Part Thirty-Five
Anakin pushed things along when he rolled Obi-Wan on top of him, his weight supported on one of Anakin's hips and their bodies at an angle so that their cocks weren't crushed, merely springing upwards to an even greater height, if possible. Obi-Wan leaned up on one elbow and looked downwards to watch themselves rub together, but the elbow slipped on sweating skin and smacked into Anakin's throat on the bruised side. " ... mmmunngh ... " Obi-Wan kissed it better, slipping once again to Anakin's side. Anakin whimpered when he felt Obi-Wan drag his lips downwards and twist his compact body around, never breaking contact, ending up with his head next to Anakin's waist. Obi-Wan broke off the lick long enough to slide one warm hand underneath the small of Anakin's back, curling the fingers upward into a grip on the far side. Hands ... warm ... waist ... dream ... yes. Anakin thought that he could join the Force right then and there, but if he did, then he would have missed the inexpressible sensation of Obi-Wan's tongue spiralling inwards from Anakin's hipbone with lapping loops until Obi-Wan reached Anakin's left ball. Obi-Wan probed it gently, trailing upwards to where the sac joined it to its mate in a puckered seam. "Stop ... won't last ... please ... "
Master Yoda could not have stopped faster than Obi-Wan, sticking his tongue back into his mouth, spitting out a few hairs in the process. He panted excitedly, running a hand along Anakin's flank as they both wondered what to do next. Anakin, thinking guiltily about what Padmé liked, sat up, grabbed a pillow and put it on his lap. He placed the other pillow against the headboard, scootching around until he was directly in the center of the bed and the pillow was supporting his shoulders. He reached to the side, took Obi-Wan's right knee and pulled it across his body so that he had one knee on either side of his hips. He rubbed a soothing hand over Obi-Wan's ass, poking his fingers into the tense cheeks until they relaxed. Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder at him questioningly, saw Anakin smile, and raised himself up on both elbows between Anakin's legs to wait for whatever Anakin was going to do next.
Anakin began kneading Obi-Wan's ass, marveling at the little line of hair trailing down his spine, waist to cheeks. It was as auburn as the hair on Obi-Wan's head, and in the pinkish light of the glowglobe it looked like aurodium dust. He trailed a flesh finger between the cheeks, down the divide to the perineum and back up again. He did this eight times, and each time Obi-Wan huffed a breath when his opening was brushed. On the ninth time, Anakin spat on his finger and pushed in a little before resuming the routine.
Obi-Wan slumped bonelessly forward off his elbows' support, turning his cheek to one side against the mattress. Anakin was his Padawan. Anakin would not hurt him. This was new, this was strange. Obi-Wan relaxed completely. He put one hand on each of Anakin's ankles and rubbed his thumbs over the anklebones rhythmically. He couldn't access the Force right now, but he didn't need to. This was the same situation as existed on Upper-Cremba-on-Gitchy's commons, an other sense unlike the real galaxy. The only difference was that there was no urgency to prove anything to a proctor. At thirty-six, Obi-Wan felt sometimes that he had nothing left to prove; although some would call that egotism, he called it realism. He was the Sithkiller, a Jedi Master, on the Council, and Master of the Chosen One in his Order. Short of joining the Force in his due time, he had few ambitions. Whoever his Padawan was after Anakin's departure for Knighthood, Obi-Wan felt like he had conquered whatever mysteries of childhood's and adolescence's behavior existed. The next kid could pull no fast ones at all. Obi-Wan felt somewhat sorry for his future Padawans. Ouch.
"Master ... kiss ...sorry ... kiss ... " Anakin corkscrewed forward until he could kiss Obi-Wan's vertebrae somewhere midway along his tense back. He had taken advantage of Obi-Wan's reverie to try a prostate massage, inching forward bit by bit in the same fashion that he used with Padmé when they did other things, although of course with Padmé he had no such target. When Master Luminara had done Anakin's prostate exam, the entire atmosphere reeked unromantically of proper physical hygiene and good health. She was in and out in less than a minute; then again, she had the advantage of micron gloves and blobs of lube. Anakin tried to remember the proper procedure, resuming his stilled finger's activity when Obi-Wan stopped clenching. There, a little forward and up top ...
Goodgoodgood betterbetterbetterbetter Obi-Wan shoved hard into the pillow, squeezing Anakin's ankles. He barely noticed when Anakin slid his mechno-hand under the pillow to provide a pressuring groove of sorts. Obi-Wan did notice when the finger inside stepped up the action into a soft, fast tapping and then the galaxy turned to white noise, everything turned to white noise with not a single outstanding feature except pleasure. betterbetterbest. Obi-Wan arched his back, came and collapsed.
Anakin removed his finger, flexing his ankles to loosen his Master's painful grip. He noted abstractedly that the orgasmic flush turned Obi-Wan's sunburn into a shade of rose the same hue of the blooms on the naynabo tree, but did not match their intensity. He waited thoughtfully until some minutes passed before pulling the handy pillow from beneath Obi-Wan and tossing it to a far corner. Impressive again, Master, and this time without the Force.
The mating pheromones sizzled so thick that even the flitterbugs noticed. "Let's go," signaled one chemically. "Same way we came in." They batted a final time against the hypnotic glowglobe, then broke free of its allure and departed through a slit in the shutters. Even they recognized a need for privacy when they sensed it.
The river sputtered.
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