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Anakin had his ways to make Obi-Wan do things. He knew just how to tilt his head and fiddle with the edges of his robes, how to cast Obi-Wan quick glances from behind his lashes while he asked for things in a tone that made Obi-Wan's expression soften, his brows relax, his shoulders slump. But if that didn't work he'd switch tactics, demure turned prideful, his voice rising as he pleaded his case and stalked after Obi-Wan's determined gate as they weaved their way through the Temple hallways.
Most of the time Obi-Wan put up a fight - barrier upon barrier tossed up between them and in their bond, severing what little manipulation Anakin had until it felt like he was throwing himself against a wall. It happened enough where Anakin was ready with a quick barb and a glare for the inevitable rebuke or refusal.
But every so often Obi-Wan would give in; Anakin would ask for something in a manner that allowed him to slip beneath the carefully maintained armour Obi-Wan wore and pluck from his core - tearing little pieces away until he could fit himself inside, never to be parted from his Master.
And every so often Obi-Wan agreed to something Anakin thought he never would.
Like this time. Like right now. Like in this very moment: Anakin sat on his Master's lap, thighs astride his thick waist, hands balled up on the dense fabric of Obi-Wan's tunic as he stared at the small beauty mark dotted on his cheek.
Anakin had admired the mark before. He'd stared at it as a small child while he was supposed to be studying, his head resting on his curled arms as Obi-Wan read through his datapads, face sharply angled by the dense shadows and bright lights that spilled across his features. Or when they were sat side by side as they meditated, Anakin opening his eyes now and again to flick across Obi-Wan's form, attention wandering from the perfection of his pose and the grace of his hands along his knees, up to the cut of his beard and the lines of his lips before falling on that very mark - a small blemish on an otherwise perfect man.
But now it was up close - close enough that with very little effort Anakin could touch it. Rub his thumb across it, pressing his fingerprint into Obi-Wan's skin, marking him with his touch if only briefly.
Obi-Wan's breath was hot across his lips, his focus sharp, his grip strong along Anakin's hips. Anakin could feel him shifting beneath him - little movements that sent a jolt of arousal through Anakin, his cheeks heating, his palms becoming clammy. He refused to meet his Master's gaze and instead stayed as still as he could, fearful that if he did something wrong then he'd be sent back to his room, cut off from this immense intimacy - an intimacy he'd craved for a millenia.
The remark had been made in jest, but had been answered in a seriousness that spoke more than the words themselves.
'You should teach me how to kiss, Master. Wouldn't want me going out there into Coruscant's underbelly to find someone who will.'
'You're right, Anakin. I wouldn't want that...'
' So you'll do it?'
'Come here, Padawan.'
Anakin wasn't sure how long they'd been like this; Anakin on Obi-Wan's lap, their eyes skirting and avoiding, their shared breathing tight and quick and hot across their lips and chins. The door behind Anakin was locked, a soft beep that crashed through the room as Obi-Wan guided Anakin to his couch, and yet it felt like at any moment someone could walk in - throw open the door and expose the intensity of their bond.
There were rumours. Anakin had heard them, and he knew Obi-Wan ought to have as well. But they were just rumours.
Or had been.
Toes curling in his boots, Anakin bit his bottom lip when Obi-Wan reached up to play with his braid. The tips of his fingers brushed his neck and Anakin's cock pulsed in his trousers. He remained as he was - poised just above, hands gripping Obi-Wan's shoulders, attention fixed on the beauty mark. Obi-Wan let out a soft sigh as their bond fluttered, Anakin's arousal coiling with Obi-Wan's admiration.
"Anakin..."
Obi-Wan's voice melted into Anakin's core, and he finally looked from the mark to lock eyes with Obi-Wan. He sucked in a breath and held a moment when he saw how dark Obi-Wan's eyes had become - grey-blue hues cast in shadows that intrigued and excited Anakin. Licking his bottom lip, he let out a pitiful moan when Obi-Wan's hand cupped his cheek. Turning into the touch, he closed his eyes as Obi-Wan rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip, pressing into his pout, pulling up blood and making it tingle.
This was supposed to be an exercise - a teaching moment. It wasn't supposed to be anything more, and yet...
"Relax, darling."
A sweet name for a sweet boy, Obi-Wan had once remarked after the first time he'd called Anakin darling. It had been months ago but Anakin still remembered how it made him feel. Desired and wanted, boastful and proud, humbled and unworthy. None of the other padawans were called 'darling' by their masters. Only Anakin - and only by Obi-Wan. Only by the one who mattered.
Anakin tried to relax, his body sinking downward until he was sat fully on Obi-Wan's lap. He was warm and study beneath Anakin. He kept his hands where they were, knuckles on his flesh hand aching while the newly formed metals of his mechno-hand trembled with the pressure. But the ache felt good. Almost as good as Obi-Wan's thumb as it pressed into the groove of his chin and held him where he was.
