Work Text:
Anakin stared at himself in the obnoxiously large mirror. He looked a mess, hair sticking everywhere, dark circles under his eyes, and pupils blown out. He felt exhausted, like he’d aged at least five years in the time he’d spent looking at himself. If he was honest with himself, he really didn’t fucking care. The room behind him was just a mess as he was. A hotel room. It definitely wasn’t his house with his beautiful wife and kids.
Someone moved on the bed behind him and he watched in the mirror as a woman sat up, hand on her head. He startled a little because had they-? Had he-? She seemed to notice his panic and looked at him in annoyance.
“We didn’t sleep together,” she mumbled, scooting off the bed. “Literally. You slept on the couch. Very mixed signals, Skywalker.”
Anakin breathed out heavily, a sigh of relief. So it was just a confusing, blurry night. An afterparty after his show that had gotten a little out of hand. He didn’t sleep with another woman.
“You said you’d already fucked someone else,” this wicked woman continued, wandering around the room to find her shoes. Anakin felt his skin crawl. “Some guy, I don’t know. You kept talking about stars.”
Fuck. He knew exactly who that was and there was no way in hell his band manager would have slept with him. Even worse, if they slept together, where was he?
“Why are you here then?” He snapped. She glared at him and he realized he didn’t even know her name.
“You said you had benzos and invited me to your room.”
Fuck, now he was giving randos drugs. He’d never hear the end of this if it got out. The tabloids would have a fucking field day. Anakin could imagine it now, " Anakin Skywalker, front man of the 501st, DRUG ADDICT?!"
Like all rockstars didn’t have some sort of drug problem, or alcohol problem, or sex problem. Anakin didn’t have any of those. He was married with two kids who went to a respectable school. When he wasn’t touring he went to all their school related functions with his wife and they were literally the perfect family. Sometimes he drank and sometimes he did drugs.
It wasn’t a problem though.
“Alright well–”
“Yeah, yeah I’m leaving. Even drugged out of your mind you still remembered to have me sign an NDA.” She rolled her eyes at him, put on her found shoes, and dipped. Anakin stared at the hotel room door as it closed behind her. He was so fucked.
Anakin went home and closed himself off from the world. He pretended like everything was fine and normal and Padme did the same as she smiled at him when he came home at 6am the next morning. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and went to wake their kids for school.
He could act like everything was perfect as long as he didn’t see his bandmates or think of Obi-Wan and that hotel room. Easier said than done, when his thoughts returned time and time again to Obi-Wan. They hadn’t texted each other, which was unusual and damning. Since Obi-wan became their band manager, Anakin took it upon himself to annoy the shit out of the man and text him constantly.
It was a fun game for him and Obi-Wan only playfully acted like he didn’t like it either.
Anakin sat in his at-home studio, aimlessly strumming his guitar. He’d missed several rehearsals, but did it matter when he was the lead and the vocals? They had to operate on his time, so if he wanted to skip rehearsal because he maybe fucked their band manager, then he was entitled to that.
Anakin swiveled in the chair he was in, guitar in his lap, mind muddy from the lorazepam he took. Something about this moment, being high and holding his guitar while lounging obscenely that made a piece of the fucked up puzzle that was the other night click into place. He sat up abruptly, hands shaking as he fished out his phone. Please no, no, no–
There, in his camera roll, was a lengthy video snuggled between pictures of his last show and pictures of his kids playing in their pool. A flash of red and what looked like a blur of a lot of pale skin as the thumbnail.
Anakin looked around his studio, making sure no one was there. Of course no one was there. Padme never came in here when he was working because she didn’t want to interrupt any inspiration he might have.
He grabbed a headset and plugged it into his phone jack. His hands were shaking too badly so he also took another pill, hoping to calm himself down before pressing play.
A laugh sounded, musical and beautiful. Obi-Wan smiled at the camera, his eyes damn near black.
“Did you like it?” Anakin asked from behind the camera. Obi-Wan blinked slowly before nodding. “I told you it’d help you loosen up a bit.”
“Yeah, you were right,” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft as it always was. “I always say yes to you eventually.”
“No you don’t!” Anakin barked out a laugh. “You always tell me no.”
“Why are you recording this?” His band manager asked, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it.
“I want to show you later so sober you can remember how good of a time you had.”
“Oh, yeah he’s a bit of a twat isn’t he?”
“Eh, he’s alright,” Anakin replied. It was the man he fell in love with, so he couldn’t dislike him too much. Obi-Wan was smiling so easily, big bright white teeth and beautiful freckles. Anakin’s hand came into the picture and touched his cheek, thumb tracing over those freckles.
“Stars,” he murmured, and the smile slowly fell off Obi-Wan’s face. Something else replaced it, something unguarded, fearful, lovely.
