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Title: Room
Author: Tobi-Wan Kenobi
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ani/Obi
Warnings: PWP. Not one paragraph in the whole blasted thing that doesn't in some way have something to do with sex. Egads. Author's Note: also posted at http://www.livejournal.com/~tobi_wankenobi for the ewan_hayden comm and the starwars_slash comm. Go see them. Disclaimer: Don't own these guys. Though I am the one they come running to when Daddy Lucas says "No."
Summary: A Force sensitive might pick up on the life signatures of the two who currently call this place home, might raise a brow at the particular sort of the emotions that have been left here, might have to leave for a cold shower.

***

The room is still and quiet, dark and empty. The furnishings are sparse and there is little of anything that might speak of its present state of habitation. Two travel cases sit in one corner, neatly set side by side; a tunic is folded on a cushioned chair. A Force sensitive might pick up on the life signatures of the two who currently call this place home, might raise a brow at the particular sort of the emotions that have been left here, might have to leave for a cold shower. There aren't many Force sensitives on this planet,though, and so the room simply seems empty and a little bit bland.

Then the door bangs open and two linen clad Jedi stumble through. A dull thud sounds as the shorter of the pair is pushed to the wall.

"Anxious?" His voice is deep and rich and amused. "There is no passion, Anakin, there is--"

Anakin cuts him off with a fierce kiss that turns Obi-Wan's gentle teasing into a moan and give his hands an excuse to drop to Anakin's waist and fiddle with his belt and sash.

"Anxious?" Anakin teases back, dropping his head to lick and nip at Obi-Wan's throat. He takes a moment to be amused at just how far he has to drop his head now.

"Impudent," Obi-Wan gasps back. He drops Anakin's belt and sash to the floor and reaches up beneath the layers and layers of linen tunics to find nipples that he can tweak with his fingers. He does, and then does that also and Anakin lets out a strangled moan. Obi-Wan smiles, pleased with himself.

"Like that?"

Anakin's reply is muffled by Obi-Wan's skin as he continues to nibble the skin of Obi-Wan's neck. He makes a try for the collarbone (he loves the little hollow Obi-Wan's collarbone makes on his smooth chest) but the tunics are barring the way, too thick in their layers to be properly pushed aside.

"Force damn these things," he mutters, pulling away, scrabbling with Obi-Wan's belt and sash and flinging them to the side. He starts on the tunics untying and lifting them, one by one, over Obi-Wan's head. "Why in the name of all the Sith hells do they give us so many?" He drops the last one to the floor.

"To further press the importance of patience." Obi-Wan gives his former apprentice a rather cheeky grin and receives a glare in return. "Watch."

He pulls his hands from beneath Anakin's tunics and, much to the surprise of the aforementioned, every one of them falls open. So does Anakin's mouth.

"How did you…" He stops and gapes at Obi-Wan who smiles --a little smugly, Anakin thinks-- back.

"Have to have some secrets, my old padawan, or I'll never keep up with your youthful exuberance." He pushes the tunics with pointed ease from Anakin's shoulders, then stops when the left sleeve catches on Anakin's glove and leaves the tunics to hang comically from Anakin's arm. "Oh, blast that thing. I wish you wouldn't wear it. It cramps what little style I have."

Anakin laughs and pulls the glove off, revealing the durasteel hand and the tunics hit the floor in a pile of so many plain rags. "You don't have any style worth cramping, Master," he says, and then catches Obi-Wan's lips in a kiss before he can retaliate.

Boots and trousers are lost somewhere between there and the bed and they hit the coverlets with a jolt that pops their lips apart and bangs Obi-Wan's forehead off Anakin's.

"Ow."

"Ow."

They rub their respective brows and grin ruefully at one another.

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

Then it starts again, and the world narrows until it's just a patchwork conglomeration of lips and hands and heavily breathed moans and--

"Force! Anakin..."

