full of the love you want

by JaggedEdges

Summary:

Obi-Wan Kenobi is captured and, in an attempt to extract information, injected with a truth serum by Separatist forces. Anakin rescues him, but the serum takes a full twenty-four hours to wear off and Obi-Wan needs to be under observation the entire time.

...Anakin learns some things. A lot of things, actually.

Notes:

happy virginwan weekend!! i hope everyone gets their fill of the boys on this momentous occasion 😌

this is my entry for day 1! the prompt i used was "truth serum" <3

“Here he is, General Skywalker,” Kix pronounced as he pulled back a curtain—and there Obi-Wan was, still dressed in his battle robes but with the armor pieces removed. “He’ll need to stay under observation for the next twenty-four hours until the serum wears off.”

The serum—truth serum. After being captured by Separatists, he’d been injected with some experimental liquid, in the hope that he would reveal some classified Republic information… but they hadn’t been able to crack him, because Anakin had arrived just after, and cracked them.

Obi-Wan had very cheerfully told him that he looked awful with blood on him while Anakin was in the process of untying him. And then told him that he absolutely did not want to be brought to any medics. And then said that they should hide the bodies because if the Council found out what Anakin had done they’d want to put him on leave—and then had speculated that that might be for the best, but that he didn’t want to be parted from Anakin for so long.

…And that had been when Anakin had taken Obi-Wan to Kix.

So here they were now.

“Oh,” Kix added suddenly, grabbing something from a cabinet to one side of the room, “General Kenobi, sir, here are your painkillers—”

“I won’t take them,” Obi-Wan interrupted, the sharp blue bruise on his face wrinkling when he spoke.

Kix looked a little startled, the bottle still gripped in his hand. “What, sir?”

“You should keep them. It’ll save me the hassle of sneaking them back into our stock later.”

Kix frowned. “Do you…?”

“Yes, that’s what I usually do.” As Obi-Wan spoke, his cheeks burned a fiery red. His embarrassment was obvious in the Force. “Sorry. Meditation is usually more helpful, for me.”

Kix, after a moment, offered the bottle to Anakin, who didn’t reach for it either. “Well, you know where to find me if you want them, then. I’m signing you over to Master Skywalker for release—”

“—As if I’m a youngling—” Obi-Wan butted in mutinously.

“—and you know why, Master Kenobi. You’ll be back to normal after one standard cycle. Put up with it.”

“C’mon, Master, is it really so bad to spend time with me?” Anakin asked. “I’ll even give you the bunk to protect your ancient back.”

Obi-Wan’s face softened somehow, when he looked from Kix to Anakin, and it made Anakin’s heart stop in his chest.

“No, it won’t be terrible; I most often enjoy my time spent with you, Padawan mine—”

“Most often?”

It was Anakin’s turn to interject, though Obi-Wan ignored him as Kix had ignored Obi-Wan.

“—but I do think it’s… perhaps a little dangerous.”

…Dangerous? Was there no safer place in the galaxy for Obi-Wan than by Anakin’s side? Was there somewhere other than in Anakin’s care that he should be, when he was so vulnerable? Was there anywhere more secure for him than Anakin’s quarters on the Resolute as they traveled directly back to Coruscant?

Anakin would die before he let anyone or anything harm Obi-Wan. Didn’t Obi-Wan know that?

Kix needed the bed back, so by the time Anakin had gotten his tongue back in working order, they were in Anakin’s bunk with the door closing behind them with a soft woosh. The moment to ask what the Force Obi-Wan had meant had long since passed, and Obi-Wan had moved on—

Pinched. Obi-Wan’s face was pinched as his gaze swept Anakin’s messy bunk. The floor was littered with junk parts Anakin was in the process of repurposing and some old robes that probably needed to be washed.

“You could have cleaned,” Obi-Wan drawled, just the same as when Anakin had been twelve and hadn’t yet learned to stuff everything in the closet before Obi-Wan came in.

