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Even in sleep, Anakin had tears in his eyes. Since he arrived, it seemed it was all he was capable of—that and impatience. But Gods, if it didn’t suit him. Wet eyes and pink lips set in a near constant pout. The perfect image of stubborn innocence.
Owen had never seen something so beautiful before. He’d seen beauty, of course, but not like this. Not something so ethereal. In the moonlight, Anakin’s tears glistened like stars, sparkling with each gentle twitch of his eyelashes. His mouth hung open, desperate and panting; his eyebrows knitted together just so. Through it all, a layer of sweat left his skin glowing, like the final layer of a painting. Untouchable.
Of course, it was a nightmare. No doubt.
Shmi Skywalker’s funeral had been that evening. His mother—their mother—was gone. And while the loss was fresh to Anakin, Owen had mourned her death long ago. Losing her again was only confirmation of his past grief.
Maybe, he could help Anakin with moving on.
“She always told me,” he said, his voice low as he pulled the blanket from Anakin’s body, “That if we ever met, I was to look after you—like a real older brother.”
Underneath all those Jedi robes, Anakin had looked so scrawny paired with his height, but with only a thin layer of fabric to cover him now, Owen saw that he was much more. Like a sculpture ripped right from the story of the old Gods, Anakin’s body had been perfectly laid out, every line and curve chiseled with careful detail.
How he’d been born on this same desert shit-hole of a planet as him was astounding. Anakin truly looked like a work of fiction, like something he could only imagine in a dream. To think a moisture farmer like him had been granted such a luxury. He could only think to thank his father for freeing and marrying Shmi all those years ago—to gift him with a brother such as this.
Owen’s breath hitched as he stripped Anakin of his clothes, ridding him of his pants and unlacing the string that held his tunic together, only able to expose his chest as he feared anymore would disturb Anakin out of his sleep. Even at that stage, it was breathtaking—an erotic display of vulnerable elegance.
“You stay just like that.” Owen crawled onto the bed, his throat as dry as the sands outside, his heart pounding against his chest. He spread Anakin’s legs; his eyes fixated on the bulge in his underwear. The fabric was just loose enough that he could only make out the general shape of Anakin underneath. “I wonder…” he asked, “Are you as perfect here as the rest of you?”
He nuzzled himself between Anakin’s legs and placed his mouth upon the fabric, mouthing and kneading into the softness with his lips. His kisses were muffled as he trailed along Anakin’s length, finally mouthing at his tip with a grin.
“Your older brother’s going to make you feel good now, okay?”
Anakin remained unaware, his eyelashes still wet and mouth still open, almost drooling as Owen began to play with him.
He mouthed and sucked at Anakin through the fabric, his tongue leaving gentle, damp flicks before laying the flat of his tongue against him, soaking the underwear with saliva and watching it stick to Anakin’s skin. Owen moaned against the wet spot, intoxicated by the subtle transparency the wetter it became. The color of Anakin’s skin bled through like a tease, the pink of his cock blushing against the dark, wet stain.
“You’re so wet…” Owen groaned.
Anakin whimpered through his sleep.
“You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?” Owen nuzzled against Anakin, humming as Anakin twitched and ached beneath him, snug against the wet fabric. “Why don’t you let your brother taste some of you, hm?”
Owen sucked harder at Anakin through the fabric, pulling some of his own spit into his mouth as the taste of precum—of Anakin—graced his tastebuds. Sticky and warm. How beautiful it would look painted across his perfect chest. Milky white against his sun-tanned skin.
“You should stay here,” he mumbled, his words lost against his actions, “Brothers should stick together—family should stick together. Especially after everything, we could use an extra pair of hands around here.”
Owen continued to mumble on as he fell into an almost drowsy stupor, lost in the smell and taste of Anakin, overwhelmed by the erotic nature of Anakin’s wetness as he rubbed his face against his clothed cock. His words interrupted as he mouthed and kissed at Anakin, gentle and lazy.
