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Obi-Wan woke with a sharp, persistent headache.
It had been a long time since his last hangover, but he remembered the feeling well. His jaw ached. His temples throbbed. The muscles in his forehead had tightened into what felt like a permanent frown.
He blinked, sitting up slowly, then rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He didn’t feel good, but he certainly could’ve felt worse. All he needed was a grounding cup of tea. Caffeinated, probably.
It had been the blasted eggnog. He’d had entirely too much by the time he had discovered its outrageously high alcohol content, and just when he’d decided to cut himself off, Quinlan had invited him to play a drinking game. Winning that game had gone beyond friendly competition—it had been a point of pride. Of course, he’d known he would pay for it later, but he hadn’t let that knowledge stop him.
Obi-Wan groaned. He felt queasy just thinking about how much he’d consumed. He also felt rather betrayed that at the end of the party, Quinlan had sent him on his way wearing that imbecilic headband with the hanging mistletoe.
Oh, Obi-Wan thought, broken memories of the rest of the evening flooding his mind. The mistletoe.
He and Anakin—they had—
They had kissed.
At least, that was what Obi-Wan thought he remembered. He was reasonably certain it hadn’t been a dream. It hadn’t felt like a dream. It had felt raw, and real, and…
Perfect. The word he was looking for was perfect.
Damn it.
He’d been so careful to maintain boundaries between them, for Anakin’s sake as well as his own. He’d guarded his heart so tightly. He’d kept his love, his affection, his attachment so well concealed that sometimes he’d convinced himself that they didn’t exist.
But last night, Anakin had kissed him, and Obi-Wan had kissed him back. Enthusiastically. Maybe even desperately.
All because of the karking mistletoe.
Obi-Wan looked over and glowered at the headband where it lay discarded on the floor. Ridiculous. Ridiculous and damning. He had half a mind to march himself to Quinlan’s quarters and demand an apology—except that it wasn’t Quinlan’s fault. Not really. Obi-Wan was the one who’d taken things too far.
Force, his head hurt. Maybe some medicine wasn’t a bad idea. Medicine, tea, and a shower to wash away whatever regrets still lingered.
He had hoped for more time alone to compose his thoughts, but he could sense that Anakin was already awake. Was he ready to face Anakin? To accept the consequences of his actions? No. Not at all. But the sooner he and Anakin talked, the sooner they could put the mess his drunken self had made behind them. That, more than anything else, was what Obi-Wan wanted: to forget about this and move on.
Wasn’t it?
Obi-Wan shifted out from under the covers and stood, checking that his robes—the same robes from last night, he didn’t fail to notice—weren’t too mussed before making his way slowly into their shared living space. Anakin’s side of their Force bond was quiet, and the lights had been dimmed to half their usual brightness, for which Obi-Wan was immeasurably thankful. As he entered the kitchen, he found a cup of tea already set out for him on the table, and beside it, two painkiller tablets. He felt a powerful surge of fondness at the small caring gesture from his former Padawan.
“Anakin,” he said as Anakin stepped into view, a cup of caf clutched in his mechno hand.
“Drink,” Anakin instructed in a soft voice, taking up his usual seat at the table. “We can talk after those kick in.”
Obi-Wan smiled gratefully, sitting across from Anakin and taking a small sip of the still steaming liquid before popping the pills into his mouth. The tea washed them down well enough, and the blissful warmth soothed both the soreness in his throat and the growing ache in his chest.
He’d expected things to be tense between them, but Anakin wasn’t behaving any differently than usual. His relaxed posture, the easy way he sipped at his caf—it was as though the events of last night hadn’t fazed him in the slightest. As if kissing Obi-Wan hadn’t turned his world upside down.
The idea shouldn’t have irritated Obi-Wan. He shouldn’t have wanted Anakin to need him, or to ache for his touch, or to act out just because he was desperate for Obi-Wan’s attention. Obi-Wan should’ve been grateful for Anakin’s maturity.
Why wasn’t he?
Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, he cautioned himself.
The painkillers took effect quickly. They sat together in silence a while longer, Obi-Wan drinking his tea, Anakin sipping his caf, until both cups were empty.
“Feeling better?” Anakin asked.
Obi-Wan let out a relieved sigh. “Yes. Thank you.”
Anakin rose to deposit the cups in the sink, then moved wordlessly into the living room, making a small gesture for Obi-Wan to follow. Obi-Wan did, finding a comfortable position on the left side of the couch. Anakin perched himself on the armchair and drummed durasteel fingers over the tan fabric, then glanced up expectantly.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan began, though he was sure Anakin already knew what his first question would be. “Last night. Did we…”
“Did we kiss?” Anakin’s eyes twinkled with amusement, the corners of his mouth curving up ever so slightly. “Yes, we did. You seemed to think that something terrible would happen if we didn’t ‘follow the rules’.”
Obi-Wan winced, running a hand over his beard. “I remember that. Vaguely.”
He remembered being deeply concerned and apologetic, unflagging in his belief that they had to kiss. It was required. Unavoidable. Galaxy-destroying consequences awaited them if they didn’t follow the tradition to the letter, never mind the fact that either of them could’ve just taken the stupid mistletoe off of his head.
And then—it hadn’t just been one kiss. There had been kisses, plural, and if he’d had his way, he and Anakin would’ve kept kissing until…
Until what? Until he’d gotten Anakin’s clothes off? Until he’d gotten Anakin off? He’d considered doing both, and he might’ve, if Anakin had let him.
“I also recall not wanting to stop,” he said, his tone surprisingly even as he looked to Anakin for confirmation.
