Insatiable

If asked where the idea came from, Obi-Wan would have to confess that he didn’t know. It was during a lazy night on Coruscant, however, a rarity during the Clone Wars, where Jedi were sparse and sorely needed out on the battlefield wherever they could be culled from. But since both Obi-Wan and Anakin had just returned from a particularly fierce bout of fighting, similarly drained and both wearing a few new cuts and bruises, the Council had urged them to spend a little while resting up.

It had been nearly a week or so, now. Wounds were, for the most part healed, and while the eve of a new destination would likely be upon them soon, neither Knight had been contacted yet. Likely, it would be another joint mission; this was another rarity, Anakin having passed his Trials with flying colors and perfectly able to perform solo tasks, but their teamwork as the Kenobi-Skywalker duo was legendary, and the Council knew better than to “mess with a good thing”, as Anakin often put it.

Nonetheless, on that particular evening, they were simply left to the company of one another. In the days of Anakin’s apprenticeship, this would have possibly meant a bit of lighthearted sparring practice, topped off by popping in a couple of the action-adventure holovids that Obi-Wan knew his Padawan enjoyed. Somewhere in between shorn braids and the Jedi Order’s uncomfortable reincarnation into an overworked galactic army, however, their downtime had taken on a slightly more … sexual tinge.

It was because of extreme circumstances only, Obi-Wan had rationalized to himself the first couple of times it had happened. Again, as with many facets of his relationship with Anakin, he was sketchy on the details of exactly how they went from their platonic Master-and-Padawan relationship to being curled up on Obi-Wan’s sleep couch, kissing and fumbling madly with one another’s belts. He just knew that Anakin’s hands sweeping the too-bony curvature of his frame, the slight shock of the metal fingers on his robotic arm curled around Obi-Wan’s cock, … the fact that his cock was hard in the first place in the presence of the young man he had hardly let out of his sight for twelve years, had been odd, to say the least. Odd, but not entirely unpleasant, of course.

It had hardly been a one-time occurrence, either. At first the notion that he was doing something horribly, horribly wrong, forbidden, even evil had eaten at him. Anakin was his apprentice, for Force’s sake. He had known him since he was merely a boy – he was practically his son or something of the sort. But Anakin had scoffed at the idea when it was proposed aloud, assuring Obi-Wan – with plenty of his usual damnable charisma and a few well-placed caresses – that he wasn’t Obi-Wan’s son, and that, anyway, Master, I don’t think that’s your lightsaber rubbing up against my leg, now, is it?

Anakin had a unique – but often, very convincing – way of putting things.

They had already coupled once this evening. Obi-Wan had been freshly out of the shower, not bothering to don so much as a robe to traverse the short path from the fresher to his personal quarters. And then suddenly – almost suspiciously so, he’d thought idly at the time – there had been Anakin, quite taken by his Master’s shower-mussed hair and damp form. Before he knew it, Obi-Wan found himself pressed soundly up against a wall, Anakin’s mouth anchored to his. He’d vaguely attempted a comment about his state of cleanliness, but it didn’t seem important once Anakin’s tongue slipped downward to lap at the stray drops of water that had spilt from his hair onto his neck and shoulders.

Now, stretched out languidly in the throes of aftermath, Obi-Wan listened to the faint sounds of Anakin rummaging through the kitchen and chuckled. If Anakin was indefatigable during sex, he was just as ravenous when it came to food. Obi-Wan had been much the same way at that age, as he recalled; he had greatly enjoyed both eating and cooking, and was pleased that Anakin seemed to enjoy his confections as much as Qui-Gon used to. Knowing that Anakin appreciated it when Obi-Wan made meals for him that Qui-Gon had enjoyed had even helped soften the blow of losing his Master somewhat, he felt.

Of course, there was nothing Obi-Wan had done to prepare the bottle of chocolate syrup Anakin still had clutched in his hand as he sauntered, nude, back into Obi-Wan’s bedroom. “Did you forget to put something back?” he chuckled, propping himself into a rather lazy impression of a sitting position with a couple of pillows.

Anakin responded by tilting the bottle upside down over his head; a strand of the ridiculously sweet substance coiled onto his tongue, and he took it in, licking his lips afterwards. Then he glanced at Obi-Wan, who dryly raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll get it all over the bedding,” the older man complained, mostly out of habit, but he knew it would not be a deterrent as much as Anakin did. His former Padawan leaned into him, the smell of chocolate on his breath; their tongues melted together, and Obi-Wan could taste the sugary remnants in his mouth. It jarred his senses, sending a small thrill up his spine; he had a feeling they weren’t done for the evening.

“Don’t worry, Master,” Anakin murmured, eyelids half-closed, demure. “I promise not to get any on your bedclothes. You, on the other hand …” He trailed off and made a couple of intentionally reckless flicks of his wrist; the result was a number of carefully aimed splatters on Obi-Wan’s stomach and thighs. “Whoops,” Anakin smiled.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “I really did just bathe,” he said, frowning. “It seems an awful waste of water to not have the effects last more than ten minutes.”

Anakin’s grin widened; he trailed a finger – on his remaining ‘real’ hand, Obi-Wan noted absently – down his Master’s stomach, sucking the tip into his mouth, licking the dollop of chocolate he’d collected off. “We can shower together this time,” he promised. “For the sake of conserving water and all.” Obi-Wan snorted, his breath hitching when he felt the flat wetness of Anakin’s tongue where his hand had just been. “It’d be a shame to waste all of this, too, though, don’t you think? Master?”

