-Wan is pinning his wrists there. His thumb digs into the red, tender ache where the weathered chains had rubbed his wrist raw, and Anakin’s mind numbs to nothing but a humming, warm static. Oh. Yes.
“This is what you need isn’t it? Come for me, dear. Come in your Master’s ass.” Anakin is powerless to do anything but obey. Making a sound so loud and wrecked that Obi-Wan has to cup a hand over his mouth; Anakin finally, finally shatters. He comes so hard he almost blacks out, every heartbeat pulsing warmth through his body from his fingertips to his toes. Emptying into the perfect clench of Obi-Wan's body.
It takes a few blissful moments for reality to return to him. For him to remember why he’s never let Obi-Wan do something like that before. He doesn’t like it. The first time Obi-Wan ever tried to shove him down and climb on top of him after kissing him stupid, his reaction had been so instant and violent it shocked even Anakin. He'd grabbed him by the hips so hard his mechno-fingers left bruises, and swapped their places to crush his weight against him and bite his bottom lip bloody.
They never spoke of it after, but his Master's touch has never approached such aggressive want since.
As if sensing the tingling unease coming to life in the back of his mind, Obi-Wan rolls off of him, his hand long gone from around his sore wrist. Anakin flexes the fingers of his flesh hand, curling them into his palm and splaying them wide.
Even as they lie panting against each other, Anakin's mind is still chained up in that rusty, dark cell.
Anakin always takes him. Bends him over, folds him in half, presses him to the wall or the floor or his bed. Never the other way around. The moment Obi-Wan first came around his cock Anakin knew he'd never seen anything more beautiful. His Master sprawled out beneath him, pink lips parted around his name with his ass milking his cock. Obi-Wan’s never asked him for anything else. Not with words. Maybe he knows how Anakin feels. Perhaps it's plain to see in the way he so obviously tries to fuck him senseless every time they have sex.
And Obi-Wan is so willing. It was astoundingly easy to crush Obi-Wan’s resolve once he figured out his wildest fantasies weren't as far fetched as he feared. Doomed from the first chaste kiss Anakin ever gave him. His Master is sweeter than honey and softer than silk when they fuck. He wouldn't dream of asking Anakin to do anything he didn't want, or maybe they just haven't been having sex long enough for him to venture asking. Not to mention Obi-Wan is unmistakably fond of his cock inside him. He takes it expertly. In his mouth. Between his thighs. In his hands, his ass. Obi-Wan is perfect for him; a litany of empty spaces made for Anakin to fill.
So he doesn't know why he asks, “Master, how come you've never asked to fuck me?”
Obi-Wan’s brow twitches slightly, but he answers him without missing a beat. “Why? Would you like me to?” He simpers, eyes playful, but giving nothing away.
“No,” he says immediately, eyes widening.
An almost instinctual part of him recoils at the suggestion, even though he’s the one who just brought it up. This entire subject is a knot of so many crossed wires he doesn’t know where to begin untangling them. Pinning his Master down and doing whatever he likes is simple. It's safe, easy. Anything else is terribly vulnerable in a way that makes him feel like a cowering dust rat.
A second, slightly more reasonable part of him rationalizes. It’s Obi-Wan. Anakin would crawl into his open, fang-lined mouth and trust him not to bite down. His come is still dripping out of Obi-Wan’s ass, and Anakin is already prickling hot and insistent deep in his belly. For the first time ever, he’s unsatisfied. Wanting.
Unsatisfied might be the wrong word. He doesn’t think Obi-Wan could ever leave him unsatisfied in a meaningful way, but there’s an unmistakable longing gnawing at him. An empty space that sounds a lot like; ‘Master will take care of you.’
It always smells of singed flesh and black oil on these battlefields. The oil Anakin doesn't mind so much. It's the burnt hair and blood that makes his nose crinkle and skin crawl. It doesn’t help how hot and humid this planet is, and the days are longer than standard too.
Normally he can focus on mindlessly cutting through droids when they’re deployed to places like this, but not this time. The enemy means to hold them at a distance. They’re stalling, wasting time, but there isn’t much to be done about it. He can only breathe in the acrid scents around him and think. As keen as they are to stall, it won’t be that much longer. Droidekas are expensive. Sharpshooter droidekas even more so. There’s only so many they can deploy, and they’ve been here for three days already.
“Anakin, sit down, you're going to get your head blown off.” Obi-Wan is crouched behind a makeshift barricade, peeking over the top to squint at the dark treeline ahead.
“That might just be preferable to sitting around and waiting for another twelve hours,” Anakin scoffs, spitting in the direction they’re being watched from. A bead of sweat rolls off his forehead and down over his cheek. He brings his leather glove to his face to wipe it away.
“Must you always be difficult?”
“You wouldn’t love me if I wasn’t.”
Anakin grins down at him as Obi-Wan's mouth falls open, words sticking in his throat. It still makes him blush when he says anything of the sort so publicly. Not where anyone would ever hear, but it always gets a reaction, even if small.
Obi-Wan's eyes dart around quickly before he hisses; “I'd love you more if you'd listen.”
“No, you wouldn't.”
One of Obi-Wan’s gloved hands comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and he grumbles something Anakin can’t quite make out. No doubt along the lines of ‘insufferable' or ‘intractable’.
It feels like it's been sunset for an eternity. The sky bleeds attractive shades of pink and orange and paired with the deep, dense green of the forest would be beautiful in any other context. Their energy supply isn’t unlimited, although there’s been few shots fired. This isn’t even worth the time they’re wasting, if it were up to him, he’d just-
There’s a distant, rattling thump from the black cover of the woods, and the ground is rushing up to meet Anakin before he can properly register what's happening. His chin smacks painfully off the dirt, his teeth clicking together so harshly he fears they’ve cracked and splintered in his mouth. “Sith hells!”
