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feroluce · 5 months

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Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed.

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light.

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

#honkai star rail #gepard landau #hsr gepard #pelageya sergeyevna #hsr pela #hsr #smacking Gepard out of Hoyo's hands and running off with him skzjmdkd #tentatively Figuring Out how to write these two... It feels a little tricky starting out with extreme circumstances like this haha #I feel like a lot of people see Gepard as naive for trusting Cocolia so much but I don't think that's quite it. He's not stupid.#He's not even naive.#He's someone who has been groomed since birth by his own parents to be an obedient Guard and nothing outside of that role.#You are not immune to propaganda etc etc #But even then there are a lot of things like all the included screenshots where he. Doesn't actually seem to like/trust Cocolia much.#I think Serval was a really good influence on him as a kid. He might have turned out much much worse without her.#and even with how I've written him here. I don't think he's normally slow to act or one to stand aside and make other people lead.#it's just that this specifically was a pretty extreme circumstance for him.#and also he openly states elsewhere that Pela is overbearing and he tries not to interfere with her work whenever possible nskzhdjdjd #Pela too. I don't know that I normally see her as someone with a bad temper or quick to anger.#But again; extreme circumstances haha #Bc like. they both would have seen what happened to Serval when she stood up to Cocolia. they know damn well what's going to happen to them.#if they fuck this up and get caught then they're done.#and I mean. What are they supposed to do? they're two people against the highest authority of the entire nation.#regardless I do love Gepard agonizing over this in the future after Bronya takes over and everything has settled down #did he do the right thing? did he make the right choice? if he went vigilante how many soldiers would have died without his protection?#would Belobog have fallen completely? how many people died because he DIDN'T run away? was it actually enough?#I love characters forced between a rock and a hard place. no good options. pick your poison.#no winning- only weighing what you can and cannot bear to lose.#make your choice and decide whether you want to rot or to burn.

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tennessoui · 2 years

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a “stay til the dawn” epilogue

a christmas present for @anakinsthot at the request of @sexysymphony

short and sorta sweet epilogue of sorts to my king obi-wan au, where anakin crashlands on stewjon, loses his memory, and falls in love with king kenobi who makes everything a lot more difficult than it has to be

(3k)(hinted nsfw, but not really anything explicit)

Tobias has never looked more happy to see him, and they routinely get together for drinks at the King’s Pub in the Garden district to root for the Coruscanti waggleball team, decked out in Coruscanti scarlet in a crowd of unfriendly Stewjoni green.

“Ah, Toby, you’re looking well today,” Anakin reaches forward and up—and up—and up—to clap the palace guard on the shoulder of his armor.

“And you’re a sight for sore eyes, milord,” Tobias replies, offering his hand to help Anakin out of the speeder. “If I may say.”

“Say away,” Anakin chirps, jumping down to the ground and peering up at the Gargantiolan. “It’s nice to be missed, even if—“ he checks the comm unit on his wrist “—I’ve been gone less than three days.”

“My joy will pale in the face of the king’s, I assure you,” Tobias says, reaching one long arm into the speeder and retrieving Anakin’s pack. “I will see this returned to your quarters, Prince Set.”

Anakin wrinkles his nose, his immediate reaction to any suggestion that he stand on ceremony.

He may have married a king, but that doesn’t mean he particularly respects all the traditions he’s now beholden to.

As a Jedi Knight, he never would have been greeted upon his return to the Temple, nor would he be excused from the tedious task of disengaging and storing his own speeder.

Even as a war general, there had been little ceremony he had observed. He and his men were equal in all but their titles, and he had striven to make sure every soul in his company knew that.

But his new job, his new title can’t be bucked off nor ignored for the very simple reason that no one will let him.

The Stewjonians are an obliging yet obstinate sort. Much like their king, who they seem to adore above all else.

As Anakin feels the same way about King Kenobi, they have a lot in common, despite the way every Stewjonian who sees him insists on treating him as if he’s made of fine, delicate, ornamental transparisteel.