“I was a little busy saving you, Master,” Anakin replied defensively, folding his arms over his chest.

“You probably could have found the time. If you were more in the habit of cleaning up after yourself…”

Before Anakin knew it, Obi-Wan was picking the clothes up from the floor, taking them into the refresher where Anakin’s hamper laid abandoned in a corner—right. Impulsivity. Obi-Wan wasn’t just compelled to be honest for now, he also would have a harder time stopping himself from doing things if he wanted to do them. That meant…

Anakin huffed out a fond little laugh, and started to shove the mechanical parts into the storage under his bunk. It wasn’t hard—just tedious. At times it felt like he was playing spetris, except none of these spanners, bolts, and parts disappeared when he managed to jam them together.

But, eventually, Anakin was able to put the last flux converter in the limited space under his bunk. When he sat back on his heels, he realized that Obi-Wan was still standing at the door to his private adjoined refresher, staring at Anakin with a sort of intensity that Anakin rarely saw from the man.

“What’s wrong now, Master?” Anakin asked. He gestured to the floor. “The floor’s clean. I promise I’ve had my sheets cleaned in the last week.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Obi-Wan replied, leaning against the wall. “I’m just thinking about how much you’ve grown. You didn’t even pout about the cleaning.”

Anakin’s cheeks flushed, and his embarrassment flooded out into the Force before he could even think about containing it. “I’m not a kid anymore, Master.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard pensively. “You’re certainly not.”

He almost… sounded sad. Anakin was almost irrepressibly curious why—but before he could ask, Obi-Wan continued, like once he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“I wish you still needed me, like you did then.” Obi-Wan’s lip twitched, once, twice, uncontrolled in the same way Anakin’s heart suddenly pounded. “I know that I wasn’t always what you needed, but…”

Obi-Wan breathed in, and it was obviously shaky. Anakin stumbled to his feet, staggering across his small cabin because of how quickly he was trying to do it.

“You were,” Anakin insisted, and in that moment it was true. “You always were, Master.”

Any anger or resentment he’d had for his Master during his Padawanship had long been washed away by… everything else. And here, now, watching Obi-Wan’s expression break apart like shattered kyber ruined his own heart.

As Anakin reached Obi-Wan, he reached for him too—just as desperately as he had when getting Obi-Wan out of that torture chamber. Obi-Wan didn’t even fight him on it, didn’t try to push him away and say that it was unbecoming of either of them to accept such bodily comfort. The most he did was shake his head, and Anakin didn’t know what that meant until Obi-Wan opened his mouth again.

“Qui-Gon would have done much better with you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, then let out a soft, clipped sob. “I wasn’t… I was not nearly enough for you. I should have done better. I should still be doing better, but I just… can’t.”

“Don’t say that,” Anakin pled, feeling tears welling up in his own eyes as well. “It’s not true—you were a good Master.”

Anakin couldn’t even begin to imagine a universe where Obi-Wan was not his Master—a universe where Obi-Wan barely turned to look at him because he had no reason to, a universe where they were polite acquaintances at best and where they were total strangers at worst. Anakin’s fingers curled around the fabric of Obi-Wan’s robes, as if begging him not to go.

“Even if I don’t say it, it’s still true.” Obi-Wan, in a rare move, pressed his face into the crook of Anakin’s neck, and the bristles of his beard made Anakin’s neck feel as raw and prickly as his heart did. “A good Master would not have become so illicitly attached. A good Master would not want his Padawan the way I do, but I can’t even do you the courtesy of protecting you and staying away.”

Anakin could practically hear the zzt! sound his brain made as it went completely offline. “…What?”

Obi-Wan sucked in a huge breath, and Anakin could feel how Obi-Wan finally, finally, moved his arms to hug Anakin back. His posture practically mirrored Anakin’s own, now—desperately clutching. Like they were two celestial bodies spinning around each other through the cold and lifeless void of space.