Blinking to dispel the bout of double vision, the astringent scent of something burning hits his nostrils, and his eyes dart up to find a black scorchmark of a laser round smoldering on the duracrete wall behind them where his head had just been. Suddenly the blood in his mouth doesn’t taste so bad.
“Stupid boy! More stunts like that and I really will take the lead on that asinine scoreboard of yours.”
Anakin blinks several times. Right. Another point for Obi-Wan, who lets go of the ankle he'd yanked out from under Anakin. Obi-Wan climbs over him to assess, his eyes just barely peeking over the barricade, while his hand comes down on top of Anakin’s head to hold him there. Nothing but adrenaline-fueled protective instinct driving him.
Anakin’s heart is pounding, but it's not from almost being killed. That happens nearly weekly. Obi-Wan’s hand is still in his hair, curling slightly, pushing him down into the damp ground as he half kneels on top of him. He probably isn’t even thinking about what he's doing, but Anakin is. He’s thinking about it hard. So hard in fact, that his cock decides it wants to join in.
The prison cell was a supremely improper place to get turned on, but this is somehow worse in every conceivable way. He quite literally almost died, and all he’s interested in is how readily and completely Obi-Wan had protected him so roughly. Biting his lip, he squeezes his eyes shut and attempts to will the blood out of his cock. He’ll never hear the end of it if Obi-Wan catches him tenting his pants at a time like this.
Anakin quietly thanks him, and while he gets an earful about being more careful, Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to notice how quiet and acquiescent he is for the remainder of the evening. If he does, he doesn’t comment on it.
Once Anakin’s sure everyone has gone to sleep that night, he brushes his tabards aside, pushes his pants down and fucks frantically into his own fist. Ever since he started fucking Obi-Wan, his palm has lost almost all of its appeal as a sex object, but he’s desperate and needy and he can’t just barge into Obi-Wan’s tent and tell him he can’t stop thinking about how his hands felt in his hair, how it might feel if he pulled. When he comes, it’s with his own mechno-fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots.
Two days later, after the last Droideka has been dealt with, they’re en route to another would-be battleground halfway across the galaxy. Anakin is still helplessly plagued with thoughts of Obi-Wan’s sturdy, capable hands pinning him down while blood wells between his teeth. He wonders if Obi-Wan would like the taste.
Anakin picks at the bland, off-textured late meal rations in front of him, trying not to chew the inside of his bottom lip raw. Obi-Wan sits across from him, chipping away at the unpleasant nutrient block while he scrolls through something on his datapad. No matter how many times he wraps a hand around his cock or fucks into Obi-Wan's willing body, ‘Master will take care of you’ is a ceaseless, chewing torment that has hooked so deeply in his brain there isn't a hope of digging it out.
“You never want anything from me. Why?”
Obi-Wan’s spoon briefly falters on its way to his mouth, the only indication he'd heard him at all. “I very much want you to be more careful. To listen.”
Anakin sighs, rolling his eyes. “I mean during sex.”
“I only want you, dear,” he answers simply, eyes flicking back to his plate.
Why does he always have to be like this? It's pulling teeth, but Anakin keeps trying. “But you never even think about it?”
“About what?” He's smiling a near imperceptible amount now, and Anakin would like to bite at that smug bottom lip of his and lick the red that'll bloom from his pink-tinged skin.
“Sex stuff. I dunno. Anything." If he has to be more specific than that he thinks he'll disintegrate. His cheeks are already bursting with heat from the way his voice half cracked saying that much.
“Of course I do.” Obi-Wan takes another bite of his meal as he says it, his face mostly neutral but gleaming with something downright infuriating.
Obi-Wan wants Anakin to jump on him and maul him like a wild animal– it's the only logical explanation for why he acts this way.
“And?” he grits, knowing his expression must be intense. He can feel his brows straining against one another.
“I'm perfectly satisfied, if that's your concern.”
“It's not.” Anakin cringes as the words leave his mouth. “I mean, maybe a little.”
Obi-Wan chuckles reaching across the table to cup his cheek, thumbing at his bottom lip. “You give me exactly what I want Anakin; your satisfaction. Your pleasure.”
A very Obi-Wan answer, but it's difficult to be upset by it. Anakin smiles, nuzzling into his palm. “There's really nothing you want?”
“I just told you what I wanted. I have it.”
When Obi-Wan's hand falls away, Anakin gazes down at his own– flesh and durasteel. He thinks about the skin rubbing raw and futile against metal, about Obi-Wan hands pinning Anakin's above his head and taking. The weight of his body bearing down on him as his fingers tangle in his hair. A sound gathers on his tongue, but he doesn't allow it to escape. His fists clench, and he swallows thickly around the enormity of desires that refuse to properly name themselves.
“Do you want something, dearest?”
Anakin nearly chokes on his own spit right there. Even if Obi-Wan hasn't gleaned a thing from the myriad of thoughts and emotions flashing through him in the Force, his face is most definitely betraying him now. Meeting Obi-Wan's eyes, he finds them uncharacteristically cryptic. For a moment Anakin isn't sure what exactly it is he finds so absurdly attractive about him, but then his lips curl the slightest amount, and okay, maybe he does know why, but still.
Just tell the truth. It can’t be that hard. Well, it can be when you aren’t even sure exactly what it is you want to ask for. It’s a monumental struggle just to say, “Maybe…”
“Tell me.”
Anakin feels like he’s been shot. Like Obi-Wan had been too late to save him, and he'd taken that blaster round right to his brain after all.
“I-” but his mouth is drier than it's ever been, and he fears he might choke on his tongue.
“Go on, you never have to be shy with me, dear one.” A few of Obi-Wan’s teeth come out this time, and his nonchalant veneer is lost.
