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He wakes up as he feels the sheets rustle around him, Obi-Wan coming back onto the bed. Rubbing his head against his pillow, Anakin notes his partner moving closer to him and settles back down. It’s rare, but sometimes Obi-Wan comes back to bed after he finishes his early morning tea. Maybe he’ll get some cuddles.
Letting out a sleepy moan, Anakin is then startled as instead of cuddles he gets the blanket pulled off of him.
“It’s time to wake up, Anakin.”
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.”
Master’s hands slip away from his hair as he settles himself onto the couch. Anakin lets out a soft sigh as Master’s leg comes to rest against his shoulder and a hand returns to pet his hair. Master’s fingers gently caress his scalp; Anakin leans his head against his Master’s thigh, eyes still shut. He’s right where he needs to be, right where he belongs. The sound of the television increases, and Anakin lets the incoming facts about northern birds wash over him, comfortable in listening and his Master’s company.