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Anakin slouches against the counter, arms folded across his chest, watching as Obi-Wan gulps down the remainder of his wine and bangs the glass down on the coffee table.
“Okay. I get it. You’re annoyed.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t look up. “How astute of you.”
His tone of voice is so very irritating, and Anakin opens his mouth to retaliate but then gets distracted by the pink flush to Obi-Wan’s cheeks and sighs instead. One day, Anakin thinks, he’ll tell Obi-Wan how attractive he is when he’s cross. Perhaps then his former Master will understand why getting him into that state has always been so irresistible.
“I hope all that thinking is you formulating a suitable apology.”
“They were only kriffing chocolates, Obi-Wan!”
“That’s hardly the point.”
“Then please, Master, enlighten me, because as far as I understand, jealousy, even in the form of an unreasonable attachment to—” he snatches up the empty packet and squints at the label, “—Tarisian bitter cherry chocolate truffles, is not considered a desirable trait for a Jedi.”
Obi-Wan stands and prowls forward, puts his left hand on the counter behind Anakin’s back, takes the packet from him, and leans across his body to toss it into the waste compactor. “The point. Padawan,” he says softly, his breath cool and sweetened by the wine, his blue gaze glimmering as it flicks to Anakin’s lips and back again, “is that you can’t always take exactly—what—you—want.” He prods a finger in Anakin’s chest to accentuate the last few words, and Anakin looks down, noticing the twitch of Obi-Wan’s hand, and then back up, taking in the dilation of his pupils. The older man’s shields are locked on, denying access to his thoughts, but Anakin knows him too well. He knows Obi-Wan wants him, and Obi-Wan knows he knows. He can practically taste Obi-Wan’s mouth on his, see himself sinking to his knees, yanking down those light tan leggings and greedily swallowing Obi-Wan’s cock, right here, in the living room.
Anakin decides that yes, that would probably be a good enough apology, so he’s waiting for the sly smile that will be both forgiveness and an invitation for him to continue, when Obi-Wan takes two steps back.
And then Anakin watches in confusion as Obi-Wan disappears into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
Rolling his eyes, Anakin folds his arms, determined not to follow. Determined not to apologise, and grovel and beg. Determined not to submit.
Although, he has to admit, that does have certain attractions. Attractions like Obi-Wan, voice gruff with desire, telling Anakin exactly what he wants to do to him. Attractions like Obi-Wan demanding Anakin keep absolutely still while he applies his hands and tongue to Anakin’s body so expertly, so wickedly, that within seconds Anakin loses it and writhes and moans and begs Obi-Wan to fuck him. Attractions like Obi-Wan blindfolding Anakin and tying his wrists to the bed and biting his neck as he pushes inside him, rough fingers curling around Anakin’s erection as he moan’s Anakin’s name. Attractions like Obi-Wan...
Oh.
Not like Obi-Wan, propped up on pillows, clothed in a sleep tunic and matching pants, reading a standing book.
“Are you all right?” Obi-Wan says archly, without looking up. “You seem a little on edge. Hungry again? I would offer you something, but…”
“You really aren’t going to let this one go, are you?”
Obi-Wan lowers his book and raises a finger to his lips for a long moment. “No.”
Trying and failing to release his pent-up sexual frustration into the Force, Anakin lets out an exasperated sigh and storms first out of the room and then out of Padmé’s apartment, wishing the exterior door was hinged so he could give it a good satisfying slam.
Fifteen minutes later he stomps back into the bedroom and chucks a glossy purple packet into Obi-Wan’s lap.
“What,” he says, holding it up at arm’s length as if it were a dead rodent dropped at his feet by an overeager pet, “is this?”
“It’s chocolate, Obi-Wan.”
“Are you quite sure?” he says, frowning at the bar as it squishes between his fingers.
“I guess the kiosk doesn’t have a conservator.” Anakin takes it from him and tears open the end with his teeth. “But it’s still nice, I promise. Much nicer in fact, than those Taitian bitter chocolate cherries or whatever they were.”