“Fine,” he says with the smallest of sighs. He learned as a general that all battles could be fought, but some were not worth the effort, so predictable was their end. “Would you happen to know where our King is, if he has missed me so?”

Tobias raises four of his six eyebrows. “Can’t you feel him in the Force?”

“No,” Anakin barely resists the urge to pout, which would be very unbecoming of a Prince Consort. “He’s blocked the bond.”

Something Obi-Wan only does when he’s angry with him, Anakin doesn’t add.

At least Obi-Wan knows better than to cut himself off from the Force all together. The one and only time Anakin had made him furious enough that he’d slipped on Force suppression cuffs and disappeared from Anakin’s mind, Anakin…hadn’t reacted well.

Now when he’s grumpy—indignant, Anakin, perhaps scorned. Kings do not feel grumpy—he blocks their bond as if he’s simply locking a door, instead of deliberately locking Anakin out of the warmth and comfort of Obi-Wan’s mind, his very soul. It’s almost worse like this, but at least he knows he’s alive, can feel a quiet humming at the end of their bond.

“Perhaps the healers have used your absence to push the king into attempting a more traditional form of a healthy, Stewjonian Force bond.”

“I was under the impression such things do not exist.”

“Aye, I’d say that may just be why he blocked it then,” Tobias points out, but at Anakin’s dark expression, he quickly raises all four of his hands in his defense. “I’m only jesting, milord. He’s holding court today, I believe, given your continued absence. If you’d like to wait in the glass gardens or in the painting gallery, I’ll let Aislaen know to tell the king you’ve arrived.”

“No need,” Anakin waves his hand, already turning towards the palace’s front doors. “I know where the throne room is. I’ll let him know myself.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Tobias says, but Anakin is taking the stairs two at a time, pushing himself faster than humanly possible with the Force in order to reach his husband quicker.

Given his continued absence—the absolute nerve of Obi-Wan! He’s been gone for two and a half days! He hadn’t even left the damn planet! What Obi-Wan has to be grumpy about, Anakin doesn’t know.

The throne room is one of the first rooms in the palace when one enters through the grand entrance hall. Obi-Wan had insisted on it being so, something about openness and accessibility.

Anakin has never liked its location, maybe because he’s not one to read metaphors into architecture. What it feels like to him, having the throne room only a corridor away from the mouth of the palace, is a security risk.

But at least now it’s convenient.

The guards at the door know better than to block his entrance these days, though he breezes past them almost before they can drop into the customary bow.

The throne room is almost full, people from the capitol city taking advantage of the king’s need for distraction to come and give him problems to solve while he waits for Anakin to return.

Or whatever he does when Anakin is away.

The room is small enough that Anakin can see Obi-Wan as soon as he steps in. The king looks resplendent seated on his throne, cape carefully folded around him, the blue and green color of his outfit standing out against the dark wood of the seat.

The Stewjon people are not those who value gold and jewels and overt symbols of power; this is something Anakin respects.

But Force, would his king look beautiful decked out in the regalia other planets pile on their monarch.

Anakin strides forward to stand at the back of the line leading to the King’s dias. Stewjonian citizens line the halls, but the line itself is relatively short. Though it is fairly late in the day, so maybe Obi-Wan has been seated here for hours already. Anakin would know if his stubborn husband would just unblock his side of their bond and let him have access to his mind.

He looks tired, Anakin decides as he shuffles forward and can see more of the details of his king’s face. There are shadows under his eyes, and though he is careful to give each person before him his full attention, Anakin can see him drooping with the effort of it.

If he weren’t being so pissy, Anakin would use his princely privileges to march forward and drag his king up to their private quarters for a nice soak in their indecently sized bath. He’d even wash his hair for him and push him back onto their bed to ride him to completion. He wouldn’t have to do anything. Anakin would look after the both of them.

But Obi-Wan is angry with him about something, and he’s decided to block their bond, and Anakin can’t reward that sort of behavior, not when he feels as though he needs that bond to breathe.

