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tennessoui · 2 years

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"Sorry, were you sleeping?" for the prompt game. Please make it as bitchy as possible, I believe in you.

hey hi hello yeah absolutely this can be as bitchy as possible.....this is set in my bodyguard au, in the time before they get together where obi-wan is popstar anakin's overworked-exhausted-and-at-the-end-of-his-rope-but-never-gonna-leave bodyguard, and anakin keeps sleeping with people who look more and more like obi-wan.

(1.8k)(nsfw)(mostly because of cursing)(thanks, obi-wan)

Obi-Wan doesn’t bother to knock. It’s not as if he can possibly be surprised by anything he can see in Anakin Skywalker’s bedroom anymore. Not after he kicked two people out a few months ago and then found another hiding in the shower.

He flicks on the bright light in the room.

Twin moand of disapproval from the bed have Obi-Wan sneering as he stomps over to the window and peels back the heavy curtain.

“Sorry,” he says, knowing he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “Were you sleeping?”

“Obi,” Anakin whines from the bed, turning inward and resting his head on whatever fuck of the night’s chest. “You’re being such a bitch.”

“You’re being a brat,” he shoots back. “Now come on. Get up. You’re supposed to be in the studio today. Christmas singles don’t just record themselves.”

“Can’t we reschedule?” Anakin asks. His voice is still so sleep rough that Obi-Wan can’t tell if he’s genuinely whining now or putting on the act he knows will enrage him the most.

Popstars.

“Why? Did you drink too much last night when you went out even when you promised you’d go straight home?” Obi-Wan asks, tone cutting. “Can baby not hold his liquor?”

“No,” Anakin says with a sigh, rolling until he’s lying directly on top of the man he’d slept with last night, before he sits up and looks back at Obi-Wan with a toss of his head. “Benny here just fucked me so well I don’t know if I can walk all the way to the studio. That’s so far.”

The guy under the boy coughs. “I don’t know if I want to be involved in this.”

Obi-Wan breathes out sharply through his nose. The man is involved in this, because he’d gone and slept with Anakin, and Obi-Wan wants to bite out something cutting like, Then watch where you’re sticking your dick next time, mate, but it’s not technically the man’s fault.

It’s not even Anakin’s fault.

Hell, it’s not even Obi-Wan’s. It’s just this situation. It’s just that Anakin has been looking at him with heavy-lidded blue eyes for years now, ever since he turned nineteen and started exploring the darker, grittier, more pleasurable side of superstardom. Ever since his label agreed that Anakin didn’t really fit the look or sound of cookie-cutter teen pop music anymore and allowed him the slightest bit of freedom to delve into…other topics, Anakin has been looking to Obi-Wan likes there’s nothing he wants to do more than sink to his knees, suck his cock, and then write a hit song about it.

He’d offered, once or twice. Maybe five times. All when he was out of his mind with whatever they pass around to pretty boys in dark clubs these days. Obi-Wan had always, always said no. Anakin has never asked him in the morning, in his right mind, if he meant it.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what he’d say. It’s a terrible idea, to sleep with the talent when you’re the talent’s head of security, the talent has been your responsibility for seven years, you’re sixteen years older than the talent, and oh. Yeah.

The talent is the biggest brat Obi-Wan has ever encountered.

The guy, Ben, sits up, and Obi-Wan’s harsher words die before they make it past his throat.

Somehow, in the time between leaving the studio last night after dinner and now, his brat of an employer has managed to find Obi-Wan’s goddamn look-a-like on the streets of New York.

Anakin swings himself around and behind Ben, resting his chin on the man’s shoulder so he can watch and see Obi-Wan see Ben. He looks curious. He looks anticipatory.

Ben furrows his eyebrows. Obi-Wan crosses his arms. Despite it being December, he’d taken off his jacket as soon as he’d let himself into Anakin’s penthouse. It’s a bit underhanded, but Obi-Wan has found that Anakin is more…..compliant…perhaps even pliable if he tells him to do something while flexing the tattooed muscles of his bare arms.

Honestly.

“Get up, come on,” Obi-Wan tells the man coldly, schooling his face to not give any of his thoughts away. Anakin is bad enough without him knowing that he affects Obi-Wan in any way. “I’ve an NDA for you to sign, mate.”

“Oh. Uh. Can I get some privacy? To get dressed?”

Obi-Wan throws Anakin a look over the man’s shoulder. Of course Anakin would find a version of him that’s a prude.

“Fine, but hurry up. You must be late for your shift at the library. Anakin, get in that shower. We’re leaving under the hour.”

“Obi-Wannnn,” Anakin groans, flopping away from Ben back into his nest of pillows.

He bangs out of the room, back to the kitchen, but not before he hears Ben ask, “Wait, how did he know I work—” and Anakin cut him off with a very loud, “You said you’d make me breakfast, Ben.”

Obi-Wan opens the fridge with much too much force. Making Anakin breakfast is his job.

Not actually. There’s nothing in the contract he’d signed and then resigned every other year that says that Obi-Wan, as head of security, must also protect Anakin against scurvy and low vitamin A by making sure he drinks his orange juce and eats his omelets.

