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jedibongrip · 7 months

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Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Explicit Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anonymous Sex, Glory Hole, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Boypussy, Obi-Wan Kenobi Has a Big Dick, Anakin Skywalker is Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Light Angst, Anakin Skywalker-centric

Summary:

A little mishap results in Anakin, Qui-Gon's Padawan, being housed in the knight's dormitories while he seeks wisdom and growth. A run-in with his distant and dispassionate lineage brother, Obi-Wan, and discovering a new outlet prompts Anakin's thoughts and heart to wander.

See AO3 for full list of tags and author’s note. This is also a fill for @obikin-events bingo, ‘anonymous sex’ square!

Even after the stern reprimand from the council and his master’s disappointed looks, Anakin still thinks that if the Jedi didn’t want their fire extinguisher droids to be taken apart, then that should be more clearly expressed. Really, how was Anakin supposed to know that an extinguisher droid could start a fire if no one told him? It’s counter-intuitive, is what it is. And ironic, though no one else seems to find it funny.

Nevertheless, he will admit that his innate curiosity has landed him in a bit of a pickle. The fire didn’t spread beyond Anakin’s quarters, and his most precious belongings were safe within the metal cabinet that comes standard with padawan dorms. All the inspectors insist that there is no structural damage, but still, it’s been several days and the smell of smoke is still strong and soot stains the walls. At least Master Jinn managed to convince the council that making Anakin scrub the walls clean would only cause them more of a headache. Regardless, the problem remains: Anakin is, for the unforeseen future, temple-bound, as punishment (though it seems to be as much of a punishment for Windu) and his room is uninhabitable.

He assumed that if he was lucky, he would be moved to whatever senior padawan room was free. Anakin liked his room well enough, pre-crispening. It was in a pretty good location and his immediate neighbors were nice. Maybe, just to rub his nose in it, they would put him in whatever room was furthest from the dining hall, or maybe stick him next to a bunch of semi-aquatic padawans. Their rooms always smelled vaguely mildewy. When his master told him that he was to be moved to an entirely different wing of the temple, Anakin thought they meant sticking him back with the new initiates.

“Of course not,” Qui-Gon waves off Anakin’s complaints. “Junior padawans and initiates might think you’re, what’s the word you’re always using? ‘Wizard?’ No, what you need is to be in a wing where there are more eyes on you.”

Anakin scowls. “The council is moving me so that it’s easier to babysit me?”

“Precisely, Padawan.”

“Am I moving in with you or something?”

The look of abject horror that crossed Master Jinn’s face was enough to show that that idea would not go over well. (Really, Anakin was offended. He wasn’t that hard to live with!)

Instead, Anakin’s new dorm would be in the Knight’s wing of the temple. Many of the knights were young enough to remember Anakin as a rambunctious little padawan while they were approaching their trials. Instead of endearing him to them, that meant they knew all his tricks. One toe out of line and any knight in his vicinity would be on to him. Plus, most knights left the temple regularly to go on missions. Anakin suspected that all the masters who spent more time in the temple strongly objected to the idea that Anakin might be housed next to them.

Moving his scant belongings into his new room, Anakin bristles, knowing that every Knight that passes him is going to be on Anakin-Watching-Duty for the foreseeable future. It didn’t help that the knight’s wing was complicated and twisting, the layout taking on a more ‘organic’ feel than the straight lines and grids of the padawan wing. Hallways curved around and back on themselves, branching off at odd angles, turning Anakin around and making him late for lunch, his remedial lessons and a meditation session with Qui-Gon.

At least his room was bigger. And he has a nicer view. And, maybe, Anakin hopes without reason, just maybe being in the Knight’s wing will increase his chances of running into Obi-Wan. The prospect fills his stomach with butterflies even as he reminds himself that it’s a stupid thought. For one, Obi-Wan is hardly ever in the temple. Always off saving the day and, if temple gossip is to be believed (and Anakin always believes it), slipping in bed with whatever ally or enemy he comes across.

Second, Obi-Wan feels nothing but disdain for Anakin. No matter how hard Anakin tries to impress him, Obi-Wan always shuns his attempts. On the few occasions that he is on Coruscant at the same time as Anakin, Obi-Wan always avoids him. If he has to spend time with him, he pulls such a pained expression before he smooths it out to one of polite neutrality. At the very least, Anakin knows it’s not entirely his fault. Obi-Wan also always avoids Master Jinn like he has the blue shadow virus. Whenever interaction with him is unavoidable, it’s stiff and stilted, nothing close to the fluid and easy way he and Qui-Gon used to be. Sometimes Obi-Wan treats Qui-Gon like a stranger like he is simply a master, instead of his master, who trained him for 13 years. That makes each little heartbreak marginally better. Maybe. Kind of. Not really.

