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Obi-Wan quickly determined that the mission to Korda was a blessing and a curse. To be fair, it was entirely the former—he hadn’t had the chance to spend more than a few minutes at Anakin’s side in weeks—but he wasn’t particularly inclined to be charitable at the moment. There would be plenty of time for charitable once he managed to get Anakin alone.
It might have seemed something of a coincidence that he and Anakin had both been assigned to this mission, if Obi-Wan had believed in such things. They had been the only unengaged Jedi close enough to satisfy the demands of practicality and the urgent needs of the war. Obi-Wan didn’t suppose that the Force particularly cared about his personal life, but right now, he wasn’t about to question whatever providence had brought them together. Something tight and distasteful had eased in his chest when he’d learned that Anakin would be meeting him planetside.
Of course, the negotiations they had been sent to undertake would be much more comfortable if Anakin would only keep his hands to himself.
Korda was a sizeable planet that had become known during the war for its hesitant neutrality. The Council and the Senate had responded eagerly when the Kordese High Assembly began making tentative overtures of alliance with the Republic, especially given that one of the planet’s two main exports was fuel. The Senate’s instructions were straightforward: Obi-Wan and Anakin were to secure an alliance with Korda as soon as possible and procure enough fuel to ease the burden on Malastare’s refineries.
The negotiations had dragged on all day in a comfortable little chamber in the Ministerial Palace, but they hadn’t been particularly difficult; Obi-Wan was confident that the fuel would be on its way to a nearby Republic base within days.
But it wasn’t the fuel that was the problem. It was Korda’s other primary export, one with absolutely zero bearing on the war, which was currently the bane of Obi-Wan’s existence. Delicately-wrought ceramics made of a fine gold clay from a peninsula called the Sunrise Flats, the resulting products were so gossamer thin that one could practically see right through them.
Obi-Wan listened to the Prime Minister detail another counter offer, one which so far seemed more than acceptable, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Anakin’s thumb rubbed lightly against the handle of his almost translucent teacup.
No, not his teacup, Obi-Wan’s. Obi-wan still wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but somehow, very shortly after the High Assembly had served tea to open the negotiations, Obi-Wan’s cup had found its way into Anakin’s possession. Over the course of the day, he had been made to suffer in silence while Anakin’s hands, one flesh and one clad in leather, had curved around the body of that cup, fingers curling and tracing over the prints left by Obi-Wan’s own.
Every movement Obi-Wan caught—which was all of them—felt like the ghost of a touch on his own hand. It was impossible not to imagine putting those hands to better use. Anakin did so delight in tormenting him, and even if he seemed to do it unintentionally half the time, Obi-Wan rather thought he knew exactly what he was doing right now.
The smugness Obi-Wan could feel rolling off of him was all the proof he needed.
“I am certain those terms will be agreeable to the Senate,” Obi-Wan told the Prime Minister. He was sure they somehow wouldn’t be, even though they were perfectly within the parameters for acceptance he had been given, but that was a problem for tomorrow; he had done what he’d come here to do, and it was a fair agreement. As he spoke, he tried to ignore the way Anakin’s fingers shifted infinitesimally on the cup. The fragile gold was barely visible, given the breadth of Anakin’s hand, and somehow it felt almost obscene. Obi-Wan considered it a testament to his training that his voice was even and sure; he’d been on the brink of half hard all day.
He was pretty sure no one but Anakin had noticed. Probably he should have better control over himself, but there was only so much he could possibly do when it came to Anakin.
The Prime Minister inclined her head, the coronet of her office flashing silver on her brow, and the rest of the Assembly followed suit. “Then we will sign the treaty in the morning, Master Jedi. I will have someone return you to your chambers.”
The Kordese didn’t believe in officially beginning new ventures at day’s end.
Obi-Wan bowed his own head in response and stood, Anakin abruptly uncurling his fingers from around the cup and doing the same barely an instant later.
The walk to their quarters felt like the longest of Obi-Wan’s life, with Anakin striding distractedly beside him on the heels of the Minister assigned as their guide. The time between the meeting chamber and the rooms they had been given seemed to be measured in months instead of minutes.
They were nice quarters, the ceilings high and arched over a graceful sitting area that led off to two modest bedchambers, but Obi-Wan only knew that because he had seen them briefly before Anakin arrived and the negotiations began. Right now, the entirely of his attention was preoccupied with Anakin.
“Did you intend to drive me mad?” Obi-Wan asked as soon as the door had slid fully closed behind them, his tone almost conversational. He took a few steps into the room before turning to survey Anakin, folding his arms carefully into his robes. He’d been burning to touch Anakin all day, but there was something almost achingly sweet about the anticipation of delaying it just a moment longer. It felt like surveying a feast before falling to gluttony.
