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    Summary

    A groan rises in Anakin’s chest as Obi-Wan massages him, fingers working him into putty just as capably as they always have. It hurts—he’s so wound up that rubbing the knots out of his back is more painful than pleasurable—but he still revels in the feel of Obi-Wan’s hands on him, skin on skin, touching him so surely and possessively. He knows he’s supposed to be relaxing, but his abs begin to tense as desire pools in his gut, hot and syrupy, and the next noise that escapes him is breathy and desperate.

    “Ah, ah,” Obi-Wan says mildly. Anakin can practically hear the smile in his voice. “You are meant to be relaxing.”

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    Or, sweet Obikin fluff where Obi-Wan forces Anakin into relaxing :D

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