So instead of running his hands through his king’s auburn hair and stretching himself wide enough to take the sizable intrusion of Obi-Wan’s cock after three days of abstinence, Anakin is standing here. In line in front of his king. Ready to complain like everyone else.

Two people away from the front of the queue, Obi-Wan looks up from the woman in front of him—complaining about some sort of imagined cheese monopoly in the Lower Colsteph district that’s been affecting her sales—and locks eyes with Anakin.

He tenses all over, shoulders straightening and eyes shuttering.

For a very scary second, Anakin is terrified that he’s actually done something quite terrible and he’s just forgotten.

Can a person have selective amnesia twice in so little time?

But no, he’s been gone for the past couple of days on an excursion Obi-Wan himself approved.

It’s perhaps a measure of how much the people of Stewjon love their king that the person ahead of Anakin follows Obi-Wan’s line of sight, sees Anakin standing behind him, and immediately removes himself from the situation.

Though to be fair Anakin doesn’t know what his face looks like right now, his own anger rising in his stomach at the sight of Obi-Wan’s aloof, diplomatic expression aimed in his direction.

The nerve.

“There was a line,” Obi-Wan points out blasely as Anakin moves to stand before him.

“And now I’m in the front of it,” Anakin replies. “Won’t you hear my grievances, King Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flash. “I’ve half the mind to dismiss the court. It’s been a long day already, sir.”

“Oh, yes. It must be very exhausting, sitting around in comfortable furniture for hours at a time. But I’ve flown all the way from Olijon to see you, sire.”

“How flattering,” Obi-Wan replies. “But careful, sir, I’m a married man.”

Anakin bears his teeth. “As am I. As it were, my husband is who I have come to complain about.”

The crowd of Stewjonians shift around Anakin, giving him a fair amount of space.

They’re very smart people, the Stewjonians are.

“Oh?” Their king asks.

“I seem to have married the most stubborn, most uncommunicative Stewjonian the Force has ever created. He would grind his teeth down to the quick before he let slip his own emotions unprompted.”

“Hm,” Obi-Wan says.

“For example, I believe he is grumpy with me at the moment, though I’ve had to piece together his anger as one may piece together fragments of a broken mirror: the image is imperfect, unclear, incomplete.”

“Hm,” Obi-Wan says. “Perhaps if you looked into a mirror, you would find the source of your husband’s ire.”

“Oh, don’t you dare claim my metaphor for your benefit—“

“Apologies, darling. I am a king. It is what we do.” Obi-Wan leans forward on his throne and looks down at Anakin, resting his hand on his chin. “Let me ask you something.”

Anakin narrows his eyes and crosses his arms.

“How long have you been married to this terrible husband of yours?”

“I didn’t say terrible—“ Anakin starts to protest before the words freeze in his mouth. “Two years,” he says instead, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Exactly?” Obi-Wan asks, arching an eyebrow.

Anakin swallows. “To the day,” he admits. “Ah, fuck. But Obi-Wan, I—“

Obi-Wan stands with a swirl of his cape. “Then I suggest you rush back to Olijon post-haste. After all, I’m sure you want to spend your anniversary outside of court, with your love. I, for one, would have.”

Final judgment passed, he turns on his heel to exit through the side door.

Anakin, of course, will not allow this to happen. He uses the Force to hold the door shut as Obi-Wan presses his palm against it.

When Obi-Wan turns to look at him, nostrils flaring and real fury flashing in his eyes, Anakin inclines his head. “Court dismissed,” he prompts.

Obi-Wan clenches and unclenches his jaw before he waves his hand. “Court dismissed.”

There are murmurs of both protest and relief as the people around them start exiting through the main entrance, one Anakin throws open with another flick of his hand.

“And guards dismissed as well,” Obi-Wan snaps at the same time Anakin opens his mouth to remind him. He sends a wave of appreciation towards his husband in the Force, but the king is more blocked off than ever.