Anakin’s eyes fluttered open.
“Hunh…?” he mumbled.
“Mm,” Owen moaned, “Such a naughty boy.”
Anakin awoke and his head flung forward, staring between his legs in confusion and shock, unable to comprehend the figure in the darkness. It didn’t take him long to figure out it was Owen, that he was half-naked, and that Owen was using his mouth and tongue on him.
“What—” Anakin’s voice cracked. “What are you doing?!”
Anakin closed his legs together, smacking Owen on both sides of his head and trapping him between his legs, pressing Owen even closer against his groin. Owen groaned in pain, but his cock twitched in his pants. In a way, it was like Anakin’s body didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want him to stop.
“What—are—you—doing?” Anakin asked again, a growl in his throat. His cheeks burned a deep red and he held his hands clasped together at his chest, almost like he was praying. The tears from his dream had finally escaped, running down his cheeks in thin stripes.
“I’m making you feel better,” Owen said, but it came out less serious than he intended, his face still squashed between Anakin’s legs. His voice almost sounded goofy.
“I—you’re—what?” Anakin scoffed, “You’re sucking my cock!”
“Shh!” Owen squeezed his hands through the space between Anakin’s legs and his head and slowly inched them apart. “Don’t yell so loud. You’ll wake Dad.” He stroked Anakin’s inner thighs and bent down again, placing a gentle kiss upon Anakin’s still twitching cock. “You were crying,” he said, “I’m making you feel better with a little distraction.”
Anakin wiped away at his tears, but they wouldn’t stop falling.
“Don’t cry, little Ani,” he said, the nickname falling out instinctively as he thought of the way their mother always spoke of him. “You know, if you’re afraid, you don’t need to be. With me, you’ll never be alone.” He kissed Anakin again. “I know you miss her.” He stopped for a moment, as if afraid to bring her up. “You know… she wanted this—Mom wanted this.”
“Don’t call her that! She not your mom,” Anakin said, his eyes full of tears, even as he scowled at Owen, “Don’t talk about her like you knew her!” He grabbed at Owen’s head and attempted to push him away, but it was half-assed. “And she would’ve never wanted this, you’re just making things up! You’re a pervert!”
“I’m not lying,” Owen said, his voice serious.
He’d known Shmi better than Anakin had anyway. She’d told him Anakin had been so young when they took him away—what could a young child really remember about their mother? After all these years, how was Anakin to know what Shmi did or didn’t want?
His hands rubbed into Anakin’s thighs again, both to keep Anakin distracted and to have something to grab if Anakin decided to push him again. The temptation of his cock still inches from his face. Despite everything, Anakin was still hard.
“She always said you were a sensitive boy, that you’d cry over the smallest things and always wanted her within arm’s reach. She was worried she coddled you too much. Said she didn’t know what kind of person you’d be when you grew up, but she worried you’d still be dependent on her—even when she was no longer around.” He sighed. Maybe it wasn’t the best to keep reminding Anakin of her absence. “She always wished you’d had an older brother. To guide you. To be there for you when she wasn’t.”
Anakin was still glaring at him.
“I’m that older brother,” he said, “I’ll be here for you—I’m here right now.”
Anakin gave him a look he couldn’t place. One of confusion, of annoyance, of disgust. He shook his head. “In what way does that mean Mom wanted you to suck my cock? And while I’m asleep?!” Anakin threw his hands to his face and laughed, but it wasn’t genuine. “This is so stupid—you’re so stupid.”
Well, Anakin hadn’t told him to stop. And honestly, with how Shmi always described him, Owen was hoping he’d be a little bit more naïve and innocent. One of those perfect and gullible types. Maybe he still was.
“Look, I know you were having a nightmare about Mom. I thought you’d prefer to have a wet dream instead, you know, something to distract you.” Owen dipped himself back between Anakin’s legs as a smirk crept onto his lips. “Besides, I’m not sucking you off. I’m doing it through your underwear, that makes it different. But I guess you wouldn’t know that, seeing as you’re a sheltered little Jedi and all.”
