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Anakin was visiting him again. The sun-kissed young man visited Obi-Wan often, to help him fix his vaporator, to drive the both of them into Anchorhead at the same time to save on speeder fuel, to spend a sunset staring out at the Wastes together while sharing a pot of chilled tea. This time, Anakin had brought him a comb for his beard, a sort of comfort Obi-Wan had not had in several years.
Not since… Obi-Wan lost everything.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, kneeling down by Obi-Wan’s sitting mat. He held the comb in his hand—carved from the wood of one of the few scraggly breeds of tree which grew on this desert planet. “May I comb your beard for you?”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, looking up at Anakin’s boyish, angular face. “If you wanted me to put a little more effort into my personal grooming, you could have just asked.”
Anakin’s gaze slipped away for a moment, and his ears burned reddish between his curls, but when he looked back his eyes held even more determination and intensity than before. “I want to do it for you.”
Obi-Wan felt pinned in place, like he’d been run through with a ‘saber, but then the feeling passed and Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine why he’d felt that way in the first place. Perhaps Anakin was wondering what it would be like if he could grow a beard—Obi-Wan remembered very distinctly that he hadn’t been able to grow one until some years older than Anakin was now.
“If you’d like,” Obi-Wan agreed, far too late for it to sound natural.
His mouth felt supremely dry, and his gaze flicked between Anakin’s eyes and his plush lips, then back again. Anakin’s lips shone in the scorching late-afternoon light of the twin suns, like they were wet still from the water that Obi-Wan had given him upon his arrival. That same water wasn’t helping Obi-Wan now, though.
Anakin’s eyes sparkled with something unfathomable as he reached over toward their abandoned cups. His fingers dipped into his own—wasteful, Obi-Wan thought idly, but he let the thought pass over him like a gentle breeze—and then he wet the comb. The wooden tines didn’t quite soak up the moisture, but instead beads of it slipped to the end of each small protrusion, and then Anakin passed the comb through Obi-Wan’s beard once, twice, three times. Anakin wet the comb again before starting on the other side also.
Obi-Wan shivered at the sensation—it really had been such a long time since he’d felt something like this. When one was settled in a tiny hut on the edge of the Dune Sea, there was little time or resources for such frivolity as grooming one’s facial hair. When one was a new fugitive of the Empire, tired and hungry, alone and scarred, following the last traces of light in an oppressive dark, that was even more the case.
“You’re really beautiful, you know.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes, which had somehow closed while Anakin was tending to him, flew open. His gaze snapped to Anakin’s face, which was staring at him with an open sort of hunger. It reminded Obi-Wan of a young desert lion he had seen once, hunting its first prey.
“How do you mean, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, drawing back just a little—though Anakin’s hands followed him, continuing to tenderly brush through the bristles of his beard. “I’m not—”
That wasn’t a word people had ever used to describe him, even when he was younger. Jedi kept neat appearances, of course, but they tried to avoid vanity. And moreover—living years on a desert planet, hiding like a womprat, surely hadn’t done his complexion any favors.
“You are,” Anakin insisted. “So handsome. When I first met you, I couldn’t believe you weren’t married already.”
Anakin set the comb down, but he didn’t back away from Obi-Wan like Obi-Wan had expected he would. Instead, he remained in Obi-Wan’s personal space—a fact which seemed to elevate Obi-Wan’s heart rate, though he couldn’t quite explain why. Obi-Wan’s hand, the knuckles weathered by time, came up and wrapped around Anakin’s wrist, but he didn’t pull Anakin away.
“I see the way you look at me when you think I can’t see,” Anakin murmured, rubbing his thumb against Obi-Wan’s jawline. “I make you hot, I can tell. You want me.” He paused, as if reassuring himself. “You do.”
“I—Anakin—” Obi-Wan’s brain spun in his head with no resting place for it to land; there was no peace, only swirling emotion rising up in him. It was shameful, how fast he was to confirm Anakin’s findings now that Anakin had put it out in the open. “I can’t…”
“Why not?” Anakin asked. He leaned in, making Obi-Wan’s mind go haywire, and hovered just close enough that Obi-Wan could feel his breath on his cheek. “You’re not married—I could change that, though, if you want. Come live out here with you instead of at the farm, cook for you every day instead of just on the weekends. I could kriff you so good every night that I have to carry you to the refresher afterwards because you can’t walk.”
Some electric zing skittered down Obi-Wan’s spine, but so too did a hot bolt of shame. He couldn’t seriously be entertaining the idea—Anakin was so young, still barely a man. Barely any older than the Padawan Obi-Wan had almost taken, just before everything had crumbled into dust. He couldn’t seriously be looking at Obi-Wan as a prospective—
“Anakin, you cannot be serious,” Obi-Wan chided, turning his gaze away. Somehow, the twin suns were already setting, casting the entire sky into a blood red glow. “I’m far too old for you. You should find a younger, more suitable—”
“There’s no one more suitable,” Anakin insisted stubbornly. “Just say if you don’t believe me, Obi-Wan. I can prove it.”