When the throne room is empty save for them, Obi-Wan stalks back to sit on his throne as if this whole thing has been his idea. He crosses his left leg over his knee and rests his hands on the armrests of his throne. “Well?”

“You let me forget our anniversary,” Anakin says, which doesn’t feel like the best foot forward at the very beginning. But it’s true. “You should have told me not to go on the trip to Olijon. It could have waited.”

“I’m not in the business of telling my husband what to do or not do,” Obi-Wan replies, as if he doesn’t take great joy from ordering Anakin around in bed.

Anakin’s raised eyebrow must convey this skepticism, because Obi-Wan huffs. “That’s different,” he says, crossing his arms. “That’s…pleasure. This is…”

When he doesn’t continue, Anakin takes that as an invitation to stride up the dias into his husband’s personal space. When that doesn’t feel close enough, he doesn’t hesitate to clamber into his lap, forcing Obi-Wan’s body to accommodate him.

“What is this, my liege?” Anakin asks, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Obi-Wan looks torn, shields weakening. They’ve never been in an argument yet that hasn’t petered out when Anakin shortens the distance between them.

“This is duty,” Obi-Wan says resolutely, even as his shields waver. “You needed to go to Olijon because as the prince and an accomplished engineer, Prince Set was expected to inspect the latest transport rig there. That was your duty. And mine was to let you go.”

“But you’re grumpy with me,” Anakin points out, shifting closer and bringing up one of his hands to start playing with the ends of Obi-Wan’s bangs, which just stick out under the weight of his crown.

Maybe this is what causes Obi-Wan to melt into him. Maybe it’s his pout as he does it. Maybe it’s just that he’s missed him as much as Anakin has missed being here with him.

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan mutters, dragging a hand over his face before he settles it against the small of Anakin’s back. “Not least because kings do not get grumpy.”

Anakin snorts but doesn’t say anything. He does rock forward pointedly though. After all, if they can get through this conversation, nothing is stopping them from…celebrating their anniversary right here in the throne room.

“I have a duty to my people as their king, and in marrying me you have taken on a part of that duty. I cannot keep you away when you are called upon, no matter the day. I…” Obi-Wan‘s eyes catch with his and he curls his hand around the apple of Anakin’s cheek. “It’s silly to be upset that you have taken so well to the duties I have burdened you with.”

Anakin blinks at him, slowly processing his words.

“I may have a reputation for being a bit forgetful,” he tells his stupid husband, nuzzling forward until their foreheads touch and he can stretch to place a kiss on the thin bow of Obi-Wan’s upper lip, “but I do believe I married a man. Not a planet. If my memory serves me correctly, in fact, we weren’t even on Stewjon when we were married. And I believe I have never taken on Stewjonian royalty vows as prince consort—“

“That’s because you keep hiding in the woods whenever we try to schedule a cerem—“

“Which means, my very stupid and melodramatic husband,” Anakin braces his both his hands on his shoulders and leans back so that he can look him in the eyes. “That my duty first and foremost is to you, and it always will be.”

Obi-Wan huffs and shakes his head slightly, automatically.

“Baby,” Anakin shakes his head back. “I left my family, my friends, my entire way of life thousands of parsecs away just so I could be with you. Duty means nothing in the face of love. Not to me; not when it comes to this love.”

His husband exhales rather shakily and twines his hand through Anakin’s hair, hauling him forward and connecting their mouths.

Anakin has been waiting for this since his ship landed back in the boundaries of Stewjon proper. He angles his head and opens his mouth at the lightest touch of Obi-Wan’s tongue to his lip, granting him access he never truly has to ask for.

It’s his already to do with as he pleases. Anakin is his to do with as he pleases, and he tries to make sure Obi-Wan understands that as he deepens the kiss, lets his hands fist in the front of Obi-Wan’s shirt as he rocks down in his lap.

Obi-Wan groans when Anakin sucks on his tongue, tightening his hold on his hair and forcing him into a better position. Kissing his husband is always an amazing experience, but after being deprived of his kisses for a few days, it feels like there’s nothing better in the world than the slide of their tongues, the sound of their breaths, the taste of Obi-Wan bursting on his tongue.

