Archive of Our Own

Obi-Wan’s most recent date has him deciding against a relationship.

They’re not a terrible person, haven’t really done anything egregious, but they’re just not what he’s looking for. Obi-Wan is self-assured, a touch too much if Mace has anything to say about it, but Obi-Wan does his best to ignore most of the things Mace says. He’s also responsible for this matchup, so Obi-Wan is even less inclined to a favourable opinion.

With a job that he enjoys, Obi-Wan also earns enough to buy and keep a house he loves, and to afford a comfortable lifestyle. His hours are hellish, but the work is mostly rewarding. The only downside is the emptiness of the house, the loneliness. It wouldn’t normally be a problem, but this is just the latest in a string of dates with people who see his money or hear the word lawyer, and don’t get what they’re expecting.

Managing to extricate himself from the date with minimal fuss, Obi-Wan decides to vent his frustrations to Cody, and heads for his friends Wholefoods grocery. It’s not his store of choice, but he also promised Cody he’d try and eat a little healthier and not exist solely on tea leaves and takeout. Maybe he can find something more appetising than leftover pizza.

Cody kicks him out of his office fairly quickly—apparently too busy to handle Obi-Wan’s “shit” today—and Obi-Wan goes down to the shop floor. He finds some packet pasta and tinned tuna that looks edible enough and can’t be too difficult to put together. He approaches the checkout, looking for the emptiest one—and sees him.

The bagger at the end of the till is young, younger than Obi-Wan’s taste, and he’s beautiful. Blonde, but the dirty kind that’s almost brunette, and it’s dishevelled, as though its owner just rolled out of bed. The smile, though, hits Obi-Wan with a burst of lust he’s not experienced in a while.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan says, ignoring the cashier and speaking straight to the man.

“Hi,” the man’s—Anakin, according to his name badge—smile shifts into something more customer service polite. A pity. “Did you find everything you needed?”

“I hope so,” Obi-Wan says. “I haven’t really cooked before.”

Anakin eyes his groceries with barely concealed disdain. He covers it quickly. “It’s a little blander than what I’d cook, but I’m sure it’ll taste fine.”

“I do specialise in throwing food in the microwave,” Obi-Wan says, and watches a variety of expressions cross Anakin’s face, settling on horror.

“You’re not throwing pasta in the microwave, are you?”

“Darling,” Obi-Wan says, putting on an inflection on the address, watching with delight as a blush rises on Anakin’s face, “even I know pasta is something you fry.”

Obi-Wan’s smile is still in place when he leaves the store—and runs into a familiar face.

“I see you wasted no time,” Cody says, leaning against his car.

Obi-Wan smiles. “Hello—”

“Stop it,” Cody says immediately, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve seen your Tinder and Grindr messages, Obi-Wan. You’re not here to pick me up.”

“You know me too well, my friend.” Obi-Wan shrugs lightly. “That handsome man—”

“You mean the twinky twenty three year old?” Cody says dryly. “I only hired him this morning.”

“Wonderful choice.”

“Leave him alone, Obi-Wan.” Cody’s gaze is warning.

“Oh of course,” Obi-Wan says with a smile. He doesn’t mean it, and they both know it. “I’ll be completely hands off.”

Despite Cody’s warning, Obi-Wan is still thinking of Anakin when he gets back home, until his modern and minimalist house lacks the warmth of company.

Obi-Wan sighs, looking at the bag of pasta and tuna. It’s a pitiful evening ahead, but there is one highlight—

Chop It Like It’s Hot.

The blog title alone is ridiculous, but the website is also a mess; cluttered, with sidebars and titles and pictures everywhere, but it’s become a comfort of sorts. It’s apparently for people who are trying to be gourmet on a budget, in their early 20s, but Obi-Wan’s been reading it for a few years lately.

The guy who runs the blog, VaderMasquerader, tends to leave notes at the bottom of his posts with ridiculous anecdotes and Obi-Wan’s started responding. The guy is apparently a little bit of an idiot, and the biggest flirt that Obi-Wan has ever spoken to, so when he’s having a tougher than normal day, it’s his first thing to do.

As per usual, there’s a new post up.

The pile of documents on Obi-Wan’s desk is looming and he sighs.

Obi-Wan is still smiling when he settles in at his desk with tinned tuna and pasta, which is as bland as Anakin suspected it would be.

The guy is back.

It’s a slow day so Anakin is customer watching. The bearded guy is back, and just as good looking as Anakin remembered. Jesse helpfully informs him that Anakin’s picked up guys like him on Grindr.

“He’s way more attractive than any of them,” Anakin says, because it’s true.

“You’re drooling,” Jesse says, rolling his eyes.

“You’re just jealous we don’t get any attractive women.”

Jesse snorts. “We get plenty. Most are just crazy or married.”

“Or gay,” Anakin points out.

Speaking of gay—

“Hello again,” Hot Guy says.

“Hi,” Jesse says brightly.

Hot Guy smiles but then turns his full attention on Anakin. It’s a lot of attention. Hot attention.

“Bag the stuff,” Jesse hisses.

“Oh, sorry?” Anakin shoves— “Are these tinned sausages? What the hell are you doing?”

Hot Guy looks amused. At least Anakin hopes it’s amused. “Something wrong, apparently.”

Jesse looks heavenward, “Can you stop being rude to the customers?”

“It’s quite alright,” Hot Guy says. “I’d quite like to hear how terrible my food selection is.”

Anakin doesn’t know if he’s being laughed at but smirks at Jesse anyway. “See? I do know what I’m talking about.”

Hot Guy nods. “So about these sausages?”

“Fresh obviously,” Anakin says. “If you can’t afford it, frozen works, but tinned stuff? It’s usually the same price as frozen and tastes fifty times worse.”

“Oh dear. Well it’s purchased now. Perhaps I’ll come back tomorrow and buy some frozen ones.”

Anakin frowns. “Haven’t you been here four times already this week?”

For some reason, that makes Hot Guy smile wider. “Perhaps I like the service here.”

“It’s fine I guess,” Anakin says.

Hot Guy laughs. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too.”

Jesse stares at him when Hot Guy’s walked away. “‘It’s fine I guess’? Anakin, he was hitting on you and you’re genuinely talking about the service?”

“He was not!”

“You’re an idiot,” Jesse says, turning to the next customer.

Whatever. Hot Guy was not hitting on him—Anakin would know. Comment Guy hits on him. Hot Guy just doesn’t know what food is, apparently.

Anakin stares at the comment, a shiver of heat running down his spine. How can someone he doesn’t even know cause such a reaction?

Ridiculous.

He shoves his phone in his pocket and kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

Ahsoka immediately shoves them off, slapping him on the back of his head. “I’ve told you about that so many times. Why were you spending the entire evening on your phone? I brought you here to meet Rex!”

“We’ve met so many times,” Anakin whines, rubbing the back of his head. “What does it matter?”

“This is the first time as my boyfriend,” Ahsoka explains, looking irritated. “So what’s so special about your phone?”

“Nothing,” Anakin says, too quickly, because Ahsoka’s eyes light up. “Shut up, it’s nothing.”

Ahsoka drops onto the sofa next to him, smirking. She pokes him in the side. “Are you on a dating site? Is someone in to you.”

Anakin shoves her. “Shut up, no.”