“I believe you do have functioning ears, Padawan mine,” Obi-Wan murmured, words somehow both miserable and cutting. “Should I say it differently? …Because I can’t not say it at all, right now. I want to kriff my own Padawan. I dream about you nearly every night.”

The cabin was quiet, other than the mild hum that always accompanied flying through hyperspace. Obi-Wan’s breathing was faster than normal, interspersed with sobs, and he refused to be dislodged when Anakin tried to back up a little and look his Master in the eye.

Somehow, some way, Anakin must have misinterpreted what Obi-Wan was saying. It seemed impossible—just as impossible as hearing Obi-Wan use the word kriff so loosely—but… Anakin must have misheard him. There was no way Obi-Wan Kenobi, General of the 212th regiment, Jedi Master sitting on the Jedi Council, wanted to fuck Anakin.

Obi-Wan swallowed—Anakin could hear it—and then sighed out long and trembling. “…I should have insisted that I be locked into a closet for twenty-four hours, rather than suffer this.”

“Master…” Anakin trailed off, then swallowed. “I’m glad you’re here with me instead—you never would have told me any of this otherwise.”

“You want to know?” Obi-Wan asked. “Why in the Force’s name would you want to know any of this? I want to fuck you every other time I see you—that’s not… that’s… You shouldn’t want that.”

The fact that Obi-Wan hadn’t contradicted Anakin did sting, a little, but in this instance Anakin was more than happy to overlook it. He had to focus on the positives—whether chemically compelled or not, Obi-Wan had just told him he wanted to fuck him.

“Who cares about what I should do? I’m more interested in what we can do.” Anakin’s heart beat even more fiercely, when Obi-Wan let out a little disconsolate sound. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“Yes!” Obi-Wan gritted out. He slapped his palm down on Anakin’s shoulder blade lightly—a wordless admonishment. “How many times are you going to make me say it? I really will go back to Kix and ask if—”

“No, Master,” Anakin said, taking a full step back so he could see Obi-Wan, though it only halfway worked as Obi-Wan was still holding onto him. “Do you want to fuck me now?”

“Now?” Obi-Wan replied, sounding a bit faint. He held up one hand in front of Anakin’s face. “Wait, I’ve never… I haven’t done this before. Aren’t we supposed to… prepare? Do you normally go around asking people if they’d like to fuck you right there and then?”

As he asked the last question, Anakin peeked around his hand to see the way Obi-Wan’s cheeks went pink. Ah, as much as Anakin did pity Obi-Wan for how embarrassing and odd a situation he was in, and as much as he was planning to spend the next several months waging a campaign against Obi-Wan’s self-doubt, he did have to admit that it was adorable—his Master was cute like this.

“Nope,” Anakin said, exaggerating the word a bit. “But since you have to answer my questions honestly, I thought it was worth a shot. You didn’t really answer that one, though.”

Obi-Wan’s face twitched, like he was fighting what was about to come out of his mouth. “Yes, I do want to fuck you. But I don’t have any sort of lubricant, and I doubt you’re so prepared either.”

“I have bacta in the refresher,” Anakin responded immediately.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and took a few steps to one side of Anakin. “We will not be using some of our very limited supply for something as frivolous as sex. I wouldn’t be able to face myself in the mirror—already I might not be able to.”

Anakin’s heart squeezed, and he followed alongside Obi-Wan as he began to pace. “You don’t have to feel so guilty, Master. I want to do this as much as you.”

Obi-Wan stalled out, his face contorting. “Forgive me if I don’t find that so comforting as you think I ought.”

“Come on,” Anakin cajoled, “come sit down for a minute. Just relax, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin guided Obi-Wan over to the berth, because it was the only place where two people could sit. The desk just… wasn’t where Anakin wanted Obi-Wan, and because Obi-Wan didn’t protest Anakin figured Obi-Wan felt the same way. Obi-Wan settled on the bed, shifting a little warily but still not complaining when Anakin sat down next to him.

