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The sounds thriving in the dark of their quarters are becoming quite familiar: a squeaking bed frame, labored breaths, skin slipping against skin. It’s a large departure from the days of stifled gasps, gentle shushing, and subdued pleasure.
More things are different, like the Padawan braid now draped over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, stuck damp with sweat to his neck. Clothing is gone as well — has been for several months now. There’s no pressure of time constraints here in his Master’s quarters, nor discretion. They’re in no danger of someone walking past the closet door, or peering through the window into a dark room, wondering where young Initiate Kenobi has gone.
It’s all been a wonderful change, Obi-Wan thinks. He wishes Anakin could have taken him as his Padawan earlier.
‘I did as soon as I could, little one,’ Anakin says, whenever Obi-Wan expresses it. ‘My apprenticeship was a special case. Petitioning the Council to train you any sooner would have raised too much suspicion.’
Obi-Wan understands: their need for secrecy. No one else will ever understand them, their feelings for each other, nor the way their signatures tangle and meld with one another in the Force whenever they’re together — like they were never meant to be any other way. The wish is just a persisting question that nags at Obi-Wan from time to time. A yearning. The inescapable allure of a ‘what-if’ fantasy.
“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Anakin murmurs against his lips; sweet, understated, but no-less-genuine curiosity. He drinks another long kiss from his Padawan’s mouth, unable to wait in pure silence for his answer. Draws out the slow tugging of their lips pulling apart. “You’re extra wet tonight, baby,” he adds as an explanation.
Obi-Wan blushes needlessly, though he can’t deny the observation. The glide of Anakin’s cock through his seam is easier than it’s ever been — puffy, pink, fat little lips dragging along the length of it, stroking the shaft, coating each inch clear and slippery with slick. His hole is clenching needily where that fat tip keeps rubbing back and forth teasingly over his small, virginal entrance; core throbbing each the sensual roll of his and his Master’s hips together while they hump on the bed. The thick base of Anakin’s cock is providing delicious friction for Obi-Wan to grind his swollen little clit down against.
“I’m… thinking about bad things,” Obi-Wan admits quietly. “… The ones that make you sad.”
He gratefully hides his face away in Anakin’s neck as the man starts kissing along his jaw, lips trailing behind his ear. They suck lightly at the patch of sensitive skin there and a heated swipe of Anakin’s tongue laps up trace amounts of salt and sweat from his Padawan’s skin, swallowing it. Obi-Wan gasps and shivers, a thrilled spark crackling up his spine.
“What kinds of things?” Anakin asks after a delay, sounding like he might know the answer already. There’s shame filling up in his signature, turning it opaque, hard to make sense of beyond the surface. He tries to mask the flaring of arousal that accompanies it from Obi-Wan, but his Master’s presence in the Force is far too strong to hide such a reaction completely.
The pace of the friction between Obi-Wan’s thighs picks up just a fraction. Less controlled, more desperate. Eager with anticipation.
“It’s worse than last time,” Obi-Wan warns. His embarrassment is nothing compared to that maelstrom of guilt swirling behind his Master’s shields, but even Obi-Wan knows the direction of his own thoughts are… depraved this time, to say the least.
“I wanna hear it,” Anakin whispers anyway. He licks a long, wet stripe up the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear. Blows gently on the damp trail of it, just to watch his Padawan shiver. “I get sad because I’m ashamed of myself, Obi-Wan — not you, baby. Never you. I don’t judge you for any of this.”
Admit it, please, the Force is practically screaming between them. I can’t say any of this aloud first. I need to hear you feel it too.
Obi-Wan whimpers, his small hips bucking involuntarily. “I’m thinking about the first time we met, when you taught kata forms to my Clan,” he says quietly, cheeks burning. “You felt so different from anyone else in the Force… I didn’t know what I wanted back then, but I knew that I wanted to be closer to you. I think about what might have happened if I stayed after class. Made up some excuse to talk to you once everyone left.”
That opaque tide of Anakin’s signature warbles, pronouncedly. Shame and arousal ratchet higher, seemingly attempting to outpace one another.