“Oh, I agree,” Obi-Wan coughed, taking a shaky breath. “A complete waste of … food.” His fingers twisted lightly in the sheets beneath him, not wanting to interrupt Anakin’s tongue on its extensive journey along his thighs. He suckled a drop of syrup off the juncture between Obi-Wan’s groin and leg, making the older man hiss.

“I don’t think this will do,” Anakin said suddenly, lifting his head. Obi-Wan was about to protest, both the fact that he had stopped traversing the area around his erect cock, and also the excessive use of syrup when he realized what his former apprentice meant. His warnings came to naught, though, as they tended to where Anakin was concerned; even as he watched Anakin draw the tip of the syrup container up the underside of his shaft, the feel of the refrigerator-chilled chocolate sauce still made him jump.

“Aaahh, Anakin!”

“Don’t worry, Master,” Anakin said, all too cheekily. “I’ll warm it up.” Propping himself on his bionic arm, he wrapped the fingers on his other hand around Obi-Wan’s cock, running them teasingly over and around it, thumbing the head. It was really making an awful mess, Obi-Wan decided, the syrup now smeared haphazardly about. Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away as Anakin bent forward, flicking his tongue across the top, swiping a drop of pre-come with it. Then, wrangling himself onto his stomach, he busied himself with cleaning the rest of it off.

Obi-Wan subconsciously spread his legs, feeling quite helpless as Anakin began vigorously licking his penis in long, slow laps. Occasionally, he would suction his lips against one particular spot, his tongue darting out frenetically between them until he was satisfied that the chocolate in that particular area had been retrieved. It was an erratic motion, Anakin’s fingers pinching and massaging his balls only serving to tease him more. The young man’s lips were swollen and sticky, and Obi-Wan very much wanted to kiss them, to suck at Anakin’s beautiful mouth the way it was sucking at him, but that would have meant making him stop, and even his resolve wasn’t that good.

“Mmm,” Anakin moaned, the soft vibration adding to the overall sensation. Obi-Wan brought one hand up to tangle in the young man’s soft curls, transfixed by the miniscule changes to his posture and balance as Anakin prepared to deep-throat him. His lips wrapped around the head, sliding down with excruciating slowness that made Obi-Wan sure that Anakin meant to torture him. His fist tightened in the young man’s hair, content to let him control the pace, but needing to clutch him closer somehow.

“Anakin,” he choked out, his release pooling heavily in his lower belly. Anakin’s head was bobbing freely now in a brisk, established rhythm, small grunts emanating from him as he sucked Obi-Wan off. He took it all in at one point, swallowing around his Master’s cock several times; his metal hand clutched at the older man’s thigh, his flesh-and-blood fingertips brushing purposefully over Obi-Wan’s balls. His Master came with a loud, appreciative groan, and Anakin swallowed until he was certain he’d coaxed out every last drop.

“Anakin.” The name was a pleased exhalation this time, and Anakin smiled, rising up on his knees at the urging of Obi-Wan’s hand, still tangled in his hair and tugging upwards slightly. He clamored eagerly for a kiss and Obi-Wan indulged him, still able to taste remnants of Anakin’s late-night snack in his mouth.

He felt a soft jab in his stomach and reached down, palming Anakin’s erection teasingly. He motioned for him to lean back slightly and Anakin did, wordlessly conveying what he wanted. He whimpered as Obi-Wan mimicked his own earlier movements, fisting his hardened member and smearing pre-come over the head. His Master brought his fingers up to Anakin’s mouth and he took them in, suckling the digits with the same forcefulness he had used on Obi-Wan’s cock.

“Please,” he murmured. “Master. Plea- oh! Yes,” he gasped, his head falling back against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, hips pumping forward needily into the dampened hand. Obi-Wan’s fingers were nimble, calloused slightly from the numerous battles they had endured, and the added texture was absolutely breathtaking.

“Come for me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured as he intentionally sped up the pace. He wondered vaguely when he had gotten quite so possessive about these sorts of things. Anakin’s breath came in staggered grunts; his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he bit down on his lip hard enough that Obi-Wan was sure he’d drawn blood. Eventually, he spurted over the older man’s hand, coating it in warmth, then sagged against him, nuzzling Obi-Wan’s throat.

They rested, spent, just like that for several moments, luxuriating in the peacefulness of simply coexisting. The room was completely silent, save for the sounds of mingled breathing as it slowly returned to normal. Obi-Wan was the first to shift, the small bits of chocolate that still clung to his body growing uncomfortably itchy now. He shooed Anakin off of him and the younger man stood, stretching his leanly-muscled frame as Obi-Wan inspected his soiled bedding with a critical eye. “It was inevitable, I suppose,” he muttered.

Anakin tried to look apologetic and failed miserably. “Look on the bright side, Master,” he suggested. “Taking round three into the shower won’t leave nearly the mess to clean up.” He yelped when Obi-Wan swatted him sharply on the backside.

“Go put this away so it doesn’t spoil,” he chided, tightening the cap of the syrup bottle and handing it to his partner. Anakin obeyed - for once - and he shook his head fondly after him. The boy really was utterly insatiable. And, Obi-Wan thought, standing and stretching his own limbs, he couldn’t say honestly that he’d ever get enough of that.