Work Text:
Obi-Wan stomach does something funny when he’s introduced to the newest member of his firm’s IT team. He looks oddly familiar, but Obi-Wan cannot place exactly where he knows him from—this is a type of deja vu that usually occurs when he runs into someone he’s had a drunken one night stand with. He shakes the man’s hand—though, he’s more of a boy, which only makes things worse because that makes him just Obi-Wan’s type—and tries to remember having ever cried out the name Anakin in ecstasy. Nothing comes to him.
Anakin saves him from scrambling through his rolodex of casual sex encounters, laying those overbearingly piercing eyes on him and tilting his head, curls shifting as he does do. “I think we ride the same train."
Recognition finally sparks. “The central line?”
“That’s the one,” Anakin smiles. “I get on at Roosevelt.”
Obi-Wan nods. “Mountlake.” Roosevelt is four or five stops after where he gets on at Mountlake. By that time, Obi-Wan has usually tuned out the comings and goings of the other passengers, but he’s probably glanced at Anakin dozens of times without really registering the sight of him.
Very unprofessional satisfaction licks at the base of Obi-Wan’s skull; Anakin has apparently noticed him enough times to remember his face distinctly.
They shake hands. Anakin never loses that intense look, but perhaps Obi-Wan is projecting. The boy seems nice enough.
—
He never gets around to finding out if Anakin is actually nice, since they hardly ever interact. Obi-Wan does his best to evade technological crises and it seems to be going well enough for him. He obeys the emails that tell him to update his browser and the alerts to clean his scanner. When the entire office gets new printers, Anakin carries Obi-Wan’s into his office—which isn’t really his job. Whoever delivered the printers should be doing this, but Obi-Wan takes advantage of it regardless; leaning on the edge of his desk to watch Anakin’s strong arms flex as he sets down the new printer, then his shapely ass and thick thighs as he squats to plug everything in, and finally his long legs as he leaves.
Obi-Wan sips his iced chai and files away all of that for later masturbatory use. He’s not exactly above fucking a coworker, but Anakin is both a coworker and too young for him. So, Anakin remains a pleasant fantasy. Whatever sting that could be felt from that is soothed by his assumption that Anakin is straight; even if he wanted to act on his desires, they could never logically be reciprocated. It’s an easy thing to make peace with. Obi-Wan thought it might get annoying seeing him on the train—he has a preference for people-watching and daydreaming rather than fucking around on his phone—but their train has become more and more crowded ever since a new apartment complex was finally finished in the area a few stops after Roosevelt. When he and Anakin do catch each other’s gaze every once and while, they smile and wave, but that’s it. There’s no sitting next to one another, or any conversation that might give Obi-Wan’s poor, gay heart (and cock) hope.
An alert sounds from his watch—reminding him of a online-meeting in five minutes. When Obi-Wan moves to lower the privacy blinds of his glass-walled office, he sees Anakin at the water cooler, filling a paper cup. The boy is looking right at him. Obi-Wan waves. Anakin smiles, but it’s different from his small, pleasant smiles on the train. Anakin smiles like a secret. Obi-Wan lowers the blinds.
—
When the snow comes and people are no longer willing to walk around the city, the train becomes irritatingly crowded. Obi-Wan actually considers driving to work in his Subaru that he has only ever used to go outside of the city. But, he doesn’t just take the train for convenience and money-saving, it’s also an environmentally conscious choice, and it doesn’t feel right to go back on that just for a petty creature comfort like personal space on his way to work.
Christmas break comes. There’s no college near him, so instead of the train getting less busy as students go home, it gets even more crowded as students return home to the city.
Obi-Wan holds his coat in his arms on a Tuesday morning. It’s too hot in here to wear it, despite the snowy weather outside. He manages to snag a seat when he first gets on the train, but gives it to a pregnant woman at the very next stop. By the time they get to Roosevelt, there’s no seats left. Obi-Wan clings to a pole and refuses to budge, letting the new passengers wash by him. When they get to the stop at Alderwood Mall, the pregnant woman leaves, and Obi-Wan waits a polite few seconds to see if someone who actually needs it will take it.