His stomach flips over itself as he grapples for any semblance of composure with little success. He must look insane; squirming, chewing on his lip while his eyes dart to the doorway like he's about to bolt for it. Obi-Wan is being sincere with him, but he's also enjoying this. That pretty neck of his would look awfully good with his fingers wrapped around it.
When he pictures it, his brain abruptly decides to swap their positions, and Anakin's jaw clenches, his hands balling up tightly. How is he meant to put any of this into words without humiliating himself? He tires. “Could you…” he looks down at the picked at, unappealing rations in favor of his Master's smug face, “would you take care of me?”
For a moment, there's only a dense silence between them. Anakin looks back to him, and watches the instant that what he'd said clicks in Obi-Wan's mind, his lips parting slightly while his eyes darken.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“Master.”
“I cannot read your mind, Anakin.”
He could. If Anakin let his shields fall, if he projected all that he's feeling into their bond, but letting Obi-Wan experience every intricacy of his most intimate conflicting desires is a slightly mortifying concept. “I know.”
“Please, tell me what you want, sweetheart.”
The pet name melts him. His favorite only behind ‘dear one’. Exhaling deeply, Anakin does his best to ignore the trashing, squirming thing in his belly. He still has to look away before he begins speaking. “When we were chained up together, I did like it. What you were doing anyway. I can’t stop thinking about it, actually.” He pauses, wishfully thinking that might be enough, but when he chances a glance up at him, Obi-Wan’s gaze is still expectant. Anakin clears his throat, and attempts to keep going. “And when you were riding me, you pinned my wrists above my head, that was good too.”
It’s impossible to keep eye contact with him, but Obi-Wan’s gaze is unwavering with the way it burns into him from across the small table, still waiting, still expecting more. Anakin inhales deep, and forces himself to speak before his thoughts can catch up with the words coming out of his mouth. “When you saved me too… the way you pushed me down made my dick so fucking hard, Master.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes are still dark with endearment, but Anakin thinks he catches his fingers twitch where they're stroking along his mustache. His voice is measured, but lust-clawed when he speaks. “You like it when I… hold you down?”
Swallowing, Anakin nods slowly.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asks the question flatly, his face completely straight. Anakin's jaw drops, and he gapes at him while he considers the inquiry.
He's burning up inside and out– he cannot believe he's saying any of this out loud and he cannot believe he's doing it in a star destroyer refectory. His heartbeat is thundering in his ears and he can't seem to catch his breath. “Maybe,” is all he can force out from the tight confines of his chest.
Pale blue eyes regard him carefully, guarded in their intensity. Obi-Wan is never so easy to read that it's especially obvious what he's thinking, but rarely is he so enigmatic that it makes Anakin nervous.
“Are you sure about this?” Obi-Wan finally asks, his fingers still tracing over the trimmed lines of his beard.
Anakin opens his mouth before he has any time to properly dwell. “No, not at all.”
That gets a smile out of Obi-Wan, and Anakin has to duck his head and laugh too– he must sound completely and utterly foolish.
“But you would like for me to… restrain you? Let's say.”
“Yeah,” he agrees simply, his throat too stiff and his tongue too dry to elaborate any further.
“Then I will do my best,” he says with a warm smile, reaching across the table to tuck a curl behind his ear.
“Okay.” Anakin exhales a breath he hadn't realized was trapped in his chest. He feels shockingly lighter.
Obi-Wan’s fingers card gently through his curls, and Anakin nearly purrs. “When next we're back on Coruscant, I'll keep you in my bed all day long.”
Smiling wide, Anakin grabs his wrist and presses a swift kiss to his palm. “Sure you've got the stamina for it, old man?”
Lips curling almost wickedly, Obi-Wan leans closer to him, so he can hear him whisper, “I won't be the one tied up getting played with until he cries.”
An intense shiver wracks Anakin's body, and it's a tremendous effort not to moan aloud. “Fuck, Obi-Wan.”
“I'm sure you'll be saying that quite a lot, yes.”
There's that urge Anakin often gets to sink his teeth into him. “I really can't stand you sometimes.”
He didn't know the half of it. He never imagined Obi-Wan could be such a tease. Anakin almost regrets saying anything about his recent sexual proclivities to him at all. If he knew it would make him so stingy with his body, he would've bit his tongue.
If Obi-Wan means to drive him mad by refusing to have sex with him until they're back on Coruscant, it won't take much longer for him to be successful. It's agonizing. And he's so keen to torment him. Kisses that last a little too long, lingering touches that go nowhere, salacious looks that make Anakin squirm.
“It'll be more satisfying if we wait,” he keeps saying. This time he's at his desk, reading through something on his datapad again. He doesn't even look up at him. He knows why Anakin's come to his quarters: to beg. It'll be humiliating to look back on, but he's desperate.
Anakin stands in front of the neat little workspace, painting both hands on it to lean over Obi-Wan. He finally looks up at him, his brow cocked. “Come on Master, my balls ache.”
“How did you survive before I crawled into bed with you?”
“How do you think?” He stripped his cock raw countless times thinking of Obi-Wan as a teenager, imagining, wishing it was his Master's hands on him instead of his own.
“Well Anakin, I certainly can't stop you from masturbating,” he reaches up to touch him, fingers tracing along his jaw, “but wouldn't you rather save all that built up tension just for me?”
He pictures him covered in his come; his face, his hair, his chest, his ass. And yes, he does want to save it for him. It belongs to him. All of it, always. Anakin still curls his lip at him when he says, “You know I would.”
Obi-Wan grabs at his tabards, pulls him down until he's close enough to kiss him. It isn't chaste; he pushes his tongue into Anakin’s mouth and pulls away with a string of spit still bridging their lips. “Be good, Anakin.”
Fuck.
The next two weeks are nothing short of torture. The planet they're stationed on is even more destitute than the last, without even a pleasant view to dull the monotony. At least nearly getting his head blown off had been a decent adrenaline rush. This is nothing but inconsistent waves of cheap disposable droids wasting their time. That's what the bulk of this war feels like to him; a waste. Unnecessary. But what does he know?