But it’s his job because no one else is doing it, and the thought of no one doing it for Anakin, the thought of Anakin being alone when he has needs—it makes Obi-Wan’s heart and fists clench. The boy’s gone through a lot. That’s sort of what you sign up for when you make it big at fifteen and then you’re playing Madison Square Gardens at sixteen. He’s alone too, no band of other kids his age to protect him and support him and cheer him on. Just musicians that rotate out when their contracts finished, backup dancers everyone thinks he’s dating if he spends too much time with them, and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who has renewed and renewed and renewed his contract, every time it’s been up for cancellation.

And every time he thinks about maybe letting it run its course this time, he thinks about that one time, when Anakin was newly nineteen, after his pre-show rehearsal, and he’d seen him sitting on the edge of the great big stage with his knees drawn to his chin, staring out at the empty seats, all alone and holding himself.

And he always resigns when he thinks about that.

He hears the water of the shower turn on in Anakin’s en suite bathroom, and he makes his moves all silent until he can hear the fumbling of someone in the bedroom. He goes back to grating cheese after that, satisfied that Anakin has followed his directions this time and is currently alone in the shower.

“Um, uh.” The man announces his presence in the most lackluster way. Obi-Wan raises a cutting eyebrow and turns his back on his fucking twin or some shit—not really, but they probably could be—and starts deseeding a bell pepper. Red, because those are Anakin’s favorites. Green as well, because Anakin hates the green ones, but Obi-Wan isn’t exactly pleased with Anakin right now, and Anakin deserves to know that. “Ani said you would have papers for me to sign?”

“You call him by his stage name while you were fucking him, too?” Obi-Wan asks before he can stop himself, hands moving fast on the cutting board.

“Well,” Ben says, “he called me Obi-Wan, so fair’s fair, right?”

The knife slips in Obi-Wan’s hand and pain lances through his thumb. “Fucker,” he curses immediately and passionately, snatching his hand away from the board before any of his blood can drip onto the bell peppers.

“Oh, that looks nasty,” Ben says from much closer. “Here, I can—”

“Sign that NDA on the counter and get out,” Obi-Wan finishes for him, throwing the knife into the sink and turning it on to clear the blood off his cut.

There’s silence behind him. “You’re not very friendly,” Ben finally observes, but he’s moved further away and there’s the rustle of paper.

“It’s not in my job description to be friendly,” Obi-Wan retorts, bending down and rifling through a low cabinet for the kitchen first aid he keeps there. Oh, this is Anakin’s penthouse, but everything is organized to Obi-Wan’s taste.

It’s easy to find the bandages and anti-bacterial gel, and he fixes himself up before Ben has even finished initialing all the boxes.

He cracks the eggs into a mixing bowl instead of looking at the man after he glances towards him and sees the trail of red bite marks along his throat.

“So you are Obi-Wan, right?” Ben asks.

Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything for several seconds.

“I just signed the NDA, mate, I’m not going to say anything, I’m pretty sure you’d take me for all I have and put me in the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan says, and waits another moment before clarifying. “I’m Obi-Wan.”

“Then you should know,” Ben says, shifting as he puts down the pen and probably shrugs on his coat. “He didn’t actually call me anything but my name during sex.”

“Fantastic,” Obi-Wan tells him. “Congratulations.”

“But afterwards,” Ben continues, like he hasn’t spoken. “He asked me to hold him and stroke his hair. He was pretty out of it, so I did. That’s when he called me Obi-Wan, not during the sex, but when I was just…holding him. I think some people call it aftercare? I don’t know. Just thought, you know. You should know.”

Obi-Wan grunts, clenching and unclenching his jaw, trying and failing to find words. For someone who didn’t want to be involved in this, he sure has a lot of fucking opinions.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Ben says. “Kiss him goodbye for me though.”

Obi-Wan swings his head around to glare at the other man, who throws his head back on a laugh at his expression. He points wordlessly to the door, and the man waves him away, already walking that way.

Once alone, Obi-Wan swings back to the omelette ingredients in front of him.

He doesn’t know what to do with that information. With the—with—

“He was pretty out of it, so I did. That’s when he called me Obi-Wan. Not during the sex, but when I was just…holding him. I think some people call it aftercare? I don’t know.”

Obi-Wan makes a conscious effort to unclench his jaw. It’s too early in the morning for this, to think about this and figure out what feelings are thrashing around in his gut.

He does, however, scoop the chopped green bell pepper bits and throw them in the trash can.

He doesn’t, however, allow himself to think about why.

#asks #obikin #prompt fill #anakin comes out of the shower dressed only in his underwear and silk robe #and he's like 'oh did benny leave before he could make me breakfast'#and obi-wan flicks him off but then anakin sees that obi-wan is hurt #and he's like omg are you ok!!!#and obi-wan is like.....yes.....?#and anakin is like :> do you want me to kiss it better :>#and obi-wan is like BET #and extends his hand in a raised eyebrow sort of challenge #and anakin cannot believe his luck #so he presses the envelope #and kisses the bandaged thumb and then lets it rest on his lips for several seconds #before ducking his head and kissing his palm up to his wrist #bodyguard au #the omelette burns

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