“Tarisian bitter cherry chocolate truffles,” Obi-Wan corrects him, “which famously contain the purest dark cacao this side of Trammis Three, and incidentally are you telling me that you not only consumed an entire half-kilo bag of that delicious, expensive and award-winning confection but you didn’t even enjoy it?”
“Give me a break, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, licking along his wrist and the side of his hand to remove the gooey chocolate that is beginning to leak everywhere. “I’m trying to apologise here. What’s the matter?”
Obi-Wan is watching him with a strangely intense expression. “Do that again,” he says.
“What? Oh.” Grinning, Anakin sidles up to him, messily squeezes more of the melted chocolate onto an index finger and holds it to Obi-Wan’s lips. “Try it for yourself.”
With a grunt, Obi-Wan grabs Anakin’s wrist and tugs him carelessly into his lap before sucking the digit into his mouth. Anakin moans a bit as he feels Obi-Wan’s velvet tongue lap at his skin.
“Well?”
“Hmm… Far too sweet…” Obi-Wan says, completely ignoring the fact that Anakin is cupping his face with his gloved hand, stroking the thumb over his lower lip, “sickly…” Anakin nuzzles his nose against Obi-Wan’s, then slides his lips over the soft skin of Obi-Wan’s forehead, “cloying…” Anakin not-so-subtly shifts his weight to rock against Obi-Wan’s straddled hips, “but—uh—could be improved by—uh, let me think—”
Just as Anakin goes in for the kill and aims his lips at Obi-Wan’s, the older man’s arm tenses, his body lurches up, and before Anakin knows it his back is against the mattress, and Obi-Wan is sitting astride his thighs, hands at the fastening of Anakin’s tunic, yanking it open, and then, as an afterthought, crossing his arms over his body to tug his own tunic over his head and toss it onto the floor.
Obi-Wan takes the squashed and oozing chocolate bar and squeezes some on to his own fingers, floating the remainder to the nightstand. Then he paints messy lines of chocolate over Anakin’s lips, along his jaw, down his neck and across his collarbone, finishing with a smudge that crosses his chest and ends with a dot his nipple. Approving of his work, Obi-Wan lowers his mouth to trace the reverse path with his tongue, and Anakin smiles at the ceiling for a while, before Obi-Wan appears, stopping just short of his lips.
Anakin knows, he just knows Obi-Wan is about to say something smart and then pull away, the sith-damned tease, leaving him in a state of unfulfilled agony, and so he plays unfair, sending a violently uncensored pulse of his arousal through the Force. Obi-Wan lets out a delicious moan, and Anakin swiftly brings both hands up to the back of Obi-Wan’s head to pull him down while he’s distracted, but Obi-Wan is too quick for him and sits up, evading his hands and capturing his wrists, pinning them back down onto the mattress.
“Patience, Anakin. Let me finish.” Obi-Wan shakes his head, feigning masterly disapproval. But the illusion is fleeting because his voice wavers and his eyes burn with intensity and pleasure and a lover’s reverence.
Captivated for a moment by the sight of Obi-Wan: my Obi-Wan; all mine, Anakin relaxes and waits only slightly impatiently while Obi-Wan calls the chocolate to his hand, squeezes the rest onto his palm, tosses the packet somewhere behind Anakin’s head, swirls two fingers in the puddle and then sweeps them down Anakin’s stomach and to the right, into the dip by his hip, quickly unlacing Anakin’s leggings and yanking the hem back far enough to release his erection. Obi-Wan runs his chocolate-coated fingers along the length, chuckling as Anakin gasps and bucks his hips up off the bed.
Obi-Wan follows the trail downwards this time, lazily sweeping lips and tongue along the path that leads to Anakin’s cock. Anakin bites back curses, craning his neck to see Obi-Wan’s tongue lick upwards, swirl around the head, his mouth then sinking down, enveloping Anakin in its delicious wet heat. One of Obi-Wan’s hands works the parts his mouth cannot reach while the other, fingers splayed, smoothes up over Anakin’s chest. Anakin whimpers as Obi-Wan’s teeth deliberately graze him on the upstroke, proceeding to establish a rhythm that’s painfully unhurried.
