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“Is that,” Obi-Wan paused to swallow the sudden excess of saliva in his mouth, “mine?”
The way Anakin’s head remained bowed over the bright screen of the Switch made it obvious he wasn’t really listening. “Mmm?” He rubbed the tip of his cold nose—being from a warmer climate, Anakin easily grew cold even when Obi-Wan kept the thermostat at a moderate temperature—with the sleeve of the tan sweater he wore.
Which wasn’t his; it was Obi-Wan’s. And on Anakin’s slender, nineteen-year-old body, it fit in distressingly interesting ways.
For one, it was too short to cover Anakin’s flat stomach in the half-curled up position he was in on the armchair, sweatpants pulled low on his hips, revealing that he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. Obi-Wan could see an adorable belly button with each breath Anakin took.
The sweater was also too broad on Anakin, collar baring half a shoulder, and a glimpse at the sweep of a collarbone that had Obi-Wan questioning whether it was possible to be captivated by something so chaste.
The evidence strongly pointed to yes.
“Anakin,” he tried again. “We talked about this. If you’re going to be living here, I’d appreciate it if you occasionally did as I asked. Taking things out of the laundry room simply because you’re a bit chilly—”
Anakin’s mouth curled in distaste. “I was freezing.”
“Regardless.”
Finally, Anakin looked up at him, and Obi-Wan realized he’d made a grave tactical error in approaching during the exchange. Now he could stare right down the neck of the sweater.
Anakin blinked at him through his eyelashes, and Obi-Wan’s gaze shot to his face. He would not blush like a schoolboy caught leering at a woman’s breasts. He would not.
“C'mon, Obi,” his former stepbrother whined. “I’m so cold all the time, I’m dying!”
“May I venture to suggest it has something to do with the fact that you refuse to wear shoes? Or that you seem to have forgotten to put on a shirt?”
The curve of Anakin’s mouth turned sulky. Few people could pout quite that aggressively and still come off attractive. Much to Obi-Wan’s consternation, Anakin counted among those few. “I don’t like shoes,” he said, and Obi-Wan could think of a thousand other times he’d heard the same petulant complaint.
“And… What's wrong if I wear your stuff? We’re brothers, aren’t we?” Anakin continued.
Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed in warning.
“Aren’t we?” Anakin quirked a brow, betraying the Innocent act.
And suddenly, it was a year ago, when Obi-Wan had returned home for the holidays, because even though their parents had separated, Shmi and Qui-Gon were strong believers that one didn't divorce stepchildren. So when he turned around and saw a mop of brassy curls and a lush mouth made for biting, the difference that months could make in a teenager, a switch had gone off in his brain, taking Anakin out of one category—brotherly, safe, annoying—and putting him into an altogether new one.
(Sexy, dangerous, still annoying.)
And worse yet, Anakin had caught the look on his face. Had read the lust Obi-Wan tried to shove into a dark corner for the rest of the holidays, for the rest of his life, Christ, this was his baby brother—
Obi-Wan stirred back into the heavy-pressure tension of the present, staring at Anakin’s face, the challenge written in the raised chin.
On the Switch, the screen flashed game over.
Anakin ignored it. He had something better to play with, implied his little smirk. He sat up, mile-long legs swinging towards Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan immediately fled.
—
“Shhh, shh—” Obi-Wan was drowning, pulled under the addictive and sickening tide that was Anakin’s skin, the salt of his sweat, the heat of his body. His ears rang with the cry Anakin had let out as soon as he’d jerked their cocks together; panic fought inside his chest. Had they been heard? The Christmas music was loud, but Anakin had been louder.
In the circle of his arms, Anakin whined, which was a completely different sound than Anakin’s whining. This was so plaintively sweet that Obi-Wan had to kiss him, desperately, lick into his mouth. The half-bath was cramped for space, not the ideal situation for… no situation was ideal for this, because this was anything but ideal.
Obi-Wan was trying to fuck Anakin.
