In most things, Anakin doesn’t find sharing his lovers to be a hardship. After all, Obi-Wan and Padmé are the two most precious people in his life, each of them strong and brilliant and beautiful. How can he begrudge them the parts of their hearts and souls and bodies they give to the Empire, or their children, or each other? It is not the way of the true Sith to keep that which is precious to them in chains of possession or jealousy, for in the Force, they are made free. But sometimes...sometimes he wants to be selfish. Wants to take, and keep, and hoard every scrap of their love and attention and pleasure for himself.
And sometimes, if he is very lucky, one of them grants him his wish.
Obi-Wan is pinned under Anakin’s weight, his eyes burning amber, and the blood of their enemies splattered across his cheek. Anakin is holding both Obi-Wan’s wrists above his head, but Obi-Wan is making no move to break away. His mouth is twisted and split in the most beautifully vicious grin Anakin has ever seen, and it’s all Anakin can do not to bend down and bite at the expression, to see if it tastes as sweet as it looks. The battlefield on this nameless world in a nameless system stretches around them, strewn with the bodies of those who would oppose the rule of the Empire, but all Anakin can see is the beauty of his Master (his lover, his husband, half of his world) spread out beneath him, soaked in the sweat of combat and flushed with the slowly ebbing remains of battle lust. Anakin has, of course, seen Obi-Wan in this state of post-battle excitement before, but this is the first time he’s been allowed to touch.
“Well, Anakin” Obi-Wan says, his voice low and harsh, his breathing still uneven. “It seems you have caught me off guard. What do you intend to do, now that you have me at your mercy?”
Anakin growls, and gives in to the urge to kiss that grin off of Obi-Wan’s face. “I,” he whispers against Obi-Wan’s lips “am going to ride you...mmm...into the ground. Right here. Right now.”
Obi-Wan laughs, but he returns the kiss with enthusiasm, biting and sucking at Anakin’s lower lip. Between nips, he murmurs, “that doesn’t seem particularly sanitary.”
“FUCK sanitary,” Anakin snarls, then shifts to bite hard at Obi-Wan’s neck, doing his best to mark that flawless skin. He can’t help but grin when he hears Obi-Wan cry out, and feels the twitch of Obi-Wan’s cock underneath him. Anakin sits up then, releasing his hold on his lover’s wrists, sliding his hands slowly down his arms, then chest, then stomach, until they come to rest lightly at Obi-Wan’s waistband. He rolls his hips against the hardness underneath him, enjoying the way Obi-Wan jerks at the sensation.
“Now,” Anakin says, “are you going to stay where I put you while I take care of these trousers, or do I need to find a way to hold you there?”
“Oh, by all means,” Obi-Wan drawls, folding his hands beneath his head. The posture might almost have passed for relaxed, if it weren’t for the tense arch of his spine, and the stiff line of his arousal, both of which his black tunics are entirely failing to obscure. “Do what you must. I am, as you can see, at your disposal.”
Anakin snorts, but he lifts himself off of Obi-Wan long enough to strip off his own leggings and underwear. He doesn’t bother to make a show of it. That kind of play has a place in their palace bedchamber on Coruscant, but it doesn’t belong here, on this field of blood and victory. He strips Obi-Wan nearly as quickly, laying Obi-Wan’s tunics open across his scarred chest, and then reaches into a pouch still secured on the belt of his own tunic and pulls out a small tube.
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at the sight, but whatever comment he had been about to make dies on his lips when, without hesitation, Anakin squeezes some of it onto his fingers, tosses the tube aside, and reaches back to his own opening.
The sensation of working slick fingers inside of himself is by no means unpleasant, but it’s the way Obi-Wan looks at him, breath hitching and cheeks flushed, eyes going dark with desire, that makes pleasure curl in Anakin’s gut. He has never found much interest in touching himself when he’s alone, but with one of his lovers there, watching and wanting and waiting for him...oh yes. He can understand the appeal.
It’s not long before he’s loose and almost aching with readiness. He climbs back on top of Obi-Wan, seizing his lover's wrists again with one hand, and using the other to spread the remains of the lube over Obi-Wan’s cock.
“Now, my Master,” Anakin murmurs, his voice reduced to a rasp. “Unless you object, I am going to have you.”
“No...uhhh...no objections here,” Obi-Wan gasps, as Anakin works a hand up and down his shaft. Then he moans, as Anakin guides Obi-Wan’s cock to his entrance, letting the head rub against him for a moment, before pushing himself back, and letting Obi-Wan slip inside.
In this moment, in this place, with Obi-Wan hot and hard inside him, it’s as though they are the only two people in the galaxy. The battlefield around them, the scent of blood and sweat and dust...all of it fades to meaningless static. The remains of their training bond pulse with shared desire, which only intensifies as Anakin begins to move, working himself slowly up and down on Obi-Wan’s cock, while Obi-Wan struggles to stay still and let Anakin take what he wants.
Then the sensation changes, becomes something dark and intoxicating, and instead of merely letting Anakin take what he wants, Obi-Wan is giving it. His hips role under Anakin at a steadily increasing pace, until he is pounding into Anakin’s body. He works his wrists free of Anakin’s grasp, curling one around Anakin’s hip, and bringing the other up to tangle in his hair. And Anakin...Anakin can only surrender to it, letting it build, and build, and BUILD...
The he feels Obi-Wan stiffen, feels Obi-Wan’s come pulsing inside him and, oh, sweet Force, it’s so close to what he needs that he could weep. All of Obi-Wan’s pleasure contained here, inside him, given to him alone. All of their shared darkness of battle reduced to this one point of light where their bodies are joined. Obi-Wan’s hands roam across his body, caressing his side, his cheek, his thigh with a tenderness that he rarely displays even in the bedroom. And yet, it’s not quite enough. Anakin reaches for that peak, strains for it, but can’t quite bring himself over the edge.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan croons then, his voice low and soft, languid with satiation. “That’s enough now. Come for me, my darling.”
And that...that is what he needed. Anakin comes with hoarse shout, splattering Obi-Wan’s bare chest, and falls forward into Obi-Wan’s waiting arms.
They lay like that for a while, half naked and tangled up in each other on the dusty ground of the battlefield. It would probably be best if they got up and cleaned themselves up sooner rather than later. After all, Rex will probably be arriving soon to report on the progress of the invasion, and while the poor man may know that they’re married, that doesn’t mean he wants to see evidence of it firsthand. But Anakin is finding it hard to care right now, with Obi-Wan’s arms around him and his soft cock still inside him, their battle frenzy faded to a satisfying lassitude.
Finally, Obi-Wan chuckles underneath him. “You know,” he says with amusement. “We could have done this in a cot, if you’d been able to wait five minutes. That would have been a great deal more civilized than the ground. Probably more comfortable too.”
“Eh,” Anakin huffs out. “Civilized is overrated. And I’m comfortable where I am.”
Then, as if to illustrate the point, he buries his face in Obi-Wan’s neck. There will be time and opportunity enough for more civilized encounters later, when they are home with their wife and Empress. Anakin is more than happy to simply enjoy what they have now, for however long it lasts.