When Anakin feels Obi-Wan’s smile, he understands Obi-Wan’s intention. He’s not going to stop until Anakin reaches completion, which after all that teasing would be nice, so nice, except Anakin really wants Obi-Wan to be fucking him when he comes and—oh but Obi-Wan’s mouth is moving just perfectly, and his fingers are raking Anakin’s sweat-slicked chest and another is teasing just there, and pushing inside, and that’s probably going to be Anakin’s undoing, especially as Obi-Wan is going faster now and he knows Anakin’s self-control is abysmal under these conditions and of course Anakin is stronger than his former Master and could lunge up and flip Obi-Wan under him if he really wanted to, if it weren’t for the fact that his body is refusing to cooperate. Even when Anakin tries to tell him to stop Obi-Wan is just too damn good and he knows it and Anakin ends up moaning instead, and clawing and twisting the sheets with both hands and begging Obi-Wan not to stop now, not yet, nearly there, and yessss… Anakin’s gone, pleasure searing through his body and ringing in his ears, singing Obi-Wan’s name into the Force.
Anakin’s vision dips to blackness as he comes down from the high, and he blinks his eyes open to see Obi-Wan wiping his mouth on the back of an arm, and slumping down by Anakin’s side, propped up on one elbow. Anakin smiles and raises a leaden arm to the other man’s neck, pulling him into a kiss, tongues licking slowly against each other as Obi-Wan’s weight rests on him, chest against chest, and Anakin runs his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, deliberately ruffling it as much as possible.
Eventually, when Anakin releases him, Obi-Wan lovingly retrieves the empty chocolate packet from its location, squashed and tangled in Anakin’s hair. “Hmm. Not bad,” Obi-Wan says, smoothing the packet to read the list of ingredients then giving up with a sigh and floating it over to the waste bin. “But… oh dear. Rather messy.” He casts his eyes over Anakin’s body, frowning.
Anakin looks down to see the smudges of chocolate on his chest, and smiles when he finds there are traces mirrored on Obi-Wan.
“Shower?”
Oh my poor, fastidiously neat Obi-Wan. “No,” Anakin replies, shuffling off the bed and shedding his tangle of clothing on the way to the fresher. “I’ve got a better idea.”
He taps the control panel at the end of Padmé’s luxuriously large bathtub, and immediately it begins to fill, sending up billows of scented steam.
Obi-Wan walks past him, still clad in his sleep pants, and deposits Anakin’s discarded clothes in the laundry bin. He looks at the tub dubiously.
Anakin rolls his eyes. “I know you think it’s an indulgence, but I can’t see its any more indulgent than buying yourself expensive chocolates.”
“I’ll never understand your need to turn the functional into the downright sybaritic. And I didn’t buy them. They were a gift.”
“The what? Oh. Who from?”
“Breha Organa. I happened to mention I like them to Bail once and she’s the kind of woman that notes such things down. To my benefit. Or as it happens, not. I think I’ll just use the shower.”
“Come on. It’s full now. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to waste the water.” Anakin climbs in, dunks himself under quickly then tips his head back, sighing in pleasure at the water’s soothing warmth, resting his arms on the smooth lip of the tub.
“All right then.” Obi-Wan steps out of his sleep pants and bundles them up. Anakin smirks, letting his eyes rake Obi-Wan’s body and take in the natural swagger of his hips as he crosses to the laundry bin.
Anakin closes his eyes and waits.
“Move forward.” Obi-Wan says, by his ear, the low timbre of his voice sending fresh ripples of arousal straight to Anakin’s groin. He shifts forward, and the water sloshes as Obi-Wan climbs in behind him.
Anakin slouches down further into the water, letting it take some of his weight, and rests his head back against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, watching the other man’s fingers press and smooth over his arms as if Obi-Wan were an artist sculpting Anakin’s muscles out of clay. Obi-Wan’s beard prickles the side of his forehead and Anakin twists and lifts his head, one hand sliding into the back of Obi-Wan’s hair, pulling him down firmly against Anakin’s lips, sliding his tongue into Obi-Wan’s mouth. Continuing the kiss, Anakin bobs against the warm body behind him, sloshing the water even more, smiling as the evidence of the effect he’s having on Obi-Wan presses firmly into his back.
