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When Anakin slips into his room, Obi-Wan feigns sleep for only a few minutes.
He’s almost naked, save for his briefs. His cunt is still somewhat spasming from the orgasm he’d given himself earlier, cunt sensitive from being used by one of his older toys, a fake cock modelled after a human’s to an excessively artistic degree. On purpose, he leaves it out in the open, haphazardly tossed to the side of the bed and still somewhat shiny from his own spit when he cleaned the taste of himself off the silicone earlier. On purpose, too, is the way he lays on his side, clinging to his pillow with a leg hooked over it, the stretched legholes of his briefs exposing enough of his cunt to the air. The temperature in the room is slightly warmer than he usually sets it, so he doesn’t freeze to death in case Anakin takes his time.
Thankfully, Anakin arrives as he always does. Obi-Wan dozes, lets Anakin take him all in; he knows what he must look like, can picture himself in his mind’s eye. Anakin must spot the phallus laying discarded on top of his sheets, because he approaches silently yet obviously, breathing heavily before reaching for the fake cock. Obi-Wan wants to look, wants to see the look on Anakin’s face as he inspects the dildo, but he bides his time; it wouldn’t do for Anakin to realise he’d been caught out while handling one of Obi-Wan’s toys before he could get his hands on him. The mortification might override his desire, and that would leave them on terms Obi-Wan doesn’t want to deal with until dawn breaks.
The bed dips as Anakin sits down at his usual place when he begins, at the edge of the mattress. Gently, he slips his fingers—the flesh ones—into the legholes of Obi-Wan’s briefs, gently pressing against his still-twitching cunt. Obi-Wan allows himself a slight flinch, sensitive, but tamps the reaction down with a soft sigh so as to not discourage Anakin’s explorations. Anakin, for his part, doesn’t startle or stop, instead pressing firmly against his folds to swipe against the slick wet there.
“Oh, Master...” Anakin murmurs softly under his breath, barely there and little more than a whisper. Obi-Wan represses a shiver at the sound of Anakin’s voice; he can’t overplay his hand, not yet. Not until Anakin fully commits himself.
The fingers slip away, impatience finally winning. Anakin’s hands are gentle as they pull his briefs down, only down to his knees, before those same hands pull his legs apart and carefully push at his shoulder to get him flat on his back. Then Anakin’s mouth is on his cunt, licking at his wet hole and lapping at the folds like a slavering dog.
It’s messy and sloppy, just as he expected of Anakin, but the way he eats Obi-Wan out is almost reckless. If he was actually asleep, Obi-Wan would’ve woken up at the feeling of his sensitive clit being nosed and sucked on. As it is, the aching pleasure is enough of a reason for him to blearily blink his eyes open and moan, softly, “Mmph, Anakin?”
The sucking stops, and he whines at the loss immediately. Anakin seems to take this as denial and retreats, eyes wide with fear and desperation, his mouth and chin glistening with wetness in the dark. “M-Master, I—”
“Come back,” Obi-Wan huffs, a touch petulant—he had a plan, he recognises distantly, but then Anakin’s sinful, plush mouth erased nearly every step of it save for the searing want burning through his belly. “Why’d you stop?”
“W-what?” Anakin stutters, confused and mortified and aroused all at once. He looks so young like this, and the sight of his furrowed brows and wide eyes and parted lips is enough to douse Obi-Wan in a wave of shame, but not nearly enough that he doesn’t continue to burn with the need to have Anakin between his legs again, the prospect of coming on his beautiful boy’s tongue as tempting as all the kyber in the galaxy.
He doesn’t grace Anakin with a verbal response. He’s excited, aroused, and dripping into the sheets—if Anakin isn’t going to obey a direct order, then Obi-Wan will just have to take over. He reaches down to his cunt and swipes his fingers through the mixture of his juices and Anakin’s spit before moving his fingers to his clit, rubbing at it as he plays with his chest, his eyes locked on Anakin’s baffled face. Really, he thinks derisively, mouth parting around a moan as he begins to rub, you’ll have me when you think I’m asleep, but not when you know I’m awake and wanting?