“Could I…?”
It’s Anakin, suddenly right next to him and glancing between Obi-Wan’s face and the empty seat. Before Obi-Wan can get himself in trouble with HR by saying something about age before beauty, Anakin tugs at the thigh of his black-coffee colored trousers, revealing a prosthetic leg with a Doc Marten’s loafer on the end.
Feeling like an asshole, Obi-Wan almost drops his jacket as he rushes to gesture at the seat. “Of course.” Maybe he’s even more of an asshole for not saying anything else, but he’s not well-versed enough in prosthetic etiquette to know if it’s ruder to ask or ruder to not ask about it. So, Obi-Wan stays quiet and continues to stare out the window. He doesn’t recall Anakin ever asking for a seat before, but perhaps the cold makes his leg act up in some way? Ridiculously, Obi-Wan’s mind conjures up a scenario in which he takes a seat at Mountlake every morning, and gives it to Anakin at Roosevelt. It’s a bit too flowery to be a truly pleasant daydream. The word crush rattles around in Obi-Wan’s brain until he has a headache.
When they get to the stop near the airport, Obi-Wan braces himself. It’s the worst one. He clings to his pole, but the crowd rush pushes at him anyway. They knock into his faux-leather backpack, and he turns to get it out of the way, but then fears he’s going to knock someone sitting down—like Anakin—in the head with it, so Obi-Wan turns over his shoulder to make sure he hasn’t.
As he does this, the train lurches as it begins to move again and someone grabs the pole, grazing his hand. Instinctively, Obi-Wan pulls his back, causing him to immediately lose his balance and tip over.
Right into Anakin’s lap.
“Oof,” they both say.
Obi-Wan composes himself from the tumble, then freezes. “I’m so sorry,” he says, cheeks heating. They’re so close he can say it very quiet and Anakin can still hear, while the rest of the train’s thrumming drowns out the words for everyone else. He feels Anakin shrug behind him.
“No worries.” Right as Obi-Wan is about to stand again, his backpack straps are pulled down his shoulders. “Want me to put this under the seat?”
“Sure,” Obi-Wan answers, not knowing what else to say. He lets Anakin’s take off his backpack and tuck it away. After that, there’s no indication that Anakin wants him to stand, but it still feels odd to remain here on his lap. No one is looking at them funny, though. Perhaps it’s not that odd. Perhaps Obi-Wan is overthinking as usual.
Anakin’s hands land gently on his waist as they cross another set of tracks and the whole train shakes. He tries not to squirm, but it’s hard not to when he’s hyperaware of the way Anakin’s strong thighs feel under him, how his body heat seeps through Obi-Wan’s dress shirt and sweater. He may look quite boyish, but Anakin smells like a man; the oud of cologne makes Obi-Wan feel dizzy. Anakin’s hands are big like man’s too.
A single wired earbud pops into Obi-Wan’s vision, a sickly green color that tells him it must glow in the dark. “Want to share?” Anakin asks.
You’re very sweet, Obi-Wan feels the strange urge to tell him. It’s really not that sweet of a gesture. It’s almost a bit weird—they don’t know each other well enough for this. Still, Obi-Wan takes it and pops it in his ear. “Thank you.”
The Cardigans start playing in his ear—Step on Me. Obi-Wan is briefly overcome with the singular joy of a hearing a very beloved song without putting it on intentionally. He turns slightly. “You like the Cardigans?”
“You had a Spotify tab open one time. I saw them. They’re good,” Anakin says softly. His thighs shift under Obi-Wan’s like he’s trying to get more comfortable.
Obi-Wan huffs with amusement. “They’re better than good.”
The song is nearly over when a sound that is definitely not the Cardigans comes through the earbud that’s connected to Anakin’s phone. Obi-Wan recognizes it, regardless. It’s the familiar little trill of a notification from Grindr.