Anakin. His former stepbrother. The little devil who’d charmed his way into Obi-Wan’s heart from the moment they’d met, even though Obi-Wan had been frustrated that his father was remarrying at his age.
That Anakin. Eighteen-year-old Anakin.
Obi-Wan jerked his mouth away. “No,” he said, and when Anakin glared at him petulantly, mouth opening for God only knew what, Obi-Wan shook him hard and then left him there.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the week.
—
Anakin wanted to transfer schools, Qui-Gon told him during the call. The new school was close to Obi-Wan’s house, and it was the first time Anakin wouldn’t be living with his mother, and all in a city that he didn’t know.
Of course, Obi-Wan agreed to let Anakin stay with him while he got used to his new life. He did so with a guilty lurch in his stomach, the wrongness that came from the excitement that had nothing to do with brotherly spirit. He wasn’t agreeing to take Anakin in out of the goodness of his heart.
With Anakin there all the time something was, at some point, bound to snap.
And Obi-Wan very much feared it’d be his self-control.
—
Anakin wasn’t exactly subtle. About anything.
But he was particularly unsubtle when it came to his seduction technique, which involved waltzing around in as little clothing as possible, baring his long limbs and the tantalizing game of connect-the-dots that were all the moles and freckles on his skin that Obi-Wan ached to solve using his teeth.
It wasn’t subtle, but it was effective.
Obi-Wan learned to stop wearing his glasses.
—
Anakin had stolen his sweater. Again.
Obi-Wan sighed as he collected his sweater from the floor, as it’d obviously been tossed at the sofa and missed by a mile. It was too soft in his hands, like Anakin had been wearing it for endless hours and worn it down to hug him. Obi-Wan studied the stretch, fingering the malformed sleeves. Had Anakin been tugging at them until they covered his hands?
… Had he been sleeping in Obi-Wan’s sweater?
Well, there went all of Obi-Wan’s composure. With a groan, he buried his face into the sweater, inhaling the scent that was uniquely Anakin, even though they used the same soap.
He then folded it up and placed it on the sofa. When he passed by after Anakin had arrived home from class, the sweater was gone.
—
Satine called him; she’d be passing through town. And like every time that happened, Obi-Wan picked her up from the airport. As on-and-off lovers, it didn’t occur to Obi-Wan that something might be wrong with letting Satine stay at his house, not until she leaned over and pecked him on the lips as dinner was wrapping up.
“I’ll see you upstairs,” she said with understandable expectation, since that was always what they did, but then she turned to say good night to Anakin.
Which made Obi-Wan remember Anakin sat across the dinner table.
Anakin blinked at them both, like he didn’t quite understand what just had happened. And then he said, “Well, have fun,” smile unfriendly, and shut himself up in his room.
Satine looked at Obi-Wan with pity in the lift of her eyebrows. “Oh, no. What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said defensively. “Not a goddamn thing.”
—
It turned out that being ignored by Anakin was somehow worse for Obi-Wan’s peace of mind than being tempted by him.
Or maybe that was the wrong way of looking at it. Obi-Wan was still tempted by Anakin’s every word and gesture, but now it was the lack of them that drew Obi-Wan’s attention, that made him hyperaware of Anakin’s presence whenever they were together. Now, instead of flirting and challenging him, Anakin acted like Obi-Wan was beneath his notice.
And Obi-Wan hated how willing he could feel himself becoming, ready to do whatever was necessary so that Anakin would stop looking through him.
It’d been three weeks since Satine had visited, and he and Anakin might as well be on two completely different planes of existence. For the past hour, Anakin had been playing with his Switch, in a similar position than before, legs tossed over the arm chair, but he wasn’t wearing any of Obi-Wan’s nicked sweaters.
For the first time in months, every single sweater Obi-Wan owned was where it belonged. In his closet.
They smelled like detergent.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Obi-Wan suggested, tired of being little more than a bug on the wall.
Anakin didn’t look up from his game, though his voice was friendly enough. “Nah, I’m ok.”
