Chapter Text
Obi-Wan sat on the balcony that connected to his bedroom, lounging back in a bistro chair, morning sun warming his skin through his parted robe; pale bare chest on full display for anyone who might look up to see. The gold threads along the shoulders of his robe glittered in the sunlight, contrasting beautifully with the deep green of the fabric itself.
He watched the gardeners work in the royal gardens; watering and reseeding where plants were withering away, clipping thorns off the flowers that bloomed in troves. Normally he wasn’t awake at the crack of dawn, but he hadn’t gone to sleep the night before.
He’d spent the night being entertained by the dukes and duchesses that were vying for the role of royal consort or his hand in marriage. He had no plans to be getting married, so that was a fool’s goal, though he’d never explicitly told anyone this – but it was fun to spend the night getting drunk with people who showered him with attention.
As the gardeners were slowly moving to his favourite part of the gardens – the big yellow flowers – Obi-Wan slouched more to rest his elbow on the arm of the chair, chin in hand. There was something he enjoyed about the way sunflowers moved to face the sun throughout the day. Maybe it was because he could relate to being the sun people revolved around; maybe it was because he was jealous that not even the flowers would turn their heads as he walked by.
Or, maybe it was because they reminded him that there was one person he wanted to notice him for years now. Every summer Obi-Wan was squirreled away to his family’s summer palace. It was buried deep into the Stewjoni mountains and while he was in residence, he didn’t need his typical retinue of guards. Just this one – and his replacement when his guard needed basic human functions like breaks and sleeping, Ferus Olin, or whatever. The one he was interested in was only ever stationed at the summer palace, waiting for his return every standard year.
Obi-Wan’s eyes slid over to the guard in question, standing tall just nearby and decidedly not looking at him. But Obi-Wan wasn’t perturbed, he openly looked at the guard – Anakin. He lingered on the handsome curve of his jaw, the deep line of a scar down his cheek; the way the blooming sun cast him aglow in golden light. The beginnings of grey hair peeking out from his bronze roots, making him look distinguished and undeniably delicious.
The balcony doors opened behind him, and several maids funneled out. Obi-Wan reluctantly drew his eyes from his guard. Platters were placed on the table underneath golden cloches with shining filigree. The head maid removed the covers for his convenience. The scent of freshly cut fruit and warmed pastries filled the warm morning air.
The maids filtered away.
Obi-Wan leant forwards and picked up a croissant. The flaky layers broke beneath his skin, smearing his thumb with grease. He turned towards his guard and placed his bare foot on the chair before him, opening his legs slightly; the soft layers of his robes slipping down the curve of his shoulders with the movement. Stormy blue eyes gazed towards the distance. Obi-Wan tore the croissant in two and held out half to his guard.
“Won’t you join me for breakfast?” he called.
The guard did not move from his position beside the wall. Obi-Wan sighed and gathered his robes around his shoulders as though chilled.
Then, the prince stood from the sunlit patio, turned heel, and left.
His shadow followed quietly behind.
Obi-Wan could feel himself practically wilting at the lack of attention; he’d have to do something to remedy that, and soon.
Obi-Wan decided to take to his quarters early that day. He still hadn’t gotten any sleep and he thought maybe a nap would do wonders to improve his sour mood. His room was huge and obscenely ornate with a four poster bed pushed up against a wall in the center. Sheer shimmersilk hung from the top, draping down to pool on the floor. Crown molding lined each corner, shining gold outlining the deep green walls. Lights peppered the room to illuminate it, but the biggest source of natural light was the entire wall of windows that led to the prince’s balcony. Black and gold filigree was intricately carved into every inch of the walls, so finely it was only noticeable when he was standing inches from a wall.
Only, as he flopped onto his bed covered in light summery linens – face first – did he realize he wasn’t tired anymore. Obi-Wan rolled over from his sprawled-out heap and stared up at the canopy above his bed. For all his partying and imbibing, he felt terribly lonely afterwards; the silence of his room settling around him was oppressive.
Though, he wasn’t really alone. His personal guard stood in the best place where he could see all exits – and entrances – for someone to sneak in, silent as ever. Doing his job in peace and driving Obi-Wan mad.
“Anakin, no one is around, surely you have something to say,” Obi-Wan said to the ceiling, already knowing the guard wouldn’t reply. It was always like this. He tried to speak to Anakin, but his guard was just so good at his job; only speaking to him if he was in danger, which he wasn’t… ever. The summer palace was the safest place for him while his family resided in the main palace. It was a diversionary tactic as much as it was a vacation for him.
Silence answered his question, as he knew it would, and he made an exaggerated noise of frustration. His guard was so handsome; it was like a test from his family. Assign him the most handsome man they could find, someone that was straight out of his dreams, and make him hate him. Cruel and unusual torture in its finest.
The rule that royal personal guards must be silent – seen but not heard – was outdated. Obi-Wan would be protected even if the man spoke! Why did he have to be silent? Obi-Wan was a social creature, and these long silences were trying on his mental fortitude. He hated that he could see his guard’s lips, their softness, petal pink and so plump. He’d dreamed countless times of feeling them press against his neck with his big strong arms wrapped around him as they fooled around in every room of this palace.
Maybe Obi-Wan should make him wear a helmet, then he wouldn’t be so tempted by his delicate features.
He glanced up to glare at the guard before thumping his head back down on the bed. Anakin had to know he was attracted to him, Obi-Wan stared at him with such lovelorn eyes at the worst of times. How would his big hands feel cupping his face?
