Choose Your Words || A Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Story

Chapter 15: Kneel For Him

“Come here, dear one. Come sit at my feet.”

The realization comes crashing down onto Anakin’s poor confused mind like a Star Destroyer: Master had never actually asked for his submission before. Not once. He doesn’t even need to ask – Anakin always falls over himself to please him, and the man always moves away and almost dances around Anakin, deflecting his advances and distancing himself, always so enticingly close and yet impossible to reach. It is intoxicating. It makes Anakin want more and more with every moment they spend together. And it scares him, just a little, but doesn’t stop him from chasing after his Master’s attention.

But never before had Master asked him to come closer – it was always Anakin who initiated that dangerous, intimate proximity. And now…

The world tilts on its axis as Anakin obediently sinks to his knees between his Master’s spread thighs. Reduced to nothing before him. Watching a slow, affectionate smile curl his lips.

His Master is the perfect Jedi, always in complete control of himself, but that is not what makes him so perfect in Anakin’s eyes – it’s the inexplicable control he has over him. And that is exactly what Anakin needs – his Master’s control, since he has none of his own.

“Master,” Anakin exhales when a thrill passes through him as he curls his hands into his lap and bows his head. Like a good boy. Hoping against hope that he could hide his burning desire – bright and hungry in his gaze.

The sudden certainty that this once he won’t be ignored or turned away, that he will get as much attention as he can take, leaves him breathless with impatient anticipation.

He lets out a happy sigh of finally, finally! as his Master tangles one hand in his hair and pulls his head back a little, exposing his throat. A shudder pierces Anakin’s body, dragging his eyelids down. But in the next moment…

“Look at me, Anakin,” his Master demands, and Anakin’s eyes snap open again, with the embers of wild, desperate lust glowing hidden under the ash of his shy, embarrassed need.

His Master is looking down at him, his lips slightly parted, a strand of his hair falling over his eyes, and Anakin licks his lips nervously, silently wondering if his Master likes him like that, all starry-eyed and obedient for him.

“Do you have something to tell me, dear one?” the Jedi murmurs, raising a questioning eyebrow, as he lets go of Anakin’s curls and leans back in his armchair.

“I–” Anakin gulps. He has so much, so much to tell his Master, but… “I am sorry I’ve trashed the living room, Master.”

The Jedi closes his eyes for a moment in acknowledgement, still smiling in that soft, indulgent way of his that never fails to make Anakin feel unworthy of such kindness.

He tolerates you, Anakin. But only barely. Don’t test his patience.

Bitter, unbidden tears tighten Anakin’s throat. He wants to cry. He wants… But Master is still silent, expecting Anakin to continue, so he goes on, swallowing his tears along with his pride:

“And I am sorry I’ve drunk all of your Twi’lek liquor, Master.”

The man tilts his head to the side, his brow raised in clear amusement.

“And what else are you sorry about, my intractable Padawan?”

Anakin’s expression is genuinely puzzled when he answers carefully, “Um…nothing?”

His Master’s forehead creases slightly, and Anakin immediately realizes that his answer is not at all what his Master wants to hear and therefore wrong.