“Did I?” Anakin asked, leaning his shoulders back against the door. For a moment he seemed unsure what to do with his own hands. Finally, he folded his arms over his chest in a near mirror image of Obi-Wan, fingers gripped tightly around the strain of his forearms. He licked his lips, and the movement seemed to be unconscious. “Did I drive you mad?”
Anakin must have known the answer to that question. He must have seen how Obi-Wan’s eyes had sometimes lingered almost a little too long. Still, here, alone, Obi-Wan loosened his habitual control in response nonetheless. That wasn’t a doubt he ever wanted in Anakin’s mind, not even remotely.
Not even if the words were said half in jest.
Obi-Wan’s desire coiled like a tangible thing in the air between them. “You tell me.”
Anakin’s posture relaxed a little further, the door taking more of his weight. The corners of his mouth, still wet from that brief touch of his tongue, finally turned up in a smirk. “Well, are you going to do anything about it?”
If Obi-Wan hadn’t been fully hard the moment they’d walked through the door, Anakin’s overconfident tone would have done it. Oh, Obi-Wan was going to take him apart piece by piece, until they were both an absolute mess.
That had been Anakin’s hope all along.
“What would you like me to do about it, Anakin?” Obi-Wan kept his voice steady as he began to methodically remove his cloak. He perhaps exaggerated his movements just a little, and was rewarded when Anakin’s eyes automatically zeroed in on his hands.
“You could fuck me into the mattress, for one,” Anakin said, the words more than a little distracted as he followed every curl and release of Obi-Wan’s fingers. They both knew that was what this whole thing had been about, after all; he’d been dying to feel Obi-Wan's hands on him all day.
If there was one thing that made how much he wanted Anakin bearable, it was that Anakin wanted him back just as much—even if it did get them into situations like today’s. Anakin was like air, like sunlight, but then, Anakin had once whispered against his skin that Obi-Wan was like water in a desert afire.
Obi-Wan contemplated Anakin for a moment as he pondered what to say next, absently folding his cloak and draping it over the brocaded back of a nearby chair. His fingers went to his belt, and Anakin’s eyes followed from where he still leaned against the door.
Finally, Obi-Wan spoke.
“I’d like you to be undressed before I am, Anakin, or all I’ll be touching tonight is your robes.” He would do it, too—would bend Anakin over the edge of the nearest bed or pin him to the mattress and bring them both off without ever touching skin. He didn’t think he’d have to, unless Anakin decided that he wanted to torment Obi-Wan further. It was rare that Anakin wanted that even more than he wanted Obi-Wan’s hands on his skin.
That, too, said something about how much Anakin wanted him.
Obi-Wan’s fingers continued to move with a slow, measured precision that would give Anakin all the time he needed to make his decision, but Anakin didn’t even hesitate before scrambling out of his robes, nearly tripping in his haste. He was naked before even half of Obi-Wan’s own attire was neatly folded over the chair.
For a brief moment, Obi-Wan considered speeding up and joining Anakin in nakedness as quickly as possible. The leanly muscled lines of Anakin’s body, his cock flushed hard and arching towards his stomach, his fingers clenching futilely around air with the need to touch—it was better than any dream or fantasy that had filled so many nights alone.
But something about the over-bright desire in Anakin’s eyes was intoxicating, and Obi-Wan found that he wanted to draw it out just a moment longer. It seemed hot enough to warm Obi-Wan from the inside out.
“You can pick a bed, Anakin, if you’d like me to fuck you.”
Anakin nodded sharply, eagerly, before disappearing into the nearest bedchamber, and the implicit trust that Obi-Wan would take care of him…Force, it was like taking a breath after suffocating for weeks. It filled Obi-Wan to overflowing.
Obi-Wan finished undressing, still not hurrying his movements; if nothing else, it gave him time to at least try to compose himself, even if he wasn’t at all successful. When he was finally naked, he found the small pack he had left in these quarters on his brief stop this morning.
Thank the Force he had remembered to bring lube.
When Obi-Wan entered the bedchamber, Anakin was already spread out in the bed, bare durasteel fingers pressed to his stomach just above the flushed head of his cock. His other hand was curled into the pillow beside his head as if he was trying not to touch himself, and…
And both of them had waited long enough. Without hesitation, as waves drawn inexorably to shore, Obi-Wan stretched out beside him. The slide of skin on skin was like gravity and free fall at once.
Obi-Wan propped himself up on one arm next to Anakin, pressing in all down Anakin’s side, and burrowed his fingers into the spread of curls on the pillow. Anakin’s head arched instinctively into the palm of his hand, lips parting on a wordless gasp, and Obi-Wan almost had to close his eyes against the sight.