Anakin stiffens, and Obi-Wan is very, very glad they can’t see each other’s faces, because he knows he turns bright red. Should he act as if he doesn’t know what the sound means? He’s not closeted at work, but he’s a private man that doesn’t like getting overly personal with his coworkers. Still, he’s sure he’s dropped the odd my ex-boyfriend story once or twice with a few people when it came up naturally. It might’ve gotten around to Anakin, it might not have. Both scenarios are equally plausible, and Obi-Wan is once again left not knowing what to do.
The earbud is pulled out. “Sorry, that’s so embarrassing. It’s just—“
“It’s fine,” Obi-Wan says quickly. He means to be reassuring, like Anakin doesn’t need to explain himself, but it comes out more biting than intended. The hands on his waist shift, pressing against Obi-Wan’s lower back. When the train jostles again, they slip under his sweater. Obi-Wan’s sharp intake of breath is covered by the sound of chatter around them.
“No, but—you don’t understand.”
Obi-Wan bites his lip and looks around at the bored, ignorant other passengers. “What is there to understand, Anakin? It’s not like I’m going to report you to HR for being on an app. I would be the one in trouble if I tried that. And—and if you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t. I wouldn’t, anyway, but I give you my word. No one will find out.” While he speaks, Obi-Wan feels his dress shirt being pulled from where it’s tucked into his pants. By the time he shuts up, Anakin’s hands are on his bare back.
Instead of horrifying him, this thrills Obi-Wan, for some awful reason. He lets Anakin rub his back and speak into his ear. “I was looking for someone.”
“That’s—okay?” Obi-Wan murmurs, confused.
Despite the thrill, he feels relieved when one of Anakin’s hands slip out from under his shirt. It returns almost immediately, though, when it slides under the coat on Obi-Wan’s lap to caress his thigh.
Oh. Oh. Obi-Wan cannot even fully appreciate the revelation or feel flattered. More people are climbing onto the train and he watches each of their faces to see if they notice what is happening under his coat. Anakin is now rubbing at the inner seam of his trousers, very far up on his thigh. When the train lurches again and Obi-Wan shifts slightly, something very obviously presses against his ass, and he bites his lip in an effort not to whimper. Anakin has a big cock. Perhaps he’s more man than boy after all.
“Do you have a boyfriend, or something?”
Obi-Wan almost laughs. That’s usually something to ask before groping someone in public, he’s quite sure. He feels slightly indignant at the words as well. Is there only those two options; be in a committed monogamous relationship or be a dick pig on Grindr? Surely, there is a grey area. Obi-Wan knows there is a grey area—a grey area where men like him stay off the apps and still manage to get their needs fulfilled. It’s honestly not a hard grey area to find; you only have to look in the right spots of the city.
“Perhaps I’m just not the type,” Obi-Wan breathes out quietly, quirking a brow even though Anakin can’t see it.
Anakin snorts. “You’re the type. I knew it from the first time I laid eyes on you. Not in the office—here. On the train.”
It’s very difficult to stifle the shudder that tries to move through Obi-Wan when he feels Anakin’s hand unclasping his belt. “And what type is that?”
Once his belt is undone, Anakin makes quick work of his button and zipper. His hand reaches into Obi-Wan’s pants and massages his cock slow enough that the coat barely moves. As he does, Obi-Wan’s feet flex in his expensive shoes and he tries not to draw his eyebrows together in pleasure, using every bit of control he possesses to keep his face blank as his cock is fondled—and the thumb of Anakin’s other hand hooks into the back of his trousers, inching them down slightly.
Breath hot and damp in Obi-Wan’s ear, Anakin murmurs, “A cocksucker. A nasty one too.”
Every time Obi-Wan squirms, Anakin pushes his pants down further. It’s almost as if Obi-Wan is helping him do it.