Anakin wished that Obi-Wan’s Force signature was so open as his mouth was, now—it would be an extra layer of honesty between them, but whatever was in that truth serum clearly hadn’t affected it. Obi-Wan was bolted as tight as he ever was, an iron wall that Anakin couldn’t push through. But that was alright—Anakin still had every other part of Obi-Wan being so honest with him it stripped him raw.

“You’re sitting very close,” Obi-Wan observed, and he almost sounded neutral about it.

Anakin hummed, and let his real hand walk its way along Obi-Wan’s back, relishing in the feeling of Obi-Wan leaning into him. “We’d have to get a bit closer than this, even, to kriff me. If you still want to?”

“I think you’re just enjoying yourself now,” Obi-Wan griped, his face pinched with exasperation when he turned to look at Anakin, and then away again. “But, yes.”

“Do you want to fuck my thighs, then?” Anakin asked, more than enjoying the way Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped, the way his cheeks went ruddy underneath his beard. “Or I could suck you off—would you like that?”

Obi-Wan’s breath was a little shallower now than it had been; it was easy to tell, with almost Anakin’s entire arm across his back. “I’m quite certain I would like anything so long as it was with you, Anakin.”

…Well, fuck. Even though Anakin had meant, in some sense, to embarrass Obi-Wan with the sort of crass language he hated above all else… Obi-Wan on truth serum really was something else. Anakin’s face was hot and his body was too—and, more than that, Anakin was starting to feel how constraining his undergarments were.

But how could Anakin not be hard right now, in his defense. His Master, who had featured in over three-quarters of the wet dreams he’d ever had, actually wanted to fuck him, even if he was conflicted about it. He wanted Anakin so much that he’d like anything, as long as it was Anakin.

That made the both of them—Anakin was pretty sure whatever sex they’d have would be the highlight of his life.

“Okay—you know what? Alright,” Anakin said, babbling half nonsense as he slipped from the bed back onto the floor. “Someone needs to choose, so I guess it’ll just be me.”

“That might be for the best,” Obi-Wan replied, hands starting to move and pull his robes apart when Anakin started the process. “Though, what did you choose?”

“’m gonna suck you off.”

Anakin threw Obi-Wan’s sash somewhere behind him, feeling dizzy with it as his inner robes all fell open and a strip of auburn brown chest hair greeted Anakin. This was really happening. Anakin could see the place where Obi-Wan’s hair trailed down into his trousers, and it wasn’t just a curious glance in a communal shower.

Anakin reached out and ran his thumb along the edge of Obi-Wan’s trousers, feeling under Obi-Wan’s robes for the coarse, but still soft hair. Obi-Wan’s breath hitched, but he didn’t protest, so Anakin felt Obi-Wan up. (Not quite to his heart’s content, though. He would always want more of his Master.)

And given how the bulge in Obi-Wan’s trousers grew slowly as Anakin continued touching, Obi-Wan didn’t seem to mind much. That was, until Obi-Wan opened his mouth again.

“This is somewhat embarrassing, Anakin…”

“…But you don’t dislike it,” Anakin finished for him, not giving up what he was doing—in fact, he shuffled between Obi-Wan’s legs, within striking distance of his ultimate goal.

Obi-Wan snorted. “Of course I don’t dislike it. But I do fear that the truth serum may wear off before you get your hands on me properly, at the rate things are going.”

“I didn’t know you could exaggerate in your current state, Master.”

Anakin teased at the tie of Obi-Wan’s trousers, running his thumbs through the loops and tugging gently at the loose ends. Obi-Wan’s hand came to cover his own, not to stop Anakin, but instead to ruin his fun in the best way by yanking the knot apart.

“It’s not exaggeration, Padawan mine, if you’ve been playing with my body hair for the past ten minutes.”

“No way,” Anakin defended immediately. “It hasn’t been that long!”