Anakin nodded. “You pouted when I wouldn’t let you keep kissing me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Wonderful. As if he hadn’t behaved poorly enough. He’d debased and embarrassed himself, and to make matters worse, he was having trouble remembering why he shouldn’t put his hands on Anakin again.
Because he was your Padawan, he reminded himself. Because it would be inappropriate.
Because he doesn’t feel the same.
“You were being really difficult, even if it was sort of adorable,” Anakin went on, ignoring the way Obi-Wan pursed his lips at being called adorable. “I’m amazed I was able to get you into bed at all.” For a few seconds, the innuendo was lost on Anakin, and Obi-Wan smiled despite himself as he watched the words land. “Kriff. I could’ve phrased that better. You know what I mean. Into your own bed. To sleep. Alone.”
Obi-Wan remembered that, too. Anakin had taken his boots off for him, and then Obi-Wan had tried to kiss him again, several times. His persistence had made Anakin laugh and blush, and Obi-Wan had tried everything that had come to his mind, including a heartfelt recitation of a long list of compliments, to keep Anakin from leaving.
“I didn’t want to be alone, did I?” Obi-Wan asked, though it felt more like a confession than a question.
“No, you didn’t.”
Against his better judgment, Obi-Wan pressed further. “Why didn’t you stay?”
“You were drunk. I couldn’t—” Anakin broke off, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. “I wasn’t going to just crawl into bed with you. That wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.”
“We’ve slept in the same bed before.”
Anakin shook his head. “This was different.”
“How?”
“I had just kissed you, Obi-Wan.” A confusing snarl of emotion passed across their Force bond, and Obi-Wan struggled to make sense of it. Guilt and longing, anguish and desire—they were all wrapped up together, so impossibly connected that he couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.
Obi-Wan leaned back against the cushions. He was familiar with feelings like that, with the way they pulled and squeezed and strangled. They inhabited his mind far too often. Sometimes they made it difficult to breathe.
He hadn’t expected those feelings from Anakin.
“We really don’t have to talk about this,” Anakin said, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve and refusing to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. “You made it clear the last time we kissed that it’s not—that I’m not… I know you don’t feel that way about me.”
Obi-Wan took a steadying breath, bracing himself against the memory as it ripped through his mind. The last time they had kissed. That was a moment Obi-Wan hadn’t spoken about in years. And with good reason; nothing else brought him so dangerously close to the edge of his control.
“Anakin. The last time we kissed, you were drunk. And you had just been knighted. I would’ve been taking advantage.”
It was the only thing that had prevented him from doing what Anakin asked, from taking him home and—
“You wouldn’t have,” Anakin shot back, tilting his chin up in defiance. “I was very clearly asking for it.”
Force, had Anakin asked for it. He’d begged for it, with kiss-abused lips and wide blue eyes and promises to make it good, to be so good for Obi-Wan. How in Sith hells had Obi-Wan found the strength to refuse?
He clenched his jaw, trying to think past a sudden, overpowering haze of heat and arousal. “And I was asking for it last night, wasn’t I? You still stopped me.”
“That’s because you—you don’t want me, Master. You’ve as good as said so!” Anakin stood abruptly, dragging his hands through his hair and making a frustrated, anguished sound. “I couldn’t let you do something you’d regret, no matter how much it killed me to tell you no.”
For a moment, all Obi-Wan could do was stare. Hope tore through his veins, bright and blinding, and he swallowed, his lips parting in surprise.
“How much it…” He couldn’t bring himself to repeat the words. He didn’t dare, not until he was absolutely certain they were true. “Anakin. Are you saying you wanted—”
“Yes.” The confession tumbled rough and broken from his lips as if he resented it, as if the desperate truth behind it pained him. “I wanted you. I still want you.”
He already looked so wrung out. A striking blush painted the hollows of his cheeks, and need flickered sharp and urgent in his eyes. That intense, electric blue drew Obi-Wan in; it begged him to come closer, to touch, to use his hands to calm Anakin’s desperation.
Incapable of resisting, Obi-Wan stood, crossing the small distance between them and sliding his fingers back through Anakin’s curls. Anakin whined as he tilted his head, leaning into the contact.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, stroking his thumb over Anakin’s temple. The gesture was gentle and possessive all at once, and it made the needy look in Anakin’s eyes sharpen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because—” Anakin broke off, averting his gaze. “Because you said no.”
Stars, it hadn’t been that simple. Not nearly. Whatever Obi-Wan had said that night, he’d intended it as a pause, not a full stop. Anakin had been so drunk that no matter how beautifully he begged, it couldn’t have counted as consent—and Obi-Wan had been out of his mind with desire. He would’ve been rough. Too rough. As it was, for dangerous minutes he’d kissed Anakin back, questioning whether or not he would be able to stop.
Finally, finally, he’d managed to pull away.
‘Anakin, stop. We can’t.’
He realized now that the words hadn’t been enough. He should’ve been clearer. He’d meant to say not here, not tonight, not until you’ve had time to think about whether this is really what you want. Instead, what he’d said—and what Anakin had heard—was no.
How long had Anakin been struggling with the weight of that refusal? Had he spent the last four years just as Obi-Wan had, pretending not to feel what he felt? Obi-Wan’s guilt and regret had been misplaced all along. He shouldn’t have felt guilty for wanting Anakin. He should’ve felt guilty for hiding it. For assuming that Anakin had changed his mind.
“Anakin, I—” He shook his head, fighting to keep his anger and frustration tucked tightly behind his mental shields. He wasn’t upset at Anakin. He was furious with himself. He’d put the blinders over his own eyes. He hadn’t wanted to see.