Obi-Wan could feel Anakin’s frustration well up in the Force around him—it was almost overwhelming. Anakin had never been trained in the ways of the Force, and since he only rarely went into Anchorhead Obi-Wan had always thought it safer to leave him in ignorance, but now… Obi-Wan could read Anakin like a datapad. He sensed and cataloged Anakin’s frustration, determination… his desire.
“Prove it?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice weak.
Anakin’s hands trailed down from Obi-Wan’s face, moving to the neckline of his shirt, and then even further, rubbing around Obi-Wan’s thickly-muscled waist in a clear declaration of intent. Anakin breathed in deep, and kissed Obi-Wan on the cheek, then pulled back. His gaze pierced Obi-Wan through, peeling open the layers of Obi-Wan’s heart he hadn’t even known were there.
“Let me show you,” Anakin breathed, his hands moving lower, playing with the hem of Obi-Wan’s shirt. “Please, I’ll make it good for you.”
Obi-Wan sucked in a shaking breath. He’d had no idea—despite the fact that Anakin had clearly read something wildly inappropriate from their interactions, Obi-Wan hadn’t known at all that Anakin wanted something more. But looking at Anakin now, it was impossible to miss. Anakin’s pupils had swallowed the sweet blue of his irises, dark and desirous. His hands kept moving, touching Obi-Wan in ways that bordered on invasive but glanced away just before it became too much. There was an obvious tent in his trousers, when Obi-Wan looked, not at all subtle.
Something shifted in his heart, like a key turning in a lock, and Obi-Wan let go of his resistance. He could feel the way the Force sang around him, wicking away most of the guilt and shame at having this much younger man, at having any happiness at all after what had happened to the Order.
Anakin, unable to parse what was happening in the Force around him, was still clearly able to sense the fluctuation in it—or perhaps he just saw the expression on Obi-Wan’s face change. He tackled Obi-Wan down onto the hard-packed earthen floor of the hut, and kissed Obi-Wan’s face once, twice, thrice.
“Thank you,” Anakin murmured, as he moved his lips down to Obi-Wan’s jaw, then lower, to his neck. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”
“Not on the floor, please,” Obi-Wan protested, pushing at Anakin truly for the first time. “My back won’t thank you later.”
“Where, then?” Anakin asked, breathless.
Obi-Wan took a deep, steadying breath. “My bed should do well enough.”
Anakin scrambled up and, when he was on his feet, held out both hands to Obi-Wan who was still flat on his back. Obi-Wan took one hand and pulled, and soon he was standing also. Anakin kept hold of his hand and used it as a lead to pull Obi-Wan through a small archway into Obi-Wan’s “bedroom.”
It really was simply a room with a bed; it was the closest thing Obi-Wan had to his austere room in the Temple. Every other room was filled with the necessities of life, but this one room was neat and clean, and lent itself well to Obi-Wan’s meditation.
It would be harder now, Obi-Wan thought somewhat hysterically, as he allowed Anakin to spin him around and push him onto the low, squat bed. The rough banthafur blanket that kept him warm during the cold desert nights rubbed against his clothes, and then it didn’t anymore because Anakin began to strip him like a madman. Obi-Wan’s shirt ended up discarded on the floor, grains of sand skittering around at the disturbance. His trousers ended up somewhere similar, but Obi-Wan couldn’t look because he was too busy looking at Anakin, who was looking at him.
Anakin’s gaze practically dripped over Obi-Wan’s mostly naked body. He lingered on Obi-Wan’s pecs, full and thick, on the hair that sprouted generously and trailed all the way down to where his smallclothes hid his burgeoning erection. He gazed over the strong, smooth planes of Obi-Wan’s abdomen, which despite the generally poor nutrition on Tatooine had still maintained their strength. Slowly, Anakin drew his hands up to Obi-Wan’s thickly-muscled thighs, and he settled in between them as if he’d been born to do it.
Obi-Wan watched as Anakin’s cock twitched in his clothes, the amorous thing framed by Obi-Wan’s own body, and he flushed deeply and turned his head away.
“Don’t get embarrassed,” Anakin teased, leaning down to press a kiss against Obi-Wan’s pec. His tongue flicked out, and swirled around, wetting the salt and sand of Obi-Wan’s chest hair. “Kriff, you’re so hot. I’ve never been able to get over it, not since the first time I saw you.”
“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan begged, not entirely knowing what he was begging for, whether he was asking for Anakin to stop, to stop teasing him, or to keep using his tongue just like that.
