Refusing to open his eyes, Anakin stays exactly as he is against his pillow. “I wanna sleep.”

Obi-Wan sighs at him, but Anakin refuses to move. He’s in that blissful state where it’d be so easy to fall back asleep. The bed is so comfortable, even if he’s not under the blankets anymore, and he’s still got the haze in his head, his eyes not having opened. Just a little nap more wouldn’t hurt. 

A hand comes to rest gently on his neck, the thumb pressing against the corner of his mouth. He gets a little caress before lips press against his own. Obi-Wan lingers, his beard hairs tickling Anakin’s upper lip and nose. Anakin smiles into his lover, and only then does Obi-Wan slowly pull away. He drags his nose along Anakin’s, his thumb swiping against his skin, the rest of his hand sliding along his throat. Sighing, Anakin still keeps his eyes closed. 

“Stay with me?”

Obi-Wan’s laugh is warm, amusement echoing along the bedroom, in Anakin’s ears. It makes his toes curl happily. “No, Anakin. How about a reward if you get up now, hm?”

“A reward?” Anakin rubs his head against the pillows. “Can’t it just be staying in bed, and I’ll work for it later?”

“That’s not how a reward works, and you know it.”

Sighing, finally opening his eyes, Anakin leans forward to press his lips to Obi-Wan’s. “It’ll be a reward for you, getting some extra sleep.”

“I'm not a sloth like you, Anakin. I got all the sleep I needed last night.” His fingers caress Anakin’s throat before wrapping around it, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Anakin moans at both the sensation and the shift in Obi-Wan’s mood that it means. “Now, did you change your mind about today?”

Anakin shakes his head, a pleased little hitch of his breathing escaping him as the hand around him stays. Today they agreed that they would try to scene all day long.

“Then it’s time to get out of bed, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, his voice stern; it brooks no argument. 

Moaning, his body singing at the dominance in his lover’s voice, Anakin lets out a little affirmative noise. The hand on his throat releases, fingertips giving him one last caress in praise for doing what he’s told. Taking a moment to steady his excitement, Anakin then pushes himself up and away from the sheets. He climbs out of bed, and he waits. 

He waits for Master to guide him.

Master lets out a surprised noise, and Anakin whines as he watches Master regard him. A hand comes to brush against his cheek; eyes fluttering, it’s all to easy to lean into the hand. The motion gets him the slightest inhale of breath, but Anakin knows his master as well as anyone can. The smallest little changes of breathing are everything. Master likes his reaction.

“Oh, sweet boy. Already slipping so nicely for me.” Master’s thumb caresses his cheekbone. “Where are you, Anakin?”

“I’m for you, Master.”

It’s a code phrase; Master had given him a list of phrases to tell him to describe how far he wanted to submit. Anakin likes the structure of it. He never has to fumble to get what he wants, like this. There is no need to grasp for words when he has a script. Master has laid out the groundwork for him. 

“Are you, sweet boy? I hadn’t expected you to want to go this deeply into submission today.” His hand comes down to touch Anakin’s throat, his expression slipping from surprised to pleased. Anakin calls him “Master” when he wants him to be in total control. “Well, dear one, the first order of today is breakfast.”

Smiling, Anakin retorts, “the first order was to get out of bed, Master.”

Master scoffs at him, his eyes rolling as his hand comes down from his face to slide under his sleep shirt. It finds home on his lower back. Anakin happily notes the pressure, eagerly listening to the silent command to walk when Master’s hand flattens. His master’s hand is warm and calloused, and Anakin loves the feel of it on his skin. Leaning into his master’s body, Anakin follows him to their little kitchenette. 

He’s led to a stool, and Anakin sits after Master pats it. The hand on his back slides away, Master’s heat leaving him, and he bites his lip as he watches Master pull out ingredients to make pancakes. It’s one of the few foods that Master can cook and not fuck up; Anakin, naturally, loves them. He can make better pancakes, but Master only cooks for him. They’re Anakin’s. 

Smile growing large on his face, Anakin follows Master’s movements. His sleep shirt is wrinkled, hanging loose against his shoulders – Anakin’s maybe worn that one a few times and stretched it out when he overeagerly pulls it off of him. Master’s posture is relaxed, his shoulder flexing as he whisks the batter. A look of concentration is on his face, and Anakin giggles at seeing it. Making food never fails to bring that look out. Even just helping out, Master gets it to a lesser degree.

Pulling his lip into his mouth, Anakin watches as Master pours the first pancake onto the pan. The batter cooks a little too long, but he doesn’t mind. Pancake number two flips messily; pancake three is cooked as perfectly as Master can; the fourth pancake is once again a little crisp, and the last one for Master is slightly undercooked. Anakin tries to switch pancake number three for it, but Master shakes his head.