It’s the last thing he should be caring about right now, but Obi-Wan can’t help himself from asking, “How did you know?” If Anakin’s telling the truth, that he’d deduced from the first time he saw Obi-Wan on the train that not only was he a gay man, but that he was the type of gay man that would let himself be groped and touched and stripped on the train—that means no one in the office has said anything. And if Anakin sees it so plainly, can everyone else? Is the reason they’re being ignored because they’re actually being subtle, or that everyone is aware that Obi-Wan is exactly what Anakin thinks, a nasty cocksucker, and it’s so obvious that they’re too bored to gawk?
They cross more tracks. Obi-Wan clutches his coat to his body as Anakin takes the opportunity to pull his pants and underwear down just below his ass in one swift, final move. Feeling Anakin’s slacks and the bulge of his dick against his bare skin causes Obi-Wan to let out a wet, little sound that’s covered up by someone coughing across the train. It feels good—really good. Because it shouldn’t, because it’s wrong. Because it’s filthy, just like Anakin said. If they’re discovered, the whole train will think they’re perverted.
He thanks his past self for choosing his thicker coat this morning, the one with corduroy on the outside and lined with faux-fur. The materials give it enough structure and fluff to completely hide what they’re doing, along with Obi-Wan’s own erection that is now dribbling pre-come into it’s lining.
“You just have this look,” Anakin says quietly, sounding disproportionately affectionate. “Like you want to be used. Like you’d be happier on your knees.”
Obi-Wan blinks rapidly and dares to look over his shoulder and meet Anakin’s eyes. “Are you going to fuck me?” He mouths, small as he can. He’s not sure if he wants the answer to be yes or no. Well, his brain can’t decide. Obi-Wan’s body, on the other hand, knows exactly what it wants, leaning into whichever way the train rocks them to make his ass grind on Anakin’s lap as subtly as possible. His hole clenches every time it gets near the thick bulge of Anakin’s cock in his pants. Under his top layers, Obi-Wan’s nipples harden and he longs to play with them, but keeps his hands wrapped tight into the fabric of his coat while sweat pools under his arms and behind his knees.
Anakin’s legs spread slightly wider, and then there are fingers brushing over Obi-Wan’s hole. It tightens under the attention, and Obi-Wan’s cock bounces. A finger slips in, slightly wet—Anakin must’ve put it in his mouth—and sinks in all the way. Another joins it.
The boy ignores his question, simply saying, “That was easy,” with amusement in his tone.
Obi-Wan’s whole body is on fire at the point, but his face burns hottest. He hopes his expression doesn’t look as aroused or as embarrassed as he feels right now. So what if he’s the type of man that likes to rub one out before he goes to sleep every night? There are far worse habits to have. And if rubbing one out almost always includes stuffing his ass full of anything ranging from his own fingers, to plugs, to vibrators, to beads the size of golf balls—what’s so wrong about that? Last night it was a dildo suctioned to the wall of his shower. Obi-Wan fucked his ass back on it and jerked his cock until he painted the foggy glass door with his come. It’s one of his bigger toys, so he’s still loose; easy like Anakin says.
Clenching around Anakin’s long fingers, Obi-Wan wonders if he could reach back and free the boy’s cock without drawing attention to them. The angle of it makes him doubtful, and he briefly considers it might be a sign that they shouldn’t do this at all.
The thought is gone as soon as Anakin’s fingers curl and press into his prostate. Tears pool in Obi-Wan’s eyes as he hangs his head and tries to remember how to breathe. This is his favorite feeling in the world; being full. He hates that he can’t react the way he wants to. He wants to bounce on Anakin’s fingers until he comes all over himself.
Your cock, your cock, give me your cock, Obi-Wan chants on a loop in his brain as he stares blankly out the floor. His watch alerts him—a meeting in an hour—and again Obi-Wan is reminded of reality, where he is having technically illegal public sex with his twenty year old coworker who did not ask before practically molesting him and calling him a cocksucker.
