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travellingcircus · 2 years ago

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home is whenever i’m with you

Written in response to the twitter thread here by GoldenDaffodils .

Obikin; 2.7k words; modern! abo; fluff;

Writer’s block is the enemy, and after sitting in front of his computer for the good part of an hour, typing and re-typing a comma, Obi-Wan gives up the ghost and decides to call it a day. Besides, it’s almost lunch time, which means he has work to do—Anakin’s lunch won’t make itself, and he still has the meat to thaw.

Obi-Wan gets up from his desk, rubbing the ache from his back, the action pulling the hem of his sweater upwards. He catches his reflection, then, in the window above his writing desk and absently cups the underside of his belly, visible only when he’s naked and tilted sideways. Almost three months along, and he’s still not used to it, nor is he accustomed to needing to fill his days now that he’s on a sabbatical. There’s the book that takes precedence over everything, because when the baby comes, he’ll have no time to write. The rest of his day is occupied by the odd household chore: this morning’s dishes, or the sorting and hanging up of the laundry, scheduling Anakin’s dentist appointment, or adding baby items to his already-teeming online shopping cart. And then there is Anakin’s lunch, which he takes on with the same attentiveness and detail that he tackles anything.

Obi-Wan has bought cookbooks, a huge stack of them now lives in the kitchen cabinet along with top-of-the-line ceramic pots and pans. He has taught himself how to baste, how to julienne, how to glaze and de-glaze. He has learned how to bake bread, kneading dough by the palmfuls and getting flour everywhere, when he used to just buy bread by the loaf from the bakery down the street. They used to expire, untouched on the counter. Now he has a proper bread box and cupcake moulds. Now he knows what other purpose a rolling pin serves other than to ward off groping husbands.

This new skill is born of two things: boredom and procrastination because sometimes writing does necessitate a break, but it’s also partly due to the rapturous look on Anakin’s face each time he bites into food that Obi-Wan has made for him. He’ll eat anything Obi-Wan makes for him, granted, no matter how terrible, but it seemed disingenuous not to at least make an effort.

So Obi-Wan cooks. He tends to the hearth and home, not because it’s what expected of him as an omega, but because of the sheer delight it brings Anakin. The meals he makes he takes to Anakin’s office where they eat lunch together and chat about their day. The recent promotion has Anakin working longer hours, too tired for anything in the evening except a brief meal, a cold shower, and easily the world’s most unsatisfying quickie, all in that order.

Lunch simmers in a pot while Obi-Wan checks the weather outside: clear skies, the sun finally out after a week of steady rain. Later, Obi-Wan takes his motorbike out of hiding from the garage and clambers on, lunch packed in an insulated bag slung across his shoulder. He rides out of the neighbourhood and into the city, over puddles that slosh across his boots and streak them with flecks of mud. The wind is cutting; traffic slows him down a bit but it does nothing to tamp the heady feeling that sits inside his chest now that he’s on the move again. He’ll miss this when he gets bigger. He already misses teaching.

It only occurs to him as he’s parking his motorbike next to Anakin’s Lexus in the company carpark, that he probably should have changed into something less shabby. As it stands, he’s wearing his favourite sweater, with the visible hole in the armpit and the colour leached out after many trips to the washer. At some point it had been a vibrant green, now god only knows what shade it actually is—some sort of cross between teal or sea-foam green. He checks his reflection in the reflective glass wall of Anakin’s office building and musses his hair where his helmet has flattened it. There are biscuit crumbs on his beard; he brushes them away with a sheepish swipe of the hand.

Well, he thinks, wryly. That’s the best he can do in this situation. He’d forgotten to change out of his flannel sweatpants and it’s rather unfortunate that he’s wearing a pair of Uggs too—not a sartorial choice, necessarily, they just happen to have enough cushioning for his swollen feet.

Most of Anakin’s coworkers know him, and when Obi-Wan passes them by, they nod and wave at him in acknowledgement. Benefits of being married to the VP, Obi-Wan supposes, and a warm stab of pride hits him like a jolt: Anakin has worked hard to get where he is— blood, sweat, and tears, a lot of tears, really, if they’re being honest, and now they have enough money saved up that Obi-Wan can comfortably stop working for a little while and simply tend to how ever many children they decide to have, hopefully not a lot, he isn’t getting any younger. And it’s not as if Obi-Wan has plans of quitting the workforce for good: he loves teaching, and domestic life may be tolerable in short stretches but if Anakin moves them to the suburbs, there will be Words.

Obi-Wan strolls up the lifts but is pulled abruptly from his thoughts by someone calling out to him. “Excuse me! Sir! Yes, you in the sweatpants!”