“Nothing would have happened, little one,” Anakin replies shakily. The wet squelch of his cock dragging through Obi-Wan’s small folds makes the nickname sound downright obscene. “I would have found a way for us to talk in the hallway. Or walked you back to the Crè-… t-to your quarters,” he corrects hastily.
(His Master still can’t say that word when they’re together like this.)
“Because I’d be safer there?” Obi-Wan murmurs hopefully.
A long pause follows, and Anakin audibly swallows, clearly drowning in self-loathing — but Obi-Wan feels his Master nod eventually, forehead brushing against his neck.
“Yes,” Anakin admits, hoarse.
“Because you already loved me back then, right?”
“Yes.”
Another boyish fantasy pops into Obi-Wan’s head. “If I’d asked, would you have kissed me, Master?”
The pace of their humping falters slightly. It almost sounds like Anakin is trying not to whimper.
“I-I don’t know, Obi-Wan.” The pure uncertainty of his answer is nearly as bad as a yes.
Obi-Wan hums happily. The older he gets, the more it gratifies him to hear how much Anakin wanted him back then, when it was still so unbelievably wrong — worse than anything they’re doing even right now. It makes Obi-Wan feel so treasured and desirable, for whatever reasons.
He sags against his Master’s broad chest and lets Anakin continue fucking the tiny space between his thighs, clit pulsing with each smooth stroke stimulating it.
“I wanted you too, Master,” Obi-Wan sighs dreamily. Starts canting his hips more insistently, chasing his own pleasure. “I thought about it that night — you giving me grown-up kisses. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I didn’t understand why it was making my privates feel all tingly.”
A groan, low and strangled sounding. Large hips buck up sharply against his.
“Force, Obi-Wan, you’re going to kill me,” Anakin rasps quietly. Flesh and metal hands squeeze his delicate waist, hugging their bodies tightly together as they grind on the bed. “You shouldn’t have been thinking about any of that, honey. You were so small back then.”
“It was only a couple years ago,” Obi-Wan pouts. He’s twelve and a half now; still plenty cute and lovable for his dear Master. Ten can’t have been that different. Obi-Wan has barely hit puberty yet.
Anakin makes a distressed sound. “That’s small, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan bites his lip. “You… thought about it too though, right? Kissing me?”
A reluctant sigh. “You know I did, little one —”
“Touching me? Being the first one to make me cum?”
“Fuck,” Anakin curses under his breath. His rhythm stutters a bit, overwhelming lust leaving him uncoordinated.
“I want to hear it, Master,” Obi-Wan pleads, flipping Anakin’s own words from earlier back around on him. “I know you think about that day too. Tell me what you wanted to do to me.”
Mounting shame. Unfathomable deepening of arousal. Anakin sighs, tortured.
“A-as soon as I saw you in there, I… I wanted nothing more than to ruin you,” he whispers, thrusting his cock roughly between those slick, velvety little lips. “I would have asked you to stay behind after that first masterclass… locked the door, turned all the lights out — buried my head between your legs and licked your sweet cunt until you forgot your own name.”
Oh —
Obi-Wan whimpers, a gush of juices spilling warm and slippery from his hole. The squelch of Anakin’s cock rubbing through his pussy grows louder. So sloppy. Obi-Wan’s not sure he’s ever been so wet before in his short life.
“I want that,” Obi-Wan sighs with longing, despairing they can’t somehow go back in time and make it happen sooner, now that they know this thing between them is mutual. “I would’ve loved it, Master,” he moans. “I would’ve thanked you.”
Sithspit, he wishes Anakin would have taken him as his Padawan earlier. Molested him sooner, like that brief period of time where they’d both caved, and started meeting in secret well before Obi-Wan was even allowed to have a braid.
Anakin groans in kind, breaths shaky. “You were so little back then… smaller than the rest of the boys your age, so kriffing cute. Gods, it drove me fucking crazy not being able to touch you.” The words all come spilling out of Anakin’s mouth; confessions and fantasies he can’t seem to keep locked inside anymore, floodgates opened. “Your pussy would have been so tiny in my hand, baby — all peachy smooth and soft… would’ve only been able to fit my pinky in there at the most. You would have fucked it until you cried and came on my tongue, sweetheart.”