Cackling, Ahsoka wrestles with him until they both go crashing to the floor, narrowly avoiding the coffee table. Artoo barks, leaping around them. There’s a familiar thump from the upstairs neighbour and they both giggle, lying side by side.

“So,” Ahsoka says. “Who is he?”

“It could be a she,” Anakin protests.

“You only get this disgusting when it’s a man.”

Anakin makes a face, wondering how to explain. I’m a little bit in love with a guy who leaves comments on my blog but there’s also a guy at the store who keeps coming to my checkout just to speak to me?

That sounds insane.

“It might be,” Anakin says instead, hoping he isn’t lying through his teeth. “I’ll tell you when I know.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t start by picking items he knows will piss Anakin off.

He just genuinely doesn’t cook often and needs things that are quick and easy. He keeps within the cart limit when Anakin’s at the smaller checkout, and makes it a habit to slip into the queue for Anakin’s checkout, no matter which line is the shortest.

Anakin eyes his ingredients with a mix of disgust and desperation to correct Obi-Wan’s choices; it might possibly be Obi-Wan’s favourite expression.

“Vegan cheese?” Anakin eyes Obi-Wan carefully. “You’re not a vegan. And it tastes like shit.”

The cashier–a new guy Obi-Wan hasn’t seen before–hisses at Anakin to shut up.

“What?” Anakin snorts. “He’s heard worse from me. He’s just being a dick on purpose.”

“I’m sorry darling,” Obi-Wan says, grinning. “Should I change the cheese?”

“Obviously,” Anakin snaps. “I’m beginning to think you hear the words coming out of my mouth but don’t listen.”

“I listen to everything you say,” Obi-Wan protests. “I didn’t end up buying the packet sauce did I? I followed your directions.”

Anakin narrows his eyes. “You just mixed ketchup and mayonnaise together. That wasn’t the recipe I told you.”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “I don’t even know what Worcestershire sauce is. I also don’t know what ‘season as appropriate means.’”

There’s a sound like a whine that Anakin quickly smothers. “Seasoning. Do you know what seasoning is?”

It galls him to admit, but Obi-Wan says, “No. Should I?”

This time Anakin glares. “Bag your own items.”

Obi-wan watches him leave, lips curved into a smile. It really is delightful to rile Anakin up, especially if he gets to look at him walk away.

“I don’t know what just happened,” the cashier says, sounding mournful.

“Not to worry,” Obi-Wan says, sweeping up the cheese he’s probably not going to eat, “I’ll speak to Cody about this.”

(Cody tells him to fuck off the moment he opens his mouth and Obi-Wan smirks triumphantly.

“You hired him,” he says.

“Even I make mistakes,” Cody mutters.)

“We should come up with a nickname for him,” Jesse says, shoving a stack of multipack crisp boxes onto the cage. “We can’t just keep saying Hot Guy because frankly, I don’t think he is.”

Anakin huffs an outraged noise. “Yes he is.”

Jesse looks unimpressed. “I described him to Ahsoka and even she said she wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t describe him correctly.” Anakin waves off the explanation. Plus, Ahsoka is dating Rex, so her lack of appreciation for Obi-Wan only supports Anakin’s assessment. “Besides, why do we need a nickname? He’s just Hot Guy in my head and that won’t change.”

It gets brought up again a week later, when Hot Guy has spent three days in a row buying a single item.

“Do you notice how he stands in huge queues just to speak to you?”

Anakin shrugs. He has, but whatever. There are some customers he always tries to draw the attention of, just because they’re nice or hilarious. Working in retail fucking sucks sometimes, so he gets his kicks where he can find them. There’s no need to draw the attention of Hot Guy, because apparently, Anakin’s drawn his attention instead. “I’m just that irresistible.”

Both Rex and Jesse share a disgusted look and Jesse shoves Anakin into the block of lockers.

“Hey!”

“You deserve it,” Rex mutters. “Can we please stop talking about this guy? It’s just weird.”

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the way they interact,” Jesse says, shuddering. “It’s gross but also like witnessing a car crash.”

“Anakin dating is always a car crash.”

“I see we’re very busy.”

All three of them jump and whirl around, smiling widely at Cody.

“Boss,” Anakin says, throwing out a mock salute.

Cody snorts. “You’re a pain in the ass, Skywalker. Get out on the floor. The job won’t work itself.”

Cody disappears back into his office, leaving Rex confused. “What does he have against you?”

“He’s Hot Guy’s friend,” Jesse says, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure Cody has to hear about both sides of this shitshow.”

“Hey,” Anakin protests as the three of them spill out onto the shop floor, “you’re just jealous Hot Guy hasn’t picked you to stare at.”

“I wouldn’t want to be stared at by Hot Guy,” Jesse protests. “I don’t like beards.”

“But it looks so good,” Anakin says fiercely, picturing that neat beard, Hot Guy’s shoulders and that smile–Hot Guy is hot and Jesse can fuck off. Anakin says as much, slipping into place at the end of the checkout.

“He’s also standing right there,” Rex hisses.

“Buckle up, Rex,” Jesse says, slapping Rex on the shoulder. “You’re about to witness ineptitude meet ridiculousness.”

Anakin wonders which one he is.

Hot Guy drops a single item onto the checkout and meets Anakin’s gaze. “Hello darling.”

“Hi,” Anakin says brightly, knows he’s flushing because they’ve just been talking about hot he is and now Anakin has to stare at him??

Jesse rings out the total and Anakin casts an eye over the item. “Didn’t you buy cheese the other day?”

“You told me it was incorrect,” Hot Guy says brightly. “I thought I should take your advice.”

Anakin narrows his eyes, trying to gauge whether Hot Guy is serious or not. “Well, good. I’ll improve your eating habits if it kills me.”

Hot Guy hands over his card to Jesse and raises an eyebrow at Anakin. “I wouldn’t want that, dearest. Do try and stay alive for me, won’t you?”

“Uh, yes,” Anakin says as Hot Guy passes, flashes Anakin another smile. God, he’s so hot and Anakin wants to keep looking.

“Single Item Stunner,” Rex says, staring after Hot Guy.

Jesse sighs. “Don’t tell me you think he’s hot too?”

“No,” Rex says, making a face. “He just stuns Anakin stupid.”

"Anakin!" Jesse yells, poking his head around the breakroom door. "Why are you still on break? Single Item Stunner is in!"

Anakin glances at his phone and notes the time. Shit, Cody will be so unimpressed if Anakin's late off his break again. He shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, already grabbing his clock-in card and phone.

Jesse makes a face. "That's disgusting."

Ignoring him, Anakin clocks back in and bursts onto the shop floor. It’s busy and he makes a disgusted noise under his breath. He took a job here because it was small, but he forgot about foot traffic from organic obsessed health nuts and vegan nutjobs (Anakin's opinions are not those of Mandalor Wholefoods etc). Thankfully, there are only three checkouts, and Anakin doesn't have to worry about walking the entire length of a supermarket to get to his spot.

He lingers near the back door, reluctant to restart his shift, especially when Single Item Stunner is still browsing the shelves. Anakin wants to know what item he’s choosing, but instead focuses on Stunner’s outfit. Something about it makes Stunner look older. It’s either the neatly styled hair, trimmed beard, or the slacks and shirt, which, who the hell wears clothes like that to a supermarket?

