Obi-Wan blinks into wakefulness one slow breath at a time. It’s warm, and the bed beneath him is blessedly soft. Dull morning light falls across his lax fingers. So content is he, that he nearly falls back to sleep again, relieved to be far from the battlefront and his lumpy cot onboard the Negotiator. Just a few more moments of grateful reprieve. Just a few more.
But there’s an insistent nudging at his back. Hot and firm. It gently rocks his hips as he lays on his side. An arm curls about his waist, rough fingers spreading across his abdomen to curl possessively into his side. Obi-Wan mumbles a bit incoherently as the solid heat against his back shifts slightly. Breath tickles the fine hair at the nape of his neck in soft pants. A moment later, wet kisses trail along the freckled skin of his shoulder, soft little bursts of heat that try to drag him into wakefulness. Then teeth graze and bite down, firm.
Heat curls low in his belly.
“Aah…” Obi-Wan moans, sliding a hand down to twine his fingers with the ones on his stomach. “Ani…?”
Anakin hums affirmatively, lips parting to lave and suck at the junction of neck and shoulder. The movement of his hips becomes surer, more forceful and quick. Impatient. The bulge of his cock slips between Obi-Wan’s cheeks. Anakin’s sleep pants rub just this side of too rough but don’t provide quite enough friction for the itch that’s beginning to heat in the pit of Obi-Wan’s stomach. The bare skin of Anakin’s chest is comforting, peaked nipples pressing against his shoulders blades.
“When’d you get back…?” Obi-Wan murmurs. His breath hitches as Anakin gives a particularly harsh suck, teeth scraping leisurely. Anakin’s hand slips down to Obi-Wan’s cock, fingers still intertwined, and kneads the slowly-filling flesh. The older man shudders as Anakin bites his neck, cock twitching beneath their fingers.
After a few soothing laves of his tongue, Anakin leans in closer to breathe hot in Obi-Wan’s ear. “Late last night,” he whispers. It’s easy to catch the lobe of Obi-Wan’s ear between his teeth and nibble at it. “You were already asleep.” With a pointed thrust of his hips, his clothed cock grinds against Obi-Wan, so close to his now aching entrance. Still hazy with sleep, Obi-Wan lazily grinds against him.
“But imagine my surprise,” Anakin murmurs, voice just this edge of rough, “when I slipped into bed only to find you sleeping nude.” His lips graze the fine hair behind his ear. “Completely bare.” An open-mouthed kiss. “Vulnerable.” His fingers curl more firmly about Obi-Wan’s cock, beginning to slide their joined hands along the length. “Do you know what that did to me?” His breaths come harsh and hot in Obi-Wan’s ear. He buries his face in the older man’s neck and bites sloppy, desperate kisses.
“Do you know how difficult it was to not just wake you up then and there? I was so close to just climbing on top of you. Would you have liked that? Waking with your cock in my mouth. My tongue inside you? Hands on the backs of your thighs as I spread you open?” Obi-Wan shivers, lashes fluttering.
Anakin’s hand twists around his cock again. He thumbs the slit, then digs his nail in and latches onto the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck, teeth biting deep bruises. Obi-Wan jerks against him, heel hitting slim shins. Anakin soothes the skin with his tongue in approval. “You were naked. You still are. Were you waiting for me? Desperate? Aching to be filled?”
Obi-Wan moans, lips parting to say something, to explain— but then Anakin seems to have spoiled him enough. He pushes insistently against Obi-Wan’s back, rolling him onto his stomach and covering the older man’s body with his own. The weight of him is satisfying. Grounding. Another pointed thrust against his ass and Obi-Wan can feel the dampness on the front of Anakin’s trousers. The thought of Anakin hard and aching, waiting hours on end for Obi-Wan to wake up, makes his toes curl. His cock twitches again and he buries his face in his pillow, mouth gaping in breathless pleasure.
A broken whine spills from Obi-Wan’s lips as Anakin removes their hands from beneath him, abandoning his cock to the sheets. “Ana-ah…!” The younger man tangles his free mech hand in Obi-Wan’s hair and tugs lightly, careful not to catch any strands in the joints.
“Or maybe you already had some fun by yourself? Without me.” His left hand untangles from Obi-Wan’s to slip beneath him again. His fingers slide against Obi-Wan’s ribs to stop at his nipple, lingering. He rolls the nub between his fingertips almost thoughtfully. Then he tweaks the sensitive flesh, pinching hard.