It’s true. Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt it. He loves when Anakin’s fingers pet over his sweet spot. Ten-year-old him would have loved it too.
“I —” Obi-Wan humps forward aimlessly, movements growing desperate. His clit throbs. He’s so close to cumming. “More… t-tell me more, please.”
“I — I dreamt about fucking you,” Anakin obliges, gasping. “I dreamt about your pussy magically being able to fit my cock somehow, so tight and sweet, making your little tummy bulge around me... I wanted to hear you begging for it while I held your legs open, telling me to keep going, crying about how good it feels.”
Obi-Wan lets out a high-pitched whine. He’s wanted Anakin to take his virginity for years. It’s the one of the few things that still drives Obi-Wan completely mental even thinking about it. It’ll be the ultimate expression of their love — taboo, unbreakable, permanent, mutual. As soon as he’s big enough for it.
Combining both fantasies here and now nearly short-circuits Obi-Wan’s poor developing brain.
“You should have done it, Master,” he keens, uncaring of the physical realities, the impossibilities plaguing them still. His pussy is clamping so needy and empty it hurts. He wants Anakin’s cock in him now; wanted it yesterday, needed it two years ago. “You should have taken me there on the floor… made me yours… came inside me —” His orgasm begins to sneak up on him, making his breaths catch. Obi-Wan’s eyes roll back as he starts seizing. “— you should have given me a baby,” he sobs.
He’s never voiced that last fantasy before. It pops into his head completely out of nowhere. Catches his Master by surprise just as much as it does Obi-Wan himself.
“Oh fuck —” Anakin’s voice cracks, going reedy and high like Obi-Wan’s never heard it sound. Hips jerk with such force; Anakin goes rigid. “Fuck — kriffing hell, Obi-Wan —”
Anakin yanks him into a sloppy kiss, tongues slipping wet and desperate over one another’s. Anguished, blissed hiccups trade back and forth between them as they writhe, riding out their release together, fluids mingling and messing up the sheets below.
They keep kissing long after it’s over, slow and aimless, just enjoying the sensation. The atmosphere between them becomes leisurely and foggy, both left in a trance as they slowly crawl back up from the depths of their shared fantasy. Anakin slips his softening cock out from those clinging lips of Obi-Wan’s pussy at some point, grunting with oversensitivity; quickly rearranges them both so they can lie side by side, making out and cuddling impossibly close on the bed.
“You are so perfect,” Anakin whispers worshipfully, stroking his fingers through Obi-Wan’s grown out hair. Obi-Wan feels his cheeks begin to become damp and tacky, but his eyes remain dry. Salty tears mix into their kisses. “I love you so much.”
It’s an improvement over the hysterics Anakin used to descend into the moment they’d finished and the haze of blinding desire began clearing from both their minds. He’d crumple to his knees in that small closet, classroom, nook — wherever they’d hidden — and start bawling at Obi-Wan’s feet, begging for forgiveness. Gasping out tearful I’m sorry’s. Like Obi-Wan wasn’t the one that flung himself at Anakin the second the door had shut behind them more than half the time.
It’s wrong, what both of them are doing, yes. But Obi-Wan is beginning to understand, gradually, through this fledgling training bond between them, that Anakin’s guilt will always be thrice that of Obi-Wan’s own — irrespective of whatever arguments he tries to make to his Master justifying their relationship.
“I love you, too,” Obi-Wan whispers back, because that always stops Anakin’s tears faster than please don’t cry, Master. Reminders that this precious boy he’s latched onto somehow felt the same way about him before they’d ever spoken to one another, similarly caught in that maddening pull within the Force nudging them together.
“You’re mine, Master,” Obi-Wan continues, reaffirming what they both already know. “Only mine. Always.”
I’m yours, he also wants to say, desperately, but Anakin isn’t able to stomach such a truth from him yet without regurgitating it on reflex. His Master will pledge himself to Obi-Wan’s happiness and nothing more. That guilt somehow weighs less on the man’s conscience.
Anakin sniffles, but his lips quirk up into a watery, bittersweet smile. He gently kisses the tip of Obi-Wan’s nose.
“Only yours,” he promises easily. “Always, Obi-Wan.”