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It starts with a dream.
Nothing that scandalous really. Or it wouldn’t be, if not for who he dreams about.
Obi-Wan, his Master, is sitting on a chair in their living quarters. He’s sitting the way he always does, his legs spread wide, but in this dream Anakin is perched on one thigh, his feet barely brushing the floor. Obi-Wan has a steadying arm around his waist, holding him close to his chest, and Anakin loops an arm around Obi-Wan’s neck as he leans in to kiss him.
Anakin wakes then, just as he starts to imagine the brush of Obi-Wan’s beard against his face.
He stares at the ceiling, face red and cock hard.
What was that?
Anakin is no stranger to dreams - not even to one’s about his Master. It’s only natural, he assumes, to have the occasional fantasy about a man he sees every day. But this… He groans, cock twitching in his sleep pants as he thinks back on the dream. Nothing even happened, he’s thought about all sorts of things with all sorts of people and yet nothing has affected him as much as this. As much as a fleeting moment of being sat on Obi-Wan’s lap, of kissing him softly.
It had felt right, to be nestled up against him like that. Anakin can’t even remember the last time he sat in anyone’s lap - certainly never Obi-Wan’s - but now he can’t stop thinking about it. His face heats. He’s not some stupid kid, he shouldn’t be dreaming about sitting on his Master’s lap.
He rolls onto his side and tries to fall back asleep. He’ll have forgotten in the morning.
He doesn’t forget.
He has the dream night after night. Sometimes they’re in different places, sat at the table or on the sofa or even in one of the private rooms in the Archives. But Anakin is always sat on Obi-Wan’s lap like it’s the most natural place for him to be.
They never even do anything in the dreams. His Master doesn’t touch him other than the arm around him and the unavoidable touch that comes from sitting on someone’s lap. And yet he always wakes up harder than he’s ever been.
He stops avoiding touching himself after the first time. He hopes that if he gets off to the thought of it, it will satiate this desire. The dreams will stop.
They don’t stop.
Worse still, the desire starts to seep into his waking hours. His mind drifts in class, thoughts of his Master’s firm chest and warm hands drowning out the lecture.
He feels stupid, dazed and distracted. Any time his thoughts turn even vaguely in the direction of Obi-Wan, all he can think about is sitting on his lap, being pressed up against him. A few times he has to fight the urge to settle himself on his knees between his Master’s spread legs. The thought makes his mouth water and his face heat.
He imagines perching on one of those thick thighs, toes just brushing the floor. He can imagine the scent of Obi-Wan that close, can almost feel the texture of his beard and the warmth of his skin. He imagines Obi-Wan’s soft voice praising him - for mastering a new form or helping during negotiations or even just for being good. Maybe his Master would even deign to kiss him - on the forehead, on the cheek, even on the lips.
But no matter what little changes there are, the bulk of the dreams stay there in that moment of him on Obi-Wan’s lap, pressing his lips to his Master’s and kicking his feet off the floor.
He enters their shared living space in the morning to see Obi-Wan already sat at the table, sipping his tea. He smiles over the rim of his cup.
“Good morning, Padawan.” Anakin pours himself a mug of caf - perfectly brewed, as always - and turns to face Obi-Wan. His gaze lands on his Master’s slightly spread legs and for a moment all he can think about doing is settling himself in the space between. He swallows hard and pushes the thought away, eyes flitting back up to Obi-Wan’s face. He clears his throat.
“Good morning, Master.” Any hope that Obi-Wan had missed his pause is dashed when Anakin sees his Master’s smile turn amused.
“Late night?” Anankin hums noncommittally and hopes his cheeks aren’t flushed. “We have training today, remember?” He nods.
“I remember. I’ll be ready soon.”
Anakin makes it through the first hour of training fine. And then Obi-Wan suggests that they spar hand-to-hand.
They strip off their tunics, Anakin’s hands fumbling with the ties as Obi-Wan’s bare chest is revealed. He gets into position and hopes he isn’t blushing. Obi-Wan grins at him, teeth gleaming, and Anakin is hopeless to do anything but smile back.