Thankfully, the sight of him rubbing his clit has Anakin swallowing thickly and moving closer, tentatively laying a hand on his master’s spread thigh. Obi-Wan slows to a leisurely pace, tongue darting out slightly and licking his lips just to watch the way Anakin follows the movement. “Well?” He asks, inhaling sharply as he pinches his own nipple. “Are you going to finish what you started, or should I take care of this myself?”
That seems to jolt Anakin into action, or at least, into doing anything other than sitting there and staring at him stupidly. He shifts forward, getting closer, eyes wild and wanting and shiny. “Master, I-I swear, it’s not what—”
“—it looks like? Oh, Anakin, I thought I taught you not to make excuses,” Obi-Wan hums a touch mockingly, lightly gyrating his hips to rub against his stilled fingers and relishing the plain hunger in Anakin’s eyes. “You break into my bedroom, molest my sleeping body, and suck on my clit like you have a right to do so, and you try to tell me it isn’t what it looks like?”
There are tears in Anakin’s eyes now, and for a moment, Obi-Wan considers pressing further, just to watch those tears well up and spill over. His padawan cries so prettily after all.
But Obi-Wan has wanted this long enough. He’s had enough of Anakin stealing into his body, now that he’d had those fantasies fulfilled—now, it’s time for Anakin to give him what he wanted as equal participants. After all, Anakin is a selfish boy, but Obi-Wan didn’t dedicate a decade of his life to training him to be selfless all for nothing.
“Make it up to me, Padawan,” he purrs, removing his hand from his cunt. Anakin blinks the tears back as his eyes dart between Obi-Wan’s face and his cunt, like he can’t possibly believe this is happening, like he hasn’t been training Obi-Wan’s body to crave his touch and attention these past few nights. “Show me you can give as good as you’ve taken,” he commands, kicking his briefs off and spreading his legs even wider, “show me what you’ve learned from using my body for your pleasure.”
Anakin swallows, a visible thing, and licks his lips. “Yes, Master,” he says hoarsely, bending back down and situating himself between Obi-Wan’s legs. Holding his master’s gaze, Anakin latches back onto his cunt, wrapping his perfect lips around the throbbing red of Obi-Wan’s clit as the man shudders and sighs, head falling back against the pillow.
“Good boy,” he hums, reaching forward to card his fingers through his former padawan’s curly hair. Anakin’s eyes flutter as his tongue dips into Obi-Wan’s weeping opening. “Oh, do you like that? Do you like it when I call you a good boy, dear one?” Anakin moans and nods slightly, mouthing messily at his cunt. “Then be good for me, be good for Master. It’s the least I deserve considering the past few nights.”
Obi-Wan laughs when Anakin’s eyes widen, squeezing his thighs around Anakin’s head when he feels him begin to move away to speak. “Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think I couldn’t tell? I have plenty of wet dreams, Padawan mine, but never any like the ones you gave me every night. You aren’t as thorough with cleaning me up afterwards as you think yourself to be.”
He reads the question in Anakin’s eyes, incapable of talking around Obi-Wan’s muff. Obi-Wan smiles, a touch cruelly. “Why didn’t I tell you I knew? Perhaps I was hoping you would come clean. That you would tell me the truth, that you’ve been sneaking into my room and taking advantage of me night after night.” He grinds up against Anakin’s lips, seeking completion as he speaks through gritted teeth. “Or perhaps I was horrified. How could my former padawan, who I all but raised, who saw me as a father figure by his own admission, assault me at my most vulnerable? Perhaps I was afraid of what you might become, had I confronted you.”
Anakin moans pitifully between his thighs, licking and sucking almost viciously, tonguefucking Obi-Wan’s stretched hole. “No, not quite,” Obi-Wan chuckles breathlessly, feeling his orgasm nearing. “The truth is, Anakin—ah—I wanted this. I wanted you to use me as I slept, to take advantage, to take liberties while I could do nothing but lay there and feel. You did so, so well, dear one; inviting yourself into my space, filling me up each night, using me and putting me away wet. You did as I wanted, even when I hadn’t asked, like– like a good b-boy—ah!”