Broken moans escape Obi-Wan as he tries to gain purchase against the sheets. He’s helpless beneath Anakin’s weight, trapped between wandering hands. “N-no- Ani—”
A sharper tug of his hair. The movement forces Obi-Wan’s head up into a slightly awkward angle, exposing his throat even more. Anakin takes advantage of the position, leaning over Obi-Wan’s shoulder to bite kisses into his throat. Obi-Wan is absolutely certain he’s leaving blooming bruises all across his skin. Anakin has always seemed to love leaving his mark. Covering him in bites so thoroughly and recklessly that they sometimes peek above his tunic collar. His men have surely noticed. It would be hard not to, considering Anakin’s enthusiasm.
But Obi-Wan’s protests have only ever been half-hearted on the rare occasion when he actually does voice them. He’s spent countless hours standing in front of his ‘fresher mirror, tracing the tender flesh, eyes mapping the scarlet constellations upon his skin. Sometimes when he’s particularly lonely and Anakin is systems away, he’ll press his fingers against the curves of his shoulders and throat. Revel in the sharp ache. Reminders of Anakin’s lust and affection.
He wishes the marks lasted longer. That they saw each other often enough that his skin was perpetually littered with a collection of fresh and fading marks.
Anakin sucks a particularly fervent kiss into his throat. Then he nips and almost delicately bites the tendon, punctuating it with a thrust of his hips. It leaves Obi-Wan scrabbling at the sheets, desperate for something to cling to.
Anakin blows softly against Obi-Wan’s damp skin, then nips once more and grinds his hips. “Did you even think of me?”
The only thing that spills from Obi-Wan’s mouth is a jumble of garbled sounds.
“Did you think of how we haven’t seen each other in weeks? About how I haven’t filled you in even longer than that? Did you wonder what I’d do as soon as I stepped into our rooms?” Anakin laughs breathlessly into the curve of his throat. For a few moments, his thrusts stutter as he loses himself in the fantasy. “Well, I’ll give you a hint: I would have bent you over the nearest flat surface and fucked all thought but my cock out of your head.”
Obi-Wan practically keens then. Because- well. It isn’t like he hasn’t thought about it. Like he hasn’t thought about the hunger in Anakin’s eyes because, Force, the man is insatiable. Late at night with nothing but the distant murmurs of clones beyond his tent walls, he’s slipped his hand into his trousers and palmed at his already half-hard flesh, missing Anakin. Missing the weight of Anakin’s body and Anakin’s mouth on his throat and Anakin’s hands on his cock. He’s brought himself to orgasm like that. Alone and aching for something to fill his mouth. To choke on.
More than a few times— and he’d never ever admit this to Anakin because Force knows he doesn’t need to stroke the man’s ego any more than he already has, but Obi-Wan has entertained thoughts of what their various reunions might be like. If when the next time Anakin’s shuttle touches down on the field he forgoes the typical hellos and instead pushes Obi-Wan to his knees and demand he open his mouth for a proper greeting.
But he’d never tell Anakin. Some fantasies are meant to stay in his head. Especially ones about bending over the console during a holo call or fucking right in the battlefield, just after the heat of combat with adrenaline still running in their veins.
Though he’ll admit, it’s come close a couple of times. With residual blaster fire echoing in the hills and smoke curling noxious and ghastly into the sky, they’ve stumbled between broken bodies and mute men, searching for each other. Frantic. Terrified. Awful dread knotting their stomachs and trembling in their limbs. Sometimes they’ve lost their comms, or one of them has been captured and the only thing they have is that fragile, desperate hope that the other is alive. That they’re safe. That somehow they’ve survived another battle, another day.
When they find each other, hands fumbling and checking for injuries, unwilling to let the other go— it’s like the world has been reduced to only them. Only Anakin’s blueblue eyes and Obi-Wan’s rasp-rough voice. In those small, desperate moments all they feel is shattered relief because you’re alive you’re alive you’realive.
“Are you so desperate, Obi-Wan, that you’d lay open and waiting on our bed? Legs spread in offering, cock jutting up and untouched because you know that whatever I’ll give you is so much better than your own hand?”
“Y-yes,” spills from Obi-Wan’s mouth. “I would.”
Anakin freezes. His body presses Obi-Wan into the mattress, heavy and hot and sometimes, like this, Obi-Wan feels more bare and vulnerable than he ever has. Stripped down to his basic instincts. The need to roll over and just take it or fall to his knees and open his mouth because he’s so desperate to be filled by Anakin Anakin Anakin.
“You would.” It’s nearly a question. A disbelief. The words tremble low and just as vulnerable as Obi-Wan feels. They scrape out of Anakin’s throat, and rumble low in his breast. The sound shudders through Obi-Wan’s ribcage and wraps about his heart.
