Chapter Text
There was no graceful way to say it. He had against all good sense, bought it. It wasn’t even intentional; he hadn’t had any plans to walk down that alleyway and get it. It just happened. As if he had been meant to be there. Any second sooner or later, and he’d never have bumped into that seller, never helped him with his stall, never periodically rant to him about his frustrations, how his prude Master made it all but impossible to relieve certain instincts, and as a result, never would never have managed to get a hold of this.
It was like Obi-Wan said; the Force works in mysterious ways. This had to be the will of the Force, it was too much of a coincidence not to be. A seller with just the right wares to slake his need falling quite literally into his lap. The Force must have heard his pleading and answered it. He was the chosen one, wasn’t he? Was it so hard to believe the Force would heed its only son's prayer?
In any case, he was here now, this special gift carefully unveiled in the privacy of his room. It was an agonizing wait, one that lasted three days long as he was made to suffer the stress of his exams and Obi-Wan’s scrutiny. Lectures, study halls, sparring, tutoring, more lectures; it didn’t matter that Anakin was the best in his class because he couldn’t let himself forget that everything he did, everything he accomplished, reflected back on Obi-Wan. He couldn’t just be good, he had to be the best.
Anakin hated the council's scolding's, but what he hated even more was when Obi-Wan was lectured because of him. Another reason for the man to see him as a child, as nothing but a responsibility, not when Anakin was so much more than that.
On Tatooine, things like age became as malleable as the changing dunes of the Waste - who you were defined how old you could be. The children of the rich and noble basked in the luxuries of a childhood for far longer than most, aligning themselves with the distant Inner Rim’s galactic standards of childhood; peasants and slaves were adults far sooner, living to die in the dirt left little room for innocence.
Anakin was sixteen; already, he’d been on many missions and to many planets, taught how to die and how to kill - in all but name he was an adult, a man. He may not be a knight, may still be a learner, but that did not make him a child. The sooner Obi-Wan realized this, the better it would be for all involved. Specifically, for Anakin’s dick.
For years now he had harbored and cradled his persistent crush, keeping it close to his chest and coveting their bond like a greedy pirate, though its existence was far greater than any meager horde of credits or jewels. It is why he was so earnest on shielding, on learning how to mask what the Jedi considered weaknesses and flaws. Learned how to shove them under the proverbial bed and wait until they’d leave so he could take them out and nurture them.
What was wrong with love? It was natural to feel it, to want it - what else was the alternative? To lock it all away and become an unfeeling, apathetic, droid? No, that was wrong, and Anakin couldn’t accept it. The Chancellor was right about a lot of things, and what he said about the Jedi and their outdated, out of touch ways couldn’t have been more accurate. Palpatine’s words put out plainly what Anakin couldn’t, the knot of feelings inside of him too complicated to explain, and the Chancellor had pulled them all out and untangled them for him with his flowery yet blunt words. One day things would change, he was sure of it. The Chancellor was a good man, powerful and righteous - there couldn’t be a better leader of the Republic and Anakin believed with his whole heart that the change needed would be brought forth by him.
Until then, Anakin just had to be patient, had to slowly erode Obi-Wan’s dogmatic faith and show him how things could be. It seemed like a daunting task, Obi-Wan so prim and proper, held together tightly by rules of civility, a quiet pride in his propriety and demeanor no matter what kind of unsavory attention it brought him. Anakin would succeed though, he had to. He couldn’t stand the reality that the day would never arrive, that Obi-Wan would always be just out of reach, refusing to be his. His to hold, his to touch, his to peel off those damned layers that kept them apart, to find and worship the skin that hid beneath, to kiss him, to fuck him -
Obi-Wan would be his one day.
Until then, he had to settle for this .
This thing that was inferior and impersonal, but that he had to settle for or else lose his mind. It was cylinder-like, weighted and well packaged. The old Lennik had told Anakin that it was meant for Force sensitives, uniquely keyed to their needs and reacting accordingly. Said to almost have a mind of its own. Anakin could believe it, as this modified fleshlight seemed to be decorated with impressive and realistic detail.
He’d seen many bedroom ‘helpers’ in his life. Staying cooped up with senators for long periods of times often led to unsavory discoveries; affairs, murders, sex toy’s - Anakin could name dozens of different kinds of toys with all sorts of modifications to suit the needs of the user, from Twi’leks to Toydarians to humans, it didn’t matter. More often than not, most senators (if they weren’t married, or sometimes even then) were open or inviting towards any discovery, peppering their flowery speech with innuendoes or sly remarks. Anakin guessed that the temptation of getting to say you fucked a Jedi stomped out any embarrassment that really should be had.