“Ready?” He nods.
He isn’t ready.
He’s distracted by his Master’s skin, the way his muscles bulge as he keeps up a steady assault. Anakin is on the defensive from the start - not his preferred way to fight - and with his attention divided between the spar and admiring Obi-Wan, he misses openings that he’d usually be on in a second, and Obi-Wan gains more and more ground on him. Obi-Wan’s skin is gleaming with a slight sheen of sweat and Anakin, distracted by a bead of it running down his chest, is too slow to block his next hit. It lands firmly at his center and he falls to the ground with a thud. In an instant, his Master is kneeling beside him, concern seeping through the bond.
“Are you alright, Anakin?” This close, Anakin can smell him, tea leaves and soap and sweat. He’s struck by the urge to bury his face in Obi-Wan’s neck and lick. Force, he hopes Obi-Wan chalks his red cheeks up to exertion. A steady hand on his shoulder makes him jolt and he jerks his head back up to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. His brow is furrowed as he eyes Anakin intently, like he’s trying to read his thoughts. “Maybe we should stop for the day.”
“No! Master, I’m fine. I just…” When he doesn’t continue, Obi-Wan sighs, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on Anakin’s shoulder.
“You’ve been distracted all morning. Go and get some rest, Padawan. I’ll excuse you from training for the rest of the day.” Obi-Wan pulls himself to his feet and any thoughts Anakin had of protesting are wiped away as he ends up nearly eye level with his Master’s covered cock. He wets his lips unthinkingly then blushes again. Luckily Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to have noticed, his Master just sighs again before reaching down to hoist him to his feet. He puts a hand on Anakin’s back and gives him a gentle push in the direction of the door. Anakin does as directed, barely remembering to scoop up his tunic from the floor and pull it over his head, uncaring of his own sweat-dampened skin.
He can feel Obi-Wan’s concerned gaze on his back as he leaves.
Back in their quarters, Anakin heads straight for the ‘fresher. He leaves his clothes in a crumpled pile on the floor and steps into the shower. He tips his head back to rest against the cool tile as the water runs over him.
His mind turns to the past hour. Just the thought of their spar - if you can even call it that - makes him groan. He’s ridiculous. This fixation is making him stupid - just the sight of Obi-Wan’s skin, the sound of his voice, is enough to send his head spinning.
He wishes he had kept it together. The opportunity to be so close to his Master, skin-to-skin, comes so rarely. To see him stripped down, red faced and gleaming with sweat and his perfect hair mussed is something Anakin only gets treated to occasionally. Usually Anakin can hold himself together, can push down any fleeting inappropriate feelings for his Master and focus on his training, but now… He feels like a live wire, his whole body thrumming with energy whenever he’s near Obi-Wan. Since that first dream, all he can think about is being as close to his Master as possible.
His cock twitches at the thought of his dream. He’s been half-hard since Obi-Wan stripped off his tunic and he groans again, stroking himself to full hardness. He tries to shift his thoughts away from his Master, tries to think of the Twil’lek who flirted with him on their last mission or the lead actor from that dreadful holo-drama some of the other Padawans won’t stop talking about. He lets his eyes drift closed as he fists his cock.
But even as he tries to think of someone - anyone - else, all he can see is Obi-Wan. His Master’s big blue eyes, sparkling with laughter or narrowed in concentration or crinkled at the edges with that warm smile that he sometimes graces Anakin with. It’s usually when he’s particularly pleased with Anakin, when he’s proud of him. It’s the smile he’s usually wearing in his dreams. When he’s perched on his Master’s lap, nestled against his side, he imagines Obi-Wan smiling at him like that, warm and pleased and happy.
Anakin’s hand moves faster, hips bucking as he imagines being pressed up against Obi-Wan, his Master’s warm hand stroking his cock, pulling him to completion. The thought of Obi-Wan’s hand on him, his low voice in his ear as he jerks him off, has Anakin spilling into his hand.