It seemed too much, almost, after wanting all day, and yet it could never, ever be enough.
“You’ve been tormenting me with your hands all day,” he murmured, because he needed something to ground him, even if it was only the sound of his own voice. His cock throbbed where it pressed against Anakin’s hip, and he pushed in a little closer, seeking relief.
“I’m not sorry,” Anakin said, voice unsteady but sure, and reached his durasteel fingers up to thread between Obi-Wan’s in his hair.
Obi-Wan shook his head and gave Anakin’s cock a single, firm stroke with his free hand, twisting tightly around the head, before trailing fingers already damp with precome up Anakin’s chest. He pulled at one nipple until it peaked, and pressed a kiss to Anakin’s temple. “Well, now I’d like to see you open yourself up on them.”
Anakin made a desperate noise of assent, and Obi-Wan tugged at his nipple one more time before reaching for the lube and pressing it into Anakin’s flesh fingers. Somehow they managed to open it together, each of them one-handed, and Anakin finally, finally crooked his legs and reached down past his cock to press two fingers into his body.
Anakin’s fingers went in easily, and Obi-Wan wrapped his hand back around Anakin’s cock for another stroke. “Did you do this to yourself this morning?”
“Yes,” Anakin managed, breath catching as he worked his fingers in and out of his hole, head canting on the pillow so that his lips were inches from Obi-Wan’s. It settled his head more firmly against their joined hands in his hair. “I didn’t know how much time we’d have.”
Obi-Wan pumped Anakin’s cock one last time and then let his fingers wander down, skimming over the back of Anakin’s hand as it thrust between his legs. The thought of him alone, with nothing but his own fingers...
“Oh, Force,” Anakin whispered, and Obi-Wan skated his fingers along the tender underside of Anakin’s wrist, charting over the tracery of veins. He rubbed against the join of the two fingers fucking into Anakin’s body.
“May I, dear one?”
Anakin made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a plea, practically radiating desire in the Force, but Obi-Wan needed to hear it. He tugged at the curve of Anakin’s bottom lip with his own teeth, pressing into the plushness of it before releasing.
“Kriff, yes,” Anakin gasped out.
Obi-Wan swept his thumb over the underside of Anakin’s wrist one more time and breathed out shakily as he eased his index finger into Anakin’s hole on the next in-stroke, right there beneath Anakin’s own two digits. Somehow, the soft steel of Anakin’s fingers and the curve of his knuckles seemed more pronounced than ever, snugged up against Obi-Wan’s inside the tight heat of his body.
Anakin was choking out little sounds of pleasure almost continuously, his cock twitching against his stomach. Obi-Wan wished he could taste it, but he would have to leave that until later; they had the whole night, a luxury they were both unused to.
Obi-Wan lost track of time, consumed entirely by the heat of Anakin’s body against his own and the wet, slick slide of their combined fingers in and out of Anakin’s hole. When Anakin felt loose enough, Obi-Wan worked a second finger in as well, deliberately pushing Anakin’s fingers up against his prostate as he did so. Anakin jerked his head roughly, mouth seeking Obi-Wan’s with a moan. Obi-Wan gave him what he wanted, letting him sweep inside with his tongue, and Anakin tasted like sunrise and clear, open skies.
“Anakin,” he murmured after a moment, pulling back just enough to press their foreheads together. The wet sound of their fingers moving together filled the room, mingling with the unsteadiness of his own breathing and Anakin’s almost constant noises. “I’m going to ask a question, and I want you to answer me honestly.” He waited until Anakin nodded unevenly, forehead moving damply against his own. “Would you like me to continue fucking you like this, with my fingers, or would you like my cock?” He gripped Anakin’s hair a little tighter, wanting to make it very, very clear: “You can have whichever you like, Anakin.”
“Both.”
For a moment, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if Anakin was simply being indecisive, but then…
“At the same time?” He asked carefully. Just asking made Obi-Wan so hard he could barely breathe, and he had to stop himself from thrusting against Anakin’s hip because it would pull him over the edge far too soon. He imagined flipping Anakin over, pulling him to his knees, fucking into his hole in a slow, delirious advance. He thought about working one finger in alongside his cock, more pressure and thickness than Anakin had ever taken before.
He thought about urging Anakin to add a finger as well, if he wanted to, until Anakin was stuffed full of the both of them together.
Obi-Wan kept his voice steady, trying to keep a tight rein on his own desire. “Would you like that, Anakin?”