But it’s not as if Obi-Wan can do anything at this point. If he tries to get away, he’ll be hard and half-naked, standing in the middle of the full train. Anakin is still fully clothed. If one of them is getting arrested for public indecency and fired for it as well, it would be Obi-Wan. And is it really worth it to risk all that, just for his propriety? It’s not as if he doesn’t want to be fucked by Anakin; he’s given it quite a lot of thought since they formally met, and it arouses him greatly every time. Just because Obi-Wan has never considered it happening quite like this, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it at all, right?
And, if anything, Anakin’s intense, willful, overstepping only makes Obi-Wan (somewhat shamefully) more attracted to him. Young men—boys—are good for that kind of thing. Anakin is exactly right, Obi-Wan does want to be used, and no one is better at using than boys. Selfish, arrogant boys with big, fat cocks like Anakin that can spot cocksuckers with inviting holes like Obi-Wan a mile away.
When the fingers start to slide out of him, Obi-Wan clenches wildly around them. Whether it’s the last dredges of his dignity or the fact that they’re surrounded by people, he won’t allow himself to beg—at least, not with his mouth. His lips remain sealed shut as he tries his best to signal with the tightening of his muscles that he wants it. The thought almost makes him laugh; he can’t believe he fucking wants it. Sure, Obi-Wan is aware of his own propensity for trading his pride for cock, but that’s usually his own choice; made on his own terms. This is anything but that. Unfortunately for Obi-Wan—the part of him that remains horrified at what’s happening—his own cock can’t seem to tell the difference between his nights spent cruising for men to make him bark like a dog, and dubiously consensual train sex in broad daylight with his subordinate.
That part of him, the horrified part, seems to be growing smaller and smaller.
Moving his lips as imperceptibly as possible, Obi-Wan stares out the window across the train and mouths Anakin, just to see how it feels. As he does so, he can tell by the drag of leather and the cold brush of metal that the boy is undoing his belt, so, so slowly. Perhaps if he were quicker about, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have time to distress, but the situation calls for Anakin to move at a snail’s pace, and so Obi-Wan’s stomach tumbles. A hot-cold flash of adrenaline floods his system, making him want to cry and scream at the same time. All his blood is pooled in his groin, plumping his cock. Over and over, he mouths it. An-a-kin, An-a-kin, An-a-kin. The tip of his tongue at the roof of his mouth, then to the space below his bottom row of teeth, then back up again. Obi-Wan swears his dick throbs every time the back of his mouth forms around the k.
It turns into a small, awkward, choking sound when Anakin’s bare cock, hot and damp, rigid and soft, presses between his cheeks. The noise is so quiet that the crowd around them, full of white noise from the running train, layered conversations, and dozens of ears covered by headphones, surely do not notice it. Still, Obi-Wan fakes a cough into his fist to cover it up. His hand is trembling. He’s not sure if it’s his nerves messing with him, but Anakin’s dick feels even larger than it did before.
But as nervous as he is, Obi-Wan’s body knows exactly what to do when a hard cock nudges his hole. The appropriate response in this situation would be to lock up, but Obi-Wan’s ass relaxes completely as Anakin blindly guides the tip of his cock to slide over his rim.
“You’re really gonna let me?”
Anakin’s murmured words in his hear are sudden, and Obi-Wan barely restrains himself from flinching with surprise. His mind gets caught on how hopeful the boy sounds. Or, disbelieving, maybe? An exhilarated kind of nervous. He sounds every bit of young he is, and Obi-Wan cock spares some blood to go back to his cheeks at the realization that Anakin seems to have doubted he’d get this far. That he thought Obi-Wan would stop him. But Obi-Wan hasn’t, because he actually is a nasty cocksucker who lets near-strangers use his ass in public.
Obi-Wan nods after a very long moment, because apparently it’s not a rhetorical question, and Anakin is searching for some fucked up idea of consent to help him sleep at night.