Anakin just thinks it would be nice to be closer to his lineage brother. To have Obi-Wan look at him with something other than contempt or annoyance. Maybe to even have Obi-Wan as a friend or… something more.

Anakin huffs and shakes the thought away. He has more important things to do, instead of thinking about his stupidly mean lineage brother and his pretty hair and nice hands and soft-looking lips. (Because, of course, Anakin doesn’t know for sure if Obi-Wan’s lips are soft. He’s pretty sure that they are but he can’t know for certain.) More important things like trying to get his fitted sheet on his bed before the first ‘inspection’ that his master will conduct on his room. Anakin sweats and swears as he wrestles with the infernal fabric, trying desperately to tuck it under the corner of the mattress that’s pressed against the wall. Eventually, he decides enough is enough. He’s a senior padawan, a strong force user, and even if he’s being babysat, he’s stronger than a bedsheet.

With a growl, Anakin grabs the leg of the bed and pulls it away from the wall. The frame is heavy, made of solid metal, designed to last generations of knights. It takes a few tries but soon enough he hears the screech of the bed dragging against the floor. Anakin smiles, ignoring the sweat dripping down his face, and gives another tug. If he can just get enough room to actually maneuver between the bed and the wall, maybe he can-

A loud thud echoes through the room. It startles Anakin enough that he lets go of the bed, and tumbles to his ass on the floor. Frowning, Anakin pulls himself up and crawls across the mattress. He tilts his head when he sees a thin sheet of metal has fallen on the partially made bed. It feels light when Anakin lifts it and moves it to the side. When Anakin glances at the wall, he pauses.

There’s a hole in his wall. Carefully, he touches the edges of it. Smooth and rounded, almost like someone burned a hole through the metal, instead of cutting it. Given how thick the wall is, that's probably what someone did. Probably stuck a lightsaber right on through and wiggled it. That’s what Anakin would do, anyway, if he decided that he needed to destroy another room for no good reason. He lowers himself to his stomach and peeks through it. There’s only darkness on the other side.

Anakin frowns again. He doesn’t even know where the hole goes. It’s not on the walls that he shares with his neighbours in this hall. The convoluted nature of the knight’s wing makes it hard to judge distances, and the numbering scheme of the rooms gets so confusing. He would have thought that this wall would just be… a wall, against nothing. But a hall must double back or twist somewhere, making something worthwhile be behind his room. He’d tell Master Jinn about it, except he knows that his master, the Council, and everyone will think he did this. He’s already in trouble for the truly accidental destruction of his first room, he doesn’t want to be falsely accused of ruining this room too.

He glances back at the sheet of metal. It’s just about the same colour as the wall. Peering down the side of the bed, Anakin supposes that it was just wedged in place to cover up the imperfection. Anakin clambers off the mattress and roots around in his boxes until he finds some tape.

He finishes pulling out his bed, giving him enough space to make his bed (since he also lost cleaning-droid privileges for the time being) and spends a stupid amount of time taping the metal back against the wall. If he keeps his lights partially dimmed, he doubts that Qui-Gon will notice, just as whoever inspected the room previously clearly didn’t notice.

After putting away the rest of his things, getting a quick snack, and some time in the salles, Anakin hardly even notices it himself when he returns to his room. He’s utterly too proud for continuing this act of deception. It’ll just be more trouble than it’s worth if he brings it to someone’s attention. And it’s just a hole. It won’t cause any issues, he’s sure of it.

It only takes two weeks until the hole causes issues.

Maybe that’s unfair, Anakin corrects himself. After all, the hole is just existing. It’s his wall-neighbour that’s causing issues. Or causing a ruckus, that is.

Generally, the soundproofing in the temple is quite good. The walls are thick and sturdy, good at insulating sound. When Anakin found the hole, he didn’t think about how there was now a flaw in that insulation.

Apparently, Anakin’s new neighbour is back from whatever corner of the galaxy they were visiting. And they’ve brought a friend, though they certainly aren’t treating their friend gently. Like listening to the ocean through a tiny porthole of a ship, Anakin hears as pleasure seeps through and past the flimsy metal hiding the hole in the wall. They aren’t quite loud enough that Anakin can hear any real words, but he can feel the want, the lust, the building of pleasure until it cracks, again and again and again.