Anakin was practically panting, eyes blown wide behind fluttering eyelashes, lips parted and slick. His tongue flicked out to touch his bottom lip, and if Obi-Wan could, he would push his fingers into Anakin’s mouth just to see his cheeks hollow around them.
But Anakin was still pressing into the fingers wrapped tight in his curls, and Obi-Wan wasn’t quite ready to give up the tight grip of Anakin’s hole and the slow press of their fingers inside. He ached, sometimes, from wanting to touch Anakin in so many ways, all at once. All the time.
“Yeah,” Anakin whispered brokenly. “Please, yes. Please, Obi-Wan.” The durasteel of his fingers flexed around Obi-Wan’s in his hair, not too tight but inexorably there, as if he wanted to be closer to Obi-Wan in every possible way. His other hand, fingers still tight against Obi-Wan’s in his ass, jerked to a stop as if he simply couldn’t concentrate on everything at once.
Obi-Wan was more than happy to help. He crooked his own fingers against Anakin’s, maintaining a slow, steady rhythm that kept both of their hands moving. On each inward glide, he pressed firmly against Anakin’s prostate before easing up, pulling their fingers back to catch the pads against Anakin’s rim. The sounds Anakin was making, desperate and hoarse...
Force, their memory would torment him on all the days and nights he would spend alone in the future.
But Anakin was here, now, and Obi-Wan didn’t want to waste their time thinking about the next inevitable separation that duty would bring.
“Force, you’re gorgeous,” Obi-Wan breathed on a particularly deep press, and Anakin’s eyes squeezed closed, the flush on his chest deepening just a little. Obi-Wan had seen a thousand wonders in the galaxy and more, from the oceans of Mon Cala to the forests of Naboo.
None of them could compare to the sight of Anakin with his curls in disarray around their hands on the pillow, his cock leaking stickily against his stomach, his hole tight around their fingers.
“Please, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said again as Obi-Wan tugged their fingers almost free of his body once more. He tried to rock down against their hands, chasing fullness, but Obi-Wan moved with him and their fingers hovered just on the brink of slipping out.
“Look at me,” Obi-Wan murmured, and when he could finally see the sliver of blue that remained around his pupils, he gave Anakin one last sure thrust. “Keep your fingers where they are until I tell you otherwise.” He nudged Anakin’s fingers up against his prostate. “Just like this.”
This time, Obi-Wan drew his fingers all the way out, letting them catch against Anakin’s knuckles as they went. Anakin made a sound of protest, but it cut of sharply, eagerly, when Obi-Wan disentangled himself from Anakin to kneel between his thighs. Anakin’s hand was still moving minutely between his legs, just enough that Obi-Wan knew his fingers were circling relentlessly against his prostate. It never ceased to make Obi-Wan’s heart ache that Anakin allowed him to take him apart like this, even when Anakin was so close to orgasm that it must have been torment.
He reached blindly for the lube, somehow managed to find it on his first try, and slicked himself up as quickly and efficiently as he could. He was so hard he could barley stand to touch himself without thrusting into his own grip, but there was something he wanted infinitely more.
“Fingers out now, Anakin,” he instructed, and when Anakin pulled his fingers free with a hitched breath, Obi-Wan lifted Anakin’s legs over his shoulders and pressed home.
Obi-Wan gave Anakin two, three, four slow thrusts, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming pleasure of getting to fuck into him again, finally, after weeks of nothing but his own hand. Anakin clutched desperately at the sheets beside them, and for a moment, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he would move to stroke himself off or if he’d try to come untouched.
But Anakin made no effort to uncurl his fingers from their grip. Finally, unable to wait any longer, Obi-Wan thumbed gently at his rim, red and slick and swollen where Obi-Wan was driving into him, and Anakin let out a hoarse cry.
“Now,” Anakin begged. “Please.”
“How full do you think we can get you?” Obi-Wan asked, his own voice like gravel in the air. “One finger? Two?” He could almost see Anakin stretched around the combined thickness, could practically feel the delirious pressure against his own cock, and he didn’t think think he’d even get one all the way in before they were both coming.
Sure enough, he tugged just a little with the pad of his thumb, hooked barely the tip inside, and watched as Anakin came all over his own stomach.
It was almost too much to withstand. Obi-Wan stared at his thumb against Anakin’s rim, felt it rub up against his own cock, and came as deeply inside Anakin’s body as he could after only a few more thrusts.
Utterly spent, Obi-Wan slumped back down to the bed, managing to spare Anakin’s body the worst of his weight.
“Can we try that again sometime?” Anakin asked when he could finally speak, voice a little hazy, and raised one still-shaky hand to curl around the slope of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “But…more?”
Obi-Wan wrapped fingers around Anakin’s other hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “We can do anything you’d like, Anakin.”