The tube itself was warm, the phallic-like object heating up his palm as if there was a real muscle in it. Anakin quickly probed it through the fleshlight to double check that no poor lifeform had been captured and unfairly sentenced to a life of slaking their master's lust, but just as before it was absent of any life signature or consciousness. The entrance itself was plain, just a hole and nothing else. Its sensitivity though, as Anakin soon found out, was incredible. It twitched and pulsed at even the lightest of touches. Driven by pure curiosity, he blew on it and watched as it tightened. No doubt were it actually nestled between two cheeks, they’d have clenched up protectively and tight, angry at the intrusive touch.
A small groan slips out as he presses in a fingertip, watching as the rim closes around it, flinching and twitching as if begging him to pull out. It only made him want to press in deeper, which he immediately did and watched in fascination as it gripped with a vice like if tried hard enough it could push him out.
Fuck, it was going to be so, so, tight.
Fumbling with the lube, Anakin poured some generously on his hand. Remembering through the haze of his rising lust, a nice and comforting fog that drowned out any sensible thought, that it had to be stretched out before he could start really going at it. It could tear, the seller had warned, it's best not to be too eager lad. It can take a beating to be sure, the thing’ll tighten right back up! But damage it too much and there’s no going back. Damn thing’ll degrade and lose its, eh let’s call it, realistic touches.
Anakin only had one of these, and it had cost him three months in allowance even on a discount. There was no way in the seven desert hells of Lukka was he about to ruin it. Patiently, he suffered through the obscene sounds of squelching liquid, one finger slowly making its way in. Back and forth, incrementing its way in by building a steady and consistent rhythm, just as the holonet said he should. It felt almost ridiculous to be sitting here on his bed, back to the headboard while he fingered his fleshlight but he was too horny to care. Already his dick was erect, chafing while stuck in the confines of his small clothes. A wet spot spread across his crotch and some droplets of lube joined it. He grimaced. Perhaps he had put in a bit too much.
Anakin bit his lip, starting to quicken his pace. In, in, in, in - he wanted to be in already, the chill of his room prickling his warming skin. Anakin was slowly losing patience, the comforting cradle of the tube mouth-watering. He could imagine it then, the tight squeeze of the cock sleeve around his member and, befitting of his virgin status, it made him whine just a bit. A small, quiet, and perhaps pathetic sound, but he couldn’t help it. He was sixteen and had barely enough privacy to rub one out. though he craved it on the daily. His desperation could be excused.
Anakin breathed out harshly, controlling his frustration. Maybe he should think of this as some sort of practice, a way to polish up his foreplay skills so that Obi-Wan wouldn’t have to hold his hand in bed, teaching him even as he was writhing underneath Anakin. A part of him squirmed at the thought, the humiliation, and he didn't know if he hated it or not. Generally, he detested it when Obi-Wan taught him like that; firm and unyielding, always expecting him to follow his orders, to obey without question, but like this, sweaty skin sliding upon each other, the gentle brushing of hands, and hearing ‘well done, Anakin’ - well, maybe he didn’t hate it as much as he thought.
Once his pointer finger had wiggled its way into the final knuckle, he added the second one. The hole clenched down suddenly, as if deciding with new confidence to stop Anakin’s filthy assault. As if it belonged to an actual person and not to Anakin. Anakin’s eyes slipped closed as he pushed forth ruthlessly, reveling in the pulsing of the grip, the flexing of its walls as it tried in vain to keep him out.
He could see in now: how Obi-Wan would beg, how he would hold onto the sheets, his robes, the wall - anything his hands could reach. Grabbing onto anything as he tried to weather Anakin’s touches, try to beg him to stop. Maybe Anakin would press him into the sheets with the Force, keep him still and obedient as Anakin fucked into him.
He wanted to imagine a scenario where Obi-Wan would be willing, pliant and malleable beneath Anakin’s ministrations, inviting warmly with spread legs but even on the throes of lust, Anakin knew it was impossible. It was so out of character that it pushed a chuckle out of him, his lust waning just a notch. Such a thought was no different than having a whore shapeshift into his Master; was empty and pointless because it wouldn’t be him.
The real one would refuse even as he was stripped naked, even as he was pressed into by his Padawan, even up until he came, shuddering and surrendering as he fell to pieces before him. Even after, Obi-Wan would likely say, ‘this can’t ever happen again.’ Even in his imagination, Obi-Wan's refusal rankled him. It frustrated him and angered him so that he thrusted his hand a just bit more harshly into the hole.