Anakin thinks he’s losing his mind. He sees this every day, but for some reason, it’s only now he’s choosing to go off the rails about it. The guy looks like he's going to a business meeting and not shopping for, apparently, frozen chips.

Absolutely not.

Anakin pauses in the aisle, indignant. "Why are you buying frozen chips?"

Anakin really needs to ask for the guy’s name because progressing from Hot Guy to SIS isn’t working–Anakin wants to be able to think about him as a person instead of just as the hot guy in his store.

SIS looks up and smiles. Shit. Anakin hates it when he does that. It's really hard to concentrate on his job. "Hello there."

"Don't hello me," Anakin says, a little too aggressively for someone who's supposed to be encouraging purchases. "Just buy potatoes and cut them up! Frozen shit is bad for you."

"Yes, I imagine shit of any kind would be bad for you," SIS agrees.

Anakin pauses, confused. "What?"

"Nothing, darling," the man says, smothering a laugh behind a hand.

That's the other thing; it’s driving Anakin crazy and this has been happening too much! He always calls Anakin darling or dearest like it's normal! You can't just go around doing that to people and expect them not to fall in love with you!

Well. Lust.

"Frozen chips," Anakin stresses, "are bad for you. Buy potatoes instead and chop them up."

SIS strokes his beard, contemplating the rows of bagged chips. "You may be right, Anakin."

"How do you know my name?"

A perfectly plucked eyebrow raises. "You're wearing a name badge."

"Oh." Anakin shrugs. "Well, You can't just call people by their name without asking first!"

SIS laughs again. Anakin doesn't mind that it's at his expense because it's a really good laugh. "Of course. Can I call you Anakin?"

"Yes," Anakin says immediately, because he really, really likes the way it sounds in that accent.

The man waits.

Anakin stares at him, then realises. "Oh, sorry. Do you have a name I can call you?"

"Yes," the man says, smiling sweetly.

Huffing in frustration, Anakin crosses his arms over his chest. "So?"

"Obi-Wan."

"Obi-Wan," Anakin says. It's a good name, and Anakin will enjoy using it again and again. "Now, about those potatoes."

"Lead on, darling. I would hate to disappoint your delicate food sensibilities"

"Shut up," Anakin mutters, but leads the way over to the produce section.

“You can’t be in here buying shitty ingredients again,” Anakin snaps. “Don’t you have anyone to stop you?”

Obi-Wan stares at him, then smiles brightly. “Anakin! I didn’t think you worked Thursdays.”

Anakin narrows his eyes. He doesn’t normally but how does Obi-Wan know that? He does look a bit dishevelled actually which is out of character. Are those sweatpants?? “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, looking down at his clothes. “Ah I see. I should have dressed—“

“No, I’m sorry,” Anakin says with a wince. He doesn’t need Jesse to tell him that was rude. “That was rude. Are you—okay?”

Obi-Wan blinks, smile turning sad. “I don’t think I am actually.”

“Oh.” Anakin doesn’t know what to say, not really, but he wants to help. “Can I help?”

“I don’t think so, darling,” Obi-Wan says quietly. “But thank you for asking.”

“Please order takeout,” Anakin blurts out. “If you can afford it I mean. You should eat something terrible when you’re sad and not cook. Unless cooking is something you like to do when you’re sad, like I do and I should stop talking.”

Obi-Wan laughs quietly, losing the sad tilt to his mouth. “I’m so very glad I came in today, Anakin. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” Anakin takes the tinned peaches from Obi-Wan’s hands. “Think about the takeout. And buy fresh peaches.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan slips his hands into his pockets. “Thank you again, Anakin.”

“I hope you feel better soon,” Anakin offers. He watches Obi-Wan leave, mind whirling. Maybe he should post a recipe for sad people on his blog. If Obi-Wan ever reads it, he’ll know he inspired it, but Anakin doesn’t think that’ll ever happen. Still, Obi-Wan is always so happy when he comes into the store, Anakin doesn’t like the thought of him going back to an empty house–is it empty? Maybe that’s an assumption.

Still, Obi-Wan is sad.

“Obi-Wan,” he says, jogging after him.

“Yes?”

“Can I–I know this is going to be weird, but can I have your number? Not to like pick you up, even though you’re super attractive, but just to send you a link to a recipe. It helps me when I’m sad and I wanted to share it.”

Obi-Wan looks startled, but not creeped out, so Anakin doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. Then he smiles, the first proper smile Anakin’s seen on him today. “Of course, Anakin.”

The phone he offers Anakin is the latest model, one Anakin’s only seen in other people’s hands, but he knows how it works; he inputs his contact information and then calls himself, waiting for the connection–and Obi-Wan’s own information.

“Here,” he says, with a smile of his own. “I’ll text you the link when I’m on break.”

Obi-Wan nods, pocketing his phone but reaching out, squeezing Anakin’s arm. “Thank you, darling. I appreciate you trying to cheer me up.”

“Any time,” Anakin says, and means it.

By the time Obi-Wan gets home, and despite only starting it a little over an hour ago, his text chat with Anakin has already got thirty messages. Most are ridiculous gifs that Anakin's sent. There's also, Obi-Wan is startled to realise, two selfies. The first is of Anakin in the produce section, holding up a potato. The accompanying text says potatoes only! No frozen fries!

The second is of Anakin in the break room. He's got his thumb up, grin on his face, and the text accompanying it is the link. Obi-Wan shakes his head with a smile, wondering about the ethics of saving photos to a camera roll that someone has willingly shared with you. With a shrug, he does so anyway. It's today. He needs the uplift.

His home is at its emptiest when it's this particular anniversary.

No matter the contentious relationship they'd held most of their lives, Obi-Wan's adoptive father was still just that; his father. His death is still hard, still an obstacle that Obi-Wan feels he must climb beyond. Yet every year it's the same loneliness, the same void.

Except this year, apparently.

The link Anakin sends leads back to Chop It, of all things. Obi-Wan laughs a little, opening the page and is surprised; he doesn't remember this particular recipe at all--and then he sees the date. Today. Something about that niggles his brain; hadn't Anakin said that it was his favourite recipe?

Figure it out later, he thinks, and scrolls down. Ice cream. Peaches. Sauce. Sprinkles. All things Obi-Wan has on hand. The sprinkles had been a joke purchase when he was in the store last week; the first thing he'd picked off the shelf just so that he could have an excuse to check out.

"This is becoming embarrassing," a voice that sounds suspiciously like Cody says, in the back of his head.

"Shut up," Obi-Wan says to his kitchen, and gets out what he needs.

It doesn't really matter what it says; the amalgamation of ingredients are pretty easy to figure out.

When he settles on the couch, a blanket over his shoulder, and reopens Anakin's texts.

Obi-Wan's chest tightens and he huffs a small laugh. He really is so lucky to have met Anakin.

Resting the phone next to him on the sofa, Obi-Wan settles back against the cushions and tucks into the ice cream. It really is a very good combination.

Anakin stows his phone in his pocket and goes back down to the shop floor, dodging a loose child and two arguing adults. He rolls his eyes, lamenting once again that he has to work a service job while in school, and then hi-fives Jesse at the till. "Not long now and we'll be free."

"How's Single Item Stunner?"

"His name is Obi-Wan and I've told you that like fifty times," Anakin complains, flashing a smile at the lady coming to the checkout.

