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tennessoui · 3 months

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Kisses to distract for the playmaker au 🌌

omg from this prompt list, kisses to distract from the au where all the kisses are basically to deceive and to distract???? hell yes!!!

so i couldn't pick which kiss i wanted and then i remembered i made a playmaker post once about how vos is probably sent undercover/ends up at anakin's table and obi-wan freaks out and corners him and they're found and its so suspicious that they would be so close talking in a secret corner that before they're found, vos kisses obi-wan so that people will just think that they're horny only for vos to then die because That's Anakin's Little Mouse

so this is that....except a little different cause obi-wan's daddy issues are Daddying rn

(2.6k) (cw: a nonconsensual kiss. but also. like. murder???)

Obi-Wan can feel his heart beating. It’s so loud in his mind that he can barely hear what Vader is saying, and he’s sitting in the man’s lap, face tucked up beneath his chin.

He can’t remember a time he’s felt more exposed, not even the very first time Vader’s hands had found his waist and pulled him into his lap in front of half his highest ranking men.

In the intervening weeks, it’s even been—well. It’s become rather…comfortable. If he doesn’t think of all the reasons it isn’t.

Perched on Anakin’s thighs, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other held to his lap, he can press his face up against the man’s hair. He can close his eyes and commit himself wholly to listening to the men and women around him talk. Talk of shipments and delays, money owed, lives taken in payment. Obi-Wan can memorize everything and he can do it from the throne of the very mob his department has tasked him with bringing down. He can memorize it all and spend the moments in between pressing kisses to the tendons of Anakin’s neck, trailing his fingers along the in-seam of his suit pants, rubbing at the mob boss’ shoulder with the palm of his other hand.

Because—because that’s what the mission instructs that he do. He’s supposed to gather intel, gather evidence. And he’s supposed to do it without Anakin realizing that there’s a rat wrapped around his heart. The kisses—the kisses help. Distract him.

And it feels good. To kiss him.

To tease him into fucking him up against the wall the second they get somewhere private. To coax him into such violent need he dismisses his men and has Obi-Wan right where they’re sitting.

It feels good, to be so desired that it’s uncontrollable. To be so desired that the desire must be dealt with, must be whittled down simply by the act of having. Of taking.

Obi-Wan doesn’t feel guilty about how good it feels. It should feel good to be touched. It should be some sort of bonus to the undercover mission that it is sometimes him whose hands shake with the desire to be on Anakin’s skin. It is not something he needs to feel guilty about.

It is not something his father needs to know about either, the way that the son he raised turns into a slut the moment a criminal gets between his thighs.

And luckily enough, right now, Obi-Wan is the sole decider of what Qui-Gon Jinn gets to know. That’s the nature of being the only rat to have lived this long in the Skywalker mob. That’s the nature of being the only rat. Obi-Wan gets to decide what he tells his team and what he leaves out of their quick and hurried meetings when Obi-Wan’s supposed to be on a run.

But—but he was supposed to be the only rat.

He was not supposed to look across the long table laden with food that Anakin uses for his mob meetings and see a face he recognized.

Obi-Wan’s head is swimming, and his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that Anakin must be able to hear it too. That must be why he adjusts his grip on him, dragging him further into his arms as if that will make him feel safer.

All it does is drag the hem of his shorts further up his thigh, exposing the lace end of the stockings he’s wearing. All it does is tug the droopy material of his shirt off his shoulder—revealing the strappy red lace of the bralette beneath.

It has happened before—hell, Obi-Wan has dressed like this in front of these men for the express purpose of this happening, of his outfit revealing what lies beneath while he can feign ignorance. Nothing gets Anakin’s hands on him faster than other men seeing what he thinks is only his.

What is only his.

He came tonight wearing the brightest colors of pretty things he owned in order for this to happen because it has been far too long since Anakin last snapped. He has been far too put together lately, far too...distant.

It makes Obi-Wan’s chest tight with anxiety. He has not yet been able to figure out what attracted the mob boss to him in the first place, and he’s spent the last several days wondering if it’s gone. If he’s about to be tossed to the side, ripped out of Anakin’s bed with the same ease he was granted entry.

Or—maybe worse, what if Anakin has made him as a rat? What if he’s to be killed?

What if his father knows that and he thought to send in Obi-Wan’s replacement before he can die? It would be less suspicious, wouldn’t it?

No. Obi-Wan is being paranoid. Too paranoid. Even if he were to lose Anakin’s attention, he has the twins wrapped around his thumb. Anakin cannot kill him, his children would not stand for it.

And—it would give him time to figure out what he did wrong, what made Anakin’s eyes stray. He could be better. Figure out how to do better, be what he needed.

For the sake of the mission.

And…there would be no way for his father to catch wind of the mob realizing there’s a rat before Obi-Wan knows.

So the fact that Quinlan Vos is sitting close to the foot of the table…that he’s here, in this room, as a ranking member of Anakin’s mob….

