Mud | Obikin

25.

There's this dreadful thing hidden in me, a subterranean stream that runs underneath my life. A constitutional longing, a void that's never filled.
Deep in the abyss of anguish, or at the peak of a blissful moment, whenever I check, it's still there. I've learnt how to fake it is not.

Tonight, that ache is not different though it feels remote, faded; looking away is easier.
I guess this is what Anakin does to me, the reason he's so addicting.

He smiles but is still frowning.
He had this look when he was my Padawan if I ever gave out a compliment or a fond word.

I want to kiss him again, but I need this eve to last a little longer; the way he's looking at me now is what I'll remember when all will be lost.

Anakin tests my forehead with his lips.

"This explains something," he comments.

He unfastens my belt, raises my tunic over my head and left arm. Finally, he cautiously frees my right from its sleeve.

"I shouldn't have asked," I whisper.

"But you did."

Anakin makes me sit on the bed and repeats the ritual with my inner shirt, looking absorbed. Then, he stops to evaluate his results.

I let myself fall back on the mattress, exhausted. I can't pretend this isn't what I wanted.

"I didn't expect you to comply. You weren't this obedient once."

"You weren't this brave."

He kneels to take my boots off. Then, he climbs over the bed and sits astride my legs, undressing his upper body.

I inspire deeply, looking forward to the texture, the taste of his skin.
When I try to touch his chest, my arms can't move.

"Anakin," I remonstrate. "What a..."

"... Frivolous use of the Force. I know. I'll make it worth it."

He comes closer, his smirk almost touching my lips. "I have no choice; you tend to be so bossy..."

His whisper is subtly threatening, it feels like static on my skin.
I lift my head to reach for his mouth, but he retracts before I can thoroughly taste him.
The anticipation is going to kill me.

"Hold your shields a little higher, unless you like the idea of the whole Temple jerking off to your Signature."

I bust out laughing. "Cringy image. Let's not mention this again if we want to get somewhere, tonight."

"I could profusely describe Yoda doing it and still take you somewhere, Master."

Even a cheeky promise like this can give me goosebumps.
I'm leaving him in control to pretend I'm not responsible, exactly how he said last night.

Anakin is getting drunk with the power I'm granting him, his Signature fizzes. He studies me for so long that I wonder if this is all he's going to do.

"I can't decide where to start," he whines.

"Anywhere will do," I cry with frustration. I need to dig my fingers in his hair, to stroke his back. "Free me. I will behave."

His hands cruise around my bandage and slowly slide from my chest to my waist; leather and bare skin both feel cold on me.

We allow our Signatures to blend but remain aware of ourselves; this demands both control and abandon. We do it slowly, to avoid getting lost.
The Force murmurs all around us and, for a moment, I wonder how it could disapprove this.

"What is it that you really want, Obi-Wan?"

I can't hold back a nervous snicker.
Anakin is not going to move until I answer.

"A kiss." I try not to make it sound like I'm begging.

He begins lapping my lips, making sure I fully realise how much I need him. When he finally complies, he presses my head against the mattress, intruding, invading, until I'm winded.
Then, he stops to await my next request.

"Touch me," I sigh.

Anakin grins and moves his hand to the coarse fabric of my trousers.
I want to say something sharp, to ask him again to let me go, but all I can utter is 'more.'
This catches his breath. His urgency as he takes off the few clothes we are still wearing is irresistible.
He gives me what I asked, and I can't help grinding in his hand, flustered by my own moans.

A comm vibrates somewhere because, of course, I'm not entitled to this, I'm stealing it. Anakin frowns in its direction and gives me a quick kiss before helping himself into my night-table drawer.

"Answer to it," I tell him.

He comes back to me and draws a pillow under my hips, looking focused.

The buzz stops and starts again. It could be my comm, now.
I forget all about it when Anakin starts using on me what he found in that drawer.

Our Bond shows me his impatience, but he keeps deliberately moving his fingers until he judges I'm ready. Then, Anakin releases my hands to guide them where he supposes I should touch myself. He places his tights under mine, seizes my hips and glides inside me. His invisible grip changes to a soft, constant pressure at the base of my throat.
I tense so he stands still, heavily breathing. Finally, he starts moving with a quiet groan.

The Force is silent for a second, then speeds its vibration, accelerating like a marble falling down a slant. We look into each other's eyes as he sinks into me, following its rhythm.

The clench around my neck gets stronger. It comes in bursts, now; it grows to the limit and is suddenly released.
Anakin must use our Bond to avoid making me lose conscience.

This is wrong. It's less about sex and more about dominance. And trust. He could kill me stopping a little too late, pressing a little firmer. I'd like to say he would never, though, when I ask myself, I'm not sure. I find out part of me wouldn't mind.

He senses all this, as I feel its counterpart. The rush of risk through his veins. The shiver of being responsible over my life. What arouses him most is not the command, but my faith in him, my surrender.

The shadows engulfing us feel like cold mud, his Signature is a lava river across this swamp. I want to believe that there's some external energy dragging us down, but there's nothing besides us; his Darkness swallowing me, and mine allowing it.

When I'm close, my body relaxes instead of contracting. The lack of air makes my head light, sharpens the edges of what I feel.
In this haze, I envision Anakin choking me the way he is now though we are fighting for our lives, and the world is falling apart.

My orgasm grows up from my legs in quivers. It makes my eyes shut, my spine curve, my lips part in a silent, breathless cry. When it reaches my core, it hits me so hard that Anakin gasps sensing it.

He buries his face into my neck and follows his need with harsh, desperate thrusts, forgetful of everything that's not his pleasure. He grabs hold of my shoulders to still my body against his; my wound bleeds as his warmth surges inside me.