“Staying cooped up in here isn’t good for you.”
Anakin’s smile was distracted and fleeting, like a clerk humoring a pesky customer. He went back to fiddling with the handheld.
Obi-Wan dragged a hand over his mouth, irritated. “If you have something to say, I’d rather you say it.”
“Me?” Anakin sounded puzzled. “What could I possibly have to say?”
“Anakin.”
“I mean, I’m just a guest here, yeah? The mistake you got suckered into taking in.” Bitterness crept into his tone.
Obi-Wan paused. “Anakin?”
“What?” Anakin snapped. He dropped the Switch into his lap and crossed his arms, looking fed up. “Let it fuckin’ go, Obi, Jesus. We made out a little. It wasn’t a big deal. Get over it.”
“Is that all that was to you?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but ask, aghast. To hear what might be one of the sexiest moments of his life, the constant he kept returning to when getting himself off—“You’re lying,” he said with certainty.
Anakin pursed his lips. They were so soft and pink, even when he was irked. “If you say so,” he returned airily, and that was it. One red flag too many waved in front of Obi-Wan.
Five seconds later, Obi-Wan had both hands in Anakin’s hair, holding his head still to kiss him deep, no teasing, just a full-on invasion and declaration of frustration. It was intense but not out of anger; Obi-Wan wasn’t angry, he was desperate.
What if he was alone in this crushing longing to have Anakin grinning at him? What if Anakin had lost interest in him?
A growl built in his chest. That wasn’t allowed, that wasn’t the rule of the game—
Anakin bit him. Sank his teeth into Obi-Wan’s bottom lip and grabbed him by the collar, pulling Obi-Wan off-balance. His position had been precarious to begin with, so all it took was a little encouragement and he was crushing Anakin under him, trapping him.
Or maybe it was the other way around, Obi-Wan realized with a mild shock. Anakin was smirking at him.
“Were you,” he struggled to find the words. “Have you been pretending to be angry this entire hellish time?” he demanded, thinking of all the cold silences and awkward meals.
Anakin scoffed. “Pretending? You’re a bastard, you know that? Bringing over a fuckbuddy when I’ve been trying to get you to bend me over.”
“I…” Obi-Wan flushed. “Would you believe me that I didn’t think that entirely through? That I didn’t sleep with her?”
“That’s the only reason I didn’t dump your ass, so yeah, I do believe you.” Anakin framed Obi-Wan’s face, studying him like he was something… precious. Like this thing between them, pulsing, vast, was not merely lust and the misdirected thrill of the taboo, but that it meant more.
Which was terrifying.
Exhilarating.
“No more games?” Obi-Wan suggested. (He could feel the Switch digging into his ribs, jammed awkwardly between them.)
“Only fun games,” promised Anakin, which was alarming, but Obi-Wan had to recontextualize that oh, yes, this was Anakin. The same Anakin that couldn’t get a date until he sixteen, and whose past history with romance was… minimal, as far as Obi-Wan knew.
He swallowed. “Ani, sweetheart, how much experience do you have?”
Anakin’s sudden refusal to meet his gaze was a punch to the gut. “I have enough,” he hedged.
Obi-Wan buried his face into the curve of Anakin’s neck—so long, so perfect for kissing—and laughed inaudibly. Anakin thought this would deter him? That he had enough morals left that finding out his little—former—brother was still innocent, despite his coyness, would put a halt to all this?
“The things I want to do to you,” he purred into the crook of Anakin’s throat, nosing the sudden fluttery pulse there. Obi-Wan felt as if he were burning up, that the only solution was to take Anakin to his bed and strip them both down and go up in flames together.
In all fairness, a year and a half of obsessively imagining Anakin needy under him did things to one’s brain. Rewired one’s priorities.
Anakin laughed throatily. “Do them,” he demanded, reaching to cup between Obi-Wan’s legs, palming the swell of his cock through his pants. “Fuck,” said Anakin, impressed. His fingers squeezed. “Oh, fuck.”
