Work Text:
Some Jedi call it empty nest syndrome.
Quinlan Vos calls it this really fucking sucks, but it shouldn’t, he should be proud syndrome.
And he is proud. Really fucking proud. At twenty-two, Aayla, his little girl who is far from little, underwent her trials, passed, and became a Jedi Knight. He did that! He trained her—with Tholme’s help while Quin and Aayla both recovered from the whole temporary amnesia thing. That was a ... weird six months, especially for him given how much memory has played a role in his life. He could touch things, see his own life, but be unable to connect with it.
Yeah. It was … yeah.
Anyway, the point is, the padawan who once worried he’d never be good enough to train the child he rescued years ago did just that. And Aayla? She’s incredible. Strategic. Strong. Steady. A little impulsive, but in the best way, and he sure can’t say anything about that, can he? She’s good-hearted and graceful.
And now? Rumblings of war keep making the ground of the Republic shake beneath their feet. Quin’s pretty sure it will happen, and his kid won’t get those first few years of freedom as a Jedi Knight where you’re figuring out where you belong and what you want to do. Well, he didn’t get that either, given how early he took Aayla on, but what he wanted was to take her on. So, he did, in his way.
So, as he trudges to Obi-Wan's quarters after dinner with Tholme, he hopes for a respite from his own thoughts.
And that is certainly what he gets when he types in the code, opens the door and finds ...
Obi-Wan Kenobi sprawled on the sofa, delightful thighs spread wide.
That’s point number one.
Point number two is the fact that his buttoned-up boyfriend, partner, whatever word one might want to use, is dressed in a freshly laundered pair of Quin’s own boxers, a sleeveless sparring shirt, and nothing else. If another Jedi had knocked, well, they would have been met with quite a sight.
His body responds, a ping of want going off between his legs.
“Uh, hi?” Quin says, the spirit of his padawan-self re-inhabiting his body.
Get it together, Vos. Kriff, you’re thirty-five years old.
“Hello,” Obi-Wan replies as if the state of him is to be expected.
“Where’s your shadow?” Quin asks. “Not me. Anakin. Lowercase s.”
Obi-Wan arches a perfect copper brow. “My padawan will not be joining us for this endeavor.”
Quin hits the button so the door slides shut behind him with a swoosh.
“Ha ha. I mean”—his gaze darts to the caf table, upon which lies bottle of lube, a silicone plug, and a small remote—“he won’t be interrupting whatever you seem to have planned here? I’m 100% present and accounted for, I just—”
“He left for Ilum this morning for his stint helping with the Gathering,” Obi-Wan interrupts, and he lets that strand of hair fall into those kill-me-now blue eyes. “So, you needn’t worry.”
Right. That’s right. Quin forgot Anakin was due for that. Younglings tend to love Anakin, so he’ll have a good time. Quin wipes a hand on his dark green tunics and licks his lips.
Starving, he crosses the space between them and closes it, dropping to his knees between those thighs and burying his face in Obi-Wan's stomach. The musky-sweet scent of arousal fills his nostrils. Fingers calloused from years of sparring massage Quin’s scalp with gentle precision. His temples. His hairline. That familiar hand sweeps over Quin’s head and presses against the crown. Down the neck. A groan spills from Quin’s lips.
“Will you let me take care of things tonight? Take care of you?” Obi-Wan asks. “Hmm?”
The hmm makes Quin’s cock twitch. Fuck, but does he love taking care of Obi-Wan, too. Watching him come apart, melting in Quin’s hands. When Obi-Wan does this, though? When he takes control? It makes Quin certifiable.
“Yeah,” Quin murmurs. “I will.”
Pulling back, Quin’s chin slides into Obi-Wan's hand, and he glances up, finding that silver-star smile waiting for him, sharp and shining.
“How do you know what I need all the time, huh?”
“I’m afraid I know you very well. And it’s not as if you don’t return the favor. I often find that you know what I need before I know I need it.”