His eyes flutter open and he sighs as he lets the water wash away his spend. He can’t keep going like this. How is he supposed to face Obi-Wan if every interaction with his Master leaves him desperate and wanting?
The only way he can see to get it out of his system is to do it. But sitting in his Master’s lap is easier said - or, rather, dreamed - than done.
So Anakin makes a plan. He needs to get Obi-Wan primed for the question. Anakin will relax him to casual touches and being in his space, and then when he asks him to sit in his lap, it will be the most natural thing in the world to him.
Maybe, Anakin thinks with a flush of excitement, he’ll even be the one to pose the question himself.
He starts small, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Obi-Wan as he makes his tea in the morning. When their arms brush twice in as many minutes, his Master turns to him with a raised eyebrow.
“Am I in your way, Padawan?” Anakin shakes his head.
“No, Master.” There’s an expectant pause and he scrambles for an excuse. “I just- I wanted to see how you make your tea.” Obi-Wan’s other eyebrow raises and Anakin fights to keep his expression calm.
“You’ve never been interested before.”
“I can’t change my mind?” There’s another beat of silence, and then Obi-Wan shrugs and turns back to the kettle. He doesn’t say anything more on the matter but Anakin can feel him watching him for the rest of the morning, until he leaves for his classes.
As they walk through the Temple after training, Anakin keeps close to Obi-Wan’s side. The sleeves of their robes brush and, once or twice, their fingers lightly knock together. Obi-Wan apologises the first time and Anakin just smiles at him.
“Don’t worry about it, Master.” He can feel Obi-Wan’s eyes on him every time they brush against each other, but he doesn’t bring it up again. Anakin chatters about his classes and tries not to smile too obviously.
The following morning, as Obi-Wan hands Anakin a mug of caf, his index and middle fingers linger on top of Anakin’s as they pass the mug between them. Anakin fumbles with it, almost spilling his drink. He glances up to see if he noticed but Obi-Wan has already turned back to his own mug of tea. Anakin smiles, pleased. The brief touch is the proof he needed that his plan is working.
They sit across from each other at Dex’s and, while his Master is deep in conversation, Anakin takes the opportunity to study him. His hair is a little longer than usual, overdue for a trim. His eyes are bright and his smile is wide and Anakin feels his whole body relax at Obi-Wan’s gentle, deep voice as he talks.
Before long, a hand is waving in front of his face and Anakin focuses his eyes on his Master’s amused expression.
“Everything alright, Padawan?” Anakin smiles sheepishly, face warm.
“I’m fine.” Obi-Wan tips his head, studying him intently. Anakin tries not to squirm under the attention.
“You’ve been acting strangely, recently. Something has been distracting you. If you need to talk…” Anakin’s face flushes darker and he waves Obi-Wan’s concern off.
“I’m fine, Master, really.” Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and Anakin tries for a reassuring smile. “It’s just, um, a personal issue.” Obi-Wan’s expression softens.
“I understand. But Anakin, I promise you can come to me with anything.” Anakin looks at his Master, his mind racing. He could ask, he thinks. Obi-Wan has relaxed to his touches, has been looking at him with more open affection than usual. Maybe if he tells him about his desire, Obi-Wan will at least consider it. He swallows hard and musters his courage.
“Obi-Wan, I want to sit-” Obi-Wan’s comm chimes, cutting him off before he can finish. His Master fishes the comm out of his robes with a furrowed brow. After a moment, he sighs, and gives Anakin an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry, Padawan, but this is important.” Anakin waves him off, half disappointed and half relieved.
“It’s fine, Master, I understand.” Obi-Wan stands, but shakes his head when Anakin goes to follow.
“You stay, finish your food.” His Master eyes him for another long moment, before shaking his head. Obi-Wan lays a gentle hand on his shoulder and Anakin tries not to react. His heart flutters in his chest as his Master leans in close. “We’ll finish this later, Padawan.”
And then he’s gone in a swirl of robes. Anakin stares after him, face aflame.