Oh, fuck, indeed. Obi-Wan nipped at Anakin’s neck, thrusting slightly into his hand, a promise and a reward. “You can have me,” he said, knowing that his size was a bit much for a virgin. “I just need—”
“Maybe later,” Anakin interrupted. “First, you fuck me stupid with this monster dick.”
He… he could work with that.
Obi-Wan didn’t even attempt to lift Anakin up. He just climbed back onto his feet and slapped Anakin’s thigh, enjoying the sharp breath that earned. “Go wait on my bed.”
“Yeah? And what are you going to do?” asked Anakin suspiciously, even though he was already shedding clothes and leaving a trail of them in the direction of the stairs.
It was a good thing that Obi-Wan had fully intended to follow him because otherwise, his plans would have derailed. He didn’t care that Anakin was leaving a mess; he was too busy adding his own shirt and shoes to the chaos. Future-Him would be all too happy to clean up afterward. “Lube,” he remembered to say, his eyes firmly on the skinny, cute butt only inches away from his face.
Anakin stopped. His nape, all the way down his now-exposed back, turned red. “Oh,” he said faintly, his youth and inexperience exposed delicately, in a way that had Obi-Wan pausing to admire not just him, but the lines of his body—the signs of bones and muscles yet to grow—a perfect state of transition.
All his doubts melted away. The certainty that this could have some impact on their personal lives lingered, but their parents weren’t the judgmental type. And they weren’t really brothers in any traditional sense, except for the odd connection between them that defied easy description.
A longing.
Anakin had never been in Obi-Wan’s room. He glanced around curiously when Obi-Wan flipped the light switch. Though daylight still streamed in, the curtains were drawn. As beautiful as Anakin would surely look with the sunset spilling over his golden skin, the neighbors would have to endure the rest of their miserable lives without glimpses of Anakin bathed in red.
“Less Jedi Scout trophies than I thought,” joked Anakin, and then his jeans were off.
He wasn’t wearing any underwear.
Obi-Wan’s mouth dried out.
“You slutty thing,” he muttered, and then checked Anakin’s expression, worried that was too much.
Anakin’s eyes met his, the blue blown wide to make way for black. The blush on his back had spread until he glowed with a potent mixture of innocence and hunger. No need for the sunset.
“Anakin?”
“Yeah, I am slutty,” Anakin breathed, as if prompted, which wasn’t the intention at all, but fuck if Obi-Wan was going to be stupid enough to start up that discussion.
“Bed,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m going to suck you off while opening you up.”
Anakin scrambled onto the mattress. Obi-Wan turned away with a smile to grab the lube from the adjoining bathroom—and condoms. He was clean, and Anakin was a virgin, but that didn’t mean he was going to take any chances with his boy.
(‘His boy’ had a nice ring to it. Better than thinking of him as his baby brother, even if there was a terrible sort of cadence to it that hit just right.)
Obi-Wan returned, fully naked now, to the room. Anakin sat at the edge of the bed, boldly staring at him up and down, lingering over Obi-Wan’s cock, on the low-hanging balls underneath. He was an impressive size, though hardly deserving to be called monstrous, regardless of how questionably flattering.
His dick twitched as Anakin continued staring. He was a shower, not a grower, so he didn’t feel bad about reaching down to thumb the sensitive exposed head. He was uncut, and Anakin’s intense focus grew, his own cock a pretty, bare pink between his legs.
It was going to be a pleasure to put his mouth on it.
Anakin closed his eyes, lashes dragging along his sculpted cheeks. He was so exposed and decadent against the white sheets, Obi-Wan sank to his knees. His fingers trembled with the ardor of a fantasy come to life, proving reality could be better—even if it made opening the condom a lot more difficult than it had to be.