Quin takes Obi-Wan's hand and presses a kiss to the palm. The little shiver this earns him warms their bond, and Quin’s hearthfire tickles at the small of his back.
“You have a plan, I assume?” he asks with a grin.
“Indeed, I do. If you’ll trust me?”
“Always, Obes.”
“A drink first, then.”
Obi-Wan picks up the bottle of Corellian Whisky that Quin didn’t even see and pours a helping into two glasses as Quin gets up from the floor. They’re cut crystal, some Serennian gift that Count Dooku sent Qui-Gon back when Obi-Wan was twenty or so. That was before he disappeared, not long after the events on Naboo, and decided to come back a year ago as a Separatist sympathizer. Not just a sympathizer. Their brilliant genius, apparently.
A taste passed down from his master, Quin’s loved this particular liquor for about the past decade or so. A chuckle bubbles up in his chest. Imagine telling teenage Quin and Obi-Wan, busy fumbling in bed, learning each other and laughing all the way, how bold they would be when they were older.
He sips at his drink. Obi-Wan sips at his, too, a hand trailing down Quin’s stomach and toying gently with the growing bulge between Quin’s legs. Obi-Wan's thumb drags along the clothed shaft, and Quin tilts his head back, eyes shut, letting himself enjoy the sensation.
“Good,” Obi-Wan says softly. “Very good.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Quin tosses back the rest of the whisky and revels in the sweet burn. “I’m sure you’ll get some begging from me sooner or later.”
Setting his glass down, Obi-Wan mouths at the space between Quin’s neck and shoulders, but only for a moment. He’s going to tease. Make this last. Turning Quin’s face toward him, Obi-Wan presses his mouth against Quin’s own, and the kiss isn’t a question, but an answer. His tongue swipes over Quin’s bottom lip before slipping inside, one hand tangling in Quin’s locs. The tension, the strange grief, slides off Quin’s shoulders and hits the floor like melted butter as he lets himself be kissed. He chases that kiss when Obi-Wan moves away.
“Clothes off for me. Everything.”
“Wow, take me to dinner first, Master Kenobi.”
“Hmm. My darling brat makes an appearance.”
“You like that.”
One of the best things about sex with Obi-Wan other than obvious—sex with Obi-Wan—is how much fun they have. Even as inexperienced, awkward kids they were versatile and adventurous together because the foundation, since the minute they met, has always been one thing.
Trust.
From everyday sex to the kinkier things they try, Quin can rest on his laurels of being the only person Obi-Wan Kenobi lets tie him up.
This game, though, means surrendering control to Obi-Wan while also ... giving him a bit of trouble.
Quin takes his sweet time undoing the zippers on his black boots, letting the sound fill the quiet room. Obi-Wan watches approvingly, eyes lingering on Quin’s legs.
“Tell me the rules,” Obi-Wan says.
Quin rolls his eyes, which Obi-Wan lets slide with a smirk. “I don’t touch you or myself until you tell me to.”
“That’s right. And what else?”
The words trip off Obi-Wan's tongue clear and crisp, and Quin is, by all definitions, a goner.
“That you will ... determine the pace of things. What I get and when.”
“Mhmm. Safe word?”
“Yellow.”
Quin wonders what exactly Obi-Wan has in mind, but when they do this in particular, Quin likes not knowing what will happen from one moment to the next. It’s part of the fun. Obi-Wan is the opposite. When he submits to Quin, he likes to know every detail of what’s coming.
Dropping his boots next to the sofa with a pointed thunk, Quin gets out of his trousers, belt, and tunics before ever, ever so slowly stepping out of his boxers. His cock, darkening already, yearns for attention.
He gives a little spin. “Like what you see?”
“Very much. Come lean over the back of the couch, if you please.”
“You know,” Quin says as he sets his elbows on top of the sofa and spreads his legs without being told, “I think we could really have a good time if you got undressed too.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Obi-Wan replies, cool and casual. “Perhaps later.”