“What—? Am not!”
Perfect and gullible.
“Then stop complaining and relax.”
Without having to worry about being gentle this time, Owen gripped Anakin’s thighs and spread his legs as far as he could, giving himself as much access to Anakin as possible. A pathetic little sound escaped Anakin’s throat.
“Wait, Owen,” he said, “I know you said it’s different but—”
“Don’t worry about it, remember? Mom told me to take care of you and I’m not going to disappoint her.” He rubbed his thumbs into Anakin’s inner thighs and felt a gentle tremble just beneath. Part of him felt awful for using their dead mother like this, but he wasn’t exactly lying. Maybe she would’ve wanted this for them. “You were already feeling so good in your sleep, what’s stopping you now?”
“Are you sure doing it like this is okay? Even if we’re brothers?”
“Step-brothers, Anakin. We’re allowed to do so much more than you know.”
With that, he sank back between Anakin’s legs and began to mouth rougher than before, his lips kissing and sucking from his cock to his balls. Every inch of Anakin was beautiful and Owen wasn’t going to let his chance go to waste. He nuzzle his nose and cheeks against the damp, sticky spot from before.
“Mm, so wet from your brother’s mouth,” he mumbled.
Anakin whimpered.
Owen wanted to rip through Anakin’s underwear with his teeth, but he knew if he was going to get a chance to touch him like that—to actually touch him—then he’d need to be slow and carefully convince Anakin into it.
Maybe he could start with some gentle prodding.
As his tongue distracted Anakin, he inched his hands downward, his thumbs slipping under the hem of Anakin’s underwear and reaching between his cheeks.
“Owen?”
He grasped Anakin and spread him, his thumbs mere seconds from teasing at his hole. If only his underwear weren’t in the way, then he could admire how lewd his little hole looked. Was it quivering for attention? Was it begging for him?
“Owen!” Anakin squirmed. “Aren’t you crossing the line? I thought you said you’d only touch me through my underpants!”
“Quiet down!” Owen hushed, “You’re thinking too much. I know what I’m doing and I’m only doing what we’re allowed to, so stop complaining. Unless you want me to stop. Is that it? Are you too much of a baby?”
“What? I’m not a baby,” Anakin huffed, “Keep going.”
Owen smirked. “I don’t know, you’re not gonna like the next part.” Despite his words, he continued to play with Anakin’s hole, slowly spreading it before letting go. “Maybe we should stop.”
“You can’t,” Anakin said, almost too quick, “I mean—it’s just…you’re the one who started this, so you can’t back out now. Not after you gave me so much shit for it earlier.”
“I know, I know.” His thumbs teased, slower.
He wanted Anakin to say it. Needed Anakin to tell him how much he wanted his brother to touch him, to please him, to fuck him. To bat those pretty, wet eyelashes and beg for it.
“I’m your older brother, I shouldn’t be—”
As if on cue, Anakin interrupted him.
“You’re my older brother, so… you know best, right?” Anakin’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if he wasn’t even sure if he agreed with what’d come out of his own mouth. His cheeks were still a dark pink. With a low voice, he said, “Mom trusted you, so… so I trust you too.”
Owen smiled, “You’re really cute, you know that?”
“What?” Anakin’s voice cracked.
Before Anakin could react, Owen removed himself from between Anakin’s legs and got off the bed. If Anakin was giving him the go-ahead to do whatever he wanted, then he was going to do just that.
“What are you doing?” Anakin asked, “I thought I just said—”
“I know.”
Owen gestured for Anakin to stand and he obeyed. His cock still twitched and ached in his underwear, a bead of precum pushing its way through the fabric like a pretty decoration. It took everything Owen had to not push Anakin back onto the bed and suck that pretty little bead into his mouth.