Obi-Wan shifts slightly, head tilting. The grip on his hair loosens. Obi-Wan peers at him over the curve of his shoulder. The young man’s eyes are wide and so so blue. It’s like his face has cracked open, exposing the insecurity beneath. Obi-Wan takes care to keep his gaze and voice steady when he speaks.
“Yes,” he says. “I would.” The only for you goes unsaid, but he knows Anakin hears it anyway.
The noise that tears itself out from deep within Anakin’s breast is so raw and desperate that Obi-Wan shudders beneath him, cock twitching eagerly. Expectantly. The younger man’s expression darkens and he lunges forward to kiss him. It’s awkward over his shoulder, neck twisted and back arched. But it’s hot and needy—Opened-mouthed and panting as Anakin pushes his weight into Obi-Wan. The mech hand tugs at his hair again, pain spreading sharp and pleasurable across his scalp. Anakin’s flesh fingers claw into his side.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers brokenly, panting and barely coherent.
Something breaks within them both.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whimpers against his lips. “Please.”
Anakin shoves at his trousers. The fabric ends up caught beneath his ass, just far enough to free his cock. Anakin ruts helplessly, reaching out an arm as the bedside table rattles with his careless and impatient use of the Force. A bottle of slick smacks into the young man’s palm and he wastes no time snapping it open. Fumbling, he generously coats his fingers in it.
Still biting at Obi-Wan’s lips, he pulls his hips away just enough to press a finger against the older man’s entrance. There’s resistance when he pushes. But they’ve done this so many times that he expects it. Even if Obi-Wan is needy and eager, it takes slick and probing fingers to loosen his body enough. (Anakin panicked that first time, guilty and distraught and young but Obi-Wan pulled him close and stroked his cheek and said I want you I want you oh Anakin I do I always will).
So he presses that finger in and shudders at the familiar tightness. The way Obi-Wan bucks and clenches around him with a strangled sound caught in his throat. Anakin groans and shifts so he can rock against Obi-Wan’s hip. Impatiently, he pumps his finger in and out, then slips in a second before Obi-Wan loosens enough.
Obi-Wan whines at the burn, then bites and pulls at Anakin’s lip, encouraging. He luxuriates in the uncomfortable stretch. Delights in thinking of the way his ass will ache tomorrow. Sore and used. Every time he sits the phantom pressure of Anakin’s fingers, his cock, will linger and leave him yearning to be filled again and again.
Soon, they’re both out of breath and Anakin’s head drops, forehead pressing against Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
“A-Anakin,” Obi-Wan gasps, hoarse.
“I know,” Anakin whispers harshly, scissoring his fingers then pushing in a third one. “I know, Obi-Wan. Just hold on.”
Obi-Wan’s hands clench white-knuckled against the sheets. He knows it’s useless to try to touch himself, aching as he is. Anakin will only bat his hand away.
Unsteady, Anakin pulls his hand away to slick up his cock.
Obi-Wan whines at the emptiness, clenching around nothing and rubbing against the mattress. His toes curl in frustration.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Anakin presses sweet kisses into the soft hair at the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck. They trail up to press against his temple. “I’m here.”
With a ragged breath, Anakin rises to his knees and pumps himself a few more times before lining up with Obi-Wan’s entrance. Anakin looms over him, hunched and chest nearly heaving. He breathes deep, then links his fingers with Obi-Wan’s, the head of his cock nudging insistently.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan breathes.
Anakin groans low and broken when he sinks in slow and deep. His arms tremble as his cock is enveloped in Obi-Wan’s tight warmth, breath hitching as Obi-Wan can’t help but clench around him. His elbows lock and he grunts, hips stuttering briefly, cock twitching inside Obi-Wan. He takes a moment to steady himself. Presses forward again. Slides in until he seats himself fully, balls hanging heavy and warm against Obi-Wan’s ass.
Anakin whimpers. Unable to stop himself, he grinds against the older man a few times, though he’s already seated completely inside him. He untangles his mech hand from Obi-Wan’s hair and slips it down the body beneath his to grasp at Obi-Wan’s hip. Anakin breathes harshly against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, those delicate freckles trembling before his eyes.
Anakin has always thought that Obi-Wan was made to be filled.
“A-Ani- please just- please,” Obi-Wan begs. “Move.”
But Anakin needs no encouragement.