He saw now. He saw conflict in the line between Anakin’s brows; he saw need, vulnerable and raw, in the splotchy red of Anakin’s cheeks. Did that blush feel as warm as it looked? Was Anakin on fire the way Obi-Wan was, molten heat pulsing through his veins?
The answer, inexplicably, miraculously, was yes. Anakin wanted him. Needed him. And even without the flashing lights and pounding music of the nightclub, even without the emboldening buzz of liquid courage in his veins, Obi-Wan was powerless to deny Anakin anything.
“Master.” Anakin pressed closer, whimpering when Obi-Wan’s grip on his hair tightened. “Please.”
Something inside Obi-Wan snapped. He growled deep in his throat, his free hand curling into Anakin’s tunics as he tugged him forward into a punishing kiss. Anakin clung to him, opening far too eagerly to the swipe of Obi-Wan’s tongue.
For a few moments, the kiss became so intense that Obi-Wan hardly recognized himself inside it. He was no longer the calm, composed Jedi Master. He was the man who’d ached for Anakin so soon after his knighting, the one who’d fought so hard to smother his own desires. The roughness he’d struggled against rushed inevitably to the surface, and he explored Anakin’s mouth the way he’d longed to; his lips and tongue demanded that Anakin yield to him, and Anakin did, his body willing and pliant as he arched into Obi-Wan’s touch.
Please, Master—please don’t stop. I’ll make it good, I’ll be so good for you. Please.
Obi-Wan broke the kiss with a ragged groan. The words made his head spin. He couldn’t tell if that was Anakin repeating the remembered mantra through their Force bond, or if he’d suddenly been transported back in time. He paused to catch his breath, gradually loosening his grip on Anakin’s robes as he drew back to search Anakin’s face.
It took Anakin’s closed eyes a long time to open. When they did, that blue was still deep and dark, his gaze unfocused. Anakin leaned forward, resting his forehead against Obi-Wan’s temple and nuzzling into his cheek. “Why did you stop?”
Obi-Wan smiled at just how put-out Anakin managed to sound, even with his voice so low and breathless. “Because,” Obi-Wan replied softly. “That was rougher than I wanted it to be.”
“It wasn’t too rough,” Anakin insisted, speaking against Obi-Wan’s beard. “I promise.”
“Still.” Obi-Wan lifted his hand to cradle Anakin’s jaw. “Let me try again.”
He kissed Anakin gently this time, the movement of his lips slow and purposeful. Anakin deserved to be more than simply an object of Obi-Wan’s desire; he deserved to be taken care of, to be cherished. To be kissed with passion, yes, but also with finesse, with the kind of skill and precision that would make him melt in Obi-Wan’s arms.
Their tongues met only briefly, just enough of a taste to leave them both wanting more. Anakin whined, and Obi-Wan soothed his lips with soft, lingering kisses, then dipped down to Anakin’s pulse point, nipping at the sensitive flesh. Anakin shivered, turning his head to give Obi-Wan better access.
Stars, Obi-Wan wanted to suck bruises there, wanted to bite down hard enough to make Anakin moan. He closed his eyes against the impulse, his beard scratching over Anakin’s jaw as he breathed in the scent of Anakin’s skin. Force, Anakin smelled good, his natural musk tempered by warm vanilla and cinnamon. Obi-Wan let out an approving growl, pressing his face closer.
“If I recall correctly,” he rumbled, brushing his beard deliberately over Anakin’s neck, “you told me it was rude to give you soap as a gift.” His lips skimmed down Anakin’s throat toward his collarbone, drinking in the scent of him, the feel of him. “You said it implied that you didn’t wash yourself regularly.”
“You know I was just kidding,” Anakin said. “I—kriff, Obi-Wan. I didn’t realize you’d like it this much.”
Obi-Wan did like it, more than he’d expected. The possessive part of him, the part he’d held at arm’s reach for so long, enjoyed having even this small claim on Anakin. He wanted more. He wanted to put his hands everywhere he could touch; he wanted to wring pleasure from Anakin’s body and pull more pleas from his lips.
He mouthed over Anakin’s neck again, then carded his fingers through golden curls. The idea of abandoning all thought and dragging Anakin into the bedroom was a compelling one. But this was new territory. It would benefit them both to move slowly.
“Dear one,” he murmured. “As much as I’d love to take you to bed, I could use a shower first.” Anakin pursed his lips, his brow furrowed in displeasure until Obi-Wan continued. “Will you join me?”
Eager anticipation raced across their Force bond. Anakin’s shields were slipping, and Obi-Wan couldn’t deny the heady rush it gave him to see Anakin grapple for control, to feel Anakin’s emotions as if they were his own.
“Yeah,” Anakin replied, a small smile parting his lips. “Okay.”
Convincing himself to step away took an enormous amount of effort. It seemed wrong somehow, having to separate himself from the warmth of Anakin’s body. The promise of getting even closer, of standing together under the water without so many layers between them, was enticing—but then, what more could Obi-Wan possibly need when he already had Anakin here under his hands?
Mind triumphed over matter only after Obi-Wan kissed Anakin again, and he drew back slowly at first, waiting for Anakin to follow. Anakin never fell more than two steps behind him as they crossed their living quarters. Their bond thrummed with shared anticipation as they stepped into the fresher, Obi-Wan turning on the fan, Anakin closing the door behind them.
Obi-Wan knelt and opened the cabinet under the sink, reaching in and retrieving a small bottle of lubricant. Of course, sex wasn’t their objective—or, put more accurately, it wasn’t their only objective. Obi-Wan hadn’t showered since the morning before. The painkillers had done their work, but he wouldn’t feel right until he’d cleaned himself off. Still, he didn’t expect either of them to be particularly restrained. It was better to be prepared.
