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Anakin is perhaps the neediest omega in the temple. Obi-Wan doesn’t know of any other omegas that will interrupt important debriefings just to bury their head into their alpha’s neck. Other omegas didn’t have to wear collars, protecting their necks from a forbidden bite that they kept begging for. Other omegas didn’t have to be convinced to go on birth control nor did they whine and beg every time a condom was brought out. Obi-Wan certainly has never heard of other masters complaining about their omega padawan grinding against every surface in their quarters, making the whole place reek of want and fertility, simply because their masters were late to return from a mission.
Yes, Anakin must be the neediest omega in the entire temple, if not on the entire planet. But if Anakin is needy, what does that make Obi-Wan, who, after all, bends to so many of his padawan’s desires? The council allows alphas to assist omegas during heat, but they don’t necessarily encourage long-term sexual arrangements or sex outside of heats and ruts. They must know about how often Obi-Wan has Anakin spread out before him, how many times Anakin pulls him into an empty room or storage closet. They’ve not been as discrete as they should be, and Anakin certainly isn’t quiet.
“Ah, Master, Master, Master-“ Anakin gasps, voice going high-pitched each time Obi-Wan drives his cock in. There’s a drool spot on the pillow he’s clutching, where he’s buried his face. “Oh, please, Master, right there!”
The sounds coming from his Padawan are obscene. Each thrust is accompanied by a squelch of fluid. The bedspread is drenched with Anakin’s slick and sweat, and Obi-Wan knows that Anakin’s pussy is already glistening with translucent white pre-come. Obi-Wan’s knot is already swollen and tender, ready to pop the moment he lets his control slip.
“Kriff, not even in heat yet and you’re so wet,” Obi-Wan mumbles, leaning back to enjoy the sight of how Anakin’s sweat glistens and pools on his back dimples. He pulls the omega’s cheeks apart slightly, just enough to see how Anakin’s cunt is stretched and shining around his cock. Anakin is practically dripping, already an orgasm in, but pre-heat is driving him into his usual frenzy. Every time Obi-Wan speaks or breathes he smells and tastes Anakin on his tongue. The recent memory of Anakin spread out, drawing Obi-Wan closer, moaning as he ground against Obi-Wan’s face - it drives him to thrust harder.
If he turns his head just the slightest, he can see the ruined remains of Anakin’s undergarments, silky fabric almost sparkling in the room’s low light. The Order, of course, provided standard underwear for all padawans, but Anakin insisted it was too rough on his most sensitive and delicate parts. He pouted and whined until Obi-Wan used a portion of their monthly stipend to buy him as many lacy, silky, and soft panties as the boy wanted. They all end up ruined, though, stretched and torn, weak against the frenzied need of alpha in a rut or an omega in heat. A waste of credits, Obi-Wan thinks, when Anakin could just go about his day without underwear. Might be more convenient too, considering how often he liked to tempt his master in public. But Anakin makes such pretty sounds, whenever Obi-Wan rips things apart, just to get closer to him faster. In heat or not, Anakin always seems ready to go another round. Obi-Wan really should talk to him about going on suppressants, but the thought of denying either of them this intimacy, this pleasure, makes him prickle.
Anakin moans when Obi-Wan changes the angle of his thrusts. Clumsily, he pushes himself to his elbow, twisting his torso to get a better look at his alpha. There’s drool at the corner of his mouth and his lips are red from being bitten. His eyes are wide and glassy from pre-heat and pleasure, and sweat drips down his face. He’s beautiful and debauched. Obi-Wan has to slow his pace as he leans down to press their lips together. Anakin wastes no time in sucking Obi-Wan’s tongue. It’s messy and sloppy, as both of them jostling as Obi-Wan continues fucking Anakin as deep as the position allows. When Obi-Wan pulls away, much to Anakin’s whining protest, a string of spit connects them. It’s as pleasing as it is disgusting.
“Play with your tits,” he growls, hands tight on Anakin’s hip, tilting them into a better angle as he picks up the pace. Anakin whines. His nipples are always puffy, always sensitive from constant pulling and attention. It’s one of Obi-Wan’s favourite sights, watching as his Padawan gets more desperate to have a more experienced hand or mouth against his chest. He drops to one elbow, and a slender hand drags down his chest, pinching and pawing at his nipples. He lets out a little whine before looking back at Obi-Wan, eyes wide and watery.