“Come here,” Obi-Wan murmurs, hands on Anakin’s hips urging him to shift around and up, until Anakin is straddling him, kneeling so his thighs trap Obi-Wan’s. He cups Obi-Wan’s face in his hands and kisses him again, grinding their groins together. Anakin projects an image of himself riding Obi-Wan just like that, as slowly as Anakin pleases, Obi-Wan helpless below him, fingers unable to make purchase on the smooth and slippery inner surface of the bath. Obi-Wan grunts in response and slides an arm around Anakin’s waist, pulling him closer, using the mental connection to blast Anakin with the full force of his desire. Anakin breaks away, gasping for breath, and rests his forehead against Obi-Wan’s.
“Enough,” Obi-Wan says, just as Anakin thinks it, and his right arm and Anakin’s left move in tandem, stretching out to call across the nearest of Padmé’s many pots of beauty potions.
Obi-Wan catches it in his hand and pulls clear just enough to inspect its contents. He wrinkles his nose a little but pops off the lid anyway, scooping out a handful of the glutinous bright pink substance and applying it to the appropriate submerged parts of himself, and then Anakin. As Obi-Wan’s two fingers slide inside Anakin’s body, he moans, lurching forward, mumbling “quickly,” just before he bites Obi-Wan’s neck.
This time Obi-Wan’s sense of urgency is just as keen as Anakin’s, and he removes his fingers and positions himself, one hand flying up to cup Anakin’s cheek.
“Now, love,” Obi-Wan says, or thinks, Anakin can’t tell, because he’s already sinking down, and the gloriously hard length of Obi-Wan’s cock is sliding deep inside his body. They both sigh at the sensation of utter completeness, and Anakin tips Obi-Wan’s head back and brings their lips together gently, opening his mind up so Obi-Wan can see him at his most vulnerable, pouring every ounce of his love into this kiss, relishing Obi-Wan’s gasp as he feels what is so difficult to put into words.
But Anakin’s capacity to think about any of that is short-lived as their joined bodies begin to move with a synergy honed to near perfection by many hours of delightful practice. He is vaguely aware that the water is sloshing everywhere, over the side of the tub, splashing on the floor, as he focuses on the building pleasure, and then that, how annoying, his calf muscles are in danger of cramping up.
Working out a plan B, Anakin shifts his weight back, gripping both sides of the tub to give himself more leverage, and bring his legs up to wrap around Obi-Wan’s waist. Yes. Much better. He tips his head back, watching Obi-Wan through half-closed eyes, as he moves both of his hands to grip Anakin’s hips and help maintain the decadently slow rhythm.
The position allows Obi-Wan to hit that sweet spot inside of Anakin on every thrust, bursting pleasure behind his eyelids, and before long the rhythm falters. Anakin bites his lip, glanced down at his painfully hard cock which is begging for attention as it surfaces with each upward surge. But teamwork can be a blissful thing, and no words are necessary to decide Anakin will take charge of the rhythm and the thrusting so Obi-Wan’s fingers can encircle his shaft, his other hand still locked on to Anakin’s hip.
Anakin’s eyes lock on Obi-Wan’s flushed face, beaded with steam and sweat, wet mahogany strands of his hair stuck down to his forehead, mouth slightly open, teal eyes glazed with pleasure, and he finds himself close, so close. “Are you—uhh—”
“—ready?” Obi-Wan finishes for him, letting go of Anakin’s hip to raise his hand out of the water, stretching it out to Anakin, using the Force to tip Anakin’s body forward so Obi-Wan can wrap an arm around his back, the other still grasping his cock. “Yes, Anakin, uhh, I can feel it, ready, mmm, just there…”
And they come together like that, fiercely, Obi-Wan’s face against Anakin’s chest, Anakin biting into whatever he can find which turns out to be the soft wet mass of Obi-Wan’s hair, as their minds mingle, soaring together, the pleasure reverberating from one to the other, taking them even higher as the Force blazes around them, resonating in a twisting helix of white and gold.