Obi-Wan turns, arching an eyebrow as he pivots on his heel. “Yes?”

It’s the receptionist—only today it isn’t anyone he recognises. She seems…new. And young too, like she’s fresh from university. Obi-Wan has taught undergrads that have looked older. “I’m sorry, but the lifts are strictly for employees only. Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Obi-Wan says, chuckling, but his mirth fades when he sees that she isn’t nearly as half-amused as he is. “I don’t have an appointment but I am here to drop off lunch.”

“Door Dash?”

“No,” says Obi-Wan drily. “I’m not affiliated with them, I don’t think. I’m here for Anakin.”

“Ana—” Her eyes widen in understanding. “You mean Mr Skywalker?”

“Yes, I’m his—”

She nods and holds up a finger, cutting him off. Obi-Wan bites down on a response, years of boarding school training coming back to bite him in the arse: it’s a gesture he’s familiar with, and not because he’s an omega. He quiets down, pressing his lips into a thin line. Silent, he sighs, crosses his arms, and patiently waits for the new receptionist to finish typing into her computer.

“Sorry,” she says, making a face at him, flicking her gaze south and upward once more in obvious appraisal. “But Mr Skywalker’s in a meeting right now.”

“Is he? I could have sworn he said he’d be free after noon.”

The receptionist holds her smile—it’s brittle, and rote, the kind of smile you give when you’ve worked customer service long enough and have to deal with difficult people. Is Obi-Wan being difficult? He doesn’t want to make trouble. “Well,” he says, after a great deal of patting around his back pockets for his mobile phone which apparently he’d forgotten at home—convenient, just convenient. “I guess I’ll wait here then.”

“Sorry,” she says again. “But we have a strict policy against letting guests just loiter about! Surely, you understand.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be loitering,” Obi-Wan says. “I’d be waiting. There’s a difference.”

“I’m sorry Mister—”

“Kenobi.”

“Right, Mister Kenobi, I’m sorry but if you don’t leave right now I’m going to have to ask the guards to escort you out.”

“You must be joking,” Obi-Wan says. All right: apparently not. Her finger is already hovering over some button Obi-Wan is half certain has the power to summon security.

“Really? You want me to leave,” he says.

She nods tightly, still with that cloying smile on her face.

Obi-Wan presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache. He doesn’t want to argue further, not when his body is already betraying him in so many ways: his feet have started to throb again, his bladder feels full even though he’s just popped to the loo on the way, and he’s one chin wobble away from feeling some sort of emotion.

“Right, then.” He unslings his lunch bag and sets it down on the desk. “You can hand this over to Mister Skywalker. Careful not to jostle the bag too much; there’s a thermos of soup in there. You can tell him—tell him I’ll be phoning him when I get home and that I’ll see him later.”

She nods, writing all of that down on a yellow sticky note. “Kenobi, right? And how is that spelled?”

“Exactly how it sounds, and with a K,” Obi-Wan tells her.

He exits the building, unable to tell whether he’s relieved or disappointed. Relieved because he’s at least fulfilled his marital duties and dropped off Anakin’s lunch, as promised; disappointed because the only thing he’s been looking forward to that day has been taken from him: nothing compares to the pleasure of seeing Anakin enjoy his cooking, and he’s made something new today: miso soup with tofu and seaweed. An experiment, but still something he can be proud of.

Obi-Wan makes it home in under half an hour, where he makes a beeline to the bathroom to relieve himself. He can’t pinpoint what exactly it is he’s feeling, now that he’s taken care of two of his three pressing issues. Hormones have wreaked havoc on his emotions lately, and maybe that could be it. One minute he’s watching a documentary on sea otters and the next he’s so moved by the sight of them holding hands and swimming in pairs that he has to have a good, long cry.

He shakes himself out of this strange mood, and heats some frozen pizza in the oven, eats it standing up while dancing his fingers across the steaming hot cheese. He has a nap afterwards on the sofa, while a David Attenborough documentary plays on the telly, because what else is there to do, this is his life now, though he briefly considers having a leisurely wank with his vibrator within reach and just sitting there where he’d left it this morning. Another unexpected but not entirely unwelcome side effect of the pregnancy is his increased libido.

On weekends, when they elect to sleep in, Anakin can take him upwards to five times before dinner, and Obi-Wan will be ready each time: wet and wanting. They haven’t had sex in a few days, though, mostly because Anakin has been busy. Obi-Wan doesn’t mind entirely; he knows how these things go. For years, his academic career ate into aspects of his private life, and if it weren’t for Anakin who’d insinuated himself into his life with persistence and sheer stubbornness, they wouldn’t have been, well, married and about to have pups. Not a bad life, considering Obi-Wan had at one point resigned himself to being married to his career.