“I didn’t even know you had that in here,” Anakin said, his eyes dark as they tracked Obi-Wan’s movements. “I keep mine in my room.”
Obi-Wan set the bottle down on the shelf in the shower, pausing for a moment to think through the implications of that statement. What exactly did Anakin use that lube for? Would he tell Obi-Wan? Would he show him?
The sound of water hitting tile echoed in the small space as Obi-Wan turned on the faucet, then stepped out of the cubicle to approach Anakin again. His hands found Anakin’s waist, his touch more possessive than he’d intended, as he asked, “Will you let me undress you?”
“Yes,” Anakin replied, eagerness written across his face. “Please.”
Obi-Wan swallowed. Anakin's pleading was more melodious than any symphony, and he wondered how long he could withstand the sweet sound of it before it erased what was left of his composure. He moved closer, breathing deeply to steady himself, then set about taking off Anakin’s robes one garment at a time.
He’d made this same attempt the night before; he remembered how insistent he’d been, how he’d pulled at Anakin’s tabards with anxious impatience until Anakin had stilled his hands. This time, he was determined not to let his desires overpower him. Not yet, at least. He removed each layer calmly, intently, his purposeful focus never ceding to his arousal.
Anakin bit his lip, exhaling sharply when his skin was finally exposed to the air. The room felt suddenly hotter, and Obi-Wan was sure it had less to do with the steam billowing from the shower and more to do with the warmth radiating from Anakin’s body now that his clothes lay in a pile on the floor.
Oh, but Anakin was beautiful.
Obi-Wan had known that, of course. He’d seen Anakin in various states of undress over the last few years, though he’d dutifully kept his eyes from lingering for too long. Anakin was beautiful with his clothes on, too. Beautiful on the inside. Beautiful in the Force. And Obi-Wan had never told him. That was an oversight he planned to correct.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Anakin’s hands were already moving, reaching for him, tugging at his tunics and trousers. There was never any pretense of patience with Anakin. He removed Obi-Wan’s rumpled clothes quickly, greedily, and that on its own sent a frisson of want up Obi-Wan’s spine.
The small distance to the shower felt too enormous to cross with Anakin standing so close. They were far enough apart that their bare bodies didn’t touch, but it was a near thing. A shift in almost any direction would’ve made Obi-Wan’s hardness press into Anakin’s thigh. Tension thickened the already humid air, and though Obi-Wan longed to stay here and worship Anakin’s body the way Anakin deserved, he knew once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Dear one,” he said, his gaze caught on Anakin’s collarbones. “We should get in.”
“Right,” Anakin replied, distraction in his voice. He moved slowly, stiffly, and Obi-Wan followed, closing the transparisteel door behind them.
Anakin took his turn first, standing directly under the shower head. His hair grew dark, clinging to his face as it became saturated with water. Drops ran down his nose and over his forehead, catching on his eyelashes, sliding down his cheeks. Obi-Wan watched the water stream over his shoulders, down the toned planes of his chest and the lithe muscles of his abdomen.
Finally, Obi-Wan’s gaze traveled lower, his eyes raking over Anakin’s navel, then his cock. Force. He was stunning. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but imagine putting his hands on that hard length, or kneeling down and sucking the head into his mouth. He licked his lips, his own cock jerking a little at the thought.
Sex isn’t the objective, Obi-Wan reminded himself. He’d suggested the shower for a reason. They could look and touch as much or as little as they liked, but there was no pressure. No expectations. If all they did was stare at each other under the water, that would be more than enough. But seeing Anakin tilting his head back, exposing the line of his throat… It made Obi-Wan want to step forward into Anakin’s space, to use his lips and teeth to mark up that delicate skin.
Anakin stood like that for another moment before straightening, wiping the water from his face and glancing over at Obi-Wan. “Master. You’re staring.”
There was humor in Anakin’s voice, but there was something else, too. Shyness, maybe. A request for approval.
“So I am,” Obi-Wan replied. “I can’t help it. You're beautiful. Captivating.”
Arousal coiled hotly through their Force bond, and Anakin suddenly looked overwhelmed. “Your turn,” he said, stepping out of the way to make room under the water.
Obi-Wan offered a small smile of appreciation, taking up the space where Anakin had stood and closing his eyes. It was the perfect temperature, just warm enough to heat his skin without turning it too pink, and he imitated Anakin’s earlier gesture, tilting his head back and letting the water run over his face and down his neck. When he opened his eyes, he found Anakin closer than he’d been before. He was the one staring now, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide.
“Anakin.”
Anakin blinked. “Sorry. It’s only that… I never get to just look.” His gaze traveled up and down Obi-Wan’s body, appreciative and awestruck. “Master, you’re… Kriff, you’re so much better than I imagined.”
Obi-Wan huffed his disbelief. “Have you been imagining me often?”
It took Anakin a few seconds to respond. The sound of the water pounding against the tile grew thunderous. “Every day,” Anakin admitted quietly.
Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose. He was so accustomed to Anakin’s eager confidence. But here, in this moment, Anakin was… hesitant. Unsure. Stars, Obi-Wan didn’t know how to reconcile these two facets of Anakin Skywalker. How could the young man who’d begged so prettily, so lewdly in that alley outside the nightclub be the same man that stood before him now?
Anakin didn’t wait for a reply. He reached for the bottle of liquid soap and held it out to Obi-Wan, as if he expected Obi-Wan to begin washing himself without comment. As if he hadn’t just confessed to thinking about Obi-Wan’s naked body every day.