Quin bites back a whine, focusing on the feel of Obi-Wan skimming his fingers down the muscled planes of his back. Down his spine. Over the scar Quin got from the poison dart a pleasure slave trafficker threw at him three years ago. Kisses come next. Over the wide width of Quin’s shoulders. On his hips. The bottle of lube disappears, and Obi-Wan kneels behind Quin, running the flat of his tongue over Quin’s ass cheeks. Between them. Over a spot that makes him bite his lip so hard it almost bleeds. That blessed tongue.
Fuck. Fuck. What did he do to deserve this?
The sound of the lube squirting comes next, and Quin grasps the sofa knuckle-tight in anticipation.
“Relax for me, darling,” Obi-Wan whispers, and the tenderness tips Quin toward madness. “Just relax.”
Obeying, Quin releases his grip. He lets the starfire Force bond swirl around his body and loosen muscles in order. His jaw. His shoulders. And so on. A sharp moan drops from his lips as Obi-Wan's slick finger rubs at his rim before sliding in and making slow, circular movements. His breath catches. He should have tied his locs up, because he’s sweating already.
“Relax,” Obi-Wan repeats, a touch sterner. “It feels best that way.”
Quin does the same exercise as before, knots undo themselves against the pressure of Obi-Wan's finger, and a heavy exhaustion sweeps over him. Damn, how has he been walking around like this? This is better than a massage, though. Much better.
“You’ve been very tense,” Obi-Wan tells him, getting another moan when he adds a second finger. “Perhaps others don’t see it, but I always do.”
“You’re not one to talk, baby,” Quin quips. “Running yourself ragged more than anyone I know.”
Obi-Wan's taps his hand against Quin’s ass, and the very light sting gets Quin’s blood going. Obi-Wan doesn’t go hard on spanking, but he will do this. Little warnings.
“We’re not talking about me today, are we?”
“No.”
Obi-Wan continues his good work, calling Quin things like beautiful and other descriptors Quin has never been sure he deserves. It’s not that he doesn’t know he’s attractive, that’s one thing he is confident about, but beautiful speaks to something deeper than just his looks. The amnesia, remembering everything about his parents and Tinte all over again, finding Aayla even when he didn’t know her, and then losing her to her future, it’s ... destabilizing is the word Tholme used. The years of Aayla’s apprenticeship were the happiest of Quin’s life. He’d made it to knighthood. He had a handle on his psychometry. He knew himself. He knew what he was doing and what he was good at. The darkness, the death of it all, ebbed. Losing Qui-Gon was … horrible isn’t a strong enough word, but Quin was there for Obi-Wan whenever he could be, and the pair of them raised their Padawans together. He and Obi-Wan made the jump from best-friends-with-benefits to a committed thing in their late 20s. He got used to the rhythm of his life.
And now?
Now, he’s just not sure.
But he does know who he is in here with Obi-Wan. He knows he loves Obi-Wan and that Obi-Wan loves him. It’s one of the great foundations of his life apart from his relationship with Tholme. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Quinlan Vos decided to love each other, in whatever shape that took, when they were thirteen years old.
A third finger enters the equation, and Quin sets his head between his arms, enjoying the slick sounds as he mumbles nonsense at Obi-Wan. You’re so talented. Did you take a secret Jedi who are good at sex class you didn’t tell me about? Stuff like that. Obi-Wan gives Quin’s balls a gentle squeeze.
When Obi-Wan moves away, Quin whines in protest.
“Patience,” Obi-Wan says, picking up the vibrating plug they’ve used before and coating it with lube. “These things take time.”
“Have you seen you?” Quin shoots back. “Imagine having those elegant fingers up your ass and then saying be patient.”
Obi-Wan snorts “I have very much had my own fingers up my arse, dearheart.”
Quin bursts out laughing, and he almost misses it when Obi-Wan parts his cheeks and slides the plug inside. It just brushes against his prostate when he moves, and every time it does, his thighs tremble.
“You’re a cruel man, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Quin fights for breath as he gets used to the plug. “Trying to kill me.”