How did he get through most of his life without fucking his Master stupid as often as circumstance allowed?
By the time they're on their way back home, Anakin frets– no, he knows he isn't going to last once he’s in Obi-Wan’s bed. He might come in his pants if Obi-Wan decides he wants to tease him. He's tried his best to ‘be good,’ but he's dangerously close to begging Obi-Wan to just let him shove him against the nearest wall so he can hump at the clothed swell of his ass a little. He'd probably be able to come just from that.
Obi-Wan is lounging in his seat, waiting for Anakin to roll his chance-cubes. He begged him to play, but he's losing rather badly, and it's doing little for the building irritation in his gut.
“Your thoughts Anakin, reel them in please.”
“How about if I win you let me fuck your thighs a little?” The cubes clink against each other and his durasteel hand as he readies himself to toss them.
“Anakin.”
He lets them go and they hit the table with a poor score of a single one, a five, a four, and three twos. He most definitely won’t be winning this game. “If I knew you were gonna torture me I never would've told you about it,” he grumbles.
Obi-Wan eyes his cubes, marking his score in his head, and takes his own cubes back in hand. “I'm not torturing you. I want it to be good for you.”
Anakin rolls his eyes. “It's sex with you Master. There's no way it could be bad.”
All of Obi-Wan's teeth flash as he rolls. “That's very sweet of you dear, but how about: I want it to be amazing for you?”
Five fours and a one. Anakin's done for. This isn't a game he can win. They'll be back on Coruscant tomorrow, he can last that much longer. “Fine, whatever. You win.”
“Would you like to play again?” he asks, picking his cubes up off the table one by one. “And no. No sexual favors if you win.”
“Just roll, Obi-Wan.”
The temple is beautifully bathed in the oranges of a Coruscanti sunset when they arrive. It's beautiful, and he's truly missed the view, the Temple, but not nearly as much as he's missed his hands on his Master. The closer they get to Obi-Wan’s rooms, the more conscious effort it takes to keep his dick soft.
Once the door slides closed behind them, Anakin shows wondrous restraint in not pouncing on Obi-Wan where they stand. Obi-Wan keeps his back to him as he shrugs off his cloak– it shouldn't be nearly as sexy to watch as it is. “Go sit on the bed for me.”
“Should I-”
Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder at him, gesturing to his bed. “Just sit, dear.”
“Okay.” Anakin sits at the edge of his Master's bed, watching him hang up his cloak. For a moment he thinks he might undress, but he doesn't, he turns around to face him, and Anakin cannot meet his gaze. He's been starving for this for weeks, but now that it's being presented to him, he's queasy with the anticipation of it. What will Obi-Wan do?
Walking over to him, a gentle finger dips under Anakin’s chin, asking for him to look up at him. He obeys, peeking through his lashes at him.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
Obi-Wan bends to kiss his forehead, his hand sliding over his face to stroke his cheek. “Tell me if it's too much, I'll stop.”
“Okay,” he says again, more airy than last time.
Obi-Wan kisses his lips next, as warm and gentle as always but with a hint of urgency. Eagerness. Parting his lips against Anakin's, Obi-Wan licks inside, so that he can suck on his tongue. Anakin’s too busy running his fingers through his soft coppery hair to pay any attention to Obi-Wan tugging at his belt.
His gorgeous, powerful hands do away with Anakin’s belt, his tunics, his boots, until he's in nothing but his small clothes with Obi-Wan kneeling between his thighs. He looks good like this. Amazing. As if to say ‘I know’ Obi-Wan kisses the inside of his knee, and crawls up to pull off the last shred of Anakin's modesty.
Anakin's achy, leaking cock slaps against his belly as his underwear are pulled off. Whining a little at the forcefulness, his thighs twitch under his Master's fingers. “Look at you, already drooling for me.”
His pretty pink tongue darts out to wet his tongue before he leans in to press a kiss to the tip of his cock, briefly licking at the slit to taste the wetness beaded there. With some clear reluctance he pulls away, and stands.“I'll be right back, dearest.”
As Obi-Wan turns away from him, Anakin can't help but notice that he's still entirely clothed, and he's completely bare. It's oddly erotic. Kneeling, Obi-Wan searches through a drawer, and he pulls out something black, something with silver chains attached. They clink, and the delicate sound zips up his spine. When did Obi-Wan buy such things? Does he even want to know?
“Turn around for me, and put your hands behind your back.”
He does as he's asked, kneeling near the edge of the bed with the backs of his hands pressed to his lower back. If he wanted to, he could look over his shoulder to watch Obi-Wan approach, but the way his heart skips when Obi-Wan's knees brush against his toes is invigorating.
Something brushes against the bare skin of Anakin's back, and he flinches before he realizes it’s Obi-Wan’s knuckles. Starting at his shoulder, he trails up his back with a feather light touch up to his neck. He lingers at the spot where Anakin’s pulse thrums, before his entire palm slides over the front of his throat. When he squeezes the tiniest amount, Anakin whines a small, pitiful sound.
“My beautiful boy,” Obi-Wan murmurs, hot in Anakin's ear, kissing at the sensitive shell of it. He's barely touched him at all, but Anakin could swear there's electricity in his veins.
“I’m going to cuff you now,” he breathes lowly, and Anakin waits for him to do it, until he realizes he’s waiting for his permission. He sucks in a sharp breath, managing to swallow the whimper that almost sneaks out of him.
“Okay.”
Another kiss gets pressed into his ear, and he hears the metallic clink of the cuffs as Obi-Wan unlatches them. Then, he feels cool, smooth leather sliding around one of his wrists. It fastens firmly but not uncomfortably around his flesh, and then his mech wrist. He tests them immediately, straining lightly against the hold of them.