When she's gone, Jesse sends her an unimpressed look. "Why are some people so rude?"

"Not everyone is," Anakin says, thinking of Obi-Wan. Jesse knows exactly who he's thinking about if the eye roll is anything to go by. "Shut up. He's just--wizard!"

"You're an idiot," Jesse says, with a long-suffering sigh.

Probably, Anakin thinks brightly. An idiot who's probably in lust (love) with the most amazing guy. Who wouldn't pick up Anakin if he was the last person in the grocery store.

"You know he's getting no work done while you're in the store, don't you?" Cody sounds unimpressed on the other end of the phone.

Obi-Wan's in the office, actually doing case work instead of enjoying his life, and settles back in his chair, smiling. "Oh? I hope this isn't a request to stop coming."

Cody sighs, the sound tinny on the speakerphone. "You'd just find some other way to be weird. I'd have put my foot down and told you to stop stalking him, but for some reason, he's as stupid for you as you are for him."

"I'm respectful," Obi-Wan says, affecting a look of hurt. If Anakin asked him to stop, he absolutely would. Thankfully, Anakin seems only too happy to flirt back.

Cody makes a noise and then changes the subject. "How was yesterday?"

"Actually," Obi-Wan says, thinking of the selfies on his phone, "Anakin was a sweetheart then too. He sent me a recipe for a good ice cream sundae, and spent his whole shift--doing absolutely his work."

"Uh-huh." Another sigh. "Obi-Wan, please try not to distract him too much. I am paying him to do a job and not just stand around texting you."

Obi-Wan says, "Sorry," unrepentant.

"I don't know why I'm friends with you," Cody complains. "Just ask him out already and put me and everyone else out of our misery."

It's worth consideration. For now, Obi-Wan's enjoying the fun without the weight of other considerations. Contemplating whether he's too old, Anakin's too carefree, their lives can coexist. He doesn't want to focus on the worries in life, and instead focus on the light Anakin instils in his life whenever they meet.

For now, it's enough.

In the future, well, perhaps.

Anakin holds up the microwaveable lasagne. “I have put up with a lot of terrible food from you, Obi-Wan, but this is just not okay.”

Obi-Wan smiles, “I don’t see the issue.”

“You never do. You have a car, right?”

“Yes?” Obi-Wan looks confused.

“Good.” Anakin shoves the terrible food back at Jesse and asks him to sort it. He doesn’t wait for a reply, and turns back to Obi-Wan. “You wait here. Do not leave.”

Looking bemused, Obi-Wan nods, hands in his pockets.

Cody is in his office when Anakin pokes his head inside. He raises an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you’re not on the floor?”

“I need to leave early, I’m not feeling well.”

“Oh really.” It doesn’t sound like a question. “You realise I just watched Obi-Wan leave this very office?”

“It has nothing to do with Obi-Wan,” Anakin lies. “I just don’t feel well.”

Cody stares.

Anakin refuses to be embarrassed about this. Cody shouldn’t have such a culinary failure of a friend and it wouldn’t come to this.

“Rex is due in later. You better be back tomorrow.”

“Thanks Boss,” Anakin says. He shuts the door on whatever Cody mutters.

When he’s clocked out and collected his jacket and keys, Anakin grabs a bottle of red wine and the rest of the ingredients.

When he drops them on the till, Obi-Wan is still waiting. He looks at the items, once again amused. “I assume I’m buying?”

“I’m not paying to teach you how to cook,” Anakin says.

“Is that what’s happening?”

Anakin doesn’t bother to respond, just watches Jesse ring up the items. He’s gonna have to explain all of this later but that’s tomorrow Anakin’s problem.

Obi-Wan does pay, seemingly happy to do so, and gestures for Anakin to follow him out of the store. “Where are we going, darling?”

“Your kitchen, obviously,” Anakin says, eyeing Obi-Wan critically. “If you have one.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says, smiling softly and—dammit, he needs to stop being so attractive when he’s a shitty cook. “Come on then, Anakin. Show me how to make a suitable lasagne.”

“Suitable? This lasagne is tasty as fuck.”

Obi-Wan laughs brightly. “As you say, darling.”

The car Obi-Wan leads him to is sleek and new, but not impractical. The leather seats look good and Anakin thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever sat in.

“Is this a Porsche Cayenne? V8?”

“You know this car?”

“Yes,” Anakin says, bouncing excitedly on his feet. “Do you know the torque on these things hits 443lbs? Driving this must be a dream.” Anakin flushes after he finishes talking, “Sorry, I get king d of crazy about these things.”

“Cars?”

“Things that move. Engineering, I guess.”

Obi-Wan is staring at him but not in a bad way. He looks interested, hungry, and that reminds Anakin of the food.

“We should—“

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. “Well if you’re very good, many one day I’ll let you drive it.”

Anakin blinks. “Mum warned me not to accept rides from strangers.”

“First,” Obi-Wan points out with a laugh, “you invited yourself into my car. Second, I’m not a stranger, am I?”

“No,” Anakin says, mouth dry. He opens the passenger door, hut doesn’t move, unable to look away from Obi-Wan. “Not a stranger.”

The ride back to Obi-Wan’s house is comfortable. The car is just as nice as Anakin thought, comfortable seats, drives like a dream, and he feels like a kid as Obi-Wan takes them onto the highway.

“This is awesome,” Anakin grins.

“We’re not even going in the right direction,” Obi-Wan says. “I thought you might like to see what she can do.”

Anakin might be a little bit in love. With the car. “You still choose shitty food.”

Obi-Wan laughs, shifting the car into gear and putting his foot down. “Then we had better get back to my kitchen.”

“Ugh fine,” Anakin says. He gives Obi-Wan an appraising look. Even driving a car, Obi-Wan is ridiculously attractive. Those fingers on the wheel and gearbox, the stretch of his legs— “I’m a little bit in love with your car.”

If the car was excellent, the house is so much better. Anakin stares dumbly as they pull into the gated community—people actually live in these?—and up the driveway to a house that looks like it costs more than Anakin can earn in his entire life.

"Wow." Anakin peers up the the two storey, clutching the bag. "You live here?"

Obi-Wan huffs a self-deprecating laugh. "I know, it's a little large."

"You live alone here?" Anakin frowns.

"Unfortunately," Obi-Wan mutters. He shoots Anakin a quick look. "Sorry. Shall we go into the kitchen?"

Anakin nods jerkily. "Yes, sure."

Obi-Wan leads the way up to the front door. The garden is immaculate—does he get a gardener?—and the house looks like it's walked off the pages of a estate agent's catalogue. The inside is even worse, or better, depending on how you look at it.

"Oh wow," Anakin says, toeing off his shoes when he sees Obi-Wan do the same. His mum taught him right, thank you very much. He nudges them off to the side and looks up—freezing. "Holy shit."

Obi-Wan turns to look at him. "What?"

The picture is just, well it's—

"Is this you?" The picture is of a guy on a motorcycle in a leather jacket. It looks like Obi-Wan, the hair looks the same, and the guy in the picture has his fingers in it. The style, the look, but the guy doesn't have a beard. Anakin looks at Obi-Wan (who is grinning) and then back to the picture. "It's definitely you."

"It is me," Obi-Wan confirms. "I think this was about a decade ago."