“Keep your nice pancake, sweet boy. I’m nowhere as picky about my food as you.” Anakin nods, a quick “yes, Master” accompanying his movement. He’s rewarded with Master rubbing the top of his head, mussing up his curls. “There’s my good boy. You take what I give you, dear one.”

“I will, Master. I do.”

Master smiles at him before he begins cutting up their breakfast, his first before getting to Anakin’s stack. He butters each of Anakin’s pancakes and pours a heavy helping of syrup over them after he finishes cutting them. The plate stays next to him, and the next thing Anakin knows his chair being pulled closer to Master’s. A little, happy laugh bubbles out of him at the action. 

“So I can feed my boy,” Master explains, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Wouldn’t be a good master if I let him make a mess of himself, would I? Syrup is a pain to wash off.”

“A very big pain, Master. It’s sticky, and not in the fun way.”

Anakin feels a pleasant flutter in his stomach at the snort his remark gets him. Beaming, he lets his mouth drop open to be fed. That earns him a fond eye roll before Master’s face softens. 

“My sweet boy, always so eager for attention.”

Nodding, Anakin points to the pancakes. 

“A brat, you are. Should I leave you with your mouth hanging while I eat mine?” Anakin hastily puts his hand back into his lap, his head shaking. Master leans forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry, baby boy. Today I’m gonna be nice so long as you’re my good boy. Now, I think it’s time I feed you.”

Anakin watches as Master’s deft fingers tighten on the fork, the elegant way Master’s wrist moves as he brings the pancake bite up. His master is beautiful. He closes his mouth around the fork when it’s brought close, Master easily pulling it from between his lips in silent permission to chew. The pancake crumbles between his teeth, and Anakin swallows, ready for the next bite. 

Master’s eyes crinkles, happy. Anakin beams.

Bite after bite Master feeds him. Anakin smiles after finishing each swallow, the warmth he gets from eating and his Master all he needs. The last of pancake, Master drags all along the plate, picking up all the remaining syrup he can. He grins as he brings the fork up, and Anakin playfully bites it harder than necessary. It makes Master let out a little laugh. Preening, Anakin happily chews his pancake while Master starts on his. Master eats at a steady pace, even and slower than how he fed Anakin, but not sluggish. His free hand comes to cup around Anakin’s.

Anakin squeezes and simply waits for Master to finish. 

Once the pancake is finished, Master opens his hand. Anakin collects the plates and silverware, bringing them to the sink to rinse. He can feel the watchful gaze on his back, and he shakes his hips as he scrubs. The happy huff he earns curls around him. The syrup washes down the drain as Anakin makes quick work, and Anakin wiggles his fork to shake off some of the water before placing it with the rest of the dishes on the drying rack. He turns around, smiling. Master is looking at him with warm in his eyes. The fondness makes him step forward to rest in front of the stool. 

“Master,” he says. 

His hand is once again joined with Master’s. A hand comes to rest on his hip. “Sweet boy. I think I want to watch a documentary.”

“Yes, Master.”

A small smile. Master scoots back before standing, and Anakin is led by the hand to the living room after receiving a forehead kiss. Master orders him to sit, and so Anakin grabs his pillow from off the couch. He drops it onto the floor before folding himself onto it, making himself comfortable. Leaning against the couch, he watches as Master turns on the outlet. He preens as Master turns back to look at him. 

“My beautiful boy.” He stands in front of Anakin, hands curling in his hair. “You look so sweet like this, on the floor for me.”

Anakin closes his eyes, body going lax. “Only for you.”

“That’s right. Just for me. You’re all mine; just for me, Anakin.” 

“Yes, Master.”

A kiss is pressed to his hairline. “Good boy, dear.”

“I had a great night.”

One of Ben’s hands come out to clasp his, his grip a comforting tightness. “I’m glad I could turn your nightmare trip into a pleasant one.”

“Shut up. I was well within bounds to be worried. You’re how old?”

“I’m thirty-nine.”

Anakin blinks, and then he squints at his companion. “No fucking way. You’re thirty-five, at the most. You’re not almost forty.”

“As flattering as that is that you don’t think I look it, I’m afraid I have the grey hairs to prove it.”

“You can’t even see them until you point them out.” The hairs are starting at the sides of his head, above his sideburns. Anakin wants to run his fingers through the strands, and then he stops that train of thought immediately. “How old do you think I am?”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Younger than I did at the start of the night. Twenty-two?”

“Twenty-three. Just how old did you think I was?”

“I was thinking twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? With Ahsoka you’re like a mix of a father and an older brother.”

“I don’t...know what to say to that. No one has ever thought I was older upon seeing me.”

Ben pulls Anakin closer, his lips pulling into a smirk. “Well, I think this one instance is working out in my favor. I would never had started hitting on you if I’d known in the beginning.”