“Around your neck now dear, if that’s okay.” Obi-Wan brushes his hair aside with one hand dipping his head to mouth at the back of his neck.
For all the times he's imagined something around his neck, it's never been a pleasant image, but now, with his Master asking him so sweetly, with all the trust for him Anakin holds in his heart, with this nascent desire blooming inside of him, he can only weakly say, “Please.”
The collar loops around his neck, and the cold brush of metal up his spine makes him shiver. It's connected to the cuffs, and Anakin instantly pictures Obi-Wan grabbing hold of it and pulling. He almost asks him to, but the wave of arousal that washes over him makes speaking rather difficult.
“If you struggle too much they may actually break,” Obi-Wan says, his knee pressing into the mattress next to his, his hand grabbing at his jaw as he leans close. “But you’re going to be good, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” he replies without thought. That’s all he’s ever really wanted: to be good for his Master. To make him love him.
“What do you want me to do to you, Anakin?”
‘Anything,’ almost slips out, but anything is a lot, and deep in the yawning chasm of his being, he still isn’t sure anything is truly okay.
“Could you… suck my cock?” he asks, voice thinner than he intended.
“Whatever you want.”
Obi-Wan guides him to lie belly up, his hands trapped beneath the small of his back. It’s not the most comfortable position he’s ever been in, but it's far, far from the worst. The thought doesn’t linger when Obi-Wan’s lips along with the bristle of his beard, grazes the tip of his sensitive cockhead. Sighing, he tries not to buck up into Obi-Wan’s mouth.
“Don’t make me come though, okay?” It would be shamefully easy; he hasn’t finished in over two weeks.
Mouthing lightly at the tip of him, Obi-Wan smiles sweetly. “Of course, dear.”
He badly wants to lace his fingers in Obi-Wan’s hair, but he’s unable to do anything but watch as his Master closes his pretty lips around him. His wrists strain faintly at his bindings, and his hips twitch upward of their own accord. Obi-Wan’s hands promptly come down on them, firmly holding him in place. Be good.
With little pause or warning, Obi-Wan swallows him down to the root. Anakin’s eyes roll back, and he keens, spine arching off the bed. The cuffs clink, and the leather clasped around his neck strains pleasantly at the vulnerable skin of his throat. Already, this is proving to be more than he can handle. Obi-Wan’s tongue does wicked things to the underside of his cock, and Anakin wills himself not to blow his load right there.
Anakin’s stomach lurches as Obi-Wan pulls off of him, his stomach flexing with the effort of holding himself together. “Oh my sweet boy, is this too much?”
“I haven’t come in weeks Obi-Wan, anything would be too much,” he rasps. He’s pretty sure Obi-Wan could lie next to him and whisper dirty things in his ear, and it would be enough to make him come untouched.
“Would you let me eat you out instead?” he asks, laving a wet kiss in the crease of his thigh. One of his hands moves to grope one of his asscheeks, and Anakin squeaks.
It’s something he does to Obi-Wan almost every time they fuck. There's little he adores more than his Master's ass; his pink insides, the way he tastes, how much Obi-Wan loves it. Anakin’s made him come with nothing but his mouth on a couple of occasions. If he likes it even a fraction as much, he’ll bust all over himself, but he’s rapidly coming to the conclusion that’s going to happen no matter what Obi-Wan does to him.
And he does want him to. Obi-Wan has offered him an occasional kitten-lick to his hole while sucking his cock or balls, but never in the same fervent manner that Anakin does to him. It shocks him how immediately he feels he needs it.
“Yeah,” he exhales, his cock dripping into the sparse hair below his navel.
Obi-Wan kisses the ruddy tip of his cock one more time, and Anakin can do nothing but lie there as Obi-Wan rolls him over. He lets him position him the way he wants, tugging his hips upward until he’s presenting to him like an animal with his head and shoulders pressing into the mattress. Never has he been so completely exposed, and he can feel Obi-Wan staring. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, his hands curling into tight fists.
“You’re okay, Anakin,” Obi-Wan reassures, petting at one of his quivering thighs. He realizes he's trembling full body, and Obi-Wan shushes him fondly, his hands smoothing up and over his hips and waist. He must look like he’s about to start sobbing, and maybe he is. The only thing he is sure of is how badly he wants his Master’s mouth on him. “Relax, sweetheart.”
“M’ trying,” he slurs, and he really is, but the irrational wounded-animal part of his brain is howling at him that this is dangerous. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding since they landed on Coruscant, and he’s beginning to fear it will give out before night’s end.
“You're very pretty here,” Obi-Wan says, reverent, his hands sliding back and over his cheeks to spread him impossibly wider. Anakin's eyes squeeze shut as his Master's fingers trace around his hole, and he realizes with a stomach fluttering start that he'd let him press those fingers inside of him. That he wants him to. “Every last part of you is gorgeous.”
“Master, please.” Anything but this ceaseless ogling. He's aflame with Obi-Wan’s attention, the worshipful manner in which he regards him. It's overwhelming. The heat of his breath touches his hole before his mouth does, and the shuddering whine crawling up Anakin's throat erupts into a full blown wail as Obi-Wan presses a filthy, open-mouthed kiss to him.
Stars. The hot flat of Obi-Wan’s tongue licks over his hole in broad, slow, drags, drenching him with spit. Anakin's spine dips lower, leaning into Obi-Wan’s talented, eager mouth, and Anakin can't believe this is something he could've had all this time.
“Do you like this?” Obi-Wan asks, kissing the delicate skin around his hole, flicking his tongue over him.
Anakin keens, reedy and breathless. He adores it. More than he's willing or able to say out loud. “Uh-huh.”
“I knew you would, darling.” There’s a smile in his voice, Anakin can picture it perfectly. He delves back in, lapping and sucking at his rim, moaning, the sounds sloppy and wet and perfect. All there is in the entire galaxy is him and his Master's perfect lips sealed over his hole. He pushes back and Obi-Wan groans, tongue dipping inside him the slightest bit.