“Hardly.” Obi-Wan presents his fingers. “Clean them for me, if you would.”
Quin doesn’t need to be told twice. Taking hold of Obi-Wan's hand, he sucks on one finger and then another, licking away every last drop. Obi-Wan's eyes flutter closed, and when Quin looks down, his partner’s cock has very much tented the boxers.
“Someone likes that,” Quin teases, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan's knuckles. “I like that you like it.”
A smile plays at Obi-Wan's lips, living a full life after only a moment or two.
“Sit on the sofa. Do not touch yourself.”
Quin huffs. “I know the rules, Master Kenobi.”
“And they bear repeating, Master Vos. You don’t always listen. ”
Sitting on the blanket Obi-Wan laid out, Quin spreads his own legs wide in an attempt to get the best purchase on the plug, and then—
He sucks in air through his teeth when Obi-Wan presses a button on the remote, setting the vibrations to the lowest setting.
“Minx,” Quin says, and ah, yeah that feels. Really good.
“Relax,” Obi-Wan chides when Quin opens his mouth to complain that he can’t touch himself. “Feel it. Focus on the pleasure.”
Obi-Wan finally takes his shirt off, and this serves as a tantalizing distraction. Curly copper hair runs down Obi-Wan's chest to his belly, and Quin wants to run his fingers through it like he has a thousand times before. Still refusing to remove his boxers, Obi-Wan takes the bottle of lube and squirts some into his palm before taking Quin oh-so-briefly in hand. Circling the tip with his thumb. Running it up the vein on the back.
A stupid noise something akin to nghhh leaves Quin’s mouth when Obi-Wan stops, and he’s about to mouth off until he sees Obi-Wan's hand go exactly where he wants it.
Into his own boxers.
There’s little else that Quinlan Vos loves more in this life than watching Obi-Wan touch himself. Watching him come apart under his own ministrations.
Obi-Wan knows that very well.
Those long, elegant fingers they discussed a moment ago reach past the waistband of the boxers. Quin’s boxers. A gasp, pretty and prim, not yet undone the way Quin wants it, slips past Obi-Wan's lips.
“Enjoy this, do you?” Obi-Wan arches a brow again, and that strand falls into his eyes a second time. “Shall I let you put that smart mouth to use later?”
“Oh, you definitely should. We have that in common, huh?”
“What’s that?”
“Putting our smart mouths to use on each other. You’re talented. I’m talented. You’re wasting my talent, right now, though.”
Fisting himself slow and steady, Obi-Wan ignores this, letting his mouth fall open, and gives Quin the gift of getting louder. Quin’s whimpers from the plug mix and match with Obi-Wan's full-throated groans, and any remaining thoughts other than this wash out of Quin’s head. It puts him in this space and this space alone. His hand creeps over toward Obi-Wan, curving over his thigh, reaching for—
“No.” Obi-Wan takes Quin’s hand and drops it on the sofa. “You know the rules.”
“Come on, Obes. I haven’t gotten to touch you at all. Let me get that gorgeous dick in my mouth. Just for a second.”
“The more you argue, the longer you’ll have to wait.”
“Taskmaster.” Quin’s fingers slide upward again onto Obi-Wan's knee, and he grins. “Please. Look at this face and say no.”
“No,” Obi-Wan emphasizes, and he swallows a laugh. “That’s twice I’ve had to tell you. Up. Into the bedroom. Lay on your side.”
With a second roll of his eyes that gets him a corresponding second tap on the ass, Quin goes, doing as Obi-Wan asked.
“Arms in front,” Obi-Wan tells him. “Wrists together. If you can’t do as I ask, then this is the answer.”
Soft silken bindings tie Quin’s wrists together, and Obi-Wan drops a kiss on his hairline. The remote clicks again. The pleasure ratchets up, and Quin cries out, his thighs quaking now. Obi-Wan gets out of his boxers, and the muscles of those magnificent thighs clench when he sets himself on the bed, stretches out, and resumes stroking.