Anakin hummed, and then he moved down, pressing wet, open mouth kisses to Obi-Wan’s body as he did. Even though Anakin had been the one to teach Obi-Wan most of what he knew about conserving water, he didn’t seem to be very concerned with it himself at the moment. He fumbled when he got to Obi-Wan’s smallclothes, clumsily trying to pull them off without ripping them and without removing himself from between Obi-Wan’s legs.
Eventually, Obi-Wan took some semblance of pity on him and scooted back so that he could kick his clothes off, and then he was bare to the room, to Anakin.
“Stop looking so intently,” Obi-Wan asked, reaching out with a strong hand and redirecting Anakin’s gaze to his face.
“I can’t help it,” Anakin said, his tone bordering on reverence, his wandering hands on the obscene. “You’re just so perfect.”
Obi-Wan laughed, watching Anakin’s dark eyelashes fan and flutter shut as he moved closer, until the fabric of his clothes was catching on Obi-Wan’s body hair. His cheekbones were so high and beautiful, his windswept curls artfully disheveled.
“Rich, coming from you,” Obi-Wan murmured.
He let Anakin worm his way out of his own clothes—which went much better than Obi-Wan’s disrobing, given that Anakin didn’t have someone between his thighs—and then Anakin was on him again, working his way up Obi-Wan’s body this time, ending by holding Obi-Wan’s face in place and having him receive a sloppy wet kiss to his lips.
Something in Obi-Wan lit on fire, though the flickering edges were still tinged with doubt and shame. Anakin was kissing him like Tatooine’s twin suns were exploding and taking everything with them, or like the galaxy was crumbling apart now instead of a scant few years ago. The worst part was that Obi-Wan liked it, liked having Anakin’s bodyweight laying on him, liked feeling Anakin’s cock rubbing against his own. He was getting harder and harder, to the point where he could feel wetness puddling between their bellies, making them both messy and sticky.
Anakin swept one hand between their bellies, collecting up some of the wetness, and worked his fingers down between Obi-Wan’s thighs. He spread the wetness around, and Obi-Wan shuddered at the questing feel of the fingertips against his hole. It had been quite some time since he’d indulged, but Obi-Wan was no stranger to the sensation of the edge of a finger dipping shallowly into him.
Anakin fucked him shallowly with his fingers for a few moments, relaxing Obi-Wan. He didn’t go too deep, but Obi-Wan could feel the dry pinch of it before Anakin sat back and pulled his clothes up from the floor, then yanked a small pot free of the fabric. He twisted the cap off and drew his fingers through the liquid inside, pulling it back up with lewd drips falling free onto Obi-Wan’s blanket underneath them.
As if mimicking the sight, Obi-Wan’s cock pulsed a little more precome out to wet the hair on his belly. Anakin wet his cock with the mixture, slicking it until the red head of it shone in the waning light of the day. He smeared the rest of what he’d collected onto Obi-Wan’s hole, taking a moment to spear two fingers in and spread them obscenely to check the stretch of it.
Anakin stilled, as if fascinated, looking down between Obi-Wan’s powerful thighs. Embarrassment seized Obi-Wan such that he twisted his body so that Anakin’s fingers were dislodged, and then he wrapped his thighs around Anakin to pin him in place.
“Sorry, sorry,” Anakin squeaked, “I’ve just never…”
Obi-Wan sighed, then let Anakin go. The boy immediately settled himself back between Obi-Wan’s legs, adjusting him this way and that until he was in a fairly comfortable position. He took himself into hand, lined them up, and pressed in.
Obi-Wan was tight, owing to how long it had been since he’d had anything of a size within him. Anakin felt huge inside of him, pushing in bit by bit, just fast enough that Obi-Wan couldn’t feel like he was used to it by the end. His legs began to tremble, and then he groaned when Anakin began to pull out again, throwing a big bicep across his face to hide how overwhelmed he was just from this.
Anakin didn’t stop—he thrust in harder the second time, grazing Obi-Wan’s prostate and forcing out a punched-out moan from Obi-Wan’s lips. Anakin fucked like he kissed—with everything he had, like nothing else mattered. Before long, Anakin was rolling his hips in drawn-out, slightly erratic strokes. Each one stoked the fire in Obi-Wan’s gut to be bigger, fiercer, harsher, until he had to make a conscious effort not to writhe into the sheets too much.
“Let me hear you,” Anakin demanded, reaching up and pressing a hand against Obi-Wan’s bicep, “please.”
Obi-Wan held firm for a few moments, hiding himself and covering his noises with his arm, but then he gave into this also, letting his arm fall above his head and his moans fall free from his lips. When he opened his eyes, he almost didn’t feel embarrassed about it either, because he was too enthralled by what was happening in front of him.