When Anakin finally returns, Obi-Wan is sat at the table in their rooms, posture relaxed. Anakin watches him from the doorway for a long moment, until his Master rolls his shoulders back and tilts his head to look at him.
“Do you need something, Anakin?” His voice is low, soft. Anakin moves further into the room. Obi-Wan watches his approach through heavy-lidded eyes. Anakin stops a few steps away from his Master’s seat and swallows hard as his eyes flick down to his spread legs. Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “Will you tell me now?” Anakin bites his lip, then speaks, all in a rush like Obi-Wan will cut him off. As if he ever has, as if he ever will.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” The eyebrow lowers as Obi-Wan smiles.
“Ask me, then.” Anakin wets his lips and raises his head to meet his Master’s gaze.
“Can I sit on your lap?” Obi-Wan shifts in his seat and spreads his legs a little further. He smiles at Anakin, pleased, the skin around his eyes creasing as he beckons him closer. Anakin sways forward in a daze, the last few steps across the floor feel like they take an eternity. He stops between his Master’s spread legs and wavers, unsure.
“Here, Padawan.” One of Obi-Wan’s hands comes to rest on Anakin’s waist and he gently pulls him closer. All at once, Anakin lets himself half-collapse into Obi-Wan. His Master huffs once as he settles against him, the chair rocking a little under their shared weight. The hand that had been resting on his waist moves to wrap around him and the other falls to his knee. Anakin’s own hands hover hesitantly in the air, before he slowly creeps one to wrap around Obi-Wan’s back, drawing them even closer together.
It’s exquisite. His shoulder tucked to Obi-Wan’s chest and his chin brushing his soft hair. He’s surrounded by his Master, by his warmth and the familiar smell of tea and soap. His legs hang side-saddle off the thighs he’s been dreaming about and he can feel Obi-Wan stroking his side.
Obi-Wan brings his hand off Anakin’s knee and nudges his face down until they’re breathing each other’s air. Obi-Wan’s expression is fond, but his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.
“Is this what you wanted?” Anakin shivers at the warm breath against his lips and his eyelashes flutter.
“Yes, Master.” His voice is rough, his mouth dry. Anakin swallows hard and brings his arms up to wrap around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, bringing them impossibly closer. His fingers twist in the fabric of his robes. He wonders if Obi-Wan can hear the way his heart is pounding.
Anakin is so hard he aches. He doesn’t dare look down to check but he’s sure it’s obvious. He can feel his tunic riding up and he’s sure if Obi-Wan looks down he’ll be able to see the bulge in his trousers.
He shifts a little, hoping it’ll hide it - half hoping it doesn’t and Obi-Wan will look - and his thigh nudges his Master’s crotch. Obi-Wan groans and Anakin pauses at the hardness he feels against it. He twitches again just to see, and there it is again. Hard and warm against his leg, even through two layers of fabric. Obi-Wan makes another low, stifled sound and Anakin rests his chin against his shoulder, looking up at Obi-Wan’s face through his lashes. His Master is staring back, expression heated and wanting. Anakin feels heat pool in his gut as he sees the naked want in Obi-Wan’s face.
“Master.” He moans and he feels Obi-Wan’s hips jerk at the noise. Anakin presses his open mouth into Obi-Wan’s neck, right on his pulse. “Fuck, Master. I’ve dreamed of this. You don’t even know…” Obi-Wan’s pulse jumps and Anakin nips lightly at the spot.
“Oh Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice is lower than he’s ever heard it, but still soft and full of affection. Anakin feels warm all over at the sound. He buries his face further into his Master’s neck.
“Do you want this too?” He feels drunk, lost in the feeling of his Master pressed against him, of finally getting what he wants. He can’t stop the steady thrust of his hips and he whines as they meet nothing but air. “Please, Obi-Wan, tell me you want me too.” Obi-Wan makes a low, broken noise and gently threads his fingers through Anakin’s hair, pulling his head back so he can meet his Master’s eyes again.