“I’m surprised you did at all.” As it slips out, Anakin wishes he could hit himself. That wasn’t how he wanted to bring it up, at all. Rushing to continue before Ben can say anything, knowing he’s making it worse, he says, “I don’t exactly look like boyfriend material.”

“I happen to like my men taller than me, and you fit the bill perfectly.”

Anakin looks at the ground, bracing himself. “I'd appreciate it if we didn’t dance around what’s right in front of your face.”

“You’re trans, so what?” At Anakin’s hurried head raise, Ben raises an eyebrow. “You’re not the first trans person I’ve met. I don’t care. You’re adorable.”

“People will mistake me for your girlfriend, and I’d like to know you’ll correct them.”

Ben’s face melts a little bit, his thumb rubbing Anakin’s hand. “Anakin, of course.”

“You...people aren’t–”

“Stop trying to psych me out of dating you before I even actually ask you out.” Ben pulls Anakin’s hand up to kiss it. “I want to date you, if you’ll let me.”

Anakin bite his lip, nerves lighting up in his stomach at the press of Ben’s lips. It feels like this is too good to be true. “Are you too old to use boyfriends?”

“No,” he answers, smiling. “Be my boyfriend, Anakin?”

“Yes.”

Ben’s other hand comes to rest on Anakin’s waist. “Can I kiss you?”

“Ahsoka can still see us. I’d rather not give her more taunting fuel than she’s already gained.”

“Or we could embarrass her.”

Anakin snorts. “I’d be the only one embarrassed in this scenario.”

“Well,” he says, interest clear as blue sky as his hands tighten, “we wouldn’t want that, would we? I’ll just have to kiss you in private, embarrassed just for me.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s not my fault you’re cute as hell flustered. I have to keep doing it.”

Anakin shakes his head before closing the gap between them. It’s nothing more than an awkward press of his lips against Ben’s, over almost as soon as it’s begun, but Anakin feels his cheeks flush heavily. He’s never initiated a kiss in his life, and, in total, this is only his third kiss that counts. 

Ben’s looking at him, and Anakin sucks in a breath. He steps back. “Ahsoka can still see us.”

“I think she’ll survive, but I won’t if you don’t go get in your car. I want to kiss you properly.” 

“Walk me?”

The hand on his waist moves to his lower back as Ben moves, a small pressure. Anakin’s hand slips from Ben’s grasp, and Anakin already misses it as Ben leads him to the driver’s side door. Ahsoka is deeply pretending to be on her phone as Anakin climbs into his seat and Ben leans in, offering his phone. Anakin keys in his number and puts a little heart emoji by his name, heart hammering. He’s hoping Ben doesn’t read into it being more than Anakin liking emojis. 

Ben’s fingers linger as he takes his phone back, a pleased smile on his face as he says goodbye to Anakin. His voice shifts into a more neutral tone as he tells Ahsoka that he’s happy to have met her and that he enjoyed their day together. Ahsoka looks up for the first time, a bright smile on her face as she returns the farewells. 

Pulling the museum door open and acquiring a pass, he sweeps his eyes quickly through as he makes his way to the in house cafeteria, easily finding his sister. Her white hair, held high in braids, is hard to overlook. Walking quickly, he studies the man talking with her; he’s dressed nicely, a sweater over a button up, and his hair is neatly brushed while is beard is well kept. One of his hands is moving with whatever he’s saying, the other one holding onto a large cup. He’s in his thirties if Anakin had to guess.

“Skyguy!” Ahsoka calls out when the man looks up and gestures behind her.

Pulling a smile up for her, Anakin rests his hand on her shoulder before squeezing tightly. She didn’t get up to greet him, meaning that she’s comfortable. “You okay?”

“Did you not hear me on the phone?” She rolls her eyes. “We’re in a museum. Looking at art. You didn’t have to come storming in; we’re not done yet.”

Well, that was exactly why he had to come storming in. Letting his smile sharpen, he meets Ben’s eye. “What exhibits are left?”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “I feel something was left out in your phone call about missing dinner, Ahsoka. I’m one of the museum guides; I didn’t randomly just decide to follow your sister.”

“You on the clock?” Anakin demands, his worry lessening slightly. A museum guide would want to help out a visitor, and if Ahsoka was looking lost or really interested it made sense to approach. Having their meal break with her was above and beyond, though. 

“Not today; it is nice, sometimes, to appreciate art without having to explain it twenty times over.”

Ahsoka snorts, the fry she was bringing up to her mouth flopping. Anakin folds into the seat beside her, hand falling to merely rest beside her arm on the table. Before Anakin can open his mouth again, Ben continues.

“I saw Ahsoka snickering at a painting and asked her what was so funny. Talking about art is different than explaining; Ahsoka has had some intelligent insights.”

Anakin raises an eyebrow. “You a painting expert now, Snips, holding your own against the experts?”