Obi-Wan falls asleep as soon as his eyes close.

And he wakes to the familiar sound of Anakin’s car nosing up the driveway.

Strange, the light in the room tells him there’s still some daylight left. Obi-Wan gets up when he hears the door rattle. Not a second later and it’s flung open, Anakin’s heavy treads thudding the floorboards of the foyer. There’s a crash, and another thud: Obi-Wan can hazard a guess that Anakin has managed yet again to tip over the coat stand.

“I’m here, dearest,” Obi-Wan says, waiting patiently until Anakin materialises. And materialise he does, touting his briefcase in one hand and looking very, very cross. His face is red and splotchy. His disheveled hair gives the impression of having been tugged at in frustration, a habit that Obi-Wan has trouble weaning him off of.

“Are you all right?” Obi-Wan asks, concerned.

“I’m gonna kill that bitch,” Anakin huffs, as he stomps over to grab Obi-Wan by the forearms. Despite the palpably murderous intent roiling off him, his touch is feather-light, careful as he rubs up and down Obi-Wan’s arms. “I got your message. You should have called me so I could have picked you up from the lobby.”

“I left my phone at home,” Obi-Wan says, stroking Anakin’s cheeks to calm him, “And besides, you seemed busy. I didn’t want to intrude. You had a meeting.”

“I never schedule meetings when I know you’ll be coming over with lunch. I make myself available. You know that.”

“True, but, do remember you’re running a company, dearest, and I don’t always expect you to accommodate me.”

Anakin makes a pained noise. “I’m gonna fire her,” he mutters.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “She was just doing her job. Don’t fire her for my sake.”

Anakin clenches his jaw, stubborn as ever. Obi-Wan presses a kiss to his lips, smiling when Anakin absolutely softens into it. “Promise me,” he says, patting him on the cheek. “You’re not going to fire her. Say it.”

Anakin’s nose twitches, and he doesn’t say it explicitly, but he nods, once: a concession.

Anakin spends the rest of his day working from his laptop in his home office, wearing his suit from the waist up and his sweatpants from the waist down. He finishes right on the dot—at six pm when Obi-Wan has a beef pot pie baking in the oven and he’s halfway through a crossword puzzle. Then he’s out his suit for good and in a ratty old university t-shirt spelling the name of his alma mater in front in bubbly font.

Anakin slides behind Obi-Wan at the counter and rests his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around Obi-Wan’s middle, absently stroking his growing stomach. “Cock,” Anakin says, without preamble, and Obi-Wan blinks before giving him a bemused look. “Too early for that love, at least let dinner finish cooking first.”

Anakin rolls his eyes and points to the crossword on the counter, tapping a corner of the page. “Four across. Another word for rooster that begins with a C.”

“Cock,” Obi-Wan agrees with delighted laugh.

They eat dinner; Anakin takes care of the dishes while Obi-Wan thaws in the shower. When it’s Anakin’s turn in there, Obi-Wan dries his hair on a towel and doesn’t put any clothes on. He knows what happens next: it’s one of the two things he looks forward to on any given day, because he is a man with simple needs and what he needs is, four across, another word for rooster that begins with a C.

And because it’s shaped out to be a good day, despite the whole ordeal at lunch, they have time enough to be tender.

Anakin fucks him, sweet and slow, clutching his ankles. Then, because Obi-Wan can’t get enough, he rides Anakin afterwards with the same agonising slowness with which Anakin had fucked him. He clutches the headboard for balance while Anakin presses his thumbs into his hips and mouths filthily at his nipples, sore from teeth marks and Anakin’s many attempts at drawing out milk even though it will be months yet before Obi-Wan’s body will be able to produce any. They last a whole two hours, though most of it is just spent kissing and pawing at each other. They fall asleep, nestled like spoons, and in the morning Anakin will have to leave for work early again; Obi-Wan will make him a pot of coffee, will blearily wave at him from the driveway in his tatty robe and fluffy slippers, before going inside and taking a very long nap. Afterwards, he will spend hours staring at his blinking cursor, before getting up to make Anakin lunch—a new recipe he’s picked up on the internet that doesn’t seem overly complicated.

This is life, and it must be a sign of getting older, because Obi-Wan has come to love it in spite of everything: the meals he makes for himself and Anakin, and the humdrum of his routine, the home they are trying to make for themselves and for their future children, built by love and shaped around it.