Quin’s mouth waters. Touch touch touch he wants to touch. Suck. Lick. Pin Obi-Wan's hips to the bed.
Obi-Wan's free hand smooths Quin’s locs off his forehead. The plug remains relentless. Need curls in Quin’s belly, waiting waiting waiting.
“In a moment, I will remove the plug,” Obi-Wan says, his cock hard and scarlet against his stomach. “Then you’re going to warm my cock for me for a while. All right?”
Ah, so that’s the main part of the game.
Quin nods his assent, and he draws in a deep breath when the plug comes out. Settling behind Quin, Obi-Wan puts hot, open-mouthed kisses on Quin’s neck, sucking at the skin as he pushes Quin’s leg up. Obi-Wan beats silver in the Force when they join together, saying Quin’s name like a blessing.
“Obes,” Quin mutters, and the sharp edges of stars cut away his remaining ability to speak. “Obi-Wan.”
“Shhh.” Obi-Wan's hand rests of Quin’s chest. “It’s only me, darling. Breathe. Feel. Relax.”
This time, Quin obeys. The sun sets outside the window, orange-gold-red light staining the pale blue sheets where it peeks between the closed curtains. The Force turns goo-melt, warm, dripping down Quin’s body and adding to the fullness, the ecstasy. Obi-Wan's hand toys with Quin’s nipples, giving each one their due before trailing down over his ribs. His stomach. He toys with the thick black pubic hair. Draws his nails over Quin’s thigh with a gentle tickle.
Don’t beg. Not yet. Just—
“See?” Obi-Wan asks as he takes Quins weeping cock in hand and strokes with his thumb, unbothered. “You get what you want, what you need, when you do as I ask.”
“I love you,” Quin says, without really meaning to say it—not that it’s the first time. It breaks the persona a bit, but he doesn’t care. “Obes, I--”
“I know.” Obi-Wan kisses the back of Quin’s sweat-slick neck, his front pressed flush against Quin’s back. “I love you, dearheart. Shut your eyes. Focus on what you feel, not what you think.
Quin does. The galaxy fades away, and he is only sensation. The buzzing throb between his legs and the zaps of pleasure there as Obi-Wan touches him. The fullness in his ass. Obi-Wan, as close as he can get. The pounding of his heart. The desperate need to move, and the discipline not to. The meditative intimacy sweeps him up in its grasp, and more of those knots undo themselves. Part of him wonders if he’ll be able to stand when the time comes. Obi-Wan, still as anything, kisses Quin’s neck again. He massages below Quin’s navel—a sensitive spot. The minutes pass, and Quin would pay rent just to stay here.
“Need you to fuck me, Obes.” Quin opens his eyes and finds them sticky with tears he doesn’t remember shedding. His voice deepens further, dropping an octave altogether. “Please.”
“Ah, is it officially begging time?”
“You can set your chrono by it.”
Pulling out with a delightful squelch, Obi-Wan gets Quin onto his back, plants his knees against Quin’s hips, and hovers there.
“If I untie you, and you do as I say, then I’ll let you finish me in your mouth and touch me all you like. After you’re taken care of.”
“What about—”
“After, Quinlan.”
The click of Obi-Wan's tongue, the Quinlan, makes Quin’s cock jump. He wants to run his hand through Obi-Wan's mussed copper hair. He wants to kiss his thighs and leave bruises there.
“Fine,” he says, drawing out the I. “As you say.”
The bindings come undone. Quin rests on his elbows, stomach flat on the mattress, with his legs spread wide and his ass hoisted. This position doesn’t give him much leverage for movement like others do, which is, he can only assume, the point.
Smearing kisses down Quin’s spine, Obi-Wan slides back in, and his perfect cock splits Quin open.
“Hard or gentle, darling?” Obi-Wan asks, speaking the words against Quin’s ear.
“Hard. Please, Obes. Just fucking take me.”
Another kiss lands on Quin’s temple.
“As you wish, Master Vos.”