Whatever Obi-Wan said in response, though, was lost to Anakin when Obi-Wan helped out and pulled himself out of his trousers. His cock sprang out, bobbing as it found its place, and Anakin could have sworn that a little drool escaped his mouth as Obi-Wan pushed his trousers down around his thighs.

His Master’s cock—it was perfect. It curved a bit to the right, nearly as thick as Anakin’s wrist, and long too. Anakin resisted the urge to press his face into Obi-Wan’s groin and just breathe in the scent for only one second, but then he gave in anyway.

It wasn’t fair if Obi-Wan was the only one who got to be impulsive.

Whatever Obi-Wan was saying trailed off into a deep and throaty groan, as Anakin huffed at Obi-Wan’s cock. He smelled very clean—Anakin was pretty sure he’d had a sonic while still in the medbay—but there was the slightest hint of musk and Obi-Wan. Anakin could have lived just like this, and he would die of dehydration after three deliriously happy days.

Anakin tipped his face to one side, and gave a kiss to the silk-soft skin of Obi-Wan’s cock, right over one of the veins that ran the length of it. He flicked his tongue out, tasting Obi-Wan’s skin, hissing a little when Obi-Wan’s hands both wound up in Anakin’s hair and pulled. He pulled in different directions though, so Anakin stayed right about where he was and slowly ran his mouth up the side of Obi-Wan’s dick.

“Your mouth is so hot, Anakin,” Obi-Wan groaned, his hips bucking up so that his cock slipped and skidded along Anakin’s cheek, wetting it with Anakin’s own spit and a surprising amount of precome. “Feels so good.”

Any remaining tangles in Anakin’s sense of self just dissolved in the face of Obi-Wan’s enjoyment of him. Anakin only had to focus on making this the best blowjob Obi-Wan ever had—which hopefully wouldn’t be too hard, as he hadn’t had one before. Soft, wet, open—this was the mantra that spun in Anakin’s head, over and over.

As Anakin made his way back to the head of Obi-Wan’s cock again, he opened his mouth and slowly, teasingly took just the tip into his mouth. He suckled on it, shivering at each of Obi-Wan’s loud and desperate moans. Each time he swallowed, he took a little bit more in, until he was halfway down and the head of Obi-Wan’s cock bumped the back of his throat.

His flesh hand took up position at the base, pumping Obi-Wan with it as he bobbed his head. He wasn’t a slut or anything, but he’d practiced this, one or two times. He knew enough to make it good, and he had more than enough motivation besides.

He found a happy sort of rhythm after just a few more moments, noticing that the way Obi-Wan pulled at his hair was gentle and predictable, and so he devoted himself wholeheartedly to being a warm, pleasurable hole for his Master. Obi-Wan’s hips thrust up slowly, and jerked back each time Anakin choked a little on his cock.

It was sweet. Obi-Wan was sweet, hesitant and yet desperate for it. Anakin wanted him to fuck Anakin’s face hard, ruin him and then kiss him after—next time, maybe. Or maybe the next-next time—next time would have to be Obi-Wan fucking Anakin properly, with regular lubricant. Anakin would have to start carrying some around with him in his robes everywhere, just in case he had the opportunity.

Anakin’s mechanical hand found Obi-Wan’s hip and pet over the soft skin there, the light scars that even bacta couldn’t heal. He avoided the bruising that dotted along Obi-Wan’s body with care. He loved seeing the way Obi-Wan’s muscles moved underneath his skin, how strong but even now that strength was leashed, as if Obi-Wan’s desire for pleasure warred with a desire to keep from hurting Anakin or even causing him discomfort.

Anakin wanted to see more; he looked up at Obi-Wan while halfway down his cock, blinking repeatedly until his Master’s face came into focus.

Obi-Wan’s face was pinched and red, which in isolation would have been extremely hot—to have dismantled Anakin’s composed and proper Master to that state. But tears swam in Obi-Wan’s eyes too, and that made Anakin’s heart drop into the pit of his stomach, deep and heavy.