"You looked this hot a decade ago?" Anakin blurts out, then flushes. "I mean not that you're not now because you're a fucking snack, but this is—"

"Darling," Obi-Wan says, sounding amused. "You're stuttering."

"Fuck you." The reaction is knee-jerk. "You're know you're sexy, stop pretending.”

"If you say so, darling," Obi-Wan says.

Anakin gives him an unimpressed look. It's not sexy to pretend you're not good looking when it's obvious. He takes one last look at the photo—maybe he can steal it—and heads down the hall. "Where's the kitchen?"

"This way," Obi-Wan says, from right behind Anakin. Anakin shivers, biting back a moan as Obi-Wan's hand trails the base of his spine, propelling him forward.

Get a grip, Skywalker.

"It's open plan, so I hope it meets your standards."

"Are you kidding? I live in a bedsit, everything is open plan, including the bathroom." That is probably more than Obi-Wan wants to know, but he looks more amused than offended. That seems to be his default expression around Anakin. He turns back to the kitchen and lets out a noise that someone once told him was obscene. He did it in the bedroom, but who cares—this kitchen is the best thing he's ever seen. "Oh my god."

Obi-Wan clears his throat and looks red in the face when Anakin gives him a quick glance. "I take it you like it?"

"I could cook here forever," Anakin says, ignoring whatever Obi-Wan mumbles under his breath. He rests the ingredients on the counter and grins. "Okay, so where are the utensils and stuff?"

"Um," Obi-Wan says, coming to stand next to him. "I just shove them anywhere."

Anakin finds out fairly quickly that is an understatement. There is no order to Obi-Wan's kitchen and it's ridiculous. "How do you even cook in here? No wonder you're always buying microwave and easy shove in the oven meals. What is wrong with you? You should put all the pans together," Anakin does so, clanging and banging around. "Utensils should be easily accessible not shoved into a drawer!"

Obi-Wan sits on one of the island stools, chin resting on his hand. "I don't know how I survived without you."

Shooting him a dirty look, Anakin snaps, "You clearly haven't!"

He busies himself with scattering the ingredients on the counter, appraising the red wine. He was in a hurry but he selected the right one. It would taste excellent.

"Are you making your own pasta?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Yes," Anakin nods. "It tastes so much better when you do," he explains, smiling at Obi-Wan when he comes to stand next to him. "It feels like you've really put the effort in you know? Obviously you can only do it when you have the money—I had you buy it for me this time—and I've only done it a couple of times, so I hope it comes out well."

"Your advice has been great thus far," Obi-Wan says quietly. "I have faith in you, Anakin."

Anakin flushes. "Shut up," he mutters.

Obi-Wan rests a hand at the base of Anakin's spine again, and Anakin refuses to whimper. He is a grown ass man. "You really must learn to accept compliments, darling."

"And you must learn how to cook. Come on, Chef. Let me show you how to make this pasta."

Obi-Wan is attentive as Anakin talks him through the process with the flour and eggs, making dough.

"Oh," Anakin says. "Do you have a pasta machine?"

"Um," Obi-Wan says. "I'm not sure I know what that is."

Anakin sighs, upset he didn't think of it, and roots through Obi-Wan's cupboards. Thankfully, right at the back and a little dusty, there's a pasta machine. "You have one of these and you don't cook?"

"That was a joke gift from Cody. I think he was hoping I'd learn."

"Idiot," Anakin says and then stares. "Don't tell him I called him that. I do need my job."

Obi-Wan laughs, rubbing his face. He leaves a smudge of flour behind and Anakin wants to lick it off. "Your secret is safe from me."

Anakin tightens his grip on the pasta machine and goes to wash it, fighting the impulse to drag Obi-Wan into a kiss. What is wrong with him? This man has the nicest car and house—what the hell does he want with Anakin?

"Do you know you mutter under your breath?" Obi-Wan is close behind Anakin, hand on Anakin's hip. If he presses forward, Anakin knows he'd feel every line of Obi-Wan's body. "You're cooking in my kitchen, Anakin. I know exactly what you though when you saw that picture of me." Obi-Wan's breath is hot behind his ear. "Did you want me to fuck you?"

Biting off a groan, Anakin tips backward, pressing them together. Obi-Wan is hard, and Anakin turns his face, lips pressing to bearded skin. "Not until we've cooked the food."

"You drive a hard bargain," Obi-Wan says, crowding Anakin against the sink. His free hand dropped to Anakin's crotch, where he was already half-hard. "Are you sure I can't tempt you away from the pasta?"

Anakin relaxes back against Obi-Wan, hips thrusting against Obi-Wan's palm. "I think you could tempt me anywhere," he admits, lifting a wet hand to Obi-Wan's hair. He tangled the strands between his fingers, wanting to mess it up. They kiss like that, wet and messy, but it's perfect. Anakin licks into Obi-Wan's mouth, Obi-Wan's hands tightening on his hips.

When they part, Obi-Wan's eyes are dark, and he's staring at Anakin's mouth. "Beautiful."

"Yes, you are," Anakin says with a smirk. He leans in for another kiss, but is interrupted by his stomach rumbling. He feels his cheeks heat up and he ducks his head. "Sorry."

Obi-Wan kisses him anyway, a soft, sweet thing that Anakin desperately wants to get used to. "Don't apologise. Dinner seems to be calling, and I am a little hungry."

Anakin grins.

"For food, dearest," he says, slapping Anakin's ass.

Anakin flashes another smile and turns to the sink. "You distracted me."

"Quite right." Obi-Wan does as instructed, and Anakin loses time watching his hands. He only jerks back to awareness when Obi-Wan says, "is this okay?"

“Perfect,” Anakin says.

Obi-Wan smiles.

“Stop doing that,” Anakin complains, nudging Obi-Wan’s side. “There’s a new rule of the kitchen; no smiling while I’m cooking.”

“Isn’t this my kitchen?” Obi-Wan points out, but he does lean in for a kiss, so Anakin doesn’t mind terribly. “That means I should make the rules.”

Anakin hums but doesn’t answer. He puts the pasta through the machine, talking Obi-Wan through the process. Obi-Wan is attentive as Anakin explains, and he leans in close—absolutely on purpose. Anakin allows it, relishing the attention and pokes his tongue between his teeth. He doesn’t normally, but he can see the way Obi-Wan tracks the movement, eyes dark.

“Now who’s being distracting,” Obi-Wan says, palm against Anakin’s spine. It’s warm, searing through Anakin’s clothes, and he swallows down the urge to moan. Obi-Wan’s nose brushes Anakin’s neck—something about Obi-Wan being a head shorter than Anakin will never not be a turn on—and he kisses the skin there, moves to his collarbone.

“Obi-Wan,” he breathes. “Let me put the sauce on and we can—while it’s simmering.”

Obi-Wan’s hand slides up Anakin’s spine, into his hair. He tugs and Anakin goes, moans into the kiss, fingers digging into the edge of the counter. Kissing Obi-Wan is an experience and Anakin can easily drown in the feeling of it. He tries his best to meet Obi-Wan halfway, using all the skills he’s picked up in his (admittedly limited) experience. Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to mind; his fingers tighten in Anakin’s hair, and he groans, forcing Anakin to turn, backing him up against the counter.