When Obi-Wan starts moving? Well, Quin loses whatever cool was left in him. His younger self would die at the sound of the sob he lets out, always hoping he could impress Obi-Wan, learn, improve when it came to sex, but age taught him that vulnerability is all. Obi-Wan's hands grasp Quin’s hips. He thrusts, hard and deep, into Quin’s eager hole.
“Do I feel good, Obes?” Quin asks. “I want to feel good for you. I know I was giving you a hard time, but I do.”
“You’re so very good for me. You feel good.” Obi-Wan whispers, and then with a different meaning. “You are good, Quinlan.”
The bed creaks beneath them, and Obi-Wan keeps that hard, deep pace without relenting. No speeding up, but he hits that spot every. Single. Time. Obi-Wan reaches beneath Quin, stroking rough and slow, matching his thrusts. Magma-heat fills Quin’s stomach. The muscles start clenching. Obi-Wan's own noise of pleasure, caught in the back of his throat, bursts out.
“My hearthfire darling.”
The words puncture Quin’s shields. The guts of him seep out, spinning ash into the Force.
And Obi-Wan loves him through it.
“You’re doing well. So, so well dear heart.”
“I’m close, Obes. I’m gonna come if—"
Obi-Wan stops. He squeezes the base of Quin’s cock just above the tip. Quin heaves breaths in and out and in and out. Sweat slides down his back, and his pits? Well, those are a lost cause.
“When I say, Quin.” Obi-Wan releases his hold, and the urgent need to blow passes. “Can you do that?”
“Yes.” Quin drags in air. “Yeah.”
“Drop flat, for me. Spread your legs wide.”
Anticipation fills Quin up to the brim as electric shocks go up and down his body need need need. Crossing his arms on the pillows, he drops as Obi-Wan asks, and a guttural groan spills out of him as Obi-Wan's body covers his. The thrusting starts up again, shallower and fast. Quin goes almost numb, all pinprick and building building building for that end he’s been waiting for. Their skin slides together, that pressure between Quin’s legs grows, and Obi-Wan's hard breathing makes Quinlan want him even if there’s nothing left to give. His cock, caught between his own body and the sheets, begs for release.
“So good, darling,” Obi-Wan says. “So very, very good.”
That magma-heat-lava-goo-melt cup runneth over. Obi-Wan pushes out pleasure in the Force. Quin writhes beneath him, unable to stop himself, just as Obi-Wan says, show me.
Quin comes, blinded by a shooting star. Sticky-white semen splatters once, twice, three times. Tears leak onto the pillow as Quin’s toes curl, a licking hearthfire moving slow up his body. That was the big P orgasm. Obi-Wan knows exactly how to get one out of him. Obi-Wan is a scholar, after all. He’s studied up.
“Darling,” Obi-Wan says softly. “Darling darling darling.”
Quin groans in response. Can he move? He lifts up on one arm. No. Not yet. But he wants his reward.
“Having trouble?” Obi-Wan teases.
“Bastard,” Quin replies. “Your cock should be classed as dangerous.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t oh me, Kenobi.” Quin drags in air. “You’re gonna—” he exhales with a half growl—“regret it in a second.”
“Am I?”
“Mhmmm. As soon as I can ... get up.”
Obi-Wan rolls off Quin’s back, splaying out next to him on the bed, cock glistening. Sweat drops slide down from the slick hair at his temples, and Quin wants to kiss that smirk off his mouth until he bleeds.
“Would you like me to take care of this myself?” Obi-Wan's hand toys with his own cock. “Watching can be its own reward, after all. And you do like watching me.”
This summons Quin from his troubles. Straddling Obi-Wan, he kisses him, hard, nipping and nibbling at his lip until he tastes the tiniest hint of copper. Obi-Wan moans when Quin’s fingers tangle into his hair, tugging gently.
“You’re very good at taking your reward.”
“Oh,” Quin says, and his breath against Obi-Wan's cheek makes them both shiver. “I do intend to be.”