“Force! Obi-Wan!” He’s drooling on the sheets, from his mouth and neglected cock.
“Anakin, can I-”
It’s sweet. Loving and tender and just like Obi-Wan, but it isn't what he needs. Anything is still scary, but it was never going to feel safe. He wants his Master to take whatever he wants from him. No asking. It's what he’s wanted this whole time. “Quit asking Obi-Wan, do whatever you want. You’ll know if I don’t like it.”
Obi-Wan pauses, his fingers twitching where they still have handfuls of his ass. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I trust you.” As floaty and lust-fogged as he is, his heart swells at his own utterance. “Master, I love you.”
Fingernails dig into his ass as Obi-Wan groans low and deep, laving another wet kiss on his hole. “I love you too, so much, my dear heart.”
Anakin mewls as Obi-Wan thumbs at his hole and plunges his tongue as deep inside as he can get it. He wants to writhe and claw at the sheets, but he can’t. He’s blissfully helpless under his Master’s hands and tongue, and oh, oh he’s-
“Obi-Wan! Master, I’m-”
Immediately, Obi-Wan stops, pulling away with panting breaths. The loss of his maddening tongue has Anakin squirming and whining shrilly. He’d be squeezing his cock hard if he were able, every throb of it an aching wave of heat cutting through him. “Hold on just a little longer for me, you can do that can’t you, dear?”
Once he feels like he isn’t about to burst at the seams, he nods almost drunkly, grunting out a hoarse, “Uh-huh.”
“Anakin-” Obi-Wan starts, like he’s going to ask something, but he stops himself, humming. Again, Anakin doesn’t try to look back at him– the thrill is intoxicating, addicting. Obi-Wan’s weight shifts off the bed for a moment, before settling back behind him. The snap of something opening and closing registers to him, but his mind can’t quite put the pieces together until he feels Obi-Wan’s fingers are spreading something cool and slick over his hole.
Anakin’s mouth falls open, and the wrecked, breathless sound he makes shocks even him. Obi-Wan’s touch falters the slightest amount, but he doesn’t ask him for reassurance. “Have you ever touched yourself here?”
“Not really…” He’d tried it once, years ago, but quickly gave up at the first sign of discomfort. Despite the numerous claims on the holonet that it can be an extremely pleasurable experience, stroking his cock suited him just fine as a fervid teen.
“I’ll be gentle, sweetheart.” The floaty sensation returns with the pace of his panting breaths, a pitiful whimper slipping out of him as Obi-Wan slides a finger into him. It burns a little, and Anakin fruitlessly struggles against his cuffs, pulling the chain connecting to his collar taut. “Force Anakin, you're so tight.”
“Is that a bad thing?” When he fucks Obi-Wan, he always squeezes his cock just right, he takes him without complaint or resistance. His Master is a sacred space carved just for him. Maybe he can be that for Obi-wan too.
“No dear, it just means I have to be careful.” His free hand smooths down Anakin's back, fingertips grazing Anakin's as he crooks the digit inside of him harshly, digging into a spot that makes Anakin jolt.
“Ah!”
“Good?”
It’s still a strange, entirely new sensation, but it felt better than amazing. “Yes Master, do that again.”
He does, pulling out slightly, just enough to press a second alongside the first. The mild discomfort is utterly drowned out by the euphoria that pulses through him as he curls them both harshly. Even when they fuck, by habit Obi-Wan is rarely so unguarded that Anakin can take notice of his thoughts or feelings. But even as lust-drunk as he is right now, the depth of Obi-Wan’s hunger, his desire, is almost oppressive in its magnitude. “You like my fingers in your tight virgin hole, Anakin?”
Fuck. He wants to protest that he certainly isn't a virgin anymore– not with how many times he’s laid Obi-Wan down and fucked him just like this. He isn’t strictly wrong though; Anakin’s never had anything in his ass before. Obi-Wan finds his relative inexperience endearing– he's told him as much on numerous occasions, but Anakin’s always detested it. Still, part of him most definitely likes the idea of Obi-Wan being the first and only person to have ever touched him here.
If he wanted to, Obi-Wan could shove his cock into him right now and there's not a thing Anakin would be able to do to stop him. He shudders, cock twitching, hole clenching.
“Answer me sweetheart, do you like it?” He emphasizes his question with another wicked curl of his fingers, pulling another throaty sound from deep within Anakin.
“Yes, I love it.”
“Love what?” His Master’s voice is low and impish, and Anakin might think him cruel if he could spare the brainpower for such a conclusion.
“Your fingers– ugh!”
“My fingers where?” It seems he's determined to torment him, and Anakin is much too far gone to fight him.
“In my ass.”
“If I knew how much of a desperate little thing you'd be for me like this I would've asked you to bend over for me a long time ago.” Anakin wants to ask him why he didn't, but he knows it's because he would've spooked at the mere mention of it. Even now he's having trouble silencing the portion of his mind that insists he should be cringing away from Obi-Wan's touch and bearing his teeth at him.
“Master I'm-”
“Go ahead and come Anakin, it's alright, I'll make you finish on my cock again, and then you can watch me lick it all up when I’m done with you.”
“No! I want-” to come on his cock, but Obi-Wan doesn't stop, nailing his prostate with his fingers relentlessly. Anakin doesn't know what turns him on more: Obi-Wan deliberately not listening to him, or the way his ankles and wrists and neck strain helplessly against their bindings as he thrashes.
“Shh, let go for me. I'll take care of you. That's what you want right?”
Yes. He does. There’s no other choice. Wailing, his weeping untouched cock shoots thick ribbons of come onto Obi-Wan's sheets. He can't see, but he can feel that it's a lot.