“Of course I want you, Padawan. How could I not?” Anakin makes another one of those embarrassing noises. Obi-Wan smiles, pleased. “Look at you. It’s like you were made to fit against me. Force, Anakin, how could I want anything else?”
“Obi-Wan.” He moans, voice high. He swallows again, mouth dry. “Obi-Wan, will you kiss me?” His Master hums.
“Is that what you want, Anakin?” He nods quickly, heart pounding with anticipation.
“Please. Please, Master.” His hips are still rolling into nothing, a steady rhythm against the air. Anakin’s lips part and he’s ready to ask again, when Obi-Wan’s mouth presses against his.
His Master’s lips are soft. His tongue slips between Anakin’s parted lips and he groans into Obi-Wan’s mouth at the feeling. He feels Obi-Wan smile at the sound and tries not to squirm at how obvious his inexperience must be. Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to mind though, happy to take charge. Anakin does his best to copy Obi-Wan, tilting his head and pressing closer to his Master. His beard scratches against his face but it’s not unpleasant. He hopes it’ll leave a mark.
Obi-Wan pulls away and Anakin can’t help the whine that slips out as he tries to chase his Master’s mouth. Obi-Wan laughs and rests a warm hand against Anakin’s cheek. His mouth and beard are wet and his cheeks are flushed. Anakin never wants to do anything but this.
Obi-Wan runs a gentle thumb over Anakin’s kiss-bitten lips, eyes dark even as he keeps his expression fond.
“Is that better, Padawan? Is that what you wanted?” His voice is soft. Anakin nods, keeping his face pressed against Obi-Wan’s hand. He loves the feel of his Master’s skin against his own.
Obi-Wan shifts slightly in his seat and Anakin makes a noise as his Master’s hard cock nudges against his thigh again. His own hips have still been making small, stilted movements. He looks up at Obi-Wan through his lashes.
“Master… Do you want to…” He trails off, embarrassed. Asking Obi-Wan to touch him - to really touch him - is still harder than anything else he’s asked today.
Luckily, Obi-Wan knows him better than anyone.
“Oh, Anakin.” He coos, and Anakin squirms. The hand not on Anakin’s face reaches down to cup him through his trousers. He bucks his hips up hard into his Master’s touch and moans. Obi-Wan smiles, pleased and Anakin tucks his face back into his neck. Above his head his Master makes an amused, fond sound before his grip on Anakin’s face tightens and he pulls his head away from his neck. Obi-Wan is still smiling at him as he strokes over Anakin’s covered cock with a firm hand. Anakin is helpless to do anything but gaze at Obi-Wan and grind his hips into the steady pressure. He can’t stop the desperate, pathetic noises coming from his parted lips, even as his face grows hotter with every one. Obi-Wan, however, just looks more and more satisfied with each gasp and mewl and Anakin can feel his Master’s cock twitching against his leg.
Before long, Anakin is shaking and panting. Obi-Wan grinds the heel of his hand down on Anakin’s cock, just hard enough to hurt, and Anakin is coming before he realises what’s happening, voice high and reedy. Obi-Wan holds him tighter as he shudders his way through his orgasm, letting him burrow his head back in his Master’s chest. The arm not around his waist reaches around so he can stroke his hair and Anakin sighs, satiated.
After a few moments he shifts and reaches a hand down to stroke lightly over Obi-Wan’s cock. His Master moans and grips him tighter.
“You don’t have to, Anakin.” His voice is low, face pressed to Anakin’s hair. He shakes his head and strokes Obi-Wan again.
“I- I want to, Master. I want to make you feel good too.” Obi-Wan makes a stifled sound above his head then pulls away from Anakin a fraction. He bites back a whine at the loss of contact and looks up at his Master’s face. Obi-Wan presses a kiss to his forehead, making him squirm.
“Okay, Padawan. Like this.”