Anakin pulled off Obi-Wan’s dick with a satisfying pop, though of course Anakin wasn’t really thinking about that now. “Obi-Wan, what’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan’s lip trembled, and one of his tears dripped down and splashed on his happy trail. He moved one hand and reached out so that the pads of his fingers caressed Anakin’s cheekbone.

“You’re—so young, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I’m so—I’m so sorry about this, really.”

“Master,” Anakin replied, tilting his face into Obi-Wan’s hand until he could feel the whole of his palm, “what are you talking about? There’s—nothing to be sorry about. You haven’t even pulled my hair much—you could. You know, if you want to.”

There was that little lip wobble again—Anakin’s heart broke all over again, even though he maybe should have been inoculated against it already. He didn’t think he could ever get used to his Master being that open.

“You—I raised you, Anakin. Even if you didn’t… want it, how could you say no? Especially when I’m like this…”

“I would have said no,” Anakin said defensively, then realized what he’d said and added hurriedly, “if I’d wanted to! I didn’t want to say no, Master, I promise. I’ve wanted to do this to you since I was like, fifteen.”

Obi-Wan winced, and Anakin right after. Kriff. And Anakin didn’t even have the excuse of a chemical agent loosening his tongue.

“Master,” Anakin tried again, “how often do I do what you want me to out in the field?”

“Less than I would like,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His eyes fluttered closed, and another tear dripped down into his beard. Anakin wiped his flesh hand quickly on Obi-Wan’s trousers to get rid of the spit and precome, and then reached up to cradle his Master’s face the way Obi-Wan held his. The rest of his body scrambled to keep up, and Anakin put a knee on the bunk for leverage. The two of them toppled over in a heap.

Anakin was still throbbing, wanting, needing, but having his Master’s hand on his face was better than anything else in the entire galaxy. He breathed out harshly as he wrapped himself up in and around Obi-Wan; having sex could wait a moment.

“Then why do you think I can’t do what I want here, too?” Anakin whispered.

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything for several long moments—he tried, almost, but then he just made a wordless sound that signaled strangulation. Anakin picked up the slack, though maybe not in the way Obi-Wan would like.

“I feel like I’m the one coercing you, really,” Anakin murmured, trying to take a deep breath. There was a spike wedged between his lungs, but he didn’t know when it had settled there. “You keep—I know you’ve said you want this, but—”

“How could I not want it? You’re the one… servicing… me,” Obi-Wan protested. “Of course I’ll want it.”

He shuddered as Anakin’s mechanical hand joined his flesh one in holding Obi-Wan’s face. For a moment, Anakin had a very real urge to just pinch Obi-Wan’s cheeks—because he was being so ridiculously silly Anakin could hardly believe this was the inner core of his measured, thoughtful Master.

Maybe he was a little too thoughtful—maybe that was the issue.

“Would you not want it the other way around?” Anakin asked.

“I would,” Obi-Wan said, helpless to the way his own body compelled him to speak. “Of course I would, Anakin. It’s you.”

“Mhmm,” Anakin hummed, wondering if Obi-Wan saw the connection between this and that. In any case, the sensation of a vibro-knife wedged under his sternum lessened once again, fading into the back of his mind.

Anakin leaned forward and kissed Obi-Wan. He was still keyed up from sucking on Obi-Wan’s cock, so his tongue flicked out over Obi-Wan’s bottom lip almost immediately. He didn’t beg entrance, just lavished attention, slowly warming Obi-Wan up until he responded tentatively and then with a ferocity that shocked Anakin. Obi-Wan bit at Anakin’s lip, then soothed the bite with his tongue, and then did it all over again. His movements here were slightly more polished, though Anakin had no idea whether that was from experience kissing or if it was just because Obi-Wan was more comfortable now to try things out.