Anakin hissed as Obi-Wan rolled the condom on him, going back on his elbows as his hips bucked. Prepared for this, Obi-Wan grabbed his hip, fingers splayed far enough that he could feel muscles fighting against him as he pinned Anakin to the edge of the bed. “Be a good boy,” escaped him, and Anakin turned to putty. He felt the surrender, the implicit handover of control.
Obi-Wan still checked, only to quake to his core at Anakin’s parted lips, the flash of his tongue behind his teeth. They’d barely touched, and—did Anakin have a praise kink?
“Anakin?” he questioned, dusting feather-light strokes up and down Anakin’s legs, his thighs, the crease of his ass, everywhere he could reach. “Do you like that, darling? To be told how good you are?” Obi-Wan rubbed his beard against the pale expanse of Anakin’s thighs, careful to breathe over his cock. “How pretty? How you taste?”
Anakin collapsed on the bed, out of sight. “Y-yes, fuck, okay?” he spit out, his pride stung.
“Oh, good boy, Ani,” Obi-Wan purred. Honest boys deserved rewards.
Arousal jolted all the way up his spine as he slicked up his whole hand, generous on the lube until even his knuckles were soaked. There was no such thing as excess with a virgin. Anakin deserved to remember this for the rest of his life and never regret gifting his first time to Obi-Wan.
A thin silence that dug claws ended with Obi-Wan swallowing Anakin down to the base, forearm positioned on Anakin’s stomach, keeping him on the bed. The urge to cough and choke was there, but Obi-Wan swallowed past it, knowing that the flutter of his throat around Anakin was exquisite torture.
“Obi-Wan!”
Obi-Wan hummed around his mouthful. Anakin’s legs were spread wide by the width of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, by the raised arm, but he still tried to clamp them shut, overstimulated, as Obi-Wan ghosted the furl of muscle behind his taint. His touch was gentle but firm, blindly feeling out Anakin’s reactions, listening to his gasps and chewed up swears, Obi-Wan’s name a constant on his lips.
When Obi-Wan needed to breathe, he pulled off, and while there was little that could be said to be angelic about Anakin, right then he looked gorgeously indulgent on Obi-Wan’s bed, his expression dreamy, something to be admired, not touched by filthy hands.
Obi-Wan pushed a finger in, not stopping until it was completely buried inside. His throat was pleasantly scraped, even though the taste of the plastic was tiresome. “Is this how you want it, darling? How you dreamed it’d go?” He mouthed at the curve of Anakin’s dick, nudging it with his chin and then rubbing his beard again on tender flesh, leaving a burn behind.
Anakin panted. “I imagined a little less talking. And fewer condoms.”
“I’m afraid that’ll require a lot more talking to resolve.” Obi-Wan dipped his eyes, awestruck by the visual of his finger sinking into Anakin, petting him from the inside. He was snug and hot, everything that Obi-Wan craved. He ached to speed things up but held onto his control, alternating between sucking Anakin off gently, slowly, while one finger became two, and then three.
He wanted hours to nibble at Anakin’s hipbones, map his rib cage with his palms, to toy with his nipples with the flat of his tongue until they were tender and red. But that required patience that had long run out, he was on fumes, borderline feral after weeks of being dismissed.
Obi-Wan needed to be inside Anakin.
“Down,” he choked out, and rolled Anakin onto his stomach when the other didn’t understand—or didn’t move fast enough. Obi-Wan climbed onto the mattress and slotted himself to Anakin, aligning them, grabbing a pillow to prop under Anakin.
“I don’t—” argued Anakin, his tone uncertain. “I want to look at you.”
So did Obi-Wan, who closed his eyes. “It’ll be easier on you this way,” he offered.
“If I wanted easy, I wouldn’t be chasing after you,” Anakin retorted, kicking the pillow away and turning around. He grabbed at Obi-Wan, proving that his slimness was deceptive, hauling him on top.
They both lost track of what they were doing for a moment, rolling against each other, flesh on flesh. Anakin’s chest was nearly baby smooth but his thighs had a fine, downy dusting of hair on them that Obi-Wan was fascinated with.