Anakin wants more. When it comes to Obi-Wan, he always wants more.

It takes the slightest nudge against Obi-Wan’s mind for his shields to waver and fall to Anakin, and he wastes no time at all reclaiming his space and refreshing their bond.

The Stewjonian healers had warned them both about bond sickness and unhealthy attachments, the Stewjonian impulse to possess and cling. But Anakin and Obi-Wan’s bond is strong and healthy, a meadow filled with soft, dappled light. Nothing at all like the thorny, overgrown path that the healers had painted in Anakin’s mind.

And if they were ever to convince Obi-Wan to sever their bond under the guise of his duty demanding it, Anakin would kill them. Simple as.

Greedily, he wraps himself in the tendrils of their open bond, separating their mouths to pant against the side of Obi-Wan’s neck.

After a second to catch his breath, he starts licking and sucking at the skin beneath his lips.

Two years. It’s been exactly two years since they were married beneath the Fei’luka sun.

“You’re the most difficult man in the entire galaxy,” Anakin murmurs, sitting back to look at his husband.

Obi-Wan’s eyes are dark, pupils blown. Anakin can feel the swell of his cock beneath his ass. It would be incredibly easy to sink to his knees right here, lift up the cloth of Obi-Wan’s kilt, and take that cock into his mouth. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Obi-Wan would let him. That Obi-Wan would enjoy it.

He’s enjoyed it before, spreading his legs to allow Anakin’s shoulders to fit between them while he lounges on his throne.

Stewjonians despise opulence yet love ceremony, and their king is the same. His throne is simple treated wood, masterfully carved yet lacking the adornments others affix onto their physical seats of power. Yet Anakin has always thought that Obi-Wan gets a special sort of enjoyment from Anakin kneeling before him on his throne, though he’s never gotten him to admit it.

Anakin certainly enjoys it, the weight of his cock in his mouth and the inescapable press of Obi-Wan’s hand against the back of his head, his liege and his king and the best damn choice Anakin has ever made exacting pleasure upon him as he takes his own as well.

“Darling,” Obi-Wan groans, “a little restraint would be much appreciated.”

“How can I practice restraint when all I can think about is the way you touch me? How good it feels. How very right. Two years of it, but Force, Obi-Wan. Force, how many more years do you think we’ll have?”

“It depends on how kind the Force is to its worshippers,” Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkle and he ghosts a kiss up his jaw.

Anakin shivers. “I’m its child, baby. The Force fucking loves me.”

The space between their bodies evaporates as Obi-Wan crushes him to his chest, pulling him down so there’s no escaping the feeling of the hard line of his cock.

“Fifty years then,” Obi-Wan swears. “Perhaps a hundred.”

Anakin’s laugh is breathless as he rocks down, rubbing himself against his husband’s erection. “And how many years will it take for us to get to the point where I forget something and you just tell me?”

Obi-Wan stands, lifting Anakin up into his arms. If it didn’t make Anakin lose his voice, that display of strength and possessiveness, he’d say something clever about improper use of the Force.

As it is, he can only moan high and loud as Obi-Wan carries him towards the door to the side chamber.

“Oh, fifty years perhaps. Maybe a hundred,” Obi-Wan tells him, and Anakin kisses him quiet, as is his princely duty.

#king obi-wan au #obikin #theyre exhibitionists your honor #of course they would also get off on fighting in public #stewjonian news on a slow day is just gossip about the king and his consort #and once again #stewjon is space scotland #thanks ewan mcgregor for influencing that choice #Anakin Skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #it was super fun to revisit that fic!!#thank you for the opportunity and also sorry that it wouldn't let me tag you @sexysymphony #i bet also obi-wan is the kind of guy who has like 6 anniversary dates in his head #and gets offended when anakin doesn’t remember the anniversary of the day they met or the day he left the Jedi or the day they kissed etc

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