“Whore,” Anakin whispers in response, so low that Obi-Wan doubts that even he is meant to hear it. There’s a quick flare of annoyance; Anakin is the one that has accosted him—but it’s gone as soon as the head of the boy’s dick pops past Obi-Wan’s rim. He bites his lip harder than he ever has before. Anakin is right. He is a whore. He’s not going to be able to ride the train ever again without longing for a cock in his ass.
It’s a quick thing; Anakin angles his hips just so and Obi-Wan pushes the tips of his toes into the floor, every coherent thought forced out with every inch Anakin’s cock forces it’s way in. Obi-Wan has the tendency to run his mouth when he’s fucked out, and that state of mind typically takes a bit of time to reach but already he feels the urge to lean back and tell Anakin how good it feels to take his young, fat cock in his tight—he never claims his dirty talk to be one hundred percent accurate—ass in front of all these people. He has to wonder if it’s the situation itself that’s turning him dumb so quickly, or if it’s just Anakin.
Unconsciously, Obi-Wan’s mouth does it again. An-a-kin. He thinks he might have his answer—and how fucking inconvenient is that? It’s as if the boy has his own gravitational pull, and Obi-Wan has just never gotten close enough to be sucked in before. Now that he has, he’s not sure he’s going to be a productive employee ever again.
With Anakin’s pubic hair tickling his skin, Obi-Wan squirms back onto his big cock. Hands clamp viciously around his hips, covered up by his big, furry coat. Face scrunching, Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder.
Anakin’s expression remains placid, but his eyes are sharp and his teeth are clenched when he mouths, “Are you trying to get caught?”
When Obi-Wan replies, he covers his mouth in case anyone might possibly be paying enough attention to them to read his lips. “You said you were going to fuck me.”
Anakin laughs. Actually laughs. A sharp bark that contorts his face in amusement for a second and is loud enough that a few heads turn toward them, before Anakin gets ahold of himself and looks bored enough again that the heads turn away.
“I never said that,” Anakin whispers. “You said that. You asked me that.” His smug, satisfied smile goes straight to Obi-Wan’s dick, and also his hole, which he tightens just to see the boy’s expression flicker with pleasure.
Still, Obi-Wan’s embarrassment returns somewhat as he recalls that Anakin really didn’t say that, and that it’s honestly ridiculous to want him to anyway. The situation at hand doesn’t allow for any actual fucking to happen, but Obi-Wan’s common sense has been slipping since he fell into Anakin’s lap, and now with the added obstacle of being stuffed full of cock, it’s becoming very hard to think. The only thing he can think with certainty is how unfortunate it is that he can’t throw his coat off his lap and ride Anakin in the middle of the train, fuck himself on that twenty year old dick and coax the boy into emptying his balls inside of him.
If Anakin were to wait until Obi-Wan came up with something clever to say back, he’d probably be waiting forever, at this rate. So, there’s relief when Anakin simply relaxes his hold on him and spreads his leg a little wider, allowing his cock to sink the tiniest amount deeper. He must look like a total douchebag, manspreading like this on public transport. Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to mind, though, especially not while Anakin is cooing quietly in his ear, “Just relax, Obi-Wan. All you have to be right now is warm little hole for my big dick, alright?”
It’s a bit disappointing that he won’t get to feel Anakin’s balls slapping against him or get fucked full of come, but Obi-Wan supposes he can make do. With a small, affirmative sound, he relaxes completely on Anakin’s lap and lets his eyes fall shut, focus narrowing down to the stretching of his hole and the smell of Anakin—smoke and ocean at the same time, or something. The train’s movement never lets him forget what’s happening as it rocks him on Anakin’s dick. Someone steps on the toe of his loafer as they walk by and apologize. All Obi-Wan can think of as he replies with a hand wave and a smile, you’re fine, is if the stranger can tell he’s all plugged up with the cock of the young man behind him. The longer the ride goes on, the more Obi-Wan’s own cock becomes interested in just that—someone knowing. With half-lidded eyes, he looks around the train, almost hoping to lock eyes with a stranger who very obviously knows what’s going on underneath Obi-Wan’s coat. Maybe they’d even have their hands down their pants—or maybe they’d take their cock out of their pants entirely to stroke it to the sight of Obi-Wan being such a slut.