Obi-Wan swears, his voice syrupy-sweet, “Fuck Anakin, that's it. I know what you need, let Master give it to you, hm?”
Whatever he wants. Anything. Anything. His climax is still waning, lapping at him in soft, warm waves until he surfaces to Obi-Wan rubbing soothing circles into his lower back with his thumbs.
“You really did save all of it for me did you? Sweet boy.”
He nearly whines that it’s only because he refused him sex, and his hand is a pisspour replacement, but he only sighs, “Who else would it be for?”
“That's right, you're my little slut aren't you?”
Anakin can’t take this, Obi-Wan’s really going to kill him if he keeps talking to him like that. “Yes. Fuck!”
“Is it sensitive?” Obi-Wan asks, clearly knowing the answer. He slips two fingers back into him easily, digging both digits harshly into his overstimulated prostate. Anakin sobs, tears pricking in his eyes as Obi-Wan keeps fucking him with his fingers, and they spill over when his tongue joins them in trying to curl inside him.
“Master! Ah!”
“You can take it Anakin, I know you can.”
Yes. He can. He will. Despite just coming, he's already tingling with fresh, biting arousal, each practiced push of Obi-Wan's fingers forcing a guttural and undignified noise out of him.
“Please, please, Obi-Wan,” he pleads for nothing, for everything, anything.
“Please what, dearest?”
“I don't know,” he whines, the arch in his back dipping so low his knees nearly slip and go flat. Nothing but pure want roils through him, molten and wanton, but his body cannot keep up, quaking and going boneless under his Master's touch. Humming, Obi-Wan grabs his hips, and corrects his posture, keeping Anakin fully on display for him.
“Come on darling, tell me what you need.” Reaching between his legs, Obi-Wan strokes over his cock, feather-light, rousing him anew– all it takes to get him fully hard is a few scant grazes of his fingertips. Anakin’s panting, his chest heaving, quaking. His mind has never been so blank, his body has never been so woefully empty.
Obi-Wan grabs the chain connecting his cuffs to the collar around his neck and pulls, making Anakin whine shrilly as he's tugged backwards. The leather around his neck pulls taut, and entire star systems burst apart behind his closed lids. His spine comes flush with Obi-Wan’s chest, still completely covered while Anakin has been long stripped of any semblance of modesty. Hot, brazen breath fans in his ear, and Obi-Wan’s teeth graze over it. “I’m waiting, dear.”
There’s fresh pressure against his loosened hole, two of his Master’s fingers circling over his rim without dipping back inside. Anakin feels like he’s going to die. He barely recognizes his own voice when he begins begging, “Fuck me. Please! Fuck me please!”
“You need my cock in your little virgin hole, Anakin?”
“Yes. Yes Master. Need it so bad.” He must sound horribly desperate, and he well and truly is. His most carnal desires confess vividly into the empty space between them, pouring into Obi-Wan so strongly there's no doubt of the sincerity of his want. His need.
“Shh. I know,” Obi-Wan coos, nipping at his ear, tugging at the chain again in motion for Anakin to turn his head and kiss him. His clear talent and experience in this role would make Anakin alight with insecurity if he weren't so unbearably turned on. There isn't any room for it, the only thing there's space for inside him is: “Master will take care of you.”
Blood rushes in Anakin's ears, but he hears the wet sound of Obi-Wan slicking something as his knee comes to rest on the bed outside of one of Anakin's spread legs. There are fingers at his hole again, two sinking in easily. Anakin only groans when he slips them out a moment later. Obi-Wan shifts off the bed again, and Anakin registers the clinking of his belt being discarded along with the soft shuffle of his robes hitting the floor.
“Are you ready, Padawan?” something hot and heavy and thick slaps over his hole, and he instantly knows it's Obi-Wan's cock.
A shudder rips up his spine and punches past his lips with a hoarse mewl. He isn't asking his permission, his tone says that much– he just wants to hear Anakin beg some more. His voice is small and breathless when he gives Obi-Wan what he wants, what they both want, “Master please, fuck me, please give me your cock.”
“And what are you going to do if I don't? I could leave you right here like this, and there's not a thing you'd be able to do about it.”
Deep in his marrow, he knows Obi-Wan wouldn't do something so transparently cruel, but icy fangs pierce his stomach and tear just the same. If he wished such a thing, Anakin would not be able to stop him. “Master!”
“You wouldn't like that? Being chained up in here while I go meet with the council? Waiting hours for me to come back and fuck you?” If he doesn’t stop, Anakin's going to burst. Again. From nothing but Obi-Wan’s sweet, pink lips formed around mean, filthy words. He badly wants to jerk his cock while Obi-Wan describes every way in which he could torture him while he keeps slapping his cock over his empty, flexing hole.
Tears well in his eyes, and a genuine sob wracks his body.
It flips a switch in Obi-Wan, one Anakin knows he can never truly ignore. “Are you all right, dear one? I'm not being too hard on you am I?”
“I told you to stop worrying. S’ good Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan chuffs, cock nudging his hole. “My strong boy.”
The blunt tip of Obi-Wan's cock is much thicker than two of his fingers, and the burn of Anakin stretching out around him is good in a way he struggles to comprehend. Little by little, the hot brand of Obi-Wan's cock carves out a place inside him, and little by little, his discomfort is replaced with a profound fullness until Obi-Wan's hips come flush with Anakin's ass. “There you go.”
“Fuck, Obi-Wan-!”
Obi-Wan stills there, letting Anakin adjust. He slots inside him so perfectly, Anakin deliriously questions if this is the will of the Force itself. Every bleeding wound that's ever been opened inside him is filled and soothed over by Obi-Wan's cock. Raw, tender places he never even realized were empty.
“Is it good Anakin? Do you like Master’s cock in your ass?”
Anakin loves it– more than he thought possible, more than he can possibly say with the state he's in. He whimpers out a thin, wet, “Yes.”