Finally, Anakin felt the Force around them ease, like a series of too-tight ropes suddenly gaining a bunch of slack. Obi-Wan’s hands started to wander, down from Anakin’s face to his neck and then his chest. Even though Anakin was still wearing clothes, and he couldn’t feel the drag of Obi-Wan’s fingers on his skin, it was still the best he’d ever felt.

“Master,” he panted between kisses, mouth still open and pressed halfway against Obi-Wan’s. “Master, if you’re so worried about who’s serving who… just touch me.”

To show him how, Anakin sneaked a hand between their bodies, down to where Obi-Wan was bare. His fingers glanced over the tantalizing hair of his stomach and groin, but quickly sought their ultimate prize: Obi-Wan’s cock, which was still hard and twitching. The angle wasn’t perfect, but it was easy enough to get his fingers around it and to tug toward himself rhythmically.

Obi-Wan groaned, and panted, and then followed Anakin’s lead, feeling Anakin up through his clothes. Anakin had never loathed the multiple layers Jedi wore more than he did at that moment. He pulled his robes up, ripping the belt because he was too overwhelmed to think about moderating the strength of his mechanical arm. But he didn’t care about that, only about getting his cock out so that Obi-Wan could finally, finally touch him too.

Obi-Wan’s hand was perfect on his cock—all callouses and gentleness, almost too soft like he was afraid. Anakin’s cock twitched aggressively in Obi-Wan’s hand, and when Obi-Wan mimicked Anakin’s movement, stroking his cock, Anakin’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“See?” Anakin murmured, moaning into their kiss. “This is what you do to me.”

“You’re hard,” Obi-Wan replied, sounding utterly dumbfounded, “and so wet. Why are you so wet?”

“I’m wet,” Anakin said, starting to feel like he was babbling, “because it feels so good, Master. Your hand on me is the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life—I could come at any second, if you just told me it was okay.”

Obi-Wan muttered something that felt like a curse, but even though they were so close Anakin couldn’t quite understand it. But he could understand the hot, wet breath fanning out over his mouth, sharing Obi-Wan’s own oxygen with Anakin. He could understand the way that Obi-Wan’s hand sped up, making Anakin’s toes curl and his mouth let out the weakest little whimper.

“Of course it’s alright for you to come.” Obi-Wan twisted his wrist, and Anakin had to fight not to squeal from the sensation. “Isn’t that the point?”

Obi-Wan’s words bounced around Anakin’s head louder than klaxon bells. It’s alright for you to come. Anakin had permission from his Master, to dirty his hand with his seed, to dissolve himself in the mounting pleasure until it spilled free from him into the Force around them too.

As Anakin tipped over the edge, Obi-Wan moaned too. Perhaps it was that Anakin’s expression was particularly pretty to him, or the little whimpers and moans, or his pleasure rolling from him in the Force like a tidal wave, but just when Anakin started to come, Obi-Wan tipped over the edge too. Obi-Wan’s cock twitched and spurted all over Anakin’s hand, and Anakin returned the favor with relish. He bucked his hips because Obi-Wan’s hand had stopped, but he himself stripped Obi-Wan’s cock until Obi-Wan flinched back from the overwhelming nature of his touch.

Anakin pressed another kiss to Obi-Wan’s lower lip, feeling the last dregs of pleasure tingling from the tip of his cock all the way to his spine and then dissipating. Obi-Wan shivered from his head all the way to his boots.

A sense of peace washed over Anakin. The part of his brain that was constantly buzzing, the impulsive part that sometimes gave him over to bad ideas, was quiet. There was only bliss.

“I should get a cloth to clean us up with,” Obi-Wan said, after a second and then a third kiss. “I’m beginning to feel sticky.”

“You can just use my sheets.” Anakin relaxed more, melting into a little puddle as if to protest the idea of either of them getting up. “We’ll have to send everything for laundry anyway.”

“I would much rather use something fit for the purpose, Anakin.”

