#obkin

No one has to tell Anakin that this is a terrible idea, that he’s making a huge mistake — he already knows. Had known as soon as the thought popped into his head and refused to leave. No one - certainly not the council - has to tell Anakin that he shouldn’t be fucking the Mand’alor’s husband. Or, maybe they do since he couldn’t stop himself from doing it anyway.

It’s just. Obi-Wan is so sweet for him. He’s young, only twenty, and he has to peer up slightly, looking through his lashes to meet Anakin’s gaze. It makes him feel kind of sleazy, how much he likes it. (If Padmé ever hears that he’s lusting after a kid sixteen years younger, he’ll get an earful.) His hair is shoulder length and he keeps twirling strands of hair around a finger, grinning every time he notices Anakin’s stare. His lips are pink, but keep getting red with all the biting. The red of his armour just enhances his natural colouring. Even while he was sitting next to Jango - his husband, the ruler of this planet - Anakin can’t help but yearn for him, can’t focus on the thinly veiled threats Jango threw at them or Master Jinn’s attempt at diplomacy. 

The only time he can manage to pay attention is when Obi-Wan speaks, because - as the rid’alor (and kriff, Anakin hated being reminded of that) - he also has political sway. His voice is pretty, his words clear and well articulated, though he spoke less often than his husband and with less contempt. He is also, despite his best attempts to hide it under all his armour, pregnant. Anakin could feel it in the Force and could see the way Obi-Wan’s stomach plates were at their loosest setting, yet still cling to his body. All of it is a reminder that Obi-Wan belonged to another, belonged to Jango Fett, the man who swore that Mandalore would never be a restful planet for Jedi nor would it ever join the Republic. None of it stops Anakin from flushing when Obi-Wan winks at him. Or from following him when he gives a coy smile and starts walking towards his quarters.

Without his armour and his underclothes, Anakin can see how pale Obi-Wan is. He can also see the curve of his belly and the swell of his chest. He’s covered in freckles and his blush goes down all the way to his nipples. It’s all very endearing. It’s painfully arousing. It’s also, a small voice whispers in his head, very much against his mission parameters.

“We should stop,” Anakin whispers, kissing his way down Obi-Wan’s neck. “Your husband-“

“Doesn’t care,” Obi-Wan gasps. “I’m with his ad now. He doesn’t care about what I do, so long as he gets his heir.”

That seems a bit sad and possibly not entirely true, but Anakin won’t push the issue. Not when he can feel the heat of Obi-Wan’s cunt through his leggings, not when Obi-Wan’s strong fingers keep tugging at his hair, trying to bring their lips together again. How could Anakin deny this sweet little thing kisses and pleasure when his body begs for them so prettily? They unfortunately have to part for Anakin to fumble with his robes. Obi-Wan laughs at the number of layers.

“Seems inconvenient,” he teases, leaning further on the bed and spreading his legs. One of his hands trails down his chest and stomach, past his hard cock, to dip into his hole. His fingers, just two of them, pump in and out until he brings his fingers up to circle his clit. Anakin nearly trips trying to divest himself of his pants. Obi-Wan laughs. It’s such a magical sound that Anakin almost doesn’t mind that it’s at his expense.

Obi-Wan is wet and tight when Anakin gets his fingers in him. He’s soft and pliant when Anakin tilts his head to kiss him. He moans softly when Anakin pinches his nipples and kisses down his chest. Anakin closes his eyes when he pushes in because he knows if he keeps them open, if he watches as Obi-Wan gasps and squirms underneath him, he’ll lose his cool too quickly. Obi-Wan wraps his strong legs around Anakin’s hips, pulling him closer, urging him to thrust harder.

“Come inside,” he pants, cheeks so pink that all his freckles are drowned out. “Come inside, please, Anakin, please please please-“

Anakin has never been able to resist a pretty politician’s pretty words in bed. It’s half the reason the council makes Master Jinn accompany him on diplomatic missions, though he’s not much better. Anakin hikes Obi-Wan’s hips higher as he snaps into him, enjoying the wet sounds and the way he keeps clenching around his cock. Obi-Wan gets his wish, of course. 

When Anakin pulls out and lies next to him, fully intending to catch his breath and then... Discreetly leaving, Obi-Wan surprises him by throwing an arm over his chest and snuggling against him. 

“If you give me a few minutes, I can go again,” he whispers, voice innocent but face smug. Anakin can’t find any words so he just nods and wraps his arms around pale shoulders when Obi-Wan grins and presses against him further. 

“He doesn’t care,” Obi-Wan repeats, voice soft in the darkness. They’re too tired to go another round, but sleep evades them, as they stay pressed close. “I’m… his, or I’m his prize, I suppose. But he doesn’t care about me. He’ll love our children, he already does. It’s the best I can ask for.”

Anakin knows about Obi-Wan’s background from the mission briefs. Born to an upper-class Stewjoni family, handed over as a child when Stewjon joined the Mandalorian Empire. From notoriously isolationist people, it was a rare gift. They didn't even let the Jedi take their children, they were so protective of them. Jango clearly saw the value in him, waiting for him to become of age, having him trained in all fields until he was old enough to marry. But the mission brief did not mention his beauty, his sarcasm, or the way that sadness seems to cling to him between bouts of laughter.