Their first coupling wouldn’t be sweet or virginal; it would be rough. Harsh. Anakin would probably be angry, annoyed at how blindly the old man would hold onto the order's idea of sanctity even as Anakin pounded into him. It would take time, take all of Anakin’s patience to just keep pushing and pushing until something gave. Obi-Wan wouldn’t deny him forever, he could never really. He would threaten to leave Anakin, might even claim he was disgusted, but Anakin would know the truth because he knew better than anyone, better than even Obi-Wan himself, how much of a liar the man really was.
The fault didn’t lie wholly on his master. Afterall, growing up in the Temple was bound to lead to self-destructive martyrdom. Obi-Wan didn’t know any better, hurting himself and others with his restraint, too afraid to admit the one truth that Anakin knew would always be true.
Obi-Wan loved Anakin.
He loved him in the way the Order and the code forbid, and he didn’t even know it. Obi-Wan didn’t know how deeply his attachment ran, how much it was rooted in his heart, because if he did Obi-Wan would have ripped it out in blind obedience to the Council. Fortunately, he was a good liar, had lied to himself and everyone else around. Even to Anakin.
He had been furious at first, because how dare Obi-Wan hide this from him? When for years, Anakin had spent his nights pathetically crying into his pillow, desperately looking for ways for the man to show even a speck of love that Anakin was constantly burning with. The kind of love Anakin craved to be given, not the plastic one expected of a Jedi, but a love that mirrored Anakin’s.
The only other person in the galaxy that had loved him even an inch like that had been his mother, and she was no longer here. Why couldn’t Obi-Wan take her place the way he had taken Qui-Gon? Father, brother, mother - he could have been any one of those to Anakin, could have taken their responsibilities upon himself and soothed the accursed abyss that burned in Anakin’s chest, that cried out to be mended, that swallowed and maimed all the good things in Anakin’s heart. Instead, out of ignorance and stubborn faith, he chose to become the cold and unfeeling master. The one who scorned any show of love, ignoring Anakin’s demands so he could adhere to the laws of an outdated Code.
Anakin had suffered so much under the hands of obsession, under the belief that his master would never return his affection in any way, only to find out that it was there all along.
Any regret he had felt about prying into Obi-Wan’s sleeping mind evaporated. Because if he hadn’t, then who knows what would have happened, how long he would have survived on the few strays of love that Obi-Wan couldn’t hide away. Who would he be now if he had not discovered his master's love beneath the cruel layers of his denial?
Anakin was lost in his thought, the image of his struggling and defiant master sending him into a lust filled fit. As if there was a beast in his chest, clawing its way out and dragging its claws on every rib beneath his skin.
“Too good for me, Master?” Anakin whispered, imagining it was Obi-Wan trying to push him out. There would be a press of his fingernails on his shoulders, there would be clawing and gasping as quiet silent tears rolled down weathered face, pleading falling flat as Anakin ignored him. As he took what was his. “Look at you, so fucking wet, like a girl.”
Clumsily his third finger slipped in pressing up against the others, and as he wiggled them to get a better rhythm, he felt the muscle shudder, convulsing so violently that it loosened as if suddenly exhausted. He huffed in smug disbelief, and curiously curled them right where the fingers had brushed and watched it with a bastard mix of horny fascination, his dick twitching in sympathy as the shiny skin around the hole trembled. He pressed again and again, each time the hole loosening just a bit more.
Anakin thought wildly how Obi-Wan would be so fascinated with this thing, curious to how it reacts so sharply to every touch, that it had a prostate, all while not being a living thing at all. Anakin licks his lips and slips his fingers out. They glisten in the dim light, sticky with lube and he watched captivated as the small little gap blinked open, stretched and red. It fluttered, winking as a clear glob of lube slipped out and without thinking about it, he went to lick it.
He groaned as he slipped his tongue in, imagining the weight of muscled legs clutching onto his shoulders, thighs framing his face as he dug between the crack of a pale white ass. Shyly, he flickered his tongue inside and felt the caress of the velvet soft opening.
Fuck, Anakin was so painfully hard. His hand slipped into his pants, cupping the dripping member and wetting it with the leftover lube. Feeling as if the slightest breeze could make him cum, he avoided all the sensitive parts, the tip of his dick left achingly untouched. Hastily he stroked the shaft, sighing in satisfaction as the dry rub swiftly became wet and wanting.