Utterly sated, Anakin flops against Obi-Wan, who he lets him loose, both of them slipping apart and down into the now cool water, fingers of Anakin’s left and Obi-Wan’s right hand lazily intertwined.
“See,” Anakin says, when his breathing has returned to normal. “’freshers have more than one function. How many times will I have to demonstrate that to you?”
“Hmm, well it was pleasant enough, I suppose.”
Anakin opens an eye to scold him, but Obi-Wan grins back, a disarming, happy grin that Anakin realises is all too rare. Shaking his head, he pulls Obi-Wan’s hand to his mouth and kisses each finger before shoving it away and dunking himself under the water again.
Rinsed and towelled, Anakin checks the com console for messages before stretching out between the cool linen bedsheets. Obi-Wan turns on to his side, facing him. “Nothing from Padmé?”
“No. You know what she’s like. She’ll have lost track of time.”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes. “Hmm. I sense a long and fascinating discussion on the merits of capping the price of Parmeilan grain. She’ll probably be there all night.”
Anakin snuggles into the pillow, studying Obi-Wan’s face for a moment before raising his hand to kill the lights, leaving the room illuminated by the blue-tinted glow of the cityscape outside.
“Padmé and I never have these kind of arguments, you know.”
“What, you never steal her personal luxury food items?”
“Well, she never leaves anything like that out, actually. So neither should you. You know me as well as she does.”
Obi-Wan doesn't reply, and Anakin, content to have had the last word, lets himself sink into relaxation, feeling the Force ebb and flow gently around them.
...which is exactly when he realises Obi-Wan's face is turned into the pillow, and he's trying not to laugh.
Anakin shifts up on one elbow. “You…”
“Hmm?”
“You did it on purpose!”
Obi-Wan stops trying to hold back his laughter, and Anakin finds the sound so delightful that he can't help smiling in spite of himself. Which makes him even more indignant.
“It was a trap! You left those chocolates there, knowing I'd-”
Obi-Wan peeps up at him, eyes glinting.
“Knowing either you'd fall for it, or you wouldn't, and if you didn't you'd inevitably decide to spring the trap anyway, Anakin, as you always do, come on, from my point of view it was a win-win situation, you have to admit.”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi, have you just admitted you bated someone with food, just to make them feel guilty and generate an argument that would inevitably lead to sex?”
Obi-Wan is stretched out, one hand under his head, looking and feeling far too smug. “Well, that could be considered a fair appraisal. But not just someone. You are not someone, you are Anakin Skywalker.”
Anakin raises an eyebrow.
Obi-Wan waves his hand as if the rest is obvious. “The best star pilot in the galaxy, a fine warrior, and so forth.”
Anakin rolls over until he's above Obi-Wan, one hand one either side of his head. “Continue.”
“And, well, you are ...” Obi-Wan sighs, and reaches to trace the scar on Anakin’s forehead with the pad of his thumb, before sweeping it down, across Anakin’s lips. “Irresistible.”
Anakin grins and nuzzles his hand, before lowered his mouth to Obi-Wan's ear. “And you are a rogue and a cheat and a calculating sith of a man, and you know this means we are really not even, so you have until Padmé gets back to make it up to me, and don’t you dare complain that you’re tired and you have a Council meeting in the morning because I don’t care.”
Laughter rumbles in Obi-Wan's chest, and Anakin opens his mouth to tell Obi-Wan to shut up and start kissing him, but Obi-Wan’s is already kissing him, and now Obi-Wan is twisting them over, so Anakin is underneath, and with an, okay, just this once, Anakin smiles and lets him, relaxes into his Master, winds his arms loosely around Obi-Wan’s neck, conceding secretly that Obi-Wan had defeated him this time, fair and square, and if he ever wants to win other than when Obi-Wan lets him win, he really, really needs to start paying attention.
Having said that, losing to Obi-Wan forever might not turn out to be so bad, after all.