“Obviously.” She rolls her eyes in Ben’s direction. “So, how about we actually have introductions now you’re done being a protective asshole and suckered yourself into having to follow us. Anakin, this is Ben. Ben, this is my brother, Anakin.”

Defiantly raising his head while his sister introduces him, Anakin is pleased to note that Ben doesn’t react to Ahsoka introducing him as her brother. “I’d gathered he was Ben.”

“As did I this was your brother.”

Groaning, Ahsoka pokes him; Anakin sticks his tongue out at her. “How about a nice to meet you?”

Both he and Ben parrot it back to her at the same time. Grinning in spite of himself, relaxing a little more but not completely, Anakin catches Ben’s eye. He’s met with warm amusement, the wrinkles around Ben’s eyes soft from his smile.

“So, I really do want to know how many exhibits you two are planning on looking at,” he says. 

“Ahsoka was wanting to look at the newest exhibit, a showcasing of contemporary African American artists, once we finished eating. There also was the Rococo one.”

Offering him a fry, Ahsoka smiles at him. “I think you’d like that one.”

“Do you, now?” He pulls the fry into his mouth. 

“Lots of over-the-top and frivolous? Yep.” 

Ben sips at his drink, his eyes on Anakin. His gaze makes him flush, just the tiniest bit. The looks he was fearing this man would be showing Ahsoka seem to instead be given to him. 

“I feel like there’s a story here,” Ben says.

“Skyguy is really just dramatic. The swooning lady in the lounge chair? Him.”

Swatting playfully, Anakin argues. “I am not.”

“And yet, here you are.” Her eyebrow is climbing off her face. 

“I think if I were the swooning damsel in this scenario, I would have just demanded you stay on the phone with me the whole time instead of coming.”

“Okay, fine. You’re Achilles level of dramatic.”

Anakin steals another fry. “You know I haven’t read either The Illiad or that other book.”

“That other book?” asks Ben.

“The really, really gay one.”

“Are you saying that Achilles's storyline in The Illiad isn’t gay, Anakin?”

“The Song of Achilles,” Ahsoka says at the same time.

“Ah,” Ben acknowledges while Anakin shrugs at his question. He did just say he hasn’t read either.

Ahsoka taps her fingers along the table, lips pulling into a sappy smile. “So, that’s Anakin.”

“Lovely. Though I suppose he’ll have to start working out to fit the image.”

“Hey!”

“He is pretty like him, however,” Ben continues like Anakin didn’t speak, his eyes never leaving Anakin’s face.

There’s no mistaking the overture, and Anakin knows that his flush is very, very visible. Fumbling, he rubs his fingers along his thumb. From his peripheral, Ahsoka’s glee is exuberant. She’s a little asshole. “Uh, thanks?” 

“You’re welcome.”

The bastard looks positively too amused. It’s not Anakin’s fault that he never gets flirted with by possibly not straight men and doesn’t know how to respond. “Did you two want to head out?”

“We probably should.”

Stretching, her braids pressing against her as her arms come up above her head, Ahsoka nods. “Was there anything you wanted to look at, Ben?”

“No. By the time we finish looking at the two you wanted to see, it’ll probably be close to closing, anyway.”

Insistent, she then says, “Then shouldn’t we see something you want?”

“Ahsoka, I get in free. I’m here nearly everyday. We can look at the two exhibits you wish to.”

“Come on, Snips.”

“Don’t tag team me.”

“Too late.”

Rolling her eyes, she loops her arms through his, weaving their fingers. “Well, chaperone, I guess we’re off. Which exhibit is closer, Ben?”

“Rococo.”

“Lovely,” Ahsoka shows her teeth. “Maybe you can woo Anakin with your knowledge of the time period. Since you think he’s pretty.”

Anakin lets his nails dig in a little in their handhold. Ben, for his part, lets out a little laugh, and Anakin refuses to note how his eyes crinkle. “How about you shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, but aren’t younger sibling supposed to be embarrassing?” asks Ben, the asshole, as he starts leading them. 

Ahsoka lets him get a ways away before she bumps her shoulder with Anakin. Her head nudges in Ben’s direction. “Soooooo?”

“You little monster. Was this a set up?”

“You weren’t even supposed to be here, Skyguy.”

“I don’t like him.”

Pouting, Ahsoka pulls his hand. “Come on. He’s a bit old, but he’s totally your type.”

“I don’t have a type!”

A snort ahead of them lets Anakin know that he spoke a little louder than he wanted to. “You two really aren’t being subtle, you know. Hanging behind and whispering is a dead giveaway you’re talking about me even if I couldn’t hear it.”

“Oh my god,” Anakin moans. Ahsoka snickers loudly as she pulls them up in line with Ben. 

“I think we broke my brother.”

Ben lets his shoulder brush against Anakin’s. “Well, that would be a shame. I had it on good authority he’d have liked the Rococo exhibit.”