And that was that. Obi-Wan got up, and Anakin watched as he gingerly pulled up his trousers and awkwardly limped his way to the refresher. Anakin remained, avoiding the task of cleaning up as long as possible, perhaps partially because he didn’t want to admit that it was already over.

But… after a few minutes, Obi-Wan came back. He even crawled back into bed with Anakin, after giving Anakin a very generous once-over with a clean cloth as well. Their limbs were tangled together, and Obi-Wan tucked himself into the space Anakin left for him, and it was just so comfortable.

It was, nearly, enough to make Anakin cry. He probably would have if he weren’t already loose and relaxed from his orgasm. As it was though, he just held Obi-Wan, and let himself feel the warmth of Obi-Wan through their slightly-sticky clothes.

And then, once again, Obi-Wan spoke.

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered into Anakin’s collarbone.

“For what, Master?” Anakin tensed, then added quickly, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Maybe if he said it enough, Obi-Wan would start to really believe it. Anakin’s arms tightened around Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan’s hand on Anakin’s hip clenched tight for a moment before relaxing once again.

“Not for what I’ve done, or at least not wholly—tomorrow, when this all wears off… I am under no illusions that I will be able to act this same way.”

“I know, Master.” Anakin swallowed. “That’s why you’re under observation—”

“I will likely pretend that none of this happened.” Obi-Wan’s chest shuddered. “…Even now that I’ve admitted this, that will likely be the case.”

Anakin took in a deep breath against the piercing pain to his heart. “Yes, but you’ll still know it happened, right?”

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment, but only a moment. “Memory loss isn’t a likely side effect of this drug, from what preliminary testing revealed earlier today, so yes. I will remember everything.”

“And you’ll still want me?” Anakin asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding small.

Whatever Obi-Wan told him now, it would be the truth. Anakin would tuck it into his heart and use it as knife or salve, depending.

“…I don’t believe that will ever change, Anakin.”

Anakin blinked, and then swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. He’d only asked about tomorrow, but—Obi-Wan had given him forever in return, something just within reach, as long as he stretched a hand out and took it.

“Then, I’ll pursue you anyway,” Anakin promised, his voice curling almost into a question at the end of his phrasing, still. “If you want me to stop, you’ll have to tell me directly that you don’t want me anymore.”

Obi-Wan hummed, then let out a long and labored sigh. “I suppose that you’ll never stop, then.” His fingers curled into the fabric at Anakin’s waist. “I do like the idea of that—though I shouldn’t, really.”

There was a beat, then, where everything was quiet, seemed settled. Obi-Wan didn’t mind it if Anakin chased after him—liked the idea of it, even. He wouldn’t tell Anakin no the way he felt he ought, and Anakin felt secure in knowing that Obi-Wan wanted him, in knowing that Obi-Wan was telling him the absolute truth.

And then, slowly, almost as if a miracle, the iron walls surrounding Obi-Wan in the Force began to loosen. It wasn’t because Obi-Wan was sleepy—Anakin could hear and feel his breathing, and it remained a steady but wakeful tempo—so, that meant that Obi-Wan was doing this on purpose.

As soon as the gaps widened enough for Anakin to fit through, he did. He took the opening that Obi-Wan provided for him, soaked himself in Obi-Wan Kenobi on a level deeper and more intimate than anything they’d done that day. He could feel the swirling guilt and doubt and fear at the surface level, but as he sank deeper, stronger emotions made themselves known. Desire, satisfaction. At the root of it all, a love that pulled Anakin even closer, wrapping him in itself, nearly smothering him.

Obi-Wan made a soft sound as Anakin returned the love at equal intensity, and he pressed ever closer. Anakin swore to himself that they would lie like this again, whether it took weeks, or months, or years to get Obi-Wan to admit to this again. This feeling was seared into his sense of self, and he would never be unbranded.

This was the truth, and Anakin would not ever forget it.

Notes:

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Coffee's Virginwan Weekend 2026