“Kneel for me.”
His pants dropped to the floor and Anakin followed suit, his pretty pink lips forming an o-shape as Owen’s cock stood before him.
“You’re not wearing any underwear?”
“It’s too hot on Tatooine for that, don’t you think?” Owen grabbed his cock, stroking it a few times before he backed his hand against the ridge of the head. It looked so red against the color of his hand. “Suck on the tip for me, Anakin. I’ll hold it for you.”
Anakin looked from Owen to his cock and slowly nodded his head.
Owen watched with bated breath as Anakin leaned forward and left a gentle kiss on the tip of his cock. Honestly, it was so gentle that Owen couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose to be a tease or if he hadn’t the slightest clue on how to suck cock.
Was Anakin a virgin?
Anakin’s eyelashes fluttered as he wrapped his lips around the very tip, as if unsure of the taste of it, and as he took it into his mouth, Owen couldn’t help but groan. His spread lips brushed against Owen’s hand and the touch of his wet, silky tongue was like a spark as it lapped along the bottom. Owen almost flinched.
Gods, he begged he was virgin.
Slowly, Anakin began to suck. He wrapped his lips around the base of the head, running his tongue along the bottom, before sucking down to the tip and pushing his tongue against the small slit on the very end. Owen could feel himself leaking into Anakin’s mouth with each action.
There’s no way he hadn’t done this before. He was too good.
“Damn, Anakin, did Mom know you were a cocksucker?”
Anakin’s lips slipped from Owen. “What the hell? Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Cause I’m not a cocksucker—and stop bringing Mom into this.”
“You’re sucking cock right now.”
Anakin huffed. “Well, now I’m not. And you know what? I think I’m gonna head back to bed, because I don’t want to do this if you’re gonna keep picking on me and talking about Mom. It’s like you’re trying to make me feel like shit when that’s the opposite of what you said you’d do.”
“I’m just joking.”
Anakin ignored him.
“You’re not actually going to bed, are you?” Owen asked.
Anakin looked like he thought about it for a moment, before scoffing and nodding his head. “You probably think I’m bluffing, but I’m not. Have fun jerking off alone.”
Anakin began to stand but Owen quickly pushed him back down, the two of them falling onto the floor and against the side of Anakin’s bed with a heavy thump. Anakin groaned, but Owen didn’t waste time checking if he’d been hurt. He grabbed Anakin through his underwear with one hand, massaging it almost too rough, while the other wrapped around the back of Anakin’s neck and pulled him into a messy kiss.
It was wet and rushed. For a moment, Anakin reciprocated, matching Owen as they moved as one. His tongue ran across Anakin’s bottom lip and suddenly he was pushed away. The two of them breathed heavy, still inches from each other’s face, still tangled up on the floor. With Owen’s hand still between Anakin’s legs, Anakin looked ready to punch him, but with a huff, he pulled Owen back into another kiss.
This time, Anakin took initiative and pushed his tongue into Owen’s mouth, moaning as it ran along the length of Owen’s. Again, Owen was shocked by how dirty and wet the kiss was—how often did Anakin spend time kissing people? He must’ve had someone to practice with to get like this. What were those Jedi teaching him? His thoughts spun as he lost himself in Anakin’s taste. Oh, how he wished he could spend hours sucking his wet, lewd tongue or fucking his mouth with his own.
Was Anakin still going to leave tomorrow? Was his Jedi training that important?
“Fuck me,” Anakin breathed between kisses.
The demand didn’t register at first.
“What?”
“Fuck me—c’mon you idiot,” Anakin repeated.
Owen nodded, his thoughts still a mess. He threw his worries aside and slipped Anakin’s damp underwear down his long, slender legs, finally gracing his eyes upon his twitching, beautiful cock. His balls were slick with sweat; the head wet with sparkling, sticky beads.
“The lube’s in Dad’s room,” Owen said.