He parted with the fleshlight panting, chin drooling with spit and the lube. He banged his head back against his headboard, trying to catch his breath. Stars, that was too good. The craft that went into this thing was unparalleled, the detail to realism so masterful that Anakin wondered that maybe he had cheated out the vendor. Thousands of sentients should be clamoring for this, and a spark of possessive pride filled him that he alone claimed ownership of it.
Slowly, he brought it to his crotch and let the tip of his dick catch the rim. He circled his wrist and let it massage the outside before finally slipping in.
Anakin took deep breaths, trying not to shoot off immediately before even getting his tip in. Then carefully with half-lidded eyes, the fog of lust so heavy that his vision tunneled, he watched the slow swallowing of his cock, lurching over as he struggled to not lose control and pump his hips up carelessly. It was uncomfortably tight, so pulsating warm that his skin felt tight all over, its resistance as he stubbornly wormed it further down flooded his mouth with saliva.
It clamped on him with panic, a vice grip so fucking strong it threatened to pop off his dick. Patiently, he worked at it. Pleasure thundering through him like a rancor, making it hard for him to go slow. Stubbornly mindful, he pulled up until it was nearly out, only to once again have it swallow him. Back and forth, dutifully focused and careful, he basked in its grip and when he finally bottomed out, Anakin hissed out a breathy sigh. Finally.
Immediately he began to fuck it, losing himself in the tight cradle of it walls until he was left panting like a dog, crushing himself into the stiff wood of his headboard as his feet dug into the mattress, his hips rabbiting in frantic pulses as he debased himself.
Anakin imagined making his Master ride him, of tying his arms back and forcing him to rise up on his knees. He thought about how it’d feel to grab his hips, to feel his nails bite into pale plump flesh, to push the heavy weight of Obi-Wan down then up again, punching needy gasps out of him. It was addicting, the idea of it, and the tight warmth only made it more tangible, more enslaving. One day this would be real, and his excitement made his hips snap faster, pound harder.
He fantasized the tears and sweat that would be shed, how he would vibrate with such passion as Obi-Wan gifted him with his eventual submission, helpless in Anakin’s vigorous pace, his sacrilegious pillaging. The tiny gasps he would pull out of Obi-Wan, the shivers and shudders each time he had him sink back down. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have a choice, and Anakin knew he would love it, would release his guilt and shame in the knowledge that he was forced to bend, forced to take, even as canted his hips back. Even as he begged for more.
Remembering almost barely, he angled his thrusts and hit the prostate of his fleshlight, gasping as it violently clamped down. Over and over he aimed for it, gritting his teeth as he inched closer to his release. Finally, after a few more times of his wrist and hips working in tandem to press on it relentlessly, to periodically grind his pelvic up, his palms burning as he pushed it back harshly so as to draw out its squeeze, Anakin felt it seize so vehemently that a deep groan punched out as he bent over.
Anakin became lost in it, the primitive instinct to chase his pleasure taking over, the need to quench the heat in his stomach as it spread throughout his body.
“Master,” he gasped, “fuck, your so fucking tight - your cunt keep sucking me in.”
Had he any mind left, he’d have heard above the squelching of the toy and his frantic panting, a quiet yet sounding thud from outside his door. It all faded out though, lost in the storm of his lustful act.
When he came it was like a bursting firework had gone off in his abdomen, the sparks of raw pleasure spinning out of control along his skin, the tingles of ecstasy so sharp it almost hurt. He groaned obscenely, chin tilting into his shoulder as he let out little gasps. Anakin’s gut rippled, his muscles flexing as he rode the post haze of his climax. Sliding down, he laid himself out on the bed, not at all shamed how he was left panting.
He lifted the fleshlight to his face, head still floating, and watched with morbid fascination as his cum leaked out. Tentatively, he lapped at it, which then soon devolved into a depraved sort of cleaning where he fucked his tongue in and around the loose and puffy hole. The muscle flinched at his plundering, and Anakin knew that if it were attached to a real person, they would be groaning in pain, oversensitive and sore. Luckily, this was just a toy, so he didn’t need to worry about manners. What did it matter anyways; if this was really Obi-Wan, it’s not as if Anakin would have listened. Why would he? How else was he supposed to show his Master how good they fit together, how good Anakin could make it, if he wasn’t forced? Was there any other way the older man would accept it?
Anakin groaned, dick twitching as his imagination ran wild. He thought about forcing his master to sit on his face, of the suffocating heat that would envelop him as he ate out his own cum, the trembling legs that would bracket his head. Pitiful moans as he begged him to stop, to let him rest.
