Sacrilege, lunacy, blasphemy, herecy ~

There is something entirely too ironic about finally realizing what is about to transpire when it, well, transires.

For Anakin that moment comes when his Padawan, the little scamp he had picked up years ago, flings him onto the bed without so much as stopping to say 'Please' or 'May I, my most esteemed Master, lay you.'

No, no he doesn't. Instead he climbs on top of him, leaning in with one fluid motion, his braid falling between them like a lifeline, tickling at Anakin's neck, the only warning before soft lips meet his own chapped ones.

It's hard to think afterwards. It's soft kisses and nibbles, hands that have no right being as confident as they are, as strong as they are, as self assured a they are— it's "Master, relax, I'll do everything." as his clothes are taken off with gentle tugs and practiced grace.

There's lips and whispers everywhere Anakin can think, when he turns his head away, there's a kiss at his ear, a whispered "Like this?" and when his muscles spasms, Obi-Wan presses him down just right, holding him still, not allowing him to lose himself.

Obi-Wan is somehow both gentle and unrelenting. He doesn't stop, nor gentle it out, not even when Anakin is biting down at the blanket, not even when the force coils around them with electric gentle.

He does, however, not forget to hold Anakin's hand through it.

His braid is brushing against Anakin's nape, now that he is face down and Obi-Wan is leaning over. A teasing reminder that this is his charge that is handling him like this. The cheeky, cocky, little bastard.

Anakin can't help but laugh into the mattress once Obi-Wan, without asking, cums inside of him. He also curses in three languages and chokes on his own orgasm that is forced out of him with insistent thrusts that continue even past his insides being all wet and sticky.

"Force" he manages "Relax, Padawan" he is breathing hard, eyes unfocused, skin flushed, maybe drooling just a little, but he'd never admit that. "What had gotten into you" he asks, smirking, glancing up at the self satisfied Padawan. Obi-Wan looks beautiful, just the right amount of confident, just the right amount of loving, just the right amount of his.

"I would say you, Master." Obi-Wan says, there's an attractive rasp to his voice "Expect I think that it's more accurate to say that I did that first, to you.". Obi-Wan delivers that awful little banter with a smile that could melt gold. Looking a little high, looking a little floating.

Anakin laughs again, amazed, amused— proud.

It takes all the effort in the world to move his hand, lifting his face to rest on it, he reaches his finger until he is touching Obi-Wan's.

"Cheeky, you'd get a whooping if I wasn't otherwise occupied"

"By—"

"Obi-Wan."

"...Yes Master." Obi-Wan smiles, stroking his Master's strong back muscles, soothing, adoring.

#The little chick does as the little chick sees.