#fic #obikin #rated: mature #for: cas #ps: this whole idea was @kidhuzural's #cas is amazing

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whistleandaclick · 11 years ago

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11 Questions

Rule 1: Always post the rules Rule 2: Answer the questions the person who tagged you asked, and write 11 new ones Rule 3: Tag 11 people and link them to the post Rule 4: Actually tell them you tagged them

TAG TIME: goldendaffodils, ker-fuffle, jobpm, falconoffire, kingofinfinitetimeandspace, nothingssosweet, alldestinations, garyprestons, gallifrey-the-final-frontier, tangothelimevworpmango, gotginger. (whaddup my mutuals. not like i ever talk to you folks but you're the cool ones who are actually on tumblr and haven't already been tagged)

Answers to Jen's questionesss:

1. Favourite place to be by yourself (not including being on the internet)? There's this one stretch of road when I'm driving back home from basically anywhere that always makes me feel really happy for some reason. I just hit the bottom of the hill and then drive up and I know exactly how far away I am from my family and my puppy and my room. So I guess being alone in my car for those few minutes. I dunno, maybe that's homesickness talking, but It's my favourite feeling to know how close I am to home.

2. Tea or coffee? Tea. very much tea. coffee smells good but tastes eugh and also I'm scared of the inevitable caffeine dependency.

3. Describe your favourite sweater/jacket/coat. Oh, it's adorable! It's this black wool coat that has this velvety peter pan collar thing going on and there's a bow at the collar and it flairs out from the waist. fabulous.

4. Favourite board game? BANANAGRAMSSSS. it doesn't even have a board but it totally counts BANANAGRAMS

5. What are you looking forward to doing over the next week? skyping my family, going outside because spring is finalllyyy here, THE WINTER SOLDIER (I THOUGHT I WASN'T GOING TO BE ABLE TO SEE IT BUT NOW I'M GOING TO SEE IT AND I'M SO EXCITED)

6. Favourite snack? Dee's chex mix. drown me in that stuff and then use it to fill my grave instead of dirt and the smell will bring me back to life.

7. Least favourite popular music artist. I mean "popular" kind of includes a few genres that I dislike so that answer would be super boring. Maybe Lana Del Ray?? just not a huge fan.

8. Beyoncé or Bach? Beyonce. not that I don't appreciate Bach, but beyonce

9. If you had to drink a milkshake OR wine with every meal for the rest of your life, which would you choose? I've made it a rule never to drink a milkshake with my meal because it fills me up so much that I never actually eat the meal, buuuttttt that rule would probably change because (a) I would rather not be kicked out of college and (b) wine with breakfast? maybe I haven't progressed far enough into my 20s to accept that life choice but nahh bro.

10. Did you prefer maths or science when at school? Maths (eckk it feels so weird with the s on it now. America, what have you done to me??). I came home from kindergarten one day and told my mom "Maths is my life" and now I'm a math major.

11. What do you hope to be doing with yourself a year from now? Very much the same thing I'm doing now, but being a Junior and taking different classes.

My questions:

1. Who is the first friend you ever remember making?

2. Which TV show do you know you have to start watching next?

3. Are there any words that you know you pronounce incorrectly, but you can't/refuse to correct yourself?

4. What's the last book you read?

5. If you could eliminate one type of insect from the world without any environmental impact, which lucky creepy crawly comes face to face with genocide?

6. How much time do you take between waking up and leaving the house in the morning?

7. Imagine two of your favourite colours; do you prefer them together in stripes or polka dots?

8. Least favourite fruit?

9. Which of your (exteroceptive) senses causes most of your moments of WOAH NOSTALGIA.

10. If you were a mermaid/man/person, what colour (or type of sea creature) would your tail be?

11. What time does it have to be for you to think "It's just too early to have lunch"?

#goldendaffodils #ker-fuffle #jobpm #falconoffire #kingofinfinitetimeandspace #nothingssosweet #garyprestons #tangothelimevworpmango #gotginger #alldestinations #gallifrey-the-final-frontier #you know I don't know if I've ever done a tag thing before #but I see so many of those question things around tumblr and they're becoming incredibly unoriginal #so i thought i would do this as a training exercise for making one of those question things but that would be actually good #and it's hararrrdddd #and I got uninventive #but then shuffled all the questions up so it doesn't look like I was struggling towards the end #gee i hope i spelled everyone's urls right #except you guys don't actually have to do it if you don't want #it was just for fun #because obviously if I have a ton of homework due tomorrow then i'm going to spend forever coming up with these questions #and then also vacuuming #we really need to vacuum #who are we kidding? i'm going to make jordyn do that #(not maaaake her)#(she just enjoys it and is better at it)#shoot i think i forgot some of my irl friends.#tagging y'all too guys :D #HAHAHAHA BREAK RULE NUMBER 3 #AND ALSO RULE NUMBER 4

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