He comes with a gasp as Anakin sucks his clit between his lips, making a mess all over his boy’s chin, dripping down to his robes. Anakin, locked between his thighs, stares up at him with desperation clear in his eyes, wet once more with tears that only serve to excite Obi-Wan even more. With a rough grip, he reaches for Anakin’s hair and lets his thighs fall before tugging him up, swallowing Anakin’s groan with his own lips and tasting his own tang on his padawan’s tongue.
He pulls back just enough to speak, staring up at Anakin’s beautiful, teary eyes. He keeps his voice low and intimate. “Do you want to fuck me, Padawan?”
Anakin nods, throat bobbing as he swallows, only to moan and shudder when Obi-Wan pulls harder at his hair. “Then ask nicely, darling,” he drawls, leaning forward to kiss Anakin’s jaw, just in time for the first of his salty tears to start falling. “You haven’t been asking me if you could fuck me whenever you had me, so why not start now? If you’re good for me, I might even let you come inside.”
“Please,” Anakin rasps, voice thick in his throat as he sniffles wetly, beautiful in his state of overwhelm, “please let me fuck you, Master. I’m sorry for not asking before.”
“So sweet,” Obi-Wan coos softly, pressing a scruffy kiss to Anakin’s salty cheek. “Was that so hard, dear one?” At Anakin’s croaked no, Obi-Wan finally relents and kisses him properly once more, licking into his obedient padawan’s mouth. “Go ahead, darling. Take that pretty cock of yours out, I want to see what you’ve been fucking me with.”
Anakin sniffles as he pulls back, hurriedly unfastening his robes and stripping out of his sleep clothes. Obi-Wan hums appreciatively when Anakin discards his boxers, rubbing at his chest as Anakin holds the base of his cock, long and pleasantly thick with the foreskin rolled back, finally giving Obi-Wan a proper visual to pair with the mouthwatering feeling of it inside him. “Beautiful,” he murmurs as Anakin draws closer, limbs coltish and bashful. “So pretty, my dear. I can’t believe you’ve been depriving me of seeing you like this. Don’t you think that’s so unfair?”
“Yes, Master,” Anakin replies, so polite—really, Obi-Wan has no choice but to reward his sweet padawan, which he does by tugging him closer by the waist, jolting him forward so the ruddy tip of his cock presses against his engorged clit in a perverse, velvet recreation of a kiss. They both moan at the sensation, just like they had that first night, when Obi-Wan first discovered the depths of his and Anakin’s depravity.
“Go ahead then, darling,” Obi-Wan urges, rubbing his former padawan’s heated side. “In me, slowly. I want to feel every inch of you.”
“Yes, Master,” Anakin repeats with a stuttered gasp as he slides his cockhead down from where it’s pressed against Obi-Wan’s throbbing clit. He can see his padawan’s jaw clench as Anakin carefully sinks into him, his cunt swallowing that perfect cock with familiar ecstasy. The feeling of being filled while fully awake, without the veil of sleep whether real or feigned separating them, is one that Obi-Wan has sorely missed.
He loses himself in the pleasure, cooing soft and meaningless praises into his beautiful boy’s ear as Anakin gives his all to him. Dragging him closer until they’re pressed chest to chest, Obi-Wan kisses him, sucking on his tongue as he fucks into his master with the moaning, panting urgency of a dog in rut. An image of Anakin using his sinful tongue on Obi-Wan’s cunt while collared to a leash wrapped tight around his fist flashes through his mind, and before long, his control snaps and he comes with a gasp, clenching down around the sinful length of Anakin’s cock.
Anakin follows shortly after him, spilling inside with a high-pitched whine and a soft cry of Master. Petting his hair and rubbing their sweaty chests against each other, Obi-Wan kisses his dearest padawan with all the softness his previous words lacked, relishing in the haze of warmth and affection and attachment permeating their twined Force signatures. Carding his fingers through the tangles of his dearest padawan’s hair, lips salty with the mingled taste of his cunt and Anakin’s tears, Obi-Wan finally falls asleep.
When he wakes up in the morning, it’s early and the sky is still grey with darkness. He isn’t alone for once, with Anakin’s face squashed almost suffocatingly against his chest and the mattress, his breaths slow and steady. Obi-Wan smiles softly, laying a gentle kiss on Anakin’s forehead, and goes back to sleep.