“What?” Anakin asked, almost snapping out of his hazed lust. His legs were spread and Owen crawled between them. “Why do you know that? Do you share lube?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Owen drawled, desperate, “We’ll use spit.”
Owen stuck out his tongue and ran two fingers along the top and bottom, trying to gather as much saliva as he could before slicking his cock. It wasn’t perfect, but he was too desperate to care. He grabbed Anakin’s ass and angled him up onto his lap, his cock nudging against Anakin’s hole.
“Gods, your body is perfect.”
Anakin scoffed, “Shut up.”
“I’m not joking this time. I mean it—you’re perfect.”
Anakin didn’t seem to know how to react, his face was a mix between surprise and embarrassment. But Owen didn’t need to hear words to know what Anakin thought, his body would do the talking. He grabbed his cock and nudged the head against Anakin’s ass again, but it was still too tight.
“C’mon.” Owen circled his cock around the hole, pressing and worming his way against Anakin until there seemed to be some give. “Yeah—yeah. That’s it.”
One last shove and the head began to slip in, slowly—almost painfully so—it inched inwards. Anakin took in a sharp breath and Owen almost laughed. His ass was tight. Surely, the lube would’ve worked wonders and maybe it would’ve been worth the trouble of sneaking into his Dad’s room. But, just as he was beginning to think of starting again, the head of his cock slipped inside.
“Oh—you’re so fat!” Anakin gasped.
Owen frowned. “Okay, now you’re saying mean shit.”
“I mean your cock, you idiot! It’s a compliment!” Anakin groaned, “You’re bigger than you look.”
“Or maybe you’ve got a tiny asshole,” Owen mumbled.
“Shut up and start moving.”
Owen obeyed. He was slow, at first, but hunger quickly overtook him. His rhythm became a desperate plea for release, burying himself in Anakin over and over. The sound of his balls smacking against Anakin’s ass filled the room. And as his speed became erratic, he struggled to keep Anakin in his grasp, his hands digging into Anakin’s waist with such force that he was sure to leave marks—ones he hoped his Jedi friends would notice.
Anakin threw his hands over his mouth as he became a mess of pathetic gasps and moans, but Owen knew it was useless to hide their sounds. If Owen’s father was awake, he’d surely already heard them. Maybe he was using them to get himself off too.
“Fuck—fuck—you’re so—fuck.” Owen barely managed to get out a coherent string of words. Each word that fell from his lips felt like a falter to his rhythm. His mind spun with nothing but an animalistic need. Anakin took him so well—his brother took his cock like he was made for it.
He heard his name like a muffled song through Anakin’s hands and suddenly Anakin’s ass clenched hard around his cock, the warmth of his cum spilling in a mess between them. Oh, Gods—yes—he’d made Anakin come from his cock.
Anakin’s hands dropped from his face and fell limp at his sides, smacking into the side of the bed behind him. His mouth hung open with the small sounds of whimpers and his pretty eyelashes fluttered—wet again—as tears pricked at his eyes. Through the strange mix of sobs and moans, Owen heard Anakin cry.
“Mom…”
It should’ve messed up his rhythm, should’ve had him soften and dry at the thought, but for some reason, it was the final thing he needed to send him over. With a grunt, Owen pushed himself in as deep as he could and spilled himself inside. His brother, full of his warmth. Full of him.
Owen grabbed Anakin and pulled him up into his lap for a hug; their bodies still connected. He ran a hand up and down Anakin’s back, tracing the curve of his spine. Anakin really was beautiful, even with a red, puffy face of tears. It almost made him cry, the thought that Anakin was going to leave tomorrow and he’d never know if he’d see him again. Stolen by those mysterious Jedi.
“I’m here,” Owen said, “Don’t you cry—your older brother’s got you.”
In that moment, he wondered how Shmi ever had the strength to let them take him. How she had held the beauty of the universe in her arms and still said goodbye.
He wondered if she was watching.
Tomorrow, would she give him that same strength?