Two Halfs of One Warrior • Obikin/Vaderwan One-Shots

Park That Big Mac Truck Right In This Lil Garage

• Summary: Anakin Skywalker loves dick, but he loves big dicks even more. Specifically Obi-Wan's. This has now become a problem, but it all works out, eventually.

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He dreams of it, bulging large and thick even through the fabric of his master's leggings, pressed against the small of his back after he's been tackled onto the ground, 'sabres abandoned. He's jerked himself raw to hazy memories of it, thick and large even when flaccid. He moans at the thought of Obi-Wan half-naked and pale, pulling his robes off after another day on the battlefield; after all, modesty is hard to come by in times of war.

He's four fingers deep, but it's never never enough.

He wants to gag on it. Choke on it. Swallow it all down. He wants to take it all, let it split him open from the inside. He wants to kneel in the V of his master's open legs, obscene and filthy, and suck him dry. He wants to be speared apart on his master's fat cock, wants to be held down and driven into. He wants and wants and wants-so much so that it tears him apart as he strokes himself to fullness in hard bunks or camp beds, coaxes his hole open with the cool, slick fingers of his mechno hand, tries and fails to muffle his half-sighs and whimpers as he pushes his ass against the fingers inside.

He arches desperately, the sensations peaking, reaching that fever-pitch he's been seeking ever since he watched Obi-Wan clean off in the stream in the half-light of dusk, water droplets glistening against creamy skin, dripping off his fringe, stained blood-red by the water. He speeds up the hand on his cock and gasps, wanting that thick cock to spill in him, leave him debauched and wet and wanton.

With a whimper, he comes, staining the sheets of his bunk, the engines of the Resolute a constant hum as he speeds light-years away from Obi-Wan.

I am so fucked, he thinks, as exhaustion lulls him to sleep.

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It takes a campaign to go spectacularly wrong for him to see Obi-Wan again. The 501st retreat back into Republic space, the Resolute close to falling apart, troopers defeated and fatigued after one too many losses on the battlefield. Anakin swallows down the bitter shame rising in his throat and does his best not to snap at the council, ignoring the dull throb of his ankle where it had been bent out of shape after a nasty encounter with a battle droid. Their blue figures waver, as the ship's wild trajectory through hyperspace carries them closer and closer to Coruscant, where the Resolute will dock for repairs.

He is exhausted.

When the transmission ends, finally, Anakin collapses against the durasteel floor, far too tired to hold himself up. His transgressions, failures, have cost his fleet far too much, and he has been recalled back to the temple, where the council undoubtedly will poke and prod at his many many mistakes.

He closes his eyes and doesn't think about how much he wants to escape from it all, to slink down to the lower levels and let someone, anyone, put their fist up his ass. He wants to feel something that isn't pain and grief and longing, to feel like his world has been narrowed to nothing but the sensation of being filled, so full with cock that his stomach bulges, that he comes from the sheer ecstasy of being fucked with a big fat cock. He definitely doesn't think of Obi-Wan's blue eyes and copper hair and how much he aches with want to feel the slow, burning slide of his cock as he pushes in, hard and unyielding, right on that side of pain that he's learnt how to enjoy after so many faceless, rough fucks in the back of dark alleys and dingy bars.

Anakin sighs, letting himself feel the cold of the durasteel floor beneath his back, his bones aching as the cold metal digs into them. I could probably use a shower, he thinks. No, a cold shower, he reconsiders, grimacing at the feel of his half-hard cock against his robes.