With a whimper, he flexes his hips and rubs the leaky tip of his cock against the fur of his coat. There’s a thunk behind him. When he looks back to investigate, Anakin’s head is lolled back against the window with his eyes shut. Obi-Wan tightens his hole, chest feeling full of something other than air when it makes Anakin’s eyes open again and they look at each other. He relaxes, then does it again. Anakin tilts his head in a way that says watch it. Obi-Wan’s toes curl in his loafers. He begins to flex and clench his hole in a rhythm, watching Anakin try to keep his expression flat and his hips still. Dimly, Obi-Wan thinks this is the most fun he’s had in a long time.
His enjoyment flickers when Anakin takes out his phone. Obi-Wan tries not to look affronted and probably fails.
Then, his watch vibrates on his wrist with a text message.
I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.
Obi-Wan’s enjoyment immediately returns ten-fold. He fucking despises using his smart watch to text; it’s so god-damn tiny, but his phone is in the front pocket of his trousers that are pushed down his ass, so he uses every bit of focus he can muster to type on the too-small screen with his too-big fingers, Please Anakin. He can’t even be bothered to use the proper comma.
There’s no further vibrations from his watch, so Obi-Wan can only assume Anakin has no complaints. As he continues to clench on the boy’s cock, Anakin’s strong thighs below him begin to twitch slightly, bouncing Obi-Wan on his dick in random intervals. It’s a barely perceptible movement. To anyone else, Anakin may seem antsy, if that. But to Obi-Wan, every bit of movement from Anakin’s body, even the smallest of them, is extremely perceptible. He’s sitting so still, which is the exact opposite of what he usually does when a cock is inside of him, and it’s making him so dizzyingly in-tune with every little twitch and shake and sigh of the man whose cock he’s impaled on.
After a particularly vice-like flex of his ass, Anakin gives a particularly violent twitch, and it jostles Obi-Wan on his dick more aggressively. It makes his heart stutter and his cock dribble out more pre-come. Thank God the lady closest to them is wearing headphones, or else she would’ve surely heard Obi-Wan’s intake of breath, sharp and wet.
He’s still collecting himself when Anakin does it again, bouncing him with his leg so harshly that Obi-Wan almost drops his coat, hands scrambling to keep it over his lap. As he begins to look over his shoulder, there’s another twitch surprising him, making him press his lips together to suppress a whimper while he closes his eyes to avoid anyone seeing them roll back. The rhythm of his ass clenching on Anakin is completely lost. Obi-Wan’s hole relaxes around the thick cock stuffing him full, coaxing Anakin to keep bouncing his leg, and bouncing Obi-Wan.
It works. Seeing as how this all started, Anakin most likely would’ve continued anyway, even if Obi-Wan wasn’t trying to signal to him using his hole, but a small, dazed smile of satisfaction crosses Obi-Wan’s face anyway. Like he’s fidgeting, Anakin’s leg bounces up and down over and over, just enough to make Obi-Wan feel like he’s actually being fucked, not just keeping the dick inside him warm.
A hand tugs at the back of his shirt, until Obi-Wan’s spine meets Anakin’s chest.
“You like having your slutty hole stuffed in public, huh?”
Obi-Wan nearly jackknifes right on Anakin’s lap. It’s the type of thing he typically adores hearing during sex—he read too much erotica as a teenager and it’s left him with a fondness for ridiculous dirty talk—but in this situation, he can’t ignore how they’re surrounded by people who might also hear. Anakin’s voice is something lower than a whisper, spoken right into his ear, but Obi-Wan still worries. What if the lady next to them isn’t actually playing anything through her headphones? And she also has super-hearing?
Still, the part of him that worries cannot overpower the part of him that gets off on it all. Disappointingly, Obi-Wan doesn’t quite have the same easy access to Anakin’s ears, so he makes do with nodding and knocking their ankles together.