That must mean that his father does not trust him to be doing his job. That Obi-Wan’s performance has disappointed him somehow, that he hasn’t been enough. He has not given them the information that they need and so his father has found a replacement.

And now the man who used to help Obi-Wan sort his father’s highlighters by color and size is staring at him from down the table, looking at the lines of his lingerie as he sits on the lap of the most dangerous mob boss in the city.

“Well,” Anakin says, tossing his napkin onto his empty plate. “Let’s break so that they can clean up this mess. And then—to business, men.”

The words are met with the thud and scrape of twenty or thirty chairs pushing back from their seats as the owners vacate them obediently. Obi-Wan, just as obedient, stays still. Anakin’s hand has clasped around the back of his neck, keeping him in position.

“You’re shaking, little mouse,” the mob boss murmurs.

“It’s cold,” Obi-Wan replies automatically, turning his face into his neck. He presses the faintest of kisses there and thinks about ripping the man’s throat open with his teeth, ending all of his problems now.

“Aw, baby, but you look so pretty like this,” Anakin says, ghosting his hand up the outside of his thigh and resting it just beneath the hem of his shorts. Then, his tone changes, growing lower, darker. Vader. “The men couldn’t look away.”

Obi-Wan tries to draw a breath, but it stalls out in his chest. He stills, and then immediately tries to pretend that he hasn’t, that his thoughts have flown to Vos, who had been just as surprised to see him in Anakin’s lap as Obi-Wan had been to see him at Anakin’s table.

“Hm?” Vader continues, as if Obi-Wan has spoken.

“I didn’t notice,” Obi-Wan finally says, sitting back so he can look fully into Vader’s eyes. “All I was looking at was you.”

They’re different from Anakin’s, Vader’s eyes. He would include this in his reports if he could figure out a way to say it that doesn’t make him sound insane. It’s been a long-held theory, that Anakin Skywalker isn’t always just Anakin Skywalker, but no one’s ever been able to have irrefutable proof.

But looking into Vader’s eyes, Obi-Wan knows. Knows it’s Vader who is looking back. Anakin is a dangerous man all on his own, but Vader…Vader is another beast entirely.

One that Obi-Wan isn’t prepared to deal with right now. Not when he is so on edge. When Vos is here. At Anakin’s restaurant. At his table.

Does Obi-Wan’s father really think he has failed so entirely? Does he really think he needs to be replaced? Needs support?

“I need to stretch my legs,” Obi-Wan says, pushing away from Vader’s chest. “I heard you and Ahsoka talking over it, I know this meeting will be a long one.” “My, what big ears you have, little mouse,” Vader says silkily, even as he drops his hands and leans back in his chair. The dismissal is clear; Obi-Wan is being given what he wants.

He gets several steps away before he looks back at Anakin, hands tightening into fists and releasing.

The man is watching him go, wine glass raised in front of his lips. He hasn’t closed his legs yet, sprawling out on his chair like it’s a throne.

And Obi-Wan is—torn. He needs to track down Vos. He needs to find a place to talk with him.

But he needs—he needs to stay here, with Anakin. He needs to turn back around and press himself up against Anakin’s chest once more, spread himself over him and make him feel good. So good that Anakin will not kill him nor tell him to leave and kill him all the same.

The shame and guilt that come on the heels of that thought are strong enough to force him to look away, force him out of the room.

He doesn’t get far.

A hand wraps around his arm and pulls him aside almost as soon as he’s exited the wide main room of the second floor of Anakin’s restaurant.

Obi-Wan makes an automatic, furious sound, but the hold on his arm only tightens as he’s pulled further into a dark and quiet alcove, mostly shielded by a marbled statue.

“What the hell are you doing,” the man who has grabbed Obi-Wan whispers furiously, and Obi-Wan goes almost boneless with relief. Oh, thank God it’s Vos.

“Me? What are you doing—” he turns around to face him fully, as much as the tight space can allow. “Did my father send you?”

In the shadows of the alcove, Obi-Wan can barely see Vos roll his eyes. “Probably in his mind, yeah, he did. I got back from one undercover mission, got sent the contacts for another almost immediately, wound up here, where his precious son’s whor—”

“What does that mean—”

“And he should have, Jesus, Kenobi! They told me you were making nice with the mob, wait until they hear you’re grinding up on Vader during his business meetings, what the fuck—-”

“No!” Obi-Wan doesn’t mean to say it so loudly or so vehemently, but he can’t. Qui-Gon was never supposed to know, no one was supposed to know, and now they will, and maybe his father will pull him off the case, can he do that? Would he try? If he thought Obi-Wan was doing a bad enough job, he would. He would take him away, get Detective Secura to arrest him next time they meet for information, it wouldn’t blow his cover, but it would take him away from—

From Anakin.

Obi-Wan can’t let that happen.

He hears footsteps, pointed and loud, coming down the hallway toward them. The break must nearing over, it’ll be time to get back to the real meat of the meeting, the actual mob business now, and then Obi-Wan won’t see Vos again. No way Anakin would let him spend a moment alone with another man—it would look suspicious anyway, if Ben knew this random mobster. Two rats getting cozy under the same roof, it doesn’t look good.