He kisses down Obi-Wan's body, sucking on those inner thighs just like he wanted, but more of that will have to come later. He just can’t wait, and Obi-Wan's been waiting. Pleased with the red marks he left behind, he pushes Obi-Wan's legs further apart and finally takes him in his mouth like he’s been thinking of doing this whole time. The salt of the precum, the citrus taste of the lube, tingles on Quin’s tongue. He laps at Obi-Wan's cock with long, languid strokes.
“Quin.” Obi-Wan's voice pitches higher. “Fuck.”
The crispness of the curse word drives Quin wild, and he swallows Obi-Wan down to the root, holds, and comes back again. Once. Twice. Three times. He hits a rhythm for a minute and then two. Slow. Steady. Just as Obi-Wan prefers. One hard suck on the tip is all it takes, in the end. Cum drips onto Quin’s tongue as Obi-Wan white-knuckle grasps the sheets with a soft cry and Quin’s name in his mouth like a sacred thing.
Quinlan. Quinlan. Quinlan.
“Be good for me.” Obi-Wan struggles with the words, with the role here at the end. “And take care of that, won’t you?”
Pulling off for just a second, Quin winks.
“Oh, I’m at your service, Master Jedi. Everything will be spic and span when I’m done.”
A laugh melds with Obi-Wan's trembling, and soft sighs accompany Quin’s work. He licks Obi-Wan's softening cock clean, swallowing it all down. He toys with Obi-Wan’s balls and gets another moan. He revels in the feel of Obi-Wan's hand resting on his head. The pair of them breathe together, and eventually, Quin crawls up and joins Obi-Wan, flinging a leg over his partner’s hip. Obi-Wan kisses him long and lazy as they come down from the high. The steady hand, the press of that familiar mouth, grounds them both.
“All right?” Obi-Wan asks, swiping away the sweat at Quin’s hairline.
“More than.”
“I know I surprised you. We didn’t exactly plan on it.”
“I like surprises, Obes. Especially this kind of surprise. We don’t have to plan sex.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth. “Not our more average—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there. None of our sex is average.”
“Brat,” Obi-Wan admonishes with a twinkle in his eye. “I mean our usual sex doesn’t require pre-planning no, but our kink sometimes does.”
“I’m good, Obi-Wan. I trust you. Always. I needed exactly that. And you knew it.”
“I always hope to.”
Obi-Wan traces Quin’s bottom lip with his thumb. “I know it’s been hard. Whenever Anakin flies the nest, so to speak, I know I’ll ... I’ll struggle with knowing who I am. And I don’t have an amnesia experience to put alongside that. But you’ll sort your path. And Aayla’s not going anywhere. You’ll be as good a mentor to her as a knight as you were when she was a padawan. Besides—” Obi-Wan grins. “You’re a master now. Don’t you owe me credits? I believe we made a bet at sixteen, and I said you’d make master first.”
Quin bursts out laughing, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to retrieve some water for them both. Obi-Wan's sweating even more than he is. That went pretty hard, and hydration is always a part of their aftercare with sex like this.
“You may have won that bet,” he calls out from the kitchen as takes the pitcher from the fridge. “But I’ll win the one about how you’ll be on the council before age forty.”
“I very much doubt that,” Obi-Wan answers. “But I appreciate your faith in me.”
They sit together beneath the blankets sipping their water, Obi-Wan massaging at Quin’s neck. They put in a delivery order at Dex’s for two hours from now and agree they both need a nap. Quin slots Obi-Wan against him back to front and twines the fingers of one hand together. The good ache of his body, the best kind of exhaustion, drops him into a golden-hued sleep. When he wakes up again, Obi-Wan hasn’t moved. His partner snores, ever so softly—a sign that he’s really tired.
Being an expert in the past, Quinlan Vos doesn’t know much about the future, but he does know this.
Obi-Wan isn’t going anywhere. Maybe, with all these changes in his life, it’s high time he accepted that. The thought gives him confidence. Peace.
“Quin?” Obi-Wan mumbles.
“Sleep a little while more, baby,” Quin whispers. “I’m right here."