He glances at the clock on his bedside table. He has to be up in four hours. He’s been listening to his neighbours go at it for at least two. His eyes burn from exhaustion. Anakin knows that he could bang on the walls and yell at them to quiet down. Or, if he felt a little less confrontational, he could simply cover his ears. There’s a small sofa on the other end of the room; Anakin could get a decent night's sleep curled on a couch. He’s slept in worse places.

But he can feel how good it would be to be on the other side of that wall. He can hear the gasps and moans, the little shrieks as something big and perfect slides against just the right spots. Instead of moving away, Anakin presses himself against the cool wall, trying to get as close to that heavenly feeling as he can. Face burning as he dips a hand back into his pants, feeling the damp remains of his previous orgasm, Anakin gasps when he touches his cunt again. He’s utterly too rough with himself, as he ruts against his hand, nearly drooling as he listens to a deep, raspy moan that gains volume. Anakin shudders, muscles jerking, as he hears one last grunt. The pleasure that leaks from the next room recedes, rolling back as his neighbours finally call it a night. Anakin lays in his bed, sweaty and panting, fingers wrinkled from his pleasure.

The next day he nearly falls asleep during his lessons, and he does fall asleep during his meditations with Master Jinn. Anakin can’t even bring himself to care as he’s getting scolded. All he can think about is joining his mystery neighbour in bed.

It’s a pain trying to pull his bed away from the wall again. It takes a few minutes until there’s enough space for him to wriggle and worm his way between the gap, accompanied by more swearing and sweating than anticipated. Gingerly, Anakin peels away the tape holding up the metal. He pulls away the covering and places it on the floor as quietly as he can. His neighbour has been silent these past few evenings, but Anakin doesn’t know if that means he’s gone or just hasn’t taken a bedfellow.

He presses an eye to the hole, heart in his throat for no good reason. The room is close to dark, just as it was the first time Anakin spied on it. But there’s a crack in the blinds this time, proof that someone has opened and closed them, and the thin stripe of illumination lands on a neatly folded pile of clothes. His neighbour must be organized enough to bring and take his robes from the laundry, but busy enough to have to put them away later. Anakin doesn’t see any piles of dirty clothes. There are no identifying knickknacks. The bedspread is neatly made on the bed, a few feet away but lying parallel to the wall that Anakin spies through, the head of the bed just blocked by the curve of the hole. No wonder he could hear each moan and grunt so clearly, he was practically sleeping next to them as they fucked.

Once he’s sure that he can’t gain anything else from spying, Anakin hesitates. For a moment, he wonders if he should pass a note through the hole. It feels juvenile, like when he used to ask Do you like me? Check Yes or No notes during class. He wants to know who his neighbour is but maybe that’s too forward or betrays his age. Maybe it’ll just freak them out. Being ‘creepy’ around people he likes is a common criticism that he’s received, despite his best efforts.

He decides that he won’t do anything - won’t put anything through the hole but he won’t cover it up either. Maybe his neighbour will notice and absolve Anakin from the responsibility of making a choice. It seems like a longshot, even as he thinks it, but by the time he’s settled on that decision, it’s time to go meet Qui-Gon for lunch in the refectory.

When he returns after lunch, lessons in the greenhouse, and a long shower to wash off all the mud and sap that got stuck on him, when he managed to upset some kind of large pitcher plant being studied, Anakin nearly misses the pale circle of light shining on his bedspread. Someone is in the other room. Anakin holds his breath and waits, listening for movement - creaking of the bed, fluttery breathing, feet stumbling over each other as bodies frantically undress - but he hears nothing. He turns his lights on and deftly makes his way forward.

The sounds of him shedding his boots and crawling over his bed don’t inspire any movement on the other side of the wall. Anakin presses his face against the opening, only seeing a dimly lit room, and the folded sock-covered ankles of someone resting on the bed. The rest of their body is hidden from view.

Suddenly, Anakin is all too aware of his braid, his rank in the temple, and more importantly, his reputation. He’s a padawan, a senior padawan, but a padawan still. He’s annoying and ill-tempered and hard to teach. The knights that like him don’t really like him. Aayla has told him that she can only handle him in ‘small doses’, a sentiment that most of his age mates and other knights seem to agree with. Even his own master started asking for more time apart once the shine of teaching ‘the chosen one’ had worn off. Not even Obi-Wan, known for being polite, kind, and diplomatic, can stand being around him long enough to pass on wisdom, take him on missions, or even just share a meal, as is typical for lineage brothers.