He pulls Anakin so he’s sitting with his back against Obi-Wan’s firm chest, wrapping his arms around his middle. Anakin goes easily, still compliant after his orgasm. His Master’s cock presses against him, without their clothes as a barrier it would be pressing against him. Anakin’s hole pulses at the thought and he whines again. He rolls his hips against his Master and Obi-Wan groans low in his ear. He holds him tight, bucking up against Anakin.
“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan thrusts up, falling into a steady rhythm. He can feel his cock trying to get hard again and Anakin can do nothing but mewl and pant as his Master grinds against him. His head falls back, tucked under Obi-Wan’s chin and he pants wetly as his Master moans above his head.
One of Obi-Wan’s hands falls from his middle to cup at his crotch through his trousers and Anakin feels his spent cock twitch. He shifts it up, rucking up Anakin’s tunic as his Master shifts his hand down the front of Anakin’s trousers and slips it down the waistband of his undergarments to touch his bare length. Anakin whines at his Master’s warm hand against his cock.
“Master. Obi-Wan, please.” The room is filled with the sound of their moans and the wet sound of Obi-Wan stroking his cock, lubricated by the cooling cum in his underwear. He mewls and rolls his hips.
His Master is everywhere. Pressing against his back, his ass, his cock. Anakin can’t escape him, not that he wants to.
Obi-Wan’s grip on his waist tightens and his movements grow more frantic. Anakin tries to roll his hips back in a steady rhythm for his Master and Obi-Wan moans in his ear. His hand quickens on Anakin’s cock and he pulls him down on his lap more quickly, the pace of the thrusts making the beads on his Padawan braid clink together. Obi-Wan moans again, deep and wanting, and his hips stutter. After a few more jerky thrusts he stops, holding Anakin tightly against him as he pants heavily, breath hot against Anakin’s ear.
After a moment his Master’s grip relaxes and he feels him sink back into the chair. His hand is still on Anakin’s cock, jerking him off steadily even through his own orgasm. The feel of his Master’s bare hand against his cock and the knowledge that Anakin helped bring him off is all it takes for Anakin to come again, over Obi-Wan’s hand.
He rests his head back against Obi-Wan’s chest, exhausted. His Master makes a small noise above his head as he pulls his hand out of Anakin’s trousers. He feels him wiping his hand on the fabric and he grumbles, but doesn’t open his eyes. Obi-Wan laughs lightly and wraps his arms back around Anakin.
Anakin doesn’t know how much time passes with them like that, but eventually he becomes aware of Obi-Wan murmuring to him in a low voice. He’s speaking too quietly for Anakin to make out the words, but he’s taken aback at the plain affection apparent in his tone. He lets his eyes flutter open and he looks up to see Obi-Wan staring down at him fondly. Anakin knows his Master cares about him - more than, surely, after what they’ve done tonight - but to see him display it so openly makes him blush.
When Anakin shifts his head he becomes aware of a slight, barely noticeable, pressure - when he flicks his eyes down to look he sees his braid wrapped lightly around Obi-Wan’s pointer finger, his thumb rubbing one of the beads idly. Anakin melts.
“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan’s voice is soft. Anakin moves to sit up properly and grimaces at the tacky feeling in his underwear. Obi-Wan chuckles and he tries not to blush. “Other than that.”
“I’m good, Master. Really good. I never thought you’d…” Obi-Wan smiles.
“Oh, Anakin. I meant what I said. How could I not want you?” Anakin ducks his head, smile pleased and embarrassed.
“Have you really gone shy now, Padawan?” He shakes his head, looking up at Obi-Wan through his lashes. Obi-Wan tugs at his braid lightly before letting it unravel from around his finger. Anakin smiles again when he feels it knock lightly against his neck. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how his Master is looking at him in this moment. He hopes Obi-Wan sees the same affection in Anakin’s eyes.
He turns in Obi-Wan’s lap so his knees are bracketing his Master’s thighs. The chair creaks and Obi-Wan glances down warily.
“Perhaps we should move somewhere less precarious.” Anakin hums, leaning in to press his lips against Obi-Wan’s again and again.
“In a moment, Master. Just let me stay here a little longer.”