His first thrust knocks a startled breath from Obi-Wan’s lungs. The next pushes Obi-Wan a couple centimeters up the bed, forcing Anakin to scoot closer, hips bucking relentlessly. Obi-Wan’s back arches as Anakin takes a moment to grind into him, settling into place once more before continuing. He sets a punishing pace, thrusts quick but deep, angled to drag against Obi-Wan’s sweet spot with every jerk of his hips. Moans fall ceaselessly from Obi-Wan’s lips, breaths stuttering with the strength of Anakin’s thrusts and garbled versions of the younger man’s name.
The sound of slapping skin fills the quiet room. Every few thrusts Anakin nearly pulls out too far, the head of his cock threatening to catch at the rim of Obi-Wan’s hole and instead slide wet between the older man’s cheeks, nestling there like it’s always belonged. But Anakin’s too desperate for that. He’s lost himself in the tight heat and Obi-Wan’s writhing body. Auburn strands catch the brightening sunlight, curling against the pillow and ruffling every so often with Anakin’s harsh gasps.
They rut against one another, caught in mutual pleasure. Lost in the rhythm of their bodies. Obi-Wan’s high-pitched, broken whines tangle with the low, choking groans that scrape Anakin’s throat raw.
Anakin watches as Obi-Wan’s face slackens, wanton, mouth gaping in an ‘O’ of pleasure. Something savage and primal within him loves that he can make his old Master fall apart like this. That he has such power over a man as composed and capable as Obi-Wan.
The thought prompts him to bend low and clamp his teeth on one trembling shoulder, snapping his hips forward with such intensity that Obi-Wan wails and cums so hard his vision goes white.
It takes a split second for Anakin to realize what’s happened. But when he does, he grins feral and digs in his teeth in an almost snarl.
Obi-Wan quakes as Anakin continues to plough into him, grunting as the body beneath him spasms with aftershocks. The fingernails raising scarlet welts on his hip aren’t nearly enough to distract Obi-Wan from the cock dragging against his oversensitive flesh. The pain only spikes his pleasure, and he whines high and long. Breathless and exhausted, he’s unable to do much more than fall limp beneath Anakin’s pistoning body.
Unsatisfied, Anakin uses his knee to spread Obi-Wan’s legs wider, balls slapping with the force of his thrusts. Sweat drips down his back and slips between his curls. He mouths hotly at the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck, tongue tracing the indentations he’s left behind. Then he scrapes his teeth over that too-hot flesh and bites down again, his moan echoed in Obi-Wan’s hitched breath. The older man clenches weakly around Anakin again, sighing.
Anakin’s thrusts begin to stutter, rhythm lost as the heat in his stomach clenches near unbearable, balls drawing up tight. Then he pulls Obi-Wan’s hips back against him, pressing deep and deeper until he spills hot into Obi-Wan’s ass.
He collapses on top of him, gasping and spent, his cock still buried inside him. Lazily, he mouths at Obi-Wan’s shoulder, throat, jaw. The beard rasps against Anakin’s lips. Gently, he nips Obi-Wan’s ear and delights in the feeble chuckles it produces.
“I do love you, you know,” Obi-Wan murmurs, voice still wrecked.
Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s throat. His kisses are soft and tender, delicately placed upon Obi-Wan’s flushed skin. “I know,” he whispers. Something flutters deep within his breast, fragile and warm. “I love you, too.”
They spend a long time simply basking in each other’s presence, pressed so close it’s as if they’re afraid that when they part, they might lose one another forever.
But Anakin does eventually pull away, softened cock slipping from Obi-Wan’s loose hole. A bead of cum slips down the cleft of Obi-Wan’s ass to curve along his sac. Anakin collapses onto his side. One arm curls possessively over Obi-Wan’s waist as the other idly brushes sweaty bangs from the older man’s forehead.
Obi-Wan’s smile is gentle and brighter than any sun.
A fond smile curls Anakin’s lips and he can’t help but snuggle in close, laughter light as he nuzzles Obi-Wan’s kiss-bitten shoulder.
“So why were you naked, then?” He lightly kisses sweat-slick skin with grinning lips, eyes practically sparkling. “Were you actually waiting for me?”
Huffing an exasperated sigh, Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. It doesn’t stop his smile from widening, though. “I most certainly was not. I’d just gotten back from the front, too. I was tired and cold and covered in mud. All I wanted was a shower and when I got out I was too exhausted to do more than fall right into bed.”
Anakin’s grin turns sheepish. “Ah, well. It was still hot.”
Obi-Wan full-out smirks. “I might have noticed.”
Unable to dampen the brilliant warmth in his heart, Anakin rolls them over again so Obi-Wan lays on his back. Helplessly, they laugh and curl into one another as Anakin presses teasing kisses into Obi-Wan’s throat.