He can’t call out, can’t ask, for this strange knight to fuck him. He’ll recognize Anakin’s voice, or he’ll make his way to Anakin’s room and be disappointed when he sees who it is. Anakin has gotten enough ‘No’s on all his childish love notes, has gotten enough giggles and scowls and good reasons for why people might reject him. And that’s fine, he supposes. He can’t make other people love him, no matter how much he wants it. Some people are just hard to love; that’s what his mom used to tell him, and she said it so gently that it couldn’t have been a bad thing. This isn't about love, though. It’s about pleasure. Anakin is good at pleasure. All the masters tell him that his hunger, his devotion to it, is what holds him back. His agemates tell him, sometimes in jest, but mostly not, that pleasure is the only reason why anyone puts up with him. A starved child never learns moderation.

He wriggles away from the wall and disrobes down to his underwear. His skin is tacky from nerves and anticipation. He grabs one of his pillows and shoves it to the ground, giving his knees a more forgiving resting place. Kneeling, already wet, half his legs cramped under his bed, willing to accept anything, Anakin thinks maybe he should feel some level of shame or embarrassment for how badly he wants this. But he doesn’t. He spies through the hole again, making sure that his neighbour is still there. He is.

Anakin sticks his fingers through the hole and wiggles them around for a few moments. He feels a bit silly, acting like a worm to bait fish, but his rudimentary antics pay off. He hears a noise of surprise, the soft thud of a datapad being placed on a bedside table, before soft footsteps make their way over. Calloused fingers brush against his own before he quickly retreats. Moving fast enough that there’s no time to spy his face, Anakin leans forward, pressing his lips to the hole. He opens his mouth and stretches his tongue so that it peeks through the other side of the wall. There’s no mistaking his intention, no confusing this pose with one of innocent curiosity or friendship.

Heartbeat blocking his hearing, he still hears a faint chuckle and rustle of clothing. He waggles his tongue a little bit more, earning a scolding tsk at his impatience. Then, gently, he feels the soft, slick head of a cock pat against his tongue. His neighbour taps it against the pink, willing flesh, clearly enjoying the way Anakin whines with want, desperate to have it fully hard and in his mouth. Taps turns to sliding it further into Anakin’s mouth, almost teasingly, as Anakin brings his tongue back in, giving him more flexibility to twist it around the shaft and head as it moves. He still hasn’t actually seen it, so he pulls back, enamoured as the cock seems to follow him, until it’s pressed as far as it can go, the metal walls blocking its path.

Shining with spit in the lowlight of his room, Anakin thinks it’s the prettiest cock he’s ever seen. Big and thick, strong veins dancing across it, the head all red from where it pokes out of the foreskin. He can see just a few faint pubic hairs at the very base, mostly blocked by the wall, but the hair is thick and dark, and Anakin wishes he could bury his nose in it. He wishes the hole were big enough that he could see everything, could see the nice, firm testicles that surely hang below, that surely want Anakin’s plush lips wrapping around them. But even just the dick alone looks perfect for him, so much better than any of the other cocks he’s seen and sucked - always in hidden-away corners of the temple, always belonging to a senior padawan too shamefaced to talk to him the next day.

There’s no shame about the desire in the little thrusts against the wall, making the cock bob and sway. Anakin almost giggles before he wraps his lips around the head, pulling in his cheeks as he sucks and pushes himself down the shaft. He hears a low groan from the other side of the wall and flushes with pride at the confirmation that it feels good. He sucks harder, petting the underside of the cock with his tongue, and using his hand to stroke what he can’t fit into his mouth. He sighs and moans around it, letting the vibrations tickle it, and relishing as he hears an answering moan of pleasure from the other side.

His free hand twitches and worms its way into his underwear, petting his dripping cunt and pressing against his clit. Already he’s daydreaming about what this cock will feel like inside his pussy, stretching him open wider than he’s ever been, pushing him to his limits. Those rough fingers that only momentarily brushed against his own; how would they feel prying him open, wringing every drop of pleasure from him?

He pushes himself closer to the wall, taking in more, letting his eyes water as he gags and retreats, only to push himself again. The appreciative grunts and curses he hears - so raw and animalistic in pleasure - spur him on even as his jaw aches and his tongue grows tired. If he were looking someone in the eye, he could place his hands on warm hips, he’d probably either pull away and ask for a break, or wait until hands tangled in his hair forced consistency onto him. But this cock is just so perfect, stretching his lips, making his pussy drool, invading his dreams. More than anything he wants this dick to always be hard for him, to perk up at the thought of the sinful lips that lie in wait beyond the thick metal walls of the temple. He doesn’t want to pull away and have to explain himself through the gap, doesn’t want his paramour to think - or know - he’s childish and weak and can’t take it.