Obi-Wan wanted a hardworking man more than he wanted any of those prissy nobles that came to court every day. Heat was pooling in his gut as he continued to think about it - much to his annoyance. He wondered how it would feel to be taken roughly by someone like Anakin, someone who really knew what he was doing. Obi-Wan sat up and glanced at the refresher. Well, Anakin would certainly know what he did if he wandered in there now and… maybe…
Obi-Wan bit his lip, looking back over to his stoic guard. Maybe this would get some rise out of the man. Just a little touch in front of him, nothing more!
With a pounding heart, he stared at Anakin and brought his hands up to his bare chest. Very slowly, very suggestively, he ran his fingers down his bare sternum, pushing the robe farther apart. Obi-Wan shifted on the bed, scooting back, and pulling his feet onto the bed, heels digging into the duvet.
Legs were spread invitingly in Anakin’s direction. He’d fit perfectly between them, Obi-Wan just knew it.
While a flutter of anxiety ran through him, he pushed it down and let it settle with the warming arousal at the pit of his stomach. Obi-Wan was used to people’s eyes – used to people watching as he walked by, watching as he sat and did nothing, always watching. He was also used to the long distant stare of his guard. The way he looked just off in the distance, never quite looking at Obi-Wan, never quite seeing. Obi-Wan would make him see.
Obi-Wan gently ran his fingers over his nipples, playing it up a little, dropping his head back and gasping gently. He squeezed, then allowed his other hand to drift to the waistband of his pants. They were loose and flowy – maybe, in the right light, a little see through - a match with the dark green robe he’d worn all day. His cock was already stirring – half hard and tenting the loose trousers.
He blinked at his guard, eyelashes long, pretty. “Look what you do to me, Anakin,” he murmured, and tried not to blush, tried not to feel a little silly.
His guard was looking at a very interesting spot on his windowsill.
Obi-Wan huffed and rolled his eyes. He made the quick decision to push the boundaries further, arousal making him bold. He tugged the laces at his waist band, pulling them open enough to show the golden thatch of hair above his cock – the thick base. His lip caught in his teeth. Then, staring intently at the soft fall of his guard’s lips, at the strong hands that rested just on his sword hilt and the other relaxed at his side, Obi-Wan pushed his hand into his open pants and wrapped it around his cock.
The moan that fell from his mouth was only slightly exaggerated – it really did feel good, especially to be doing it in front of Anakin.
Obi-Wan was staring at him as he loosely slid his hand up and down his hardening cock. He was watching his guard so closely, in fact, that it would have been impossible to not notice the muscles in Anakin’s jaw tensing.
A reaction.
Obi-Wan wanted more – he needed more, needed to feel the weight of Anakin’s gaze, wanted to see his hands twitch, or – better, he wanted to make his guard gasp. He wanted to see him fall out of his training, wanted to hear his voice – what did he sound like? What did he sound like whispering dirty things or sweet nothings in his ear?
And so, because he was inspired, and because his cock was leaking, he pushed his pants down. His hard cock sprung up, smearing against his stomach.
Anakin blinked and met the princes’ eyes.
Obi-Wan froze. He’d wanted it but he hadn’t expected it, and now that he had it? It arrested him, the way Anakin’s gaze was heavy upon him. Heavier than any crown he’d had to don.
Blue. His eyes were so blue. Obi-Wan had seen them time and time again but it was different now. They’d never looked at him; never pinned him in place with their intensity like this before. He felt lost; the rest of the world forgotten. Nothing had ever made him feel like that, but Anakin…
Anakin’s gaze shifted down. Still looking at him, but now looking at his cock, held loose in his hand at the base. It was with a neutral look, one that Obi-Wan hated until—
Blue eyes darkened, his nostrils flared with a deep inhale, and Obi-Wan thought he was going to crumble apart. It was all the encouragement that he needed to keep going. A heavy haze of lust settled over him, heady with the feeling of Anakin watching.
Finally watching him.
Obi-Wan brought his hand up to the tip of his cock, smearing the precum down in a slow stroke. Blue eyes followed the movement. It was intoxicating. So much so that he already arched his back off the bed, feeling so good.
Obi-Wan had to touch himself in slow, languid strokes to make himself last. The second Anakin had slid his gaze to Obi-Wan, he was on the precipice, but he knew when it was over Anakin would look away. He couldn’t have that.
Obi-Wan shifted, angling himself on the bed to get a better view of Anakin, clearly watching his guard from where he stood by the wall. The prince’s lips parted, shallow breaths making his head spin.
One of Anakin’s hands was resting on his sword hilt, as it always was, the other by his side. With a thrill, Obi-Wan saw the hand around his sword hilt tighten, gripping the metal in a white knuckled fist.
“Oh—oh,” Obi-Wan moaned, sincere in his noises. White hot heat shot south; he wanted Anakin. He’d wanted him since he was old enough to understand possession, but now he wanted him carnally. How would those sword calloused hands feel against his skin? Around his cock? How would his pink lips feel around—
“Ah! Anakin!” Even the low moan of his name wasn’t exaggerated anymore as Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, orgasm blooming in his core. Thick ropes of cum fell across his abdomen, his hand moving fast along his length as he imaged it was Anakin coaxing him through his orgasm. What would his hand look like, so big and tan, painted in his cum?
Obi-Wan let out another punched out moan, the thought triggering all sorts of pleasure centers in his brain. He smiled at himself, blissed out, content. Slowly he opened his eyes and turned his head again to look at Anakin.
His guard was still looking, taking in his post orgasmic face.
“Do you want a taste?” Obi-Wan asked, holding eye contact, bringing his hand up from his cock to trail through the cum on his torso. Anakin watched as Obi-Wan put it in his own mouth, wrapping his lips around the finger and hollowing his cheeks.
Impossibly, Anakin’s eyes became even stormier. Then—he looked away.
Just like that.