“Not yet,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin frowned, setting the bottle back down. “Then what—?”
“Come here.” Obi-Wan stepped far enough forward that his head was clear of the spray, and Anakin approached him, still far too tentative. That hesitation hardly made sense, not when tendrils of heat and arousal were spinning themselves up across their bond. And yet, there must’ve been a reason for it.
When Anakin was finally close enough, Obi-Wan stroked his thumb over Anakin’s cheekbone. Relax, dear one, he said through the bond. It’s alright.
Anakin’s shoulders lowered a fraction. I’m sorry, he replied. I’m… nervous.
Anakin, there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s only me.
“Exactly,” Anakin said aloud. “It’s you. And what if I don’t—what if I’m not—” He broke off, finishing the sentence in a whisper across the bond. What if I’m not what you want after all?
“Darling.” Obi-Wan caressed Anakin’s cheek again, leaning in to brush their noses together. “You’re everything that I want.”
Anakin took a deep breath, then another, and Obi-Wan watched the rise and fall of his chest. What Anakin needed was reassurance. Obi-Wan offered it, radiating comfort and calm into Anakin’s mind, allowing the feelings he’d kept so well guarded to flow freely through the Force where Anakin could see them. He felt Anakin’s nervousness slowly subside, replaced with the same desperate desire that had made him look so wrung out before. That same blush was barely visible on Anakin’s cheeks, need glimmering in the depths of his eyes. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to press their bare bodies together, instead tracing his thumb over the corner of Anakin’s mouth.
“May I kiss you?” Obi-Wan asked, and though he’d meant for it to be gentle, the question came out low and rough, his own desire permeating the words.
“Yeah,” Anakin replied, sounding equally as affected. “Yes, please.”
It was nothing like any of the kisses they’d shared before. Obi-Wan tilted his head slowly, cautiously. The tension between them crackled as their lips came closer together, a centimeter at a time until they were only a breath apart.
Stars, this was more torturous than anything Obi-Wan had endured over the past four years. He wanted to close the distance so badly—but the anticipation was so much sweeter than he’d imagined. He let it build, not moving until a whimper from Anakin’s closed lips propelled him forward.
Anakin took in a sharp breath, drawing back just far enough that Obi-Wan’s advance was a near miss. His hesitation only lasted for an instant. As quickly as he’d tensed, he relaxed again, melting into Obi-Wan’s embrace as Obi-Wan finally brought their mouths together. Their bond ignited with fierce desire and desperate relief, and Anakin whined, a high, needy sound that went straight to Obi-Wan’s cock.
Force, he hadn’t meant for it to turn into this; he’d meant to use this kiss to further reassure Anakin, but everything felt so warm, and Anakin was so beautifully pliant underneath him. Obi-Wan couldn’t help himself. He parted Anakin’s lips with his tongue, then fucked into Anakin’s open mouth, seeking not just to taste, but to own, to possess. Anakin moaned, wanton and eager. Flesh fingers slid into the hair at the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck, gripping hard as Obi-Wan drew them both back toward the wall.
Obi-Wan groaned into Anakin’s mouth as his back hit the tile, and one hand found its way between their bodies to slide down the wet expanse of Anakin’s chest. Muscle shifted underneath his palm as he went, and Obi-Wan stopped just short of Anakin’s stomach, his hand sliding around his waist. Anakin’s shields slipped again, and need pulsed through their bond, sharp, urgent, desperate. Stars, Anakin was already coiled too tightly—Anakin was close, Obi-Wan realized, and as he caressed Anakin’s mechno arm, trailing his fingertips over durasteel tendons, Anakin unraveled.
“Aah,” Anakin gasped, and Obi-Wan felt him try to hold back, to keep himself from coming too soon. It didn’t work. The crest of Anakin’s pleasure blew through their bond as it overwhelmed him, making him whine and stumble forward. His come went everywhere; it painted Obi-Wan’s chest, his stomach, his cock, and Obi-Wan bit back a moan at the sensation.
“Fuck,” Anakin groaned, dropping his head onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan held him through the aftershocks, resting his hands on Anakin’s bare hips and reveling in the little tremor it earned him. “I’m sorry, that was—I didn’t mean to—fuck.”
Obi-Wan brushed one thumb over Anakin’s hipbone, trying not to let his own arousal deepen his voice. “Anakin, it’s alright.”
“It’s not,” he insisted, turning his head so his words were muffled by Obi-Wan’s neck. His embarrassment radiated through the Force in waves, tempered only slightly by pleasure and relief. “All you did was kiss me. You barely touched me and I—I came like a kriffing teenager.”
“Dear one,” Obi-Wan said, sending more comfort through their bond as he rubbed soothing circles into Anakin’s skin. “It was hardly an innocent kiss.” He pitched his voice lower, speaking against Anakin’s wet curls. “I want to see your face next time. I want to watch.”
Anakin’s only reply was a weak, strangled whine.
Obi-Wan pressed a kiss into Anakin’s hair, stroking his mechno hand where it rested against his side. “This is more sensitive than the rest of you, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Anakin whispered, lifting his head. “That’s why I wear the glove whenever it’s not just us.”
Obi-Wan frowned in confusion. Anakin had never told him—how had he not realized—
“You’ve always been gentle with it,” Anakin explained. “You’re the only one I wanted to tell, but… I never needed to.”
Dear one, that’s… Obi-Wan came up short. All he’d ever wanted was to do right by Anakin, whatever that meant, whatever it took. Knowing that he had taken care of Anakin, even in this small way, without being aware of it—he couldn’t begin to express what that meant to him.