Anakin rolled onto his stomach, pulling away from the toy with a grunt. He stripped off his shirt, throwing it off the bed. Fuck, it was so hot. Pulling himself up, he hunched over and felt for his hanging dick. It was slowly fattening, starting to harden again so soon after shortly coming in spite of the pain, and Anakin let out a graceless whine.
It burned when he pulled it, but the memory of his pleasure, the all-enveloping warmth of the toy, pushed it aside. For a moment, he strained his ears, and after hearing nothing, assured that Obi-Wan had already turned in for the night, he brought the fleshlight up.
He’d be humping the thing like a dog, but he didn’t care. Anakin was too caught up in his fantasy to feel any shame. It made his mouth water, thinking about making Obi-Wan lay on his belly, hips hiked up, helpless to do anything but submit. Maybe he’d place a hand on his back, one palm across his shoulder blades, the other gripping the divots on his hips. Maybe he’d drape his own body over his, let his hands wander to his chest, pull at his nipples until they were perky and red, so sensitive Obi-Wan would cry. He’d lick it all up with his cum stained tongue. They would kiss, filthy and wet, without the touches of a gentle lover. It would be ravenous, pillaging, so that red stained lips would be left after he was done.
No part of his body would be untouched, unmarked. One day soon, anyone who looked at him would be able to tell that he was Anakin.
Fucking into the toy, he let himself get lost in the promise of the future.
Some indiscernible amount of time later, after a thorough bath and some changing of sheets, he stepped into the living room to get a glass of much needed water. Turning the corner, Anakin sucked in a gasp, lax and loose body going rigid. Obi-Wan was sitting by the table, very obviously not in bed and very much not asleep. Had he heard all that? Anakin hadn’t been loud, at least, not in the beginning. Whether or not that held true by the end of it was completely up in the air as he hadn’t been exactly all there. Even now when he remembered his orgasms, a satisfied thrill ran through him that his dick bravely responded to, giving a determined throb as if it hadn’t just been wrung dry.
“Master?” Anakin said, “what are you doing up?”
He tried not to sound guilty, or as if he was in the wrong, because he wasn’t and only children sulked around after breaking the rules.
“Oh Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and he turned around to face him. His face was shining with sweat, and his hands, though clamped together very tight, were shaking. “I was just…meditating.”
“Meditating?” Anakin said skeptically, none too subtly casting his eyes to the meditating mats, both of which were still tightly rolled up, “you look a little pale, is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan snapped, only to immediately look apologetic, “I’m sorry, that was - I didn’t mean for that to come out so sudden.”
Anakin quirked an eyebrow, and shuffled closer until he was standing over him, hand reaching to touch his forehead. “Master, you're sweating like a bantha, you - ”
He broke off from his sentence, surprised when Obi-Wan suddenly smacked his hand away. There was a wild look in his eye, an unreadable emotion crossing his face as he said sternly, “I said it was nothing, Padawan. I simply overextended myself today sparring, that is all. Now, finish what you came here to do and go back to bed. You have classes in the morning.”
Anakin wanted to bite back, bucking against the orders, but he was too wrung out to put up much of a fight. It wasn’t the first time Obi-Wan pushed himself too hard, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Anyways, if he prodded too much, Obi-Wan might turn the questioning back on him and there was no easy way to admit he’d spent the last hour and half jacking off in bed.
Anakin fetched himself a glass, frowning at the mess on the table as he passed. It looked as if Obi-Wan had pushed them aside, as if he had fallen forward and sent everything flying. The table looked askew, and while it piqued his curiosity, it wasn’t enough to make a big deal of.
After he filled his glass, he wandered over to Obi-Wan, and startled when his foot kicked over a fallen saltshaker.
“Are you sure you don’t want help, Master?” Anakin says, bending down to pick up a salt. When he goes to stand up, his eyes flicker to Obi-Wan’s legs. They’re shaking, trembling in a way he’d never seen before, and in the shadow of the table, though it’s hard to see, but just there by his crot -
“Anakin.”
Anakin rises quickly, “alright, I’m going. Here, you dropped this.”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan nods, taking the salt from his hand, “goodnight Padawan.”
“Goodnight Master.” Anakin walks quickly back to his room, his glass cooling his palm. He’d thought - but no, it couldn’t be. He must be seeing things. Obi-Wan probably just had a very intensive spar, enough to have sweat soaking through his pants. Anakin himself bled through shirts like it was nothing.
He was probably looking too much into things.
Anakin closes his door behind him, drains his cup, then proceeds to roll into bed.
All in all, it was a good day.