Anakin's always been good at this part, and he smiles as he takes Obi- Wan into his mouth, all the way down in one swoop until he can feel the head of Obi-Wan's erection nudging at the back of his throat. Anakin moans, the sound reverberating through Obi-Wan's cock and making him arch and moan as well. He brings a hand up to fondle Obi- Wan's balls, fingers brushing the skin just below them teasingly.

Obi-Wan is a delighted mess beneath him, a keening, writhing creature that somewhat resembles a Jedi master, because Anakin knows, by now, every single button he has and with fingers made of flesh or durasteel and a mouth too hot and talented for words he presses every one of them. Repeatedly.

The area behind Obi-Wan's knees is especially sensitive for him mid- coitus and it only takes a glancing brush from the cold metal of Anakin's mechanical hand to make his mouth drop open and his eyelids flutter. Then up to the muscles of his belly, twitching and jumping under the cool false fingers, their contrast to Obi-Wan's overheated skin maddening. Anakin's real hand is busy elsewhere. He reaches with the Force for the tube of lubricant he knows to be in the drawer beside the bed and the thing inches open, the small tube floating up and into his outstretched hand.

Obi-Wan would probably have a word or two (both of which Anakin would happily counter if his mouth wasn't full of cock) if he was in any state to scold him about improper use of the force.

He's not, though, so Anakin simply coats a few fingers with the slick stuff and begins probing at Obi-Wan's entrance. One finger, two, three... he twists and scissors his fingers, taking care to brush Obi- Wan's prostate more than once.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan's voice is adorably strangled. "Anakin, ge-aahht... get on with -- oh, Force... with it."

Anakin pulls off Obi-Wan's weeping erection and the man moans as that particular stimulation is lost, then again as Anakin withdraws his fingers. "Perfect," Anakin says, though Obi-Wan isn't terribly sure exactly what he's talking about. Anakin presses a gentle kiss to the head of his cock then licks the pre-cum from his lips with a fluttery sigh of satisfaction.

More lube, and Anakin slicks himself, positions himself over Obi- Wan's prone form and pushes home with a single practised thrust that makes them both moan, Obi-Wan curling around Anakin, legs wrapping around waist, arms around neck, like some sort of monkey. Only more attractive.

Their mouths collide again, almost painfully, and Obi-Wan pushes through the barrier of lips and teethe to delve into Anakin's mouth for a taste, fingers carding lovingly through that long soft hair.

Anakin snakes a hand between them, wraps his long fingers around Obi- Wan's aching length and begins to time the strokes of his hand and his cock to those of Obi-Wan's tongue and their bodies take on their own unconsciously perfect rhythm that warms the room and takes from it any semblance of the emptiness it knows when they're not here. It's all living breathing, gasping moaning love, and breathless passion building and climbing and seizing them both in its unforgiving and miraculous grip.

"I'm... oohhh..." Anakin groans, breaking the kiss and burying his face in the crook of Obi-Wan's neck and shoulder as his need breaks, too, with a final few thrusts and he spills himself inside the gripping heat of Obi-Wan's body. Obi-Wan likes that quite well and it's only a matter of two or three more quick tugs on him before he comes with a shout between them and all over Anakin's hand.

"Nngh..." Anakin articulates into the sweaty skin he's hiding his face against.

"I agree," Obi-Wan says lazily, humming contentedly and closing his eyes with a smile.

Anakin grins, raises his head and kisses Obi-Wan again, sweet and almost chaste. Obi-Wan lets it linger for a moment or two before he pulls away and looks pointedly at his lover.

"Anakin, I have *plenty* of style."

Anakin lets out a huff of laughter and drops his forehead back onto Obi-Wan's shoulder. He should shoot back another reply, or get himself and Obi-Wan cleaned up and ready for bed.

In a moment, he decides. For now he'd rather lie here, just like this with his stylish former master and feel the loving signatures of their Force presence emanating from every single pore of this small nondescript room.

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