Anakin lifted his mechno hand to Obi-Wan’s face, and Obi-Wan turned to kiss his palm. “I meant what I said, Anakin,” Obi-Wan spoke against durasteel, lips brushing over Anakin’s wrist. “I want to see your face the next time you come. Will you let me, darling?”
Anakin nodded. “Yes. I will.” He glanced down between them to where Obi-Wan’s cock strained hot and hard against his stomach, still covered in Anakin’s come. “Can I—you still haven’t—”
“Help me clean off first,” Obi-Wan instructed gently, picking up the bottle of liquid soap and handing it over. “Then I promise, we’ll do whatever you want.”
It was some sort of perfect relief, letting Anakin touch him like this. Obi-Wan moaned breathlessly at the first sweep of Anakin’s hands over his body, flesh and durasteel slick with suds and warm from the heat of the water. He’d spent so long trying to keep his distance. Now, finally, he could bask in Anakin’s closeness.
Anakin was taking his time, savoring every touch. He started out behind Obi-Wan, rubbing soap into his shoulders, and Obi-Wan hummed, his eyes falling closed at the blissful pressure. Anakin paused briefly to press a kiss against the hinge of his jaw, then moved from his shoulders to his back, following the line of his spine down to his hips before stopping to gather more soap. Wet, slick hands palmed greedily over Obi-Wan’s buttocks, and when durasteel fingers dipped teasingly down to his inner thigh, Obi-Wan gasped.
“Anakin—”
“Master,” Anakin countered, his lips pressing against Obi-Wan’s hair just behind his ear. “You wanted me to help you clean off. I’m just being thorough.”
“Mmh,” Obi-Wan grunted, though whether in irritation or acceptance he wasn’t sure.
Anakin touched Obi-Wan everywhere he could reach. Obi-Wan hadn’t quite expected Anakin to slide those fingers between his ass cheeks and over his rim, nor had he expected the lewd moan that the action would pull from his throat. He ignored his persistent arousal, and so did Anakin; his cock was perhaps the only part of his body that Anakin was intent on ignoring. Obi-Wan didn’t mind that, at least for the moment. He wanted to revel in the pleasure of Anakin’s touch a little longer. Despite Anakin’s teasing, he was deriving so much comfort from his attention; he didn’t want to muddy the feeling by focusing on chasing physical release.
Long minutes later, Anakin finished his exploration and helped Obi-Wan rinse the soap from his body. He hovered close, pressing himself against Obi-Wan’s back, leaning his chin on his shoulder as he rubbed the last of the suds from the hair on Obi-Wan’s chest.
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan murmured sincerely, turning his head enough that he could see Anakin’s pleased smile.
“You’re welcome.” Anakin scratched his nails lightly over Obi-Wan’s stomach, then gripped Obi-Wan’s hips to turn him around.
Obi-Wan gave him a quizzical look. “Anakin,” he said, not missing the glint in Anakin’s eyes. “What—”
“You promised we could do whatever I want,” Anakin said in a low voice, sinking to his knees in front of him. “This is what I want.”
Obi-Wan let out a heavy breath, his gaze trained on Anakin’s face. He had promised to do whatever Anakin wanted, but he hadn’t been prepared for this. The sight of Anakin on his knees left him utterly speechless.
“I remember asking for this,” Anakin said. “That night, outside the club. I remember begging you to let me suck you off. I remember how dark your eyes got as soon as I said it.” He ran his hands over Obi-Wan’s thighs, fixing his attention on Obi-Wan’s cock for a moment before glancing up. “How do I look down here, Master?”
“You’re teasing me.”
He was well aware of it, too, if the flutter of his eyelashes and the false innocence written all over his face were any indication. He strung Obi-Wan along for a few seconds, nuzzling his inner thigh, never getting close enough to where Obi-Wan wanted him.
“Anakin—ah. Anakin. ”
Abruptly, Anakin stopped teasing, taking Obi-Wan’s cock into his mouth.
Fuck.
Anakin knew what he was doing. Those perfect lips and that clever tongue were good for more than just quick wit or driving Obi-Wan to frustration. Obi-Wan breathed in sharply, one of his hands sinking into Anakin’s hair. With a little hum, Anakin hollowed out his cheeks and sucked, taking Obi-Wan deeper.
Force, Anakin couldn’t possibly handle all of him, could he?
He could. Obi-Wan groaned as his cock reached the back of Anakin’s throat. Anakin stared up at him with bright eyes, not moving, not pulling away.
“Darling,” Obi-Wan sighed, the word full of pride and fondness. He tugged a little at Anakin’s hair, then gasped when Anakin started moving again. “So good. So good for me.”
Anakin was always bright in the Force, but Obi-Wan’s approval made that brightness suddenly blinding. Shimmering warmth suffused their bond, pleasure rising and swirling between them, and Obi-Wan braced his free hand against the wall, his grip tightening in Anakin’s curls. The water was still hot against his back; the gathering steam created clouds that threatened to envelop Anakin where he knelt on the tile floor.
That bright pleasure grew less intense, and Obi-Wan wanted to feel it again—he wanted to know exactly what it did to Anakin, hearing his Master praise him for something so carnally sweet. “Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice too deep and still somehow breathless. “Good boy.”
Something exploded inside their bond. Electricity streaked in dazzling, chaotic arcs, white hot and wild and uncontainable. It was like nothing Obi-Wan had ever felt. He found himself at the edge of his control, struggling to keep himself from snapping his hips forward. Anakin urged him on, gripping Obi-Wan’s thighs, making little sounds of encouragement when Obi-Wan started to fuck into his mouth. Stars, Anakin took it so well. He never faltered, not even when tears began to slide from the corners of his eyes, mingling with the droplets that still lingered on his skin.
