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They’re both Padawans. Peers. But it still shouldn’t be happening.
Everything about this room screams that—the secluded location, the locked door, the absence of lights. It’s in every whimper that spills from Obi-Wan’s lips, behind the hands he presses over his mouth to keep quiet.
His braid is still short. Anakin’s is not.
Anakin’s braid is to be cut soon, once he is Knighted. Within a few days, his friend will be able to take on a Padawan of his own.
Obi-Wan will be lucky if his braid ever reaches past his shoulder.
His underwear is wet and sticky by the time Anakin pulls his pants down. A few kisses in places where they don’t belong, and soon the fabric is soaked with spit too. Anakin’s tongue laps at his delicate seam through the cloth. Licks between the fat little lips of his pussy.
The sounds Anakin is making are filthy. Depraved. Occasionally, a loud slurp will interrupt the sloppy chorus of his kisses, and Obi-Wan will feel his underwear being sucked into Anakin’s mouth—juices and all being swallowed with a guttural moan.
Obi-Wan should find it gross. A purer version of him used to.
He still kind of does.
Anakin slurps again, catching the sensitive nub of Obi-Wan’s clit between his lips. Swallows. Moans.
Obi-Wan shivers as the sound reaches his ears. A tingle shoots down his spine.
It is gross.
He’s ashamed how good it feels.
A soiled strip of cotton is moved to the side, baring the soft pink mound beneath. Anakin licks and sucks at his small pussy until it’s glistening. Spits on his little hole and pushes it inside with his tongue.
If they had more time, Obi-Wan is almost convinced that Anakin could do this for hours. Anakin sounds absolutely intoxicated as he rambles. Obi-Wan can only conclude he’s Anakin’s drug of choice tonight.
“You taste so sweet, kitten,” Anakin slurs, barely discernible because he won’t stop kissing. Licking. Can’t keep his tongue in his mouth long enough to speak. “Stars, baby, you’re dripping—love feeling your little hole drool all over my tongue, sweetheart.”
Obi-Wan bites down on the meat of his palm, trembling, trying his best to not wail from the coil tightening white-hot in his belly. A zing of pleasure rips hard through him every so often. Makes his body go soft, pliant. Eyes crossing.
He gushes a little bit every time that happens. Anakin slurps the slick from his pussy before it can drip to the floor.
“So good,” Anakin sighs. “You’re giving me so much to drink, little one.”
Illicit, wrong, filthy—the dirtiest endearment of them all.
Obi-Wan hates how it makes him shiver. Hates the pulse of warmth trickling wet down his thigh because of it even more.
He wishes that one wasn’t his favorite. The term’s lost all innocence. Anakin’s ruined it for anyone else—just like this perversion of a once platonic friendship between them.
He’s dumb by the time Anakin slips inside him. Brain melted out of his ears.
The cock sinking into his pussy is too big. Obi-Wan is so lax and wet it doesn’t matter. The mushy head dragging along his walls shouldn’t feel so good. Nothing should be able to feel this good.
He understands why the Jedi are meant to be chaste now. There is no coming back from this—sex mixed with complex love—this greedy, helpless thing Anakin has reduced him to.
Obi-Wan gasps and twitches as his insides are turned loose and messy. Watches the blunt shape of Anakin’s cock stroking in and out of his pussy, warping his tummy. He wants it deeper. He doesn’t want it to ever stop.
He loves this, and it’s shameful—he’ll never be right without this again.
It’s a tepid comfort, perhaps, but he doesn’t think Anakin will ever be right without this either.
“Kriff… mm—just once, Obi-Wan. I promise. Will you let me, baby?”
He shouldn’t.
It’s a mistake, just like all of this is. But he hasn’t been able to say no to Anakin a single time thus far. So why should this be any different?
It’s just once. One time shouldn’t hurt.
He’s probably too small for it to matter yet anyway.
Obi-Wan’s legs stay limp, folded up towards his flat chest. He nods silent consent he doesn’t have permission to give.
The rhythm between his legs picks up immediately, stalling and stuttering. Frantic. Before long, heat warms his insides—all wet and thick and sloppy.
Obi-Wan didn’t know it was possible to feel any dirtier than he already does. Especially down there. The shock is enough to tear one last round of ecstasy out of him.
“Thank you, kitten,” Anakin sighs in bliss as Obi-Wan’s pussy clamps around him once more, weak. He sounds wrecked and besotted; shaken right down to his core.
The atmosphere of the room is heavier than before. Obi-Wan wonders if the Force is trying to impress upon them the gravity of what they just did.
“Shh, it’ll be okay, little one,” Anakin murmurs, leaving worshiping kisses all over Obi-Wan’s soft belly. “We still have some time. I’ll figure things out for us, I swear. I’m going to take care of you.”
Anakin keeps saying that, but his bump isn’t visible yet. And at Obi-Wan’s size, he really isn’t sure how much longer that can last for them.
Hearing Anakin promise to take care of them though is a comfort. Obi-Wan has been petrified since discovering those two little extra Force signatures flickering beside his own.
Obi-Wan wraps his arms protectively around his stomach, cradling Anakin’s head between them in the process. Anakin nuzzles his navel and turns his head; rests his cheek gently over Obi-Wan’s belly.
“So I can keep them then?” Obi-Wan asks timidly, needing the extra reassurance. “You’re not upset?”
“I’m not upset,” Anakin repeats soothingly. “This is a blessing from the Force, Obi-Wan. We were meant to start a family together.”
Obi-Wan sighs a bit with relief. His hands still keep trembling from nerves.
“And you’ll stay with me?” he asks, quieter. Insecure. “Even if we can’t be Jedi anymore?”
Anakin wraps his long arms around him as well, holding Obi-Wan close. So delicate with his touch.
“Always,” Anakin murmurs.