“What about your meeting?” Anakin whispers, amusement in his hushed voice.
There’s no reason for Anakin to know Obi-Wan has a meeting. But, he is the IT guy. If he really wanted to, Obi-Wan supposes, Anakin could go through the entirety of his computer, calendar included. Maybe he has.
Anakin doesn’t wait for another nod this time, he just keeps rasping in Obi-Wan’s ear. “You’re going to leak come all over your slacks, Obi-Wan. They’re expensive; I can tell.”
They are expensive. Obi-Wan makes more than enough to replace them if need be, though, so the thought doesn’t concern him at all. Of course, it’s not meant to concern him, is it? It’s meant to do exactly what it does—fan the flames of his arousal even further, to the point that Obi-Wan does become concerned, but only about the fact that there’s a chance he won’t only be leaking come from his hole. There’s a growing chance that Obi-Wan is going to finish in his pants like a teenager, in front of all these people, and Anakin’s words only increase it further.
“Maybe you should just take them off. Sit your bare ass on that nice, leather chair you’ve got in there. Leak all over that instead.”
Obi-Wan can see it vividly in his head; milky white come making a puddle in the center of the dark leather.
“At least then,” Anakin continues, and Obi-Wan can feel his lips curve into a smile against his ear, “You could get down on your knees afterwards and lick it up.”
Tears immediately pool in Obi-Wan’s eyes as his body tries to find a way to release the tension inside of him. He wants so desperately to cry out something wanton and embarrassing, but the need to stay quiet is the only thing that overpowers the need to have Anakin finish inside of him. The fingers wrapped in his coat begin to ache with how tightly he’s gripping the fabric. If Obi-Wan could, he’d turn around and cup Anakin’s handsome face, thumb over his pink lips and kiss the strange scar that bisects his eye. He’d coo in Anakin’s ear, I want you to clean my hole with your tongue. I want you to lap up all your own come from my ass and spit it in my mouth.
It’s pathetic; Obi-Wan’s own thoughts send him over the edge. His eyes strain with how wide they become as he makes a sticky, wet mess in his trousers. It feels like he comes forever, in an amount that he never has before. It’s as if every pump of Anakin’s cock inside of his ass sends more come to Obi-Wan’s balls, because they pulse so hard it almost hurts, and his cock spurts over and over again, covering the inside of his briefs as his load begins to drip down over his sac and his thighs and his taint because it has nowhere else to go.
Anakin’s leg stutters under him, and Obi-Wan’s attention is called to the way his hole is clamping down just as harsh as his dick is throbbing. His wide eyes flutter shut in contentment as Anakin’s breath stutters like his leg, right against Obi-Wan’s neck. And then, he feels it, Anakin’s cock shooting off inside of him, filling him up with so much warm come that Obi-Wan’s own dick releases another weak squirt in his underwear. His hole milks every drop of from Anakin. Even after both of their orgasms die down, Obi-Wan keeps flexing around the boy’s length, wishing he’d stuff him even fuller. Anakin’s young—maybe he can come again before they get to their stop.
The softening of Anakin’s dick and it’s subsequent slipping out of Obi-Wan’s ass feels so gross that it comes back around to being extremely arousing, and Obi-Wan allows himself to whimper as it happens. Not very loud, but loud enough for Anakin to hear.
“It’s okay,” Anakin says, panting quietly and petting over Obi-Wan’s sweaty lower back. “I’ll give it to you again, anytime you want.”
Obi-Wan hopes Anakin knows what he’s getting into. Anytime you want is very, very often for a nasty cocksucker like Obi-Wan.
He uses his too-big fingers again on his too-small watch to text, I’m going to be late for the meeting. Having IT problems.
Then, Obi-Wan turns around the best he can, cups Anakin’s face, thumbs over his pink lips, and kisses the strange scar that bisects his eye. This is going to be a problem, indeed.