Anakin can’t know. Obi-Wan can’t lose him. He can’t lose him.

He can’t.

I’m sorry, he thinks and he knows it’s not good enough but the guilt does not drown out the need burning in his chest. The desire that cannot be controlled.

In the next moment, he’s pushing Vos up against the wall of the alcove, forcing him back with a grunt that’s loud enough that the footsteps outside pause.

Turn.

Just as Obi-Wan presses his lips against Vos’, pulling his own shirt down to look dissheveled. Messy. Like someone has been running their hands over his clothes.

“Oh, now that’s something Vader will want to know about,” Ahsoka Tano says. Obi-Wan rips himself away almost as fast as he pushed himself into Vos’ space.

It isn’t an act when he rubs the back of his hand over his lips. He’d kissed Vos mid-word, gotten the man’s spit in his mouth. He doesn’t like the taste, wishes it was Anakin’s.

“Tano,” he says. “Just making friends.”

Tano’s eyebrows fly up further than Obi-Wan’s ever seen them. “You get all your friends killed, Ben?”

Vos moves to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and the guilt and shame slam into Obi-Wan so suddenly that he almost rocks back from the blow. Vos is eight years older than him; was just fresh from the academy when Obi-Wan was still just a kid left to twiddle his thumbs at the police station waiting for his father to take him home. He’d gotten him take-out before. Coffee. Water. Little games to play with.

And Obi-Wan has gotten him killed.

“A little kiss won’t kill me,” Vos says, clapping a hand to Obi-Wan’s shoulder. There’s a note of bravado in his voice.

“Not quickly,” Tano promises. She raises her hand, snaps it when Obi-Wan doesn’t exit as quickly as she wants. “Come on, Benny. Let’s get you back to daddy.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says, taking a shaking step forward. All he can think about suddenly is Vos, a decade younger and relegated to a shitty desk in the back of the station first year out of the academy, shoes up on his files, biology flashcards in his hands as he ran Obi-Wan through the questions.

What has he done?

“Please,” he finally says, stumbling out of the alcove, and when his voice wavers, he’s not faking it. What has he done? He has gotten Vos killed—and for what? Why had he kissed him? He could have—he could have talked to him, he could have begged. He could have explained the situation, why did he have to—

Because there is nothing Obi-Wan can say that will make Tano hold her tongue.

And there is nothing Obi-Wan can do to stay Anakin’s hands. He has murdered people for less. Perhaps this time he’ll murder Obi-Wan too, that way Obi-Wan will not have to live too long with the weight of this guilt.

“Ladies first,” Tano says as she opens the door back into the room. It’s buzzing with the sound of other people’s voices, the movement of them as they find their seats once more.

Obi-Wan walks forward and Anakin’s eyes snap to him immediately. They’re dark and narrowed, as if he already knows more than he likes.

The walk has never been longer to get to Anakin’s side once more.

He’s pulled to stand in between Anakin’s spread thighs, the man’s hands falling to his waist and pulling him in, splaying out across his hips.

“Mm,” the mobster murmurs, and Obi-Wan’s legs are so shaky that he has to clamber up onto his lap just to avoid falling apart then and there. What has he done. What has he done?

“You smell different, baby,” Anakin says. “What have you been doing?” Obi-Wan wonders suddenly, wildly, if he can smell his fear. If he could see it in his eyes as he approached.

“Making friends,” Tano reports as she drops into the chair next to them. “Tongue first.”

Anakin’s hands still and then tighten. When he speaks, his voice is low and deep and all Vader. “Is that right, little mouse?”

And Obi-Wan—there is nothing Obi-Wan can do save for letting the guilt kill him.

So Obi-Wan nods. He nods and raises Vader's chin with his hand, forcing him to look at him. "I told you I was cold," he said as if he'd been so cold he found another man's body to keep him warm in the minutes he was away from Anakin.

Anakin's eyes are like pieces of ice. There's no warmth in them, but there's a glowing light of something that looks a lot like hunger. Fascination.

It's the same way he looked at him when he first saw him. As if he were intrigued.

The expression makes something that has been wound tight these last few weeks dissolve into nothing. Anakin's eyes promise that there will be no more distance between them. That he has not grown so tired of him that he will be discarded with next week's recycling.

And despite the guilt, the worry, the shame that's burning Obi-Wan's insides to ash, that look in Anakin's eyes warms him to the core.

#asks #prompt fill #vaderwan #obikin #playmaker au #to be clear vos does very much die #and obi-wan knows he dies #and anakin knows he knows he dies #and anakin also knows he was obi-wan's friend before #or he learns through excruciating slow torture or something #this universe is dark think what you will #also he wasn't actually getting bored of obi-wan probably #he will always find obi-wan fascinating #he just also wanted to see what obi-wan would do #if he thought he was getting bored of him #he never thought he'd sentence another man to death by kissing him tho #that caught him off guard if we're being honest #but his little mouse is perfect #and unexpected

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