Anakin grabs a fistful of Obi-Wan’s shirt and fits their bodies together; it’s perfect, the friction, the bulk of Obi-Wan against him, the heat. Anakin is making embarrassing noises against Obi-Wan’s mouth but far from annoying him, they seem to be driving Obi-Wan to kiss Anakin harder. He’s devouring and Anakin is rutting against him like he hasn’t done since he was a teenager. “I’ll come,” Anakin warns, biting at Obi-Wan’s bottom lip.

“I don’t see the problem, darling,” Obi-Wan says, lips barely parted from Anakin’s.

“We have to cook,” Anakin whines. “Stop it. No sex in the kitchen.”

“It’s my kitchen.”

“I don’t care,” Anakin says. Right now it’s my kitchen because I’m the one who’s cooking and I’m telling you to stop it.”

Obi-Wan pouts. A grown adult. Pouting. Anakin hates how easily it might work. For now, he has resolve. He places a hand on Obi-Wan’s chest and Obi-Wan sighs. “Fine. Show me how to cook this sauce and then we’ll retreat to my bedroom instead.”

The promise of actually getting fucked is great incentive. Anakin starts to make the sauce Obi-Wan deliberately close, but Anakin manages to fight down the urge to drag him into the bedroom by focusing on the pasta sauce. He shows Obi-Wan the steps, and then opens the red wine, smirking at Obi-Wan and taking a long drink from the bottle. Obi-Wan watches his throat, the way he licks his lips. Anakin adds some to the sauce, smothering a smile when Obi-Wan stands behind him, hands on Anakin’s hips, and chin hooked over his shoulder. “Put the lid on,” Anakin says, “and now it can simmer for an hour.”

“An hour?” Obi-Wan bites at Anakin’s neck, sucking a bruise into the column of his throat. “I wonder what we could do with that?”

“I want to come,” Anakin tells him, taking Obi-Wan’s hand and pressing it to Anakin’s erection.

Obi-Wan squeezes gently and Anakin grunts, relaxing back against the line of Obi-Wan’s body. “You respond so well, dearest,” he says, voice low. Anakin rocks into the palm of Obi-Wan’s hand, and even through layers of clothes, it’s almost too much. “Beautiful, Anakin.”

“Say my name again,” Anakin asks, something about the way Obi-Wan’s accent curls over the syllables is intoxicating.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, nosing at Anakin’s jaw. His hand is insistent against Anakin’s dick, fingers rubbing the shaft through jeans and boxers. It shouldn’t be enough but it is.

Anakin shivers.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, mouth inches from Anakin’s ear. “Anakin.”

Anakin ruts against Obi-Wan’s hand and whines, shuddering through an orgasm.

They eat lasagne on the sofa, Obi-Wan sacrificing the dinner table once again for comfort, and Anakin doesn't seem to mind, if the way he sinks into the cushions is any indication.

"Comfortable?"

"Everything in this house is so soft," Anakin says, sliding closer when Obi-Wan sits down next to him. He leans in for a kiss, tangling their fingers together.

"That will make it hard to eat," Obi-Wan points out, but he makes no move to release Anakin's hand.

Anakin laughs gently. "It'll still be hot for a while."

Obi-Wan places two fingers under Anakin's chin, drawing him into for another kiss, lingering, thumb rubbing over Anakin's cheek. He's gorgeous, especially flushed as he is, looking softly pleased.

"Stop looking at me like that," Anakin says. "We've just come out of the bedroom."

"Apologies," Obi-Wan says, not sorry at all. He'll stare at Anakin any way he wants, for as long as he wants. He says as much, watching the pink on Anakin's cheeks darken to a dusky pink.

Anakin reaches for one of the plates on the coffee table, making a pleased noise when Obi-Wan runs a hand up his back, scratches at his scalp. "Eat," he says, passing over the plate. "I put a lot of effort into this."

Obi-Wan drops his hand, settling the plate on his lap. "I appreciate it. Even if you did invade my kitchen to do so."

"Well," Anakin says, flashing a smile, "If you cooked properly, I wouldn't have to. I'm just concerned about your living habits."

"Well," Obi-Wan says, heart pounding, "Now I have you to help me fix them, don't I?"

Anakin runs his eyes over Obi-Wan, searching for something. Whatever he finds must satisfy him because he smiles small but bright, heart-warming. "You better get used to me using your kitchen more, then."

"Darling," Obi-Wan says, dropping his voice, "I would like nothing more.”

They put the TV on, just for some background noise, but Anakin spends half the time telling Obi-Wan about his university work. When he explains about this mother's death, Obi-Wan pulls him in to kiss his forehead. "I'm sorry, darling."

"It happened years ago," Anakin says, throat thick.

"That doesn't stop it hurting, Anakin. I lost my foster father over a decade ago and it still hurts."

Anakin rests his forehead on Obi-Wan's shoulder, and Obi-Wan brushes his lips against the crown of his head. "I sometimes wonder what she'd think. I like engineering, was always bringing something home to fix, but I can't help worrying whether she'd be proud of me or not."

With a hum, Obi-Wan's fingers curl around the back of Anakin's neck, cheek to the top of his head. "Understandable. You're very intelligent Anakin, and you're working hard. I think she'd be very proud of you."

Anakin sucks in a shaky breath and ducks in for a kiss. His eyes are wet, but he's smiling. "Thanks."

Obi-Wan's arm drops over Anakin's shoulders and pulls him in close. Anakin sighs, tension dropping from his body.

"Tell me about being a lawyer," Anakin says. "How sexy are you when you're in a courtroom?"

Obi-Wan snorts, rolling his eyes. "You're assuming all lawyers parade a courtroom, dearest."

"Please," Anakin says, "You look like that and I've seen you argue with a bag of lettuce. You definitely argue in a courtroom."

Obi-Wan doesn’t really know how to explain about his work. He helps people, he knows he does, and explains that defence work is almost always thankless and whole objectively some of the people you’re helping are guilty—he just wants to make sure everyone has adequate representation when you’re often the only one standing between them and a life sentence.

“Admirable,” Anakin says. “Everyone deserves to be protected. I know when we were kids, I was in trouble a lot and she just wanted an advocate that could help me when everyone assumed it was me because I’d been in trouble before.”

“Exactly,” Obi-Wan says. He tightens his grip on Anakin’s shoulders. “I have cut back on a lot of cases. It’s rewarding work but a lot of hours and I’m tired.”

Anakin rolls his eyes. “Poor old man. You’re in your thirties, Obi-Wan, not pushing seventy, you can do so much more.”

Obi-Wan hums. It’s an argument he’s had with himself many times, but he’s just so, so tired. Wants the family life and comfort, not the rush of adrenaline and accomplishment of the court room. “Perhaps. For now, I’m content to reduce my workload.”

“If it means that’s why I can invade your kitchen and get fucked in your bed, I can’t complain.” Anakin shifts, moving into Obi-Wan’s lap, face to face, straddling him. He’s taller and it’s awkward, but Obi-Wan doesn’t mind the angle, looks up at Anakin with a soft smile.

“Hello,” Anakin says.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan responds, gripping Anakin’s neck. He tugs him into a kiss, Anakin sliding forward so there’s friction between their bodies, the lines of their cocks pressing perfectly together.