They sorted themselves. Anakin’s nails had a bite to them, crescents on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. They were face to face, and Anakin drew him down for a kiss even as he wrapped a leg around Obi-Wan, pulling him closer. A spider welcoming the fly to the parlor…
“Last chance,” Obi-Wan breathed against Anakin’s mouth. They could still rewind it all, go back to being some flavor of brothers.
Anakin shook his head. “Too late.”
He was probably right.
The first push was both like every other time that Obi-Wan had previously had sex, and totally unlike it, too. For one, this was Anakin underneath him, tensing up in discomfort. Obi-Wan held off on the selfish impulse to sink into snug warmth, burrow into it like he never wanted to leave, and instead monitored Anakin’s expression, love burning like a scratch across his chest as the other adjusted.
Love. Obi-Wan kissed Anakin’s jaw, his brow, peppered more and more kisses on his darling face.
He loved Anakin.
He was in love with Anakin.
The revelation caused his hips to stutter, jerking deeper than intended, and Obi-Wan’s head dropped back with a groan. Fuck, Anakin was like a vise clamping on him. All greedy clutch and no give.
Not that Obi-Wan wanted to go anywhere. He could happily die right where he was.
He still kissed Anakin’s cheek, tasting tears. “Ani. Ani. Sweet darling boy, did I hurt you?”
“You’re fucking killing me,” Anakin whispered back harshly. He let out a moan when Obi-Wan hummed and ground forward, testing for a reaction. Tears aside, Anakin was urging him to move with every little choked breath.
He had to make it good for Anakin.
Obi-Wan lifted some of his weight off Anakin, despite the protestations and the bite he got from it, Anakin scowling unhappily at any space existing between them. Charmed, Obi-Wan spared enough energy to flash him a grin, and then he rolled his hips, starting a rocking, ceaseless rhythm that was more grind than thrust, because Anakin wasn’t keen to give him more room than that.
Which was fine. It was—it was childishly sweet and needy, and Obi-Wan liked that.
He never forgot for a single moment whose nails scored marks on his skin, whose breath puffed beside his temple. Anakin could not be forgotten, could not be denied, it was his smell and cries and body heat surrounding Obi-Wan. Anakin’s hand came between them, but he couldn’t get it around his own cock, not with how close Anakin was keeping Obi-Wan, foot planted on his spine, so demanding already.
His boy would be a terror in the future.
They strained against each other, friction and heat like bruises everywhere they came together. Anakin wiggled, trying to fuck himself back, with little success, and Obi-Wan tucked away the I told you so for later, when it wouldn’t possibly mean the end of his life.
“Can I cum in you, darling?” Obi-Wan nuzzled Anakin’s pretty cheek, drifting over to his ear, feeling the teenager shake. “Can I fuck as deep as I can reach and leave you full of me?”
Anakin wasn’t so far gone as to not be verbal, but he hardly sounded human when he groaned, “Yes, fuck. Yes.”
Obi-Wan picked up the pace, his heart like a racehorse galloping towards a photo finish. When he came, he wasn’t thinking of the condom, that he couldn’t actually flood Anakin’s insides with cum, he was just—stunned into blissful chaos, everything narrowed down to the man under him, to how they fit together, nothing else.
He had barely regained his breath when Anakin’s squirming became too urgent to ignore. He was so close that Obi-Wan could smell his desperation.
“I’ve got you,” Obi-Wan promised. His limbs were like jelly, and he had to fight for his freedom, Anakin refusing to let go of him. “Anakin, be a good boy. Let me go.”
Anakin reluctantly dropped his arms and unhooked his leg, allowing Obi-Wan to pull out of him. Obi-Wan removed and tied off the condom before glancing back; Anakin was a vision on the wrinkled sheets, tacky and damp with sweat, tears on his cheeks.
A very angry vision. Anakin ripped off the condom and, with a defiant look at Obi-Wan, started jerking himself off.
“Turn over,” Obi-Wan said. That wasn’t what he’d planned, but he was flexible.