“Kiss me,” Obi-Wan whispered. Anakin’s hand stilled. Obi-Wan looked like he was terrified. Of what? Of Anakin or of rejection? He had to know Anakin had been dreaming of this moment since he first laid eyes on the man.
“Anything for you,” and Anakin leaned in, the camera going with him, and he kissed Obi-Wan.
The phone was placed at an angle somewhere in the room, but it got their profiles.
Anakin was on his back, arching off the bed, one arm thrown over his head and clutching a pillow while the other was firmly between his legs. Obi-Wan was there, on the bed on his knees and bent over, face obscured by Anakin’s bent leg. But Anakin’s hand was clearly on top of his head as it moved up and down.
The sounds were sloppy, obscene, wet and Anakin moaned unrestrained. The pills were definitely working to destroy his inhibitions.
“Fuck, Anakin,” the voice sounded wrecked and Anakin’s leg finally slipped on the bed, revealing the disheveled face of Obi-Wan. His hair was falling all about his forehead, into his eyes, but he was looking up at Anakin, with a smile on his face.
He looked so carefree in that moment, looking up at his love with adoration and probably blown out eyes. Anakin’s cock standing tall next to his face.
“You suck cock like a pro,” Anakin said, low and sultry. A small gasp came from Obi-Wan. Was it affronted? Was it embarrassed? Did he like that?
He must have because his mouth stretched around Anakin’s cock again, taking him deep.
“Ah, yeah, just like that,” Anakin groaned. It was easy to watch Obi-Wan’s head bob up and down now; easy to see his hand come up and fondle Anakin’s balls. He couldn’t be faulted for the noise it ripped from his lungs.
“Let’s see if you can ride me like a pro, too,” Anakin’s voice was strained from pleasure and holding back. He didn’t want to end it so soon. Not when this was what he’d been wanting for so long. Obi-Wan paused in his motions, looking up, the top of his cock still in his mouth. He made a noise of consideration.
“I think I’d rather you did some of the work,” Obi-Wan replied. It would have sounded snarky if he didn’t sound so desperate; if his other hand wasn’t between his own legs touching himself.
Anakin apparently didn’t need to be convinced further because he said up quickly, pulling Obi-Wan up and wrapping an arm around his waist to flip them around.
Anakin set Obi-Wan down gently on the bed, lovingly, kissing him deeply. His shoulders were curved over, the line of his spine bending to easily reach Obi-Wan’s lips and down at the hips to grind against him. Moans were torn from them both, whispered names and confessions as Anakin’s hand was down low between Obi-Wan’s legs, preparing him.
Obi-Wan’s hands were on Anakin’s shoulders, their eyes locking, a look of pleasure written all over the older man’s face. Anakin looked halfway to fucked already just from that look.
“I- I’ve dreamt of you,” Anakin murmured, his voice breaking. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. “I always dream of you.”
“What?” Obi-Wan didn’t seem capable of much else than single word responses.
“You’re everything I want. I wake up thinking of you, I go to sleep thinking of you, and when I dream of you we’re together like this,” Anakin didn’t know what possessed him to say any of this. Maybe it was the look of love and ecstasy on Obi-Wan’s handsome face. “ …only comes to me in my dreams, so sleep becomes addicting. ”
Obi-Wan grinned then, big and bright, and Anakin knew he broke the spell he’d put them under with his confession.
“Are you singing one of your songs to me while your fingers are in me?” Obi-Wan asked, a laugh on his lips. Anakin smiled back.
“Yep but it made you laugh so it worked,” Anakin replied brightly, leaning down again to kiss him. Obi-Wan looked so pliant and receptive. Only the pills were making him like that, Anakin knew, but it was easy to convince himself otherwise.
It was with a solid roll of his hips that he pushed his way into Obi-Wan, a beautiful moan echoing through the room.
It was Anakin’s name and it pierced him through his foul soul. If only Obi-Wan was so free with his emotions without the use of drugs. If only he looked at Anakin like he was the whole world while sober.
Anakin thrust with long, slow sweeps, the motion making Obi-Wan cry out over and over. Anakin was so enraptured, he almost forgot his own pleasure, so intent on bringing Obi-Wan to his own. A pale hand reached up to touch Anakin’s cheek. His hips stuttered for a moment before picking up the pace.
“I’ve wanted this,” Obi-Wan’s voice was almost too soft for the audio to pick up. “I’ve wanted you.” His hand moved to the back of Anakin’s neck and he tugged him down, kissing him until they were both lightheaded and lustful.
Anakin watched the rest of the video. His past drugged out self decided to literally record the entire thing, probably not at all with Obi-Wan’s consent, and he wanted to cry. He slept with the man of his dreams, this man that should have been unattainable, and he didn’t even remember. He didn’t know how soft those lips were or how his beard felt against his thighs or how it felt to be inside of Obi-Wan.
All he remembered was that stupid girl in his hotel room.