“It shouldn’t have to be,” Anakin whispers back, arms tightening around Obi-Wan. If he had him, as his prize, as his husband, as his anything, he doesn’t think he could ever let him go. Already the thought of tearing himself away in the morning is painful. The thought of what will happen when this mission inevitably ends, when the council deems it all a waste of time, and calls him and Master Jinn back to the temple, never to return… Anakin doesn’t know what he’ll do. Perhaps he’ll ask for more missions in the Outer Rim, and see if he can make detours. Or maybe Obi-Wan can visit him, not in the Core, but maybe on some Midrim Planets. “If you were mine, I’d never let you out of my sight. Every moment I’d be touching you, holding you.”

He can feel Obi-Wan grin against his chest. “Master Jedi, that seems distinctly out of colour for you.”

“I’m something of a rule breaker,” Anakin replies. Obi-Wan laughs, but that’s probably because he doesn’t know about how many rules Anakin has already broken. How many more rules he plans on breaking for him. 

(The mission lasts three weeks and ends in disappointment, as expected. Anakin rarely sleeps in his own quarters at all during that time. Master Jinn politely doesn’t mention it, though his looks get increasingly more pointed as time goes on. 

Anakin is only a few hours into hyperspace, flying towards Coruscant when his comm pings. He’s in the pilot seat and opens it without thinking. He flushes and immediately closes the image when he sees the picture. Calloused fingers spreading pretty lips, shining with arousal. Anakin looks around just to make sure that Master Jinn is well out of the cockpit before opening the image again. The message accompanying it is cheesy, but it still makes him hard.

Missing you already <3 come visit me soon ;) 

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how soon Anakin intends to.)

“Must you be pregnant every time I see you?” Anakin asks, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s jaw. The stubble is new but Anakin doesn’t dislike it. He can already feel the slight bump from where he’s pressed against Obi-Wan’s body, the plush couch cushion below softening the pressure. This’ll be his, what is it, fourth child? 

A sigh. “Jango was told my fertility will peak in my early to mid-twenties. He wants to make sure he’s not missing any opportunities.”

Anakin hums, squashing down the anger, the jealousy, he feels anytime Obi-Wan talks about his husband. The reminder that when Anakin leaves, Obi-Wan isn’t just waiting for him to return. That he goes home to a man that has a stronger claim on him than Anakin does. A reminder that Obi-Wan doesn’t belong to him at all.

Once he gets his own emotions under control, he feels discomfort and grief radiating off Obi-Wan. He pulls himself away from his lover, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at him. “What’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan sighs again. “It’s nothing. Keep kissing me.”

Usually, Anakin would jump at the chance, but Obi-Wan still has a pinched expression on his face. Anakin pulls away until he’s sitting next to him. He wraps Obi-Wan’s hand between his own, looking at how the pale skin looks sandwiched between tanned skin and metal. He always thinks Obi-Wan’s hand should be soft; it’s always a shock when he feels the callouses, the small scars on his knuckles. He always forgets that life has not treated Obi-Wan as gently as he tries to do. 

“What’s bothering you, baby? Cyar’ika?” The pet name makes Obi-Wan’s face crumple for a moment, his lip wobbling and eyes growing watery. He turns away as he gathers himself. Despite all their differences, sometimes Anakin thinks Mandalorians and the Jedi aren’t so different. After all, he has seen the same attempt at schooling one's expression, moving through grief, in countless Jedi. 

“Boba is turning five soon.”

“Oh,” Anakin says. Time flies. It seems like only yesterday Obi-Wan’s eldest was still in his belly, making him glow radiantly. He was so pretty, in the later stages of his first pregnancy. Round and soft and so needy whenever Anakin found an opportunity to sneak away for a tryst. He’s seen a few photos of Boba in the intervening years but has never met him. Obi-Wan sometimes talks about him, as well as his twins, when they meet, recounting funny stories or telling him about how they’re developing. He's been working up to giving Obi-Wan some of the toys, blankets, and knick-knacks he's bought over the course of their relationship, to give to his kids. Anakin knows very little about young children, but he knows Obi-Wan is a great parent. “Is… is that bad?”

Obi-Wan sighs and rolls his eyes. “No. No, it’s fine. It’s just… Jango keeps talking about starting his training soon. Seriously starting it. And once he does then he’ll start taking him away on trips and-” Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, eyes scrunching closed. “The only way I can keep my son safe is if I’m with him.” He turns to face Anakin. “I need to keep him safe, Anakin.”

“And you will-”

“No, you don’t get it!” The sudden influx of rage and hurt in the Force momentarily blinds Anakin. Obi-Wan rarely lets his shield slip so much, even as rudimentary as his training has been. “I need to be there to keep him safe.” He stares at Anakin, eyes watering. “I need to keep him safe.”

“Oh,” Anakin whispers. “I… I see.”

It’s selfish but he thought he’d have more time. He’s only had Obi-Wan for four measly years, less than that if he only counted their time together, instead of all the holo messages they manage to sneakily send to each other. He thought… well, he thought maybe Obi-Wan was right, about Jango not caring about his affair. Maybe they’d have until his children were old enough to ask why their daddy went on missions to the Midrim every few months, missions that held no value. Anakin is well acquainted with the jealousy that curls in his chest every time he’s reminded that when Obi-Wan ‘goes home’, he’s not going to Anakin. He thought he’d just have to live with that for the rest of his life. 

He wishes he just had to live with that for the rest of his life. 

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan mutters, pulling away from Anakin’s grasp. He scrubs his hands across his face as he sniffles. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s-” It’s not okay. It’ll kill Anakin. “It’s.” It’s like asking him to cut off his remaining arm, asking him to rip out his own heart. He can’t just let Obi-Wan go, not when every morning he wakes up thinking of him, and every night he falls asleep hoping to dream of him. “It’s what you have to do.”