“Need you to do it, Master, it’s not the same.” He pouts as he drops his hands, pressing his face back into the mattress. That just won’t do. Obi-Wan brings a hand to Anakin’s shoulder and hauls him to a kneeling position, back pressed against his chest. There’s a brief moment of fumbling, as they adjust to the new position. Kisses pressed against Anakin’s neck, teasing the skin between his shoulder and the collar, soothe Anakin into compliance as Obi-Wan rearranges them.
“So needy,” he whispers, bringing a hand to Anakin’s chest. It earns him a gasp, just brushing over his nipples. “Need an alpha to do everything for you, don’t you? You’d be perfectly happy to hang off a knot forever?”
“Just yours,” Anakin moans, wriggling his hips to meet Obi-Wan’s thrusts. His knot is starting to swell again, and Anakin keens when he feels it pressed against his hole. One of his hands goes up to tug on his padawan braid, twisting it around a finger, while the other sneaks down to rub at his clit. He has little finesse in his movements, but each pass over makes him clench. “Only needy for you, Master, only want your knot.”
Obi-Wan knows this to be true, has never seen Anakin bend over for anyone else, has never seen him present his neck so prettily for another alpha. He’s Obi-Wan’s omega, collar standing in for a bite, and he knows that it’s only a matter of time before they shred it.
The thought nearly makes him feral. Despite his efforts to bring Anakin upwards, he can’t resist the urge to press him back against the bed, into something that could pass as a presenting position in their states. Pressing him into the mattress, hips jackrabbiting as his thrusts lose their grace, chasing the addicting clench and heat of an omega’s fertile cunt.
Anakin's speech devolves into slurred expressions of pleasure, calling out “Master” and “Obi-Wan” with no other thoughts to follow. His fingers occasionally brush Obi-Wan’s knot, from where they’re still frantically stroking his clit, motions growing erratic and sloppy.
“So good, Anakin, so good for your alpha,” Obi-Wan groans. Anakin clenches around him and lets out a delicious cry as he comes again. “That’s it, omega, that’s it. Get tight around this knot, let me fuck you open, ruin you for anyone else.”
For all his bolstering, it only takes a few more thrusts before he presses as deeply into Anakin as he can, coming with a deep moan, locking them together. He feels Anakin’s thighs quiver and twitch in the aftermath of his orgasm. He presses his face into Anakin’s neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and satisfaction. An omega that’s gotten his fix, for now.
He feels Anakin wriggle under his weight. It takes some effort, boneless as he is after a good fuck, to turn them over, so they’re cuddling on their side. Comfortable minutes pass as they gain their breath before Anakin starts squirming again. He twists his neck and purses his lips, straining for a kiss. Obi-Wan lets out a small rumble of pleasure as he leans over, pressing his lips against his omega. It’s less sloppy than before, less frantic, but the angle is odd. Still, Anakin purrs into it, and Obi-Wan finds himself purring back.
Anakin reaches around and grabs Obi-Wan’s wrist. For a moment, Obi-Wan thinks Anakin wants to hold his hand as they cuddle. So cute. Anakin glances at Obi-Wan, and smiles coyly, before beginning to guide Obi-Wan’s hand down the smooth plane of the omega’s stomach - slightly bloated with cum - towards his fat clit.
“Unbelievable,” Obi-Wan mutters, pressing a kiss to Anakin’s temple, enjoying the burst of pleasing scent that erupts when he starts making tight little circles with his fingers. “Neediest little thing.”
“Just for you,” Anakin sighs again, rhythmically clenching around the still swollen knot. His scent still indicates that he’s not in full heat. By the time he’s in the throes of it, Obi-Wan knows he’ll have even less downtime. He’ll probably get another noise complaint from the council. Maybe they’ve already had one, but his comm is in the other room, and he certainly isn’t leaving this bed to check on it.
Anakin purrs again, hips twitching when he cums. Obi-Wan knows better than to stop his motions completely, only slows down, giving a gentler touch as Anakin eases through it. He whines and strains for another kiss, which Obi-Wan happily provides as a good alpha should.
Yes, if Anakin is needy — and he certainly is, Obi-Wan thinks fondly — then Obi-Wan must be addicted to him. Addicted to the sounds he makes, the way he smells, the way he smiles when he’s been fucked stupid. Addicted to the cuddles and the kisses that always follow, so sweet and almost shy that it makes Obi-Wan forget about the cum drying between them or the sweat dripping into his eyes. He knows Anakin will only ask for more, each time Obi-Wan bends to his will he only gets bolder with his requests. He’s sure that the next request will be to remove his collar and that will only lead to one thing. But Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to stop, can’t bring himself to have a firmer hand, to disappoint his precious, insatiable, high-maintenance omega. It’s okay if Anakin is needy, especially when all that he needs is Obi-Wan.