Obi-Wan was floating, or maybe drowning, sinking into a sparkling pool of liquid pleasure. Overwhelmed as he was, he still felt through the bond when Anakin’s arousal became urgent and insistent. Force, could Anakin really be ready to go again so soon? Obi-Wan stilled his hips, dragging his fingers through Anakin’s damp hair. “You’re hard again, aren’t you?” he asked.
Anakin pulled off to answer. “Yes,” he said, his voice raspy and rough.
Stars, the sight of him, the sound of him. It was too much, and Obi-Wan needed more. “Come up here. I want to put my hands on you.”
Anakin did as Obi-Wan asked. He got to his feet, watching as Obi-Wan retrieved the lube and spread some over his hand. “Master,” Anakin whimpered as Obi-Wan closed his palm around his length, stroking him from root to head. “Mmh—want to touch you, too.”
“So touch me,” Obi-Wan said, not waiting for Anakin’s reply before bringing their lips together. This kiss was messy and wet, and Obi-Wan made sure to show his appreciation for Anakin’s tongue, tangling it together with his own, then sucking it gently into his mouth.
Preoccupied as he was with his own hands and lips, with giving Anakin the pleasure he deserved, Obi-Wan didn’t notice Anakin multitasking until his slick, warm hand wrapped around his cock, his grip just on the right side of tight. Oh Force. He’d waited so long for Anakin to touch him like this; he’d imagined it more often than he wanted to admit, but those thoughts paled in comparison to reality. Being connected with Anakin like this—it felt good, yes, but more than that, it felt wonderfully intimate. It was the kind of closeness he’d only dreamed of, the kind he’d longed to share with Anakin for years.
“Is that alright?” Anakin asked between kisses.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan breathed. “That’s perfect.”
He allowed himself a brief moment of distraction, letting Anakin’s mouth move against his, losing himself in the slide of Anakin’s hand over his heated flesh. His own movements slowed, but didn’t stop, and as seconds stretched into minutes, he found himself growing impatient, aching to touch more of Anakin, to pull more pleasure from his body and his lips. With single-minded purpose, he released Anakin to gather more lube, then slipped one hand around to slide his fingers into the cleft of his ass, brushing his fingertips against Anakin’s rim.
A tremor rippled through their bond as Anakin’s focus shattered. His grip on Obi-Wan went slack, and he choked on a groan, swaying forward, reaching for Obi-Wan’s shoulders to keep himself steady. “Sorry,” he managed, clouded eyes meeting Obi-Wan’s.
One corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth curved up. “Don’t be.” He liked that he could take Anakin by surprise. Knowing how much he could affect Anakin, how easily he could overwhelm him, made the molten embers of Obi-Wan’s arousal flare dangerously. He pressed at Anakin’s entrance, teasing, testing, and Anakin’s mouth opened with a soundless moan.
He didn’t want to go too far too fast. He wasn’t going to fuck Anakin, not this time—he only wanted to explore Anakin’s body, to spread him open a little and press into that bundle of nerves to see what reaction he might elicit. He brushed against Anakin’s hole again, then slipped one slick finger inside. Anakin keened. Durasteel dug into Obi-Wan’s collarbone, and Obi-Wan had the fleeting thought that he didn’t mind that bite of pain. He might even like letting Anakin use that hand to leave bruises on his skin.
It took no time at all for Anakin to relax around him, and Obi-Wan slipped a second finger in to join the first. Anakin’s body opened for him, accommodating him like he was made for it. Obi-Wan felt the moment his fingers found Anakin’s prostate; the sensation sparked across their bond so intensely that Obi-Wan had to pause to collect himself. Force, Anakin was so sensitive—was he always on the knife edge like this, balancing precariously between pleasure and release?
“Yes,” Anakin answered, clinging to Obi-Wan’s shoulders, crying out when Obi-Wan’s fingers began to move again. “Always a little bit like this, but with you it’s even more—kriff, I can’t—”
“Dear one, there’s no need to explain,” Obi-Wan soothed, quieting him with a firm kiss. “Remember what I said? About wanting to watch?”
Anakin bit his lip, nodding quickly. “Mmhmm.” He tilted his head a little, enough to ensure that Obi-Wan would be able to see his face.
“Good.” Obi-Wan increased his pace, his fingers brushing purposefully over Anakin’s prostate while his other hand lavished attention on the head of his cock. Anakin whined high in his throat, then let out another broken cry. It was obvious that he was nearly there. Obi-Wan wanted to hear him say it. “Tell me when you’re close,” he ordered.
“I’m close,” Anakin said without missing a beat. “Oh, I’m so close. I’m—oh fuck, I’m about to come, Master, please, I—”
Obi-Wan watched as pleasure wrote itself into the lines of Anakin’s face. His eyes fluttered closed. His brows drew up and together. His lips parted. The tension in his jaw softened. He came with a breathy moan, his shields utterly obliterated. Obi-Wan worked him through it, his fingers stilling inside him, the movement of his hand slowing as Anakin’s come coated his palm and painted white streaks over his stomach.
He should’ve given Anakin more time to catch his breath, but Obi-Wan couldn’t help it. He surged forward, kissing Anakin hard. “Force, Anakin,” he said against reddened lips. “You’re beautiful.”
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin mumbled in reply, brushing their noses together, biting down gently on Obi-Wan’s lower lip. “Kriff, Master, that was—I’m sorry, I know you still haven’t—I didn’t mean to just stop.” Anakin’s hand found Obi-Wan’s cock again, and Obi-Wan’s head dropped forward.