Anakin whimpers as he gags again, this time because of an unexpected thrust. He hears the sounds of skin slapping against metal as the heat of his mouth is chased. He tries to stay still, becoming a perfect cavern of pleasure, letting his mouth be used. His thighs tense as he continues to play with himself, frantic fingers unintentionally matching the frenzied pattern of thrusts.

He gags and sputters in surprise, pulling back a little, when his mouth is wholly invaded and warm come floods his mouth. A deep, growling moan reverberates through the wall, coaxing Anakin to stay still, to swallow and reward the pulsing, twitching cock in his mouth, instead of pulling back and coughing. Throat burning and eyes watering, he waits until his partner begins to pull himself back with a sigh. Anakin watches as the spit-covered, slowly softening dick slips from his lips, back to its side of the wall.

Then he sees a pelvis, a thick treasure trail, a chest and -

Anakin’s eyes widen. His neighbour is kneeling to look at him. Shy and suddenly insecure, Anakin throws his hand over the hole, pressing against it tightly as if he were trying to keep out water or a strange poisonous gas. An amused chuckle erupts at the sight of tanned skin blocking the view. Anakin assumes that that’ll be the end of it, but then he feels the soft, damp touch of a tongue against his palm and the faint press of lips touching his skin. Then his skin is abandoned, left damp and cool in the air. He waits as he listens to shuffling footsteps. Waits a few moments more before sliding to the side, just to make sure that he’s hidden as he crawls into bed, fingers plunging into him as he tastes what remains at the back of his throat, coating his tongue.

The next day Anakin feels like he’s walking on air. Nothing can get under his skin, not the distrustful eyes of masters as he walks down the halls, not the unseasoned porridge that he’s served for breakfast, not even Master Windu using him to demonstrate common flaws in forms. Each usual annoyance just ran right off him. Master Windu even praised him on his ‘wonderful temperament’ that day and complimented his improvement, almost trying to balance out the unsoftened critiques he dished out for nearly an hour. Usually, even that would piss Anakin off, but instead, he just smiles, bows, and thanks him for his lesson.

Nothing can get Anakin down because someone wants him. He woke up to see a few blunt fingers wiggling through the hole, a mirror of what he had done the evening previous. Nervous but wanting, Anakin crawled over, gave a hesitant lick to the knuckles, and waited until his true prize was revealed. In the daylight, it was just as pretty, just as delectable as the night before. Listening to muffled groans through the wall and nonsense words that he couldn’t make out over the sounds of his own heartbeat was better than any alarm clock. And when he was rewarded with the sharp taste of come in his mouth, Anakin shuddered as he came too. Suckling at the cock, he waited until it was pulled from his mouth, slowly, hesitantly, as if his mystery lover wanted to stay with him too. After a wake-up like that, of course, he’s energized and in good spirits.

He blushes and stutters when Master Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow and asks why he sounds so hoarse. But his Master is always suspicious of everything Anakin does, even in his proudest moments. Anakin assumes it comes from the fact that he stuck his neck out to train him, leveraging the whole ‘chosen one’ title to the extreme. (Anakin knows that Obi-Wan has always been doubtful of such a claim. He senses that sometimes, like now, Qui-Gon is also dubious if Anakin can climb the pedestal that has been built for him.) But as suspicious as his master may be, he is also aware that Anakin gets into many inoffensive shenanigans that he does not care to know about, so it only takes a few vague, handwavy motions, a “y’know?” and Qui-Gon nods. The day goes on.

When he returns to his room, he rushes back to the hole, like a pathetic puppy seeing if their owner has returned. The room on the other side is dark. No one is waiting for him. It’s to be expected, Anakin tells himself, pulling himself away and dejectedly walking to his desk. He pulls out the rest of the coursework that he needs to finish by the end of the week. His mystery lover is, of course, a mystery. And a knight. He’s probably busy. At least, unlike Anakin, and his precarious living status in this wing, his neighbour is unlikely to change rooms anytime soon. Whenever he returns, Anakin will be here.

#this took for fucking ever i literally died and came back to life before i got this finished #bongrip writes #obikin #obikin fic #m

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