Anakin wakes slowly, stretched out on the softest mattress. There’s a warm body next to him, and he opens his eyes, staring down at reddish brown hair. He smiles, Obi-Wan still asleep under his arm. He’s got his back to Anakin’s front, fingers wrapped up in Anakin’s. It’s the warmest, and happiest, Anakin’s ever woken up.

There have been other people, of course, but Anakin’s always left quickly, none of them really enough to keep him hanging around.

Obi-Wan is different. He’s intelligent, funny, a bit of a dick—honestly Anakin’s favourite thing about him—and for some reason, he’s into Anakin.

“I can hear you thinking,” Obi-Wan says, stroking his fingers over Anakin’s palm.

That accent in the morning is almost too much. Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s hair, arm tightening around Obi-Wan’s waist.

“Your mattress is amazing,” he says, shifting to kiss the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well.”

Obi-Wan laughs, looking back over his shoulder. Anakin rises up so that he can kiss Obi-Wan quickly. “Good morning, darling.”

“Morning,” Anakin grins. He looks at the clock and immediately groans. “I forgot I have work this morning. I need to go back to mine and get a change of clothes.”

Turning, Obi-Wan presses a hand to Anakin’s chest. He looks wonderfully soft in the morning; scruffy beard, hair mussed, sleep mark on his face. Anakin has to kiss him. When they part he runs his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, heart hammering at the way Obi-Wan’s eyes start to close.

“If you have a shower,” Obi-Wan says quietly, hand rubbing Anakin’s chest. “I can lend you some clothes. Maybe you can even drive my car.”

Anakin’s hand pauses in Obi-Wan’s hair. “Really? You’re just taking my word for it that I have a driving license?”

Obi-Wan opens his eyes and grins. God, Anakin might be a little (a lot) in love with him. “Who hasn’t broken the law once or twice?”

“You’re a lawyer,” Anakin says on a laugh.

“Please,” Obi-Wan says. “I was joking.”

“Sure,” Anakin says, drawing out the word. “Are you secretly telling me all lawyers have broken the law?”

Obi-Wan smiles, “I don’t know, am I?”

“Nice sweater,” Cody says, as soon as Anakin walks through the door.

Anakin is still thinking about the drive in, the feel of the car, and Obi-Wan’s delighted laughter at Anakin’s enjoyment. Obi-Wan is amazing and Anakin is really, really into him.

Cody gives Anakin the once over. “I think I’ve seen that on Obi-Wan a lot.”

“He loaned me clothes,” Anakin says, because why would he be ashamed of Obi-Wan?

“He did?” Cody stares at Anakin with a little more scrutiny. “He doesn’t loan clothes to people he’s fucking.”

Anakin snorts. “Are you allowed to talk to me about this?”

“We both know a lawyer,” Cody says, waving a hand. “Besides, you’re fucking my best friend.”

“It was just once,” Anakin points out.

“And he’s loaning you clothes.”

“I’m special,” Anakin says, with all the confidence of someone who knows. Because he does. Anakin’s had enough relationships to know the difference between long term and fun. Obi-Wan is long term, forever. Anakin wants to be his forever.

“Yeah,” Cody says, snapping Anakin out of his musing. “Guess you must be. Not,” he continues, “that wearing Obi-Wan’s clothes will get you out of your shift. Move it, Skywalker.”

Anakin snaps off a mock salute and continues on into the staff room.

“You’re an asshole,” Cody snaps, as soon as he throws open Obi-Wan’s door. “Why did you put those images in my head?”

Obi-Wan smirks. He’s lounging on his sofa, wearing a loose shirt and sweats, and he’s thinking of the way Anakin looked in his car. Cody looks horrified and Obi-Wan really doesn’t mean to, but he is, according to Cody, too comfortable fucking up Cody’s life. “You put them in your own head.”

“You loaned him your brown sweater,” Cody says, collapsing on the loveseat. “You realise that I know when you wear that?”

Moving across to the kitchen, Obi-Wan pours some whiskey out for Cody and hands him the glass. Cody takes a few sips. Giving him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder, Obi-Wan muses, “he really is quite talented with his tongue.”

Cody gags. “You’re disgusting.”

Obi-Wan laughs. “You employed him, darling.”

“Don’t call me that again,” Cody says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you called him that while fucking him.”

“That and many more things.” Obi-Wan hides his smile around the lip of his glass.

Cody looks unimpressed.

Obi-Wan affects an innocent look. “It’s just a sweater.”

“It’s the sweater you wear when you’re confident about something. The last time you wore it, you’d just won your big case.”

“It was on the top in the wardrobe.”

“Please. You’re confident Skywalker will be yours.”

He already is, Obi-Wan thinks.

When Cody finally leaves, bemoaning Obi-Wan’s life, parentage, and standards, Obi-Wan heads for his bedroom. It’s still unmade from when Anakin left, covers shoved back and pillows askew. It looks lived in, warm, and Obi-Wan fingers the end of the sheets, wondering how quickly he can get Anakin to come back.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

The dots reappear a couple of times.

Obi-Wan laughs.

This boy.

Anakin gets home to his flat and sighs. It’s been his home for years; it’s lived in, with furniture cobbled together from his friends, and gifts and photos that litter surfaces and walls.

Still.

Is it weird to miss a guy you’ve spent three nights in bed with after months of flirting over groceries?

Texting Obi-Wan is fine, and they have eaten together since, but Anakin’s finding it harder to come back to his home. He heads over to his bed and drops face first onto it, letting out a moan.

When he pulls out his phone, he can see a text from Obi-Wan.

Anakin scrolls through to his photos. There are a couple of Jesse being a moron, one of Ahsoka in a trolley, and then Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan in bed, soft and beautiful. Obi-Wan standing in the garden, looking over his shoulder with an eye roll. Obi-Wan in the kitchen, looking forlornly at a frying pan. Obi-Wan smiling into the camera.

Then there are the photos of the lasagne. Anakin hasn’t yet uploaded them to the blog, wanting to keep it private, but something about them, about missing Obi-Wan has him setting up a blog post. He crops out any parts of Obi-Wan’s face and any incriminating documents. Otherwise he leaves them as is, feeling brave.

When he finally drops into bed, he texts Obi-Wan goodnight and curls his fist around his phone.

An alert comes through to Obi-Wan’s phone of a new blog post having been uploaded. Obi-Wan has done so much research in two days, he's ready to throw his career out the window and quit, but his client deserves better. He just needs to get through this case. Deciding a break is in order, he opens the notification and clicks through to the blog.

Obi-Wan scrolls down further and sees some of the pictures—and freezes.

The counter immediately looks familiar, but it’s the lasagne itself, the weird blob of cheese sauce he distinctly remembers making uneven just to see Anakin’s glare. The plates, the dishes, and the kitchen are all familiar.

Obi-Wan recognises his own hand. It’s whole they’d plated the lasagne, and there’s a red mark from when Anakin had bitten him, enthusiastic.

Scrolling down to the comments, Obi-Wan hesitates only a moment before typing.

That settles it. Obi-Wan opens his phone.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how anyone can be so perfect, his fingers are tight around his phone and he hits call.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whines. “It’s been you this whole time.”

“Sweetheart,” Obi-Wan says, chest tight with happiness. “Where are you? I’ll come and collect you.”

Anakin makes a soft noise. “You’re working.”