Anakin’s gaze was locked as a laser on Obi-Wan’s body, watching the way it jumped with each fierce thrust. His curls were wet with his own sweat, beads of which rolled down his neck and dripped onto Obi-Wan’s belly, his hard cock. He held Obi-Wan by his thick waist, pounding into him with abandon.
All around him, Obi-Wan could feel Anakin’s desire, pulsing and winding around Anakin as if a Krayt dragon defending its nest. It was smothering—and it made wildfire run through him like nothing else. Three strokes of Anakin’s cock against his prostate more, and Obi-Wan choked on air and came so hard he saw stars.
Anakin followed him a few moments later, his eyes rolling back into his head and his hips stuttering as he began to shoot stripe after white stripe of his come into Obi-Wan’s hole. Obi-Wan’s chest heaved as he breathed in deeply, watching as his… his young man finished spending inside of him.
He couldn’t think of anything else, when they were like this.
Anakin pulled out of him, again watching as his come drooled slowly back out of Obi-Wan’s hole. Obi-Wan would have grabbed him again, except that he was tired after such a vigorous round of activity.
The inky blackness outside reminded him that it was too late to be up, now. The chill of the night was already seeping into the room, and in the back of his mind Obi-Wan thought that he would rather Anakin be overtop of him again, instead of so far away.
“Kriff,” Anakin said, then cleared his throat. “Kriff, Obi-Wan, that was… the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Obi-Wan had to agree—not that he’d had much experience, he had had much more important things to do before the fall of the Order. But of those limited experiences, he had to admit that there had been something… almost special about this. Perhaps it was the fact that Anakin was Force sensitive…
…Or perhaps it was that Anakin was the one who helped him fix his vaporators, who drove the both of them into Anchorhead when they needed to go, and who shared a pot of chilled tea with him while watching the sunset.
“I rather enjoyed myself as well,” Obi-Wan admitted.
Anakin bloomed out in the Force, not knowing that he was broadcasting everything he was feeling to Obi-Wan as clearly as the stars mapped out the galaxy above. Obi-Wan winced as he sat up, but the sting faded quickly when he could grab Anakin by the shoulders again.
“What will you do now?” Obi-Wan asked, not unkindly.
It was too late to pretend nothing had happened between them. Obi-Wan would bear this encounter like a brand on his heart for the rest of his life, even if nothing else changed about their relationship. And, he knew Anakin quite well at this point, and the young man was much more sentimental than Obi-Wan himself. Anakin was—
“What do you mean?” Anakin asked. “Do you want me to… do something?” He yawned, though he tried to hide it. “I can make you a snack, if you’re hungry. Bring you water, if you’re thirsty.”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “Simply tired.”
“Then lie down, Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmured, pushing Obi-Wan in that direction.
A few moments later, and Anakin was latched onto Obi-Wan’s back with his arms wrapped around Obi-Wan’s body. Obi-Wan’s heart still thumped a slightly raucous drumbeat in his chest, but it was much relaxed now that this had already passed.
But still—there were other considerations Obi-Wan still needed to think of before he could lay himself to rest.
“Won’t your mother worry?”
Anakin sighed, pressing his face into Obi-Wan’s shoulder blade. “No. I told her that if I didn’t come home, it was because you hadn’t rejected me.”
Obi-Wan suddenly felt strangled, knowing that Shmi—a wonderful, kind woman, with a past just as horrific as Anakin’s and an age only very slightly more advanced than Obi-Wan’s—knew. “You told your mother?”
“I’d have to eventually, anyway,” Anakin murmured, smug. “I’m going to bring you home tomorrow and introduce you again as my lover.”
“You think you’re doing what now?”
Obi-Wan tried to turn a circle in Anakin’s arms, to look at him in disbelief, but Anakin was holding him too tightly, and Obi-Wan didn’t think it was important enough to break that hold on him. Anakin squeezed him close.
“You can’t back out now, Obi-Wan,” he said, kissing Obi-Wan’s bare shoulder. “You’re mine already.”
Obi-Wan sighed, but he wrapped his hand around Anakin’s forearm and squeezed affectionately. “At least let me tell them—I am in possession of a little thing called ‘tact.’”
“Hey!” Anakin started, but then he calmed at Obi-Wan’s low snicker. “Fine, you can tell them. As long as I get to show you off.”
Obi-Wan still felt like his heart was in his throat, but—“That’s that settled, then. Sleep now, Anakin, or we won’t be up before the suns.”
Anakin buried his face into Obi-Wan’s shoulder obligingly, and Obi-Wan could feel the bursting happiness like a supernova behind him. Eventually, it mellowed into some great and peaceful joy as Anakin’s consciousness slipped away from him. To Obi-Wan’s great surprise, Obi-Wan was still able to fall asleep like that also, with his heart mirroring the same emotion in minutia.