Here, with Obi-Wan’s thick cock inside of him, with his wrists and neck caged in submission– he finds what he's been aching for. Obi-Wan grinds his hips into his ass, and oh yes. This is exactly what he's sought, and Obi-Wan is the only man he'll ever trust enough to touch him this way, to reduce him to this.
Obi-Wan grabs the chain connecting the leather clasped around his wrists, and holds onto it tight as he pulls out of Anakin, cock dragging along his insides until almost none of it is left inside. Anakin braces for him to slam back in, but he only eases back inside almost as slowly as he had the first time. Making sure Anakin feels every scorching inch.
Mouth hanging open, a low, guttural sound is punched out of him each time Obi-Wan’s balls come snug against his ass. “Master. Harder.”
Obi-Wan curses and makes a choked, gravel-filled noise. Fingers curling tight around the chain of Anakin's cuffs, he snaps his hips a little harder. There. Yes. His cock rails into his prostate, and Anakin cries out, trying to push back and meet his every thrust.
“More,” he slurs, the plea sounding more like a fucked-out groan than an intelligible word.
“Anakin.” It's chastising, warning, but Obi-Wan gives him what he wants, fucking him hard enough for his hips and balls to slap against his ass. He pulls at Anakin’s restrains with each hard fuck into him. With every obscene slap of his Master's skin against his own, his head empties a little more.
“Ah, Anakin, take it– that's it,”
Obi-wan drop drapes himself over him, his sweat-damp skin slick against Anakin’s as he keeps fucking him. His spread, quaking legs can’t take it anymore– not without his arms to hold himself up. “Master,” he whines, and Obi-Wan half-laughs, grabbing his hip.
“It's okay Anakin, just arch your pretty back for me.” He immediately does as he's asked, pushing his ass up as far as he can on his weak legs, breathy, reedy noises being wrenched out of him each time Obi-Wan bottoms out.
The blood in Anakin's veins is molten, a pulsing, astonishing heat that Obi-Wan stokes with each thrust. Every tug at his restraints. Each rough, rasping breath Obi-Wan takes pushes him closer to madness.
There’s hot, panting breath in his ear, Obi-Wan’s increasingly broken noises going straight to his needy cock. “You are so–” Obi-Wan’s movements stutter, his lips and teeth grazing Anakin’s ear. “So maddening, so sweet. All mine.”
His Master’s supremely unJedi-like declaration paired with another sharp tug at his restraints is more than enough to make Anakin’s orgasm crash over him so hard he almost passes out. He’s vaguely aware of the guttural, debauched noise he makes as he comes all over Obi-Wan’s sheets for the second time. “I'm coming, I’m coming, Obi-wan, Master!”
“That's it Anakin, milk my cock, fuck!” Obi-Wan's voice tapers into a strained gasp, and Anakin knows the only time he gets like that is when he's close.
“Come inside me, wanna feel it.” He begs for every vacancy in all his being to be filled, and Obi-Wan does his best to grant his wish. Fucking into him hard, he laces his fingers in Anakin’s hair and pulls until he can get his lips on Anakin's in a desperate, sloppy kiss.
Anakin sucks on his tongue, bites at his lips and pants airy, whiny noises into his Master's mouth, and Obi-Wan’s levy breaks. With a reverent, choked sound, he reaches his crescendo, coming deep inside Anakin in warm pulses.
With Obi-Wan still panting into his mouth, the weight of his body bearing down on him and, his softening cock still inside him, the gnawing, inflamed hollow inside of him finally goes still. Quiet.
Obi-Wan rolls off him, and Anakin groans softly as his cock slips out of him. Almost immediately, Obi-Wan is attending to his restraints, unclasping the cuffs, fingers skating up his back to delicately pull off the collar.
His hand pet tenderly at his flesh wrist and neck, checking him for any irritated marks. Anakin can tell there aren't any from the lack of any persistent discomfort, though his arms seem a little stiff when he stretches them out in front of him like a dozing tooka. He might be a little disappointed if his ass didn't ache so wonderfully.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Obi-Wan asks, lying down beside him and combing his fingers through his sweaty hair.
“Better,” he groans, his heavy lids barely cracking open enough to see Obi-Wan.
His hair is tousled, and he's smiling down at him with nothing but warm adoration on his handsome features. “I’m sorry to ask, dear, but would you roll over for me?”
Anakin shifts, and that’s right, he’d come all over Obi-Wan’s sheets. Twice. The bulk of it is smearing against his belly right now, and he can’t decide if it's plain disgusting or weirdly hot. He does as he’s asked, rolling onto his back, and the large, milky wet patch he leaves behind makes his eyes go wide. “Sorry.”
Obi-Wan laughs, grabbing one of his tabards off the floor and wiping up his mess and Anakin grins at him wryly, nudging him with his foot. “I thought you said you’d lick it all up, Master.”
That makes Obi-Wan pause, eyes flicking to Anakin, and Anakin’s unable to puzzle out what flickers over his face before he pouches on him. Both of his hands pin Anakin to the bed by his forearms, and Anakin can only choke on his gasp before he’s kissing him.
“Dirty boy,” Obi-Wan rasps into his mouth, lips grazing down his chin, his neck, his tongue dips into the hollow of his throat, and Anakin shudders. When he makes it to the mess on his belly, he looks up at Anakin through his messy hair and pretty lashes. Anakin’s breath hitches, punched out of him in an obscene moan a second later when Obi-Wan drags his tongue through the come covered hair below his navel.
“You’re gonna make me hard again if you don’t stop,” he pants, fresh, heat flickering to life just under his skin.
“I’m counting on it, darling. I did say I’d keep you in bed all day, didn’t I?”
Anakin moans again, and he can’t help but wonder how many times it's even possible to come in a single day. He supposes he’s about to find out.