“God, what now, can’t I just cum?” Despite complaining, Anakin turned on his hands and knees. He’d reached back for his cock when Obi-Wan’s hands landed on his ass cheeks and spread him open to his calculating stare.
“O—Obi-Wan?” Anakin tried to look back at him, wiggling attractively, though God only knew if Anakin understood what he was doing.
“I’m going to eat you out until you cum on my tongue,” Obi-Wan told him, conversationally, as if announcing that it would rain overnight. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Oh my god,” was Anakin’s answer, right before he buried his face into a pillow.
As if that would spare him from what was coming. Obi-Wan massaged Anakin’s cheeks, rolling them between his fingers with absolute enjoyment, pushing them together and apart, Anakin’s still soft hole winking at him like that damned belly button had.
(That was another thing on his agenda, tongue-fucking that belly button until Anakin sobbed.)
But first, he had a feast.
He didn’t play coy and tease out Anakin’s pleasure. There’d be time for all that. Instead, he put his lips and teeth to work.
Obi-Wan could never quite understand the disdain others had for this particular sexual act, because he was sure he could go at it for hours, earning himself all the growls and gasps that Anakin was capable of making. He wiggled the tip of his tongue past the ring of muscle and licked deep, all while continuing to rub Anakin’s cheeks, kneading them and squeezing in warning when Anakin tried to evade him, when his noises increased in pitch until they were breathy, almost kittenish.
And then with a final filthy grind of his tongue, tip stiffened into a point, Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s tension dissolving, caught the ripple of surprise as Anakin jerked and spilled all over his fingers, onto the bed.
It was fine. The next day was laundry day.
Obi-Wan drew back, his jaw and tongue sore, well aware that he looked like a right mess with saliva and lube in his beard, but he felt rather smug about what a fantastic job he’d done. No man could help but feel satisfied when looking down at Anakin’s utterly sated, boneless sprawl and be able to listen to his lungs try to catch up on oxygen.
“Hey.” He nosed down into Anakin’s curls. “Just tap on the wall three times if you can’t speak.”
“Fuck you,” said Anakin sleepily. “You weren’t that good.”
“Excellent. Something to strive for.” Obi-Wan couldn’t stop nuzzling his face into Anakin’s hair, catching his earlobe with his teeth. He wasn’t aroused again—though he couldn’t speak of the immediate future—but he found himself needy for reassurance that everything had gone well, that he hadn’t carelessly destroyed their bond.
Anakin turned over and patted the space on the bed next to him. His breathing was back to normal. “Shoulda guessed you’d have a filthy friggin’ mouth and be a cuddler.”
Unsure of just how welcome he was, Obi-Wan lay beside him, formulating a snarky reply right until Anakin climbed on top of him and settled there like he’d long ago figured out how their limbs were meant to fit. The profusion of Anakin’s heat, his taste, his smell; it was Obi-Wan’s turn to hold him tight, possessively, as if the specter of losing him had chilled Obi-Wan to the bone.
“No more games,” Obi-Wan said, eyes closed, Anakin safely anchored to him.
Anakin dropped a kiss on Obi-Wan’s chest, not minding the mat of hair there. He yawned, not taking Obi-Wan seriously. “More games.”
Obi-Wan sighed. “Let’s compromise; you can take my sweaters again, we don’t start any new games for three months.”
“New games, and I take your sweaters again,” counterproposed Anakin, sounding even sleepier, like he was actually drifting off into a well-fucked sleep. “‘Cuz I know you thought about bending me over in them. The ratty black one most of all,” Anakin added, a touchy breathy, and Obi-Wan swore as his dick twitched. The black fisherman sweater with the holes.
Anakin laughed, sneaky and happy. “Yeah, that one. So… still don’t want to play with me?”
Adorable little brat. Insufferable. For his own sake, Obi-Wan was going to have to fuck all higher function out of that pretty head.
After they destroyed the ratty black sweater.