Rockstar Obi-wan Kenobi x Journalist Anakin Skywalker
Anakin feels himself flush, knows he most look so stupid with how his face is blotchy and red, tries to duck his head but is stilled, when two fingers slip underneath his chin, keeping him from trying to hide away. He looks up, beneath his lashes, and feels starstruck when he peers up into darkened, nearly blackened with something Anakin doesn't understand, and freezes.
"Darling, why do you do that?" Obi-wan asks, soft, curious as he tilts his head, letting his hair fall to one side. "You hide your beauty, darling, when you should be front and center. A centerfold," he grins, lips curving into something wicked and full of promise. "Something to be coveted and worshipped from a distance." His voice drops, lowly and full of want. "But touched only by one who's worthy."
"Are you?" Anakin finds himself blurting out, feels his flush spread down to his neck, and can feel the heat against his shoulders when his button up shifts against his skin. "Are you worthy?"
"Let me show you, darling," is whispered as Obi-wan slides off his seat, kneels in front of Anakin. He moves his hands to wrap around his knees and slowly parts those sinfully long legs, before shuffling forward, giving Anakin no choice but to spread his legs further. "Let me show you, worship you like the divine creature you are."