“If you think I care about work right now, Anakin—“

Anakin laughs. Obi-Wan loves the sound, the idea of being the cause. “You know where I live, old man. Come and get me.”

Obi-Wan obeys the speed limits.

He is a law-abiding citizen and a lawyer. He absolutely does not speed on his way to Anakin's. When he pulls into the street, Anakin is waiting outside, in just a hoodie and jeans, he's even barefoot. Obi-Wan leans over, throwing open the passenger door, and Anakin hops in, sliding across the seat. He grips the back of Obi-Wan's neck and tugs him into a hot, deep kiss. Obi-Wan's hand tangles in Anakin's hair, titling him back and deepening the kiss, pressing Anakin back into the passenger seat.

"I can't believe it was you," Anakin gasps between kisses. "All this time, flirting with me."

"You flirted back," Obi-Wan says. He pulls back to stare at the beautiful flush on Anakin's face. His eyes are soft, lips red and kiss-swollen. The smile, the mussed hair, the ridiculous boy; he's all Obi-Wan's. "Come back to mine."

Anakin laughs, touching their foreheads together. "Let me stay forever," he says, joking. Obi-Wan can hear the touch of honesty in his voice, though, the apprehension in the tenseness of his body. "I'm just--"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says, drawing Anakin away and cupping his face. "I want to say we'll take it slow, but stay for the weekend. Stay as long as you want, and we'll see how it goes."

"Obi-Wan." Anakin pushes forward for another kiss, drawing it out, hand against Obi-Wan's chest. "Take me home, Obi-Wan. I want to fuck on your amazing mattress."

Anakin sits up in bed, Obi-Wan's laptop balancing on his knees. He scrolls through to his blog, glancing over at Obi-Wan. His boyfriend is still asleep, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other splayed over Anakin's hip. He has a tendency to touch Anakin, even when they're asleep. It's endearing. Anakin runs his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, smiling when Obi-Wan pushes into the touch, mumbling in his sleep.

Turning back to the blog, Anakin brings up a new post.

Satisfied, Anakin shuts the laptop, slinking back under the covers. Obi-Wan mumbles something else, curling into the shape of Anakin's body. Anakin holds him close, kissing the furrow from his brow. Somehow, Anakin's bagged a hot older lawyer and he'll brag about this to anyone who asks.

Except Cody, because he wants to keep his job.

He says as much later to Obi-Wan, who snorts while steeping his tea. "Cody knows, darling. It's not like you're subtle when you wear my marks so proudly."

"You keep leaving them halfway up my neck," Anakin whines. It's not a complaint, he would just like to point out. "Absolutely keep doing that though."

Obi-Wan's expression is soft. "Whatever you want."

"If I wanted to be a kept man?"

"You'd get bored," Obi-Wan says, hand on Anakin's hip to draw him forward. They kiss, unable to keep from doing so, apparently, and Anakin rests his forehead on Obi-Wan's shoulder, humming in satisfaction when Obi-Wan strokes the back of his head, twining fingers in his hair. "But if it's what you want--"

"No thanks," Anakin says. "You're right, I would get bored. But," he says, kissing Obi-Wan's neck, biting at the skin of his throat, "as long as you let me drive your car, I'm happy."

Obi-Wan sighs. "I see you're with me for my car."

Anakin pulls back, grinning. "Obviously. You have nothing going for you whatsoever beyond your car."

"Unfortunate." Obi-Wan says, smiling warmly. "I guess I'll just have to keep hold of the car then, won't I?"

"Yes you will," Anakin says. Then, because he can't help it, "Even if it breaks down or gets stolen, I'll still be with you, Obi-Wan. I love you."

"Darling," Obi-Wan breathes. His eyes are wide and so, so blue.

Anakin swallows, fingers tightening on Obi-Wans sweater. "I do."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Obi-Wan says, dragging Anakin in for a kiss that swallows Anakin's noise at the endearment.

Anakin clocks out, jogging down the steps from the locker room. He fistbumps Jesse on the way, shoves a cage back into place where it’s strayed into the corridor (seriously, Cody needs to employ people who actually care about safety) and pushes open the door to the shop floor. Obi-Wan is hovering nearby, hands in his pockets. He’s still a stunner, and this time, he’s all Anakin’s. Anakin grins, throwing an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan says, reciprocating the kiss Anakin presses to his mouth. “Do we need to buy anything?”

“Yes,” Anakin says, moving his arm to Obi-Wan’s waist and slipping a hand into the back pocket of Obi-Wan’s jeans. If Anakin thought Obi-Wan was devastating in slacks, he’s even worse with thigh-hugging jeans. It’s all he can do to resist tearing them off. Cody would actually kill them both and Anakin’s sure he’s just wormed his way into the man’s affections. It wouldn’t do to destroy that so quickly. “You’re making me lasagne.”

Obi-Wan smiles softly, tucking himself closer to Anakin’s side. “Is that so?”

Anakin opens his mouth to reply when someone yells, “Oh my god, is that Single Item Stunner?”

Ahsoka.

“What are you doing?” Anakin hisses as Ahsoka and Rex come around the corner. Rex looks embarrassed, but Ahsoka is grinning.

Anakin glares at her, though he’s reluctant to pull away from Obi-Wan. He keeps his hand where it is, narrowing his eyes at his sister. “Why would you say that?”

“I wanted to meet the man who’s stolen your heart not once, but twice.”

Obi-Wan is all charm as he holds out a hand. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Ahsoka Tano,” Ahsoka says, grinning. “It’s a pleasure to meet the man behind Hot Guy and Single Item Stunner.”

Smothering a laugh behind his hand, Obi-Wan looks up at Anakin. Anakin wishes he could be mad, but Obi-Wan looks too good. He leans in for another kiss, Obi-Wan wrapping a hand around Anakin’s neck, thumb rubbing against the column of his throat.

“Ew,” Ahsoka whispers. “Public PDA?”

“Get used to it,” Anakin says proudly, pressing a kiss to the top of Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan’s arm slips around Anakin’s waist, squeezing gently.

Ahsoka and Rex share a look and she asks, “Are you cooking tonight?”

“Obi-Wan is making lasagne,” Anakin says with a grin.

“Darling,” Obi-Wan whines.

“Can we come round?” Ahsoka asks. “I’d love to get to know my brother’s boyfriend better and figure out what kind of chef he is.”

Obi-Wan flushes underneath the beard. “You’re more than welcome, Ashoka, but I don’t think–”

“You’ll do fine,” Anakin says, pitching his voice lower. “Last time worked out so well.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan hisses. “Not in front of your sister.”

Ahsoka laughs, grabbing Rex’s hand and tugging him away. “We’ll find snacks and drinks. You guys meet us up front.”

Obi-Wan drops his head to Anakin’s chest, groaning.

“You chose me,” Anakin says cheerfully, kissing Obi-Wan’s temple. “Nobody to blame but yourself.”

Pulling back, Obi-Wan searches his face, expression blossoming into a bright smile. “So Single Item Stunner, is it?”

Anakin groans. “Obi-Wan–”

“Do you think I’m attractive?”

“You already know you are, stop shopping for compliments,” Anakin snaps. “Start shopping for courgettes. This lasagne will not make itself.”

"Yes Dear," Obi-Wan says with a small laugh.  

Anakin just has to kiss him, chest tight with I love you, I love you, I love you.