I've fallen back into star wars & I shan't get up

“I gotta go take a piss,” Quinlan said, rising from his stool and departing into the crowd with a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan saw him off with a nod and turned his attention back to his beer. 

He cast his eyes around the faux-English tavern he’d found himself in, replete with deafening music piping jauntily through the speakers and decor that was surely meant to be a very twee facsimile of some bygone era. Just one of many wonders he was certain were in store for him today. 

To his left, two men, who seemed to be already drunk, staggered up from their barstools, leaving only a dollar bill and a handful of change behind. 

“Assholes,” the hot bartender scoffed as he surveyed the pitiful fare. 

Obi-Wan had been - well, not watching him, per se, but noticing him, at least. It was hard not to, with the way he looked. 

Obi-Wan snorted at the comment, drawing the bartender’s attention. 

“Can I help you?” he said, sounding pissed off. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, friendly? Something about the happiest place on earth?” Obi-Wan offered, he hoped charmingly, pairing it with a smile. He was being a bit of a dick, he knew, but he was starting to feel a bit tipsy from the two drinks they’d had and, well. 

Sarcasm had always been his preferred form of flirting. 

The bartender rolled his eyes. “That’s Disneyland. And you try dealing with tourists forty hours a week and see how you like it,” he answered dismissively. 

“Plus,” the bartender, Anakin, his nametag read, continued, “I’m giving them the authentic experience of a gruff British barkeep.” He’d stepped closer, and leaned forward onto the bar as he spoke, resting his elbows on the sticky wood only a few inches away from Obi-Wan’s. “You sound like you’re from across the pond,” Anakin continued derisively. “How am I doing?” 

“Ah. Very authentically rude,” Obi-Wan teased back. “Though I must say the food leaves much to be desired,” he added, looking down at the dismal fish and chips he’d discarded beside him. 

Anakin laughed. Obi-Wan found he quite liked the sound. “Well, you can’t blame me for that,” he said, tossing the rag he’d been holding easily over his shoulder. Obi-Wan followed the movement of his broad shoulders with interest. 

“Are you here visiting?” Anakin asked, still leaning close. Someone down the bar seemed to be trying to get his attention, and Obi-Wan watched with some small satisfaction as Anakin resolutely ignored them. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied. “I’ve been very unfortunately roped into drinking around the world,” he said ruefully. He was certainly too old to be having eleven drinks in one night, but Quinlan had insisted. 

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Of course. Where’d you start?” he asked. 

“Cananda, I think,” Obi-Wan answered, recalling the watery beer he’d consumed beside some sort of fake waterfall. 

Anakin grinned. “Mexico last then. Be careful with the margaritas, they’ll fuck you up,” he said. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Obi-Wan said, returning Anakin’s smile with one of his own. 

“So, are you here with your…boyfriend?” Anakin asked, tilting his head towards Quinlan’s empty stool. 

Obi-Wan snorted. “Definitely not.” 

“Because you’re straight?” Anakin asked, cocking his head to the side, eyeing Obi-Wan with clear intent. 

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, meeting Anakin’s gaze. “Because I’m single.” 

Anakin’s smile grew. “So, where are you staying?” 

***

Quinlan returned just as Obi-Wan was tucking the receipt with Anakin’s number into his wallet. 

“You’re shitting me,” Quinlan said, eyeing the paper with the incriminating digits as Obi-Wan carefully folded it. “I leave for five minutes and you find a boyfriend.” 

Obi-Wan shrugged unapologetically. Anakin gave him a final grin from where he stood down the bar, finally taking someone else’s order. 

“You’re not going to ditch me to get some dick, are you?” Quinlan said as they made their way back out into the sweltering heat. 

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan answered easily. “He doesn’t get off until ten.” 

***

At 10:45, Anakin knocked on the door of Obi-Wan’s hotel room. He was still in his work outfit, which Obi-Wan could now see involved breaches, but he’d removed his name tag. He was smiling, just as enticingly handsome as he’d been earlier. 

“Well, I do love a man in uniform,” Obi-Wan said as he pulled Anakin inside. 

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Obi-Wan pulled Anakin into a bruising kiss. Anakin started at the suddenness before relaxing into it, returning the kiss eagerly. He wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and Obi-Wan let his own loop around Anakin’s neck. 

“Jesus,” Anakin said as they parted. “You are drunk. Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Obi-Wan scoffed. “I’m fine,” he said, leading Anakin over to the bed, though his point was somewhat undercut by the way he tumbled down onto its surface as soon as his legs hit the edge. “And yes, I do,” he added as he pulled Anakin down with him. 

“It was the margaritas, wasn’t it? I did warn you,” Anakin said, following to brace himself over Obi-Wan. 

“Shut up,” Obi-Wan said, pulling Anakin back down into a kiss. 

“Are you even going to be able to get it up, old man?” Anakin said, with a teasing meanness that, ironically, went straight to Obi-Wan’s cock. 

“Actually, I had something else in mind,” Obi-Wan breathed back as Anakin began to kiss down his neck. 

Ten minutes later, they were both naked and sweating under the air conditioning as Obi-Wan ground himself down onto Anakin’s cock. 

Anakin had his arms folded behind his head, showing off the broad expanse of his tanned chest. The smooth, muscled skin rose and fell tantalizingly as he panted. 

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it baby. Use me like a toy,” he breathed. 

Obi-Wan had no problem following that direction. He lifted himself up on his knees before driving back down again, moaning as Anakin’s cock rammed deliciously into his prostate. 

Anakin lifted a hand to grope at Obi-Wan’s cock, which, to his shame, was only half-hard after all. But he didn’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed, too focused on grinding himself down onto Anakin again and again. 

“I was right,” Anakin panted in a half-groan, giving Obi-Wan’s cock a squeeze just the right side of too-hard. “You would have been useless with this.” 

That was enough to push Obi-Wan over the edge. He came with a wail, his cock spurting out a feeble string of cum onto the fine hairs on Anakin’s stomach. 

Anakin moaned, gripping Obi-Wan’s hips and fucking up into him until he, too, fell over the edge, grinding Obi-Wan down onto him as he filled the condom. 

Obi-Wan fell forward onto Anakin’s chest, breathing heavy as his head spun from the euphoria of his orgasm. And the margaritas, probably. He really was quite drunk. 

They lay there for a few minutes, panting together. It was possible Obi-Wan might have dozed off a bit. It had been far too long since he’d been fucked, least of all something so vigorous and thorough. 

He was pulled back into awareness when Anakin spoke. “So,” he said, flipping them over easily and looking down at Obi-Wan. “Wanna go again?” 

***

The next day, Obi-Wan looked with some amount of bleak humor at the pitiful photo. He was seated on space mountain, looking decidedly green around the gills, wearing sunglasses even in the darkness of the ride. His hangover was relentless, and the bright lights and overstimulating chaos of the park didn’t help. He regretted letting Quinlan drag him onto the ride. 

Obi-Wan snapped a photo on his phone of the pitiful image and sent it to Anakin. He was off this afternoon, which Obi-Wan knew because he’d let Anakin sleep over last night. He’d also let him fuck Obi-Wan again in the shower this morning, letting him cum directly into Obi-Wan’s ass. Obi-Wan never claimed to be a smart man. 

He didn’t have to wait long for Anakin’s answer. 

Anakin Bartender: LOL

Anakin Bartender: let me know when you get sick of the parks and youre ready for a real ride

Anakin Bartender: old man