He let out a shaky breath and stared at Obi-Wan. Something flashed in his Master's gaze then - a quick thing that Anakin couldn't decipher - before Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around his waist and held him closer still.
Breath, hot and smelling of clipped grasses like that of Obi-Wan's tea, tickled Anakin's lips and he held back another embarrassing moan. Instead a whimper came out, and Anakin watched as Obi-Wan's pupils expanded ever so. He licked his bottom lip - a wet, pink tongue slipping past the dense hairs of his beard to swipe along the expanse of skin.
Anakin wanted to suck on it.
"Now... just follow my lead," Obi-Wan whispered.
Anakin closed his eyes and sighed as Obi-Wan gently tilted his head to the left while he took up space to the right. A brief moment passed where Anakin thought maybe Obi-Wan was going to walk it all back - take his decency and his decorum and swath himself in his armour once more. But then the bristles of Obi-Wan's beard tickled his lips before their lips brushed. Anakin tried to relax as their lips rubbed together - a firm pressure followed by something softer before the pressure returned. Anakin wasn't sure what to do and tried to mimic Obi-Wan's movements even as his breath caught in his ribs and his mind rattled around in his skull.
He was kissing his Master.
He was kissing Obi-Wan.
And he wanted more.
Obi-Wan pulled away before Anakin could claim anything else. Anakin's lips tingled, his groin tight with arousal, his mouth thick with spit. When Obi-Wan looked at him Anakin saw only the blackness of his pupils, thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. Without asking he moved in for more, desperate for the same sensation even if it remained chaste and demure. Proper, even though everything else was far from it.
But when they kissed again Obi-Wan parted his lips, hot breath skittering across Anakin's, coaxing him to do the same. With a shaking sigh he opened his mouth and whimpered as their lips met again and again, quick and soft and slow and aching. Anakin followed Obi-Wan's lead, mimicking his actions, his hands relaxing to rest across Obi-Wan's broad shoulders as they continued to kiss.
Anakin liked the feel of Obi-Wan's lips, the brush of his beard, the strength in his hands. He liked how he could swallow Obi-Wan's breath and hold it as his own; how he could smell the soaps on his skin and the sweat along his brow; feel his touch warm across his hip and along his cheek, and taste the tea and cakes he'd consumed just hours before, surrounded by his peers as he played perfect Master, perfect Jedi, perfect man.
And now he was panting in his Padawan's mouth; gripping his Padwan's waist; touching his Padwan and delighting in his Padawan and taking from his Padawan.
The kiss deepened and Anakin let out another moan as he felt Obi-Wan's tongue slide into his mouth to rub along his own. The sensation was unfamiliar and yet pleasing all the same, Anakin shuddering as he thought about Obi-Wan being inside him. Anakin didn't know what to do but followed along all the same, pushing back and rubbing when Obi-Wan retreated, licking up against the roof of his mouth, sliding along his teeth, collecting Obi-Wan's spit and whatever else he could consume.
He was greedy for it - for Obi-Wan's taste and touch and focus. He wanted to be good for Obi-Wan - wanted to prove his worth as he'd done with all their other lessons. He wanted to be the perfect padawan for Obi-Wan, in all the ways he could.
Obi-Wan pulled away then, severing the cord that connected them with a gasp.
Opening his eyes Anakin stared at Obi-Wan's beauty mark once more. His chest ached and he sucked back thick mouthfuls of muggy air, touch trembling as he pushed his palms into Obi-Wan's shoulders until he could feel the press of his collarbone through the layers of robes. Obi-Wan's breathing was heavy beneath him, his form taught and tense, his grip still demanding along Anakin's hip and the side of his neck.
With an unsteady touch Anakin reached up to touch Obi-Wan's lips with the pads of his fingertips. He could feel his spit across his hairs and the plushness of his thin lips, and it was his turn to press and push, messing Obi-Wan up further.
Mine.
"Anakin..."
Obi-Wan's voice was breathless, his tone unsteady - ragged - and Anakin finally looked up to lock eyes with him. He was greeted with an expression he knew all too well. He'd seen it on Obi-Wan's face more times than he could count; before an argument and then right after, words biting, tone cutting, their bond rough and sharp. Or after a sparring session, sweat slick across their brows and down their backs, breath haggard, knuckles bruised and bloodied from when practice turned to real aggression. Or when Anakin manipulated the Force, the stink of it like electricity through the room, Anakin's powers fluctuating and just on the edge, fear splashed across the faces of those in attendance except for one - except for Obi-Wan.
Anakin had never been able to place it before. But he knew now what it all meant - the sharpness to Obi-Wan's gaze, the tension in his jaw, the tightness to his shoulders and the tendons of his neck.
Arousal.
Obi-Wan shifted, and Anakin could feel the press of his erection against his taint.
"Master," Anakin mumbled, before he took what he wanted once more and closed the gap.