“It’s—ah—it’s alright.” Stars, it felt good. Each slow stroke made electric pleasure spark through him, the tingling current traveling from the tips of his fingers to the base of his spine. “Anakin—yes, just like that.”
How was it that Anakin already knew what Obi-Wan liked, what would bring him off the quickest? How did he know to bite along Obi-Wan’s jaw and lave kisses into the hollow of his throat? How did he know to whisper in Obi-Wan’s ear, to trail durasteel fingers down Obi-Wan’s chest, to thumb over his nipples and trace through the line of hair that ran from his abdomen down past his navel?
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, moaning when Anakin bit down hard where his neck and shoulder met. It was one thing to allow himself to be possessive of Anakin—it was quite another for Anakin to be possessive of him. His cock throbbed at the idea of indulging Anakin, of letting him mark him up the way Anakin so clearly wanted to. Oh, Force. Obi-Wan’s hips rolled and arched in time with Anakin’s strokes, and he took a breath to speak, to warn Anakin that he was close, it wouldn’t take much more—
Anakin pulled back to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes, cradling the nape of his neck, and Obi-Wan tumbled over the edge.
He came with Anakin’s name on his lips, the word and the man it belonged to becoming a mantra in his mind. His muscles tensed, his release rushing through him as everything went white.
Anakin. Anakin. Anakin.
It took time for the haze to clear. When it did, he found Anakin still huddled close, his forehead resting on Obi-Wan’s temple, his open hands splayed over Obi-Wan’s back.
“Alright?” Anakin asked, dropping a lazy kiss on the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied. “That was—”
“Good?” Anakin finished for him, an easy, teasing smile parting his lips. “I could tell.” He traced his nose over Obi-Wan’s cheekbone, then spoke against the shell of his ear. “I liked you saying my name,” he whispered. “I think you should fuck me next time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Obi-Wan rumbled, already entirely in agreement.
His habitual cold rinse wasn’t something he needed to subject Anakin to this time. A little more soap and a few seconds under the water, and the remnants of lube and come were easy enough to wash away. Obi-Wan turned off the faucet, motioning for Anakin to step out first.
He was lucky he’d laid out clean towels the day before. He passed the darker one to Anakin, taking the lighter one for himself. As in so many things, Obi-Wan was more efficient—in the time it took him to dry his whole body, Anakin had only managed to towel off his hair. Was Anakin always this slow? Or was he waiting for Obi-Wan to lose his patience and step in?
It’s not as if it’s a hardship, Obi-Wan thought, wrapping his own towel around his waist and moving to help Anakin. It was as good an excuse as any to touch Anakin again. But then again, he didn’t need an excuse to put his hands on Anakin anymore. He took his time, caressing clean, soft skin with both the towel and his hands, giving Anakin the same care and attention that Anakin had given him. He gave into his baser desires only once, palming Anakin’s ass with a greedy, possessive grip before continuing on with his task.
“Will you go wait for me in my bedroom?” Obi-Wan asked when Anakin was dry, kissing the back of his neck and draping the towel over his shoulders.
“Okay,” Anakin agreed, holding the towel closed around him and stepping out of the fresher.
Obi-Wan didn’t take long. He applied lotion to his face and combed through his hair, hoping it would dry looking put-together enough for his usual standards. He left the fresher and padded to the bedroom with his towel still around his waist.
Anakin was seated on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. He was wearing one of Obi-Wan’s robes—Obi-Wan didn’t fail to notice that he was shirtless underneath—and there, sitting atop his head, was the thrice damned mistletoe headband.
Sith hells. He should’ve thrown that thing away when he’d had the chance.
“Take it off,” Obi-Wan said evenly.
Anakin grinned. “No.”
Anakin’s insolence was equal parts endearing and infuriating. Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, setting his jaw in a stern expression. “Anakin.”
“Come on, Master,” Anakin said, shifting to the edge of the bed. “You know the rules. You have to kiss me first.”
After everything they’d done together in the fresher, it hardly seemed fair that Obi-Wan’s embarrassment over the mistletoe was what finally made him blush. He stared at Anakin for a long time, furious at the heat rising in his own cheeks. Although for some reason, he couldn’t fight the ridiculous impulse to smile.
“Fine,” Obi-Wan conceded, nudging at Anakin’s knees. Anakin spread his legs in invitation, and Obi-Wan stepped forward, his hands resting on either side of Anakin’s neck. He leaned down to press a lingering kiss to Anakin’s lips. “There. Satisfied?”
Anakin’s grin widened. “Yes.”
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible.”
“I know.” Anakin took the headband off and set it aside on the dresser. “Sit with me now,” he said, taking hold of Obi-Wan’s arms and pulling him forward. “Get rid of that later.”
Despite the fact that he was still only clothed in a towel, Obi-Wan heard himself agreeing without protest. “Alright.”
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up together on Obi-Wan’s bed, neither one of them willing to stray too far from the other. It was the most relaxed Obi-Wan had felt in months. He knew Anakin was experiencing something similar; there was a kind of calm in the Force, like the quiet after a rainstorm. Obi-Wan hoped they would have more moments like this, more time to be together. Every embrace that Anakin would allow, every touch and kiss he would permit—Obi-Wan wanted all of it. And for the first time, he knew that Anakin felt the same.
Obi-Wan glanced briefly over at the headband where it lay on the dresser, relieved to find that it no longer mocked him the way it had this morning. Of course, he still planned to discard it at his earliest opportunity. But for the moment, that could wait. Right now, he was doing something far more important.