#and he's feeling super possessive over what he thinks is anakin's reaction to another siren

[tennessoui]

18: kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap!!!!!

hello :) this was sent in july i think :) happy six months baby

anyway i talked with @pontah back in october about an urban fantasy town where everyone had some sort of supernatural heritage, and i haven't stopped thinking about it. so this was supposed to be a little warm up to help me break writer's block!

so of course it's 3.6k :) i present my lil selkie anakin au ! <3

(warnings for light hearted crack and that good good good mutual possessive/obsessiveness)

Anakin knows his mother, may the sea keep her soul, would flay him alive for what he’s about to do. But he can’t help it. He’s about to go on the biggest, most important date of his entire life. One he knows will be the last first date he ever goes on.

Because Obi-Wan is it for him.

Yeah, there’s a lot of stuff he doesn’t know about Obi-Wan, fine. His career, his hobbies, his past, his supernatural species. But Anakin doesn’t need to know that stuff.

The barista at Anakin’s coffeeshop had called out a large cappuccino with oat milk—this coffeeshop, run by fae, legally couldn’t ask for the customers’ names—and Anakin had stepped forward to collect his drink at the same time Obi-Wan had. Their hands had brushed. Obi-Wan, when he turned to apologize to Anakin with an arched eyebrow, had had the sea in his eyes. He’d smelled like home, even though he didn’t have the yellow eyes of another selkie.

He’d been beautiful with hair the bronzed red of a sunken, rusted skipper, and the faintest of laughter lines around his breathtakingly colorful eyes. He’d worn a dark blue turtleneck to fight of the winter chill, but Anakin could just see shining blue twinkle at him whenever the man moved.

Anakin had been a goner. So much of a goner that he hadn’t even protested the man taking his caffeine. Much. And Obi-Wan, though he had been careful to not give his name to Anakin in Coff-Fae, had stood next to him to wait. Ostensibly to see if the next drink would be his, but the other man also didn’t wait to start sipping from the drink in his hands.

When the fae had called out another large cappuccino with oat milk but an extra shot, Obi-Wan had thrown his head back on a laugh that sounded like the best piece of music Anakin had ever heard. “My mistake,” the older man had admitted with a shake of his head. Beneath his beard, Anakin had been able to see deep dimples. Anakin had known the way people crazy in love know things that he would probably forgive anything and everything the man could possibly do to him.

And he had very many thoughts of what the man could do to him.

“Looks like I owe you a drink,” Obi-Wan had told him with a glint in his eyes, like the sun setting over glistening waves. Looking at him made Anakin feel homesick, though he’d been landlocked for years now and this feeling settled strangely inside of him. If one could be homesick for a home not yet experienced, that’s what Anakin had felt.

So it had been no wonder that Anakin had held him to that. When Obi-Wan had asked for his number, Anakin had handed his whole phone over instead without question.

“I could be one of the fae,” Obi-Wan had seemed so amused, even as he entered in his phone number. His accent had been so crisp. Anakin had thought he could make a fortune doing audio books. “Careful with what sort of information you give out.”

“Are you part dragon?” Anakin had asked. “Hoarding all your own information to your chest—look, you even stole my coffee and I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Obi-Wan,” he’d told him with a slight smile, but he hadn’t denied being dragon. If he were, that would be so cool. Anakin had never dated a dragon before. Selkies usually didn’t stray far from the waters, and Anakin’s dating life reflected that for the most part. Other than a brief stint with a Dryad named Padmé that had ended in flames and an even shorter romance with a vampire that had ended in blood and tears (and tears of blood), Anakin had remained monogamous to the sea and all its lovely residents.

Besides, Anakin hadn’t moved to the city for romance. No, he’d chosen the biggest, most landlocked city to become absolutely lost in for a reason. He hadn’t particularly wanted to date anyone after his mother’s passing, desiring instead to focus on himself.

So his dating pool became a dating puddle, and he was fine with that. Quite content, actually.

But then Obi-Wan had accidentally claimed the wrong coffee and Anakin had a date for tonight.

“It’s funny,” Obi-Wan had told him right as they were about to part ways. “I usually get tea.”

A summer wedding on the coast would be magnificent, Anakin had decided. Unless Obi-Wan didn’t want to wait that long. A late winter wedding was just as perfect.

So now Anakin’s five minutes from leaving his house to go on the last first date in entire life with his future spouse, and he’s nervous as he’s ever been in his life. He knows Obi-Wan had liked something about him—or he wouldn’t have invited him for drinks, wouldn’t have let Anakin choose the location—but what if he doesn’t like him later? What if he doesn’t like him after they talk for a few minutes? It’s not like Anakin is all that special compared to some of the folk around the city. Selkies look quite normal, actually. He’d be able to go into the mortal realm and pass fluidly as a human. Only his golden eyes would set him apart.

He doesn’t have the translucent wings of the fae or the constant aroma of flowers like the nymphs. Vampiric skin is flawless, while werewolves’ muscles are almost publicly indecent. Mermaids’ hair always wins the prizes, not to mention the confidence they seem to hold themselves with. And Anakin doesn’t even want to think about the dangerous beauty of the elvish descendants.

But with so many interesting and head-turning residents of their city, it’s easy to think of Obi-Wan growing bored of Anakin. Or not finding him interesting.

The thought is devastating.

Anakin had asked his mother once when he was very young if falling in love easily was a selkie trait. At the time he’d been infatuated with a fisherman’s daughter who must have been part Nereid for the way she was able to swim. That had been what made Anakin fall in love with her.

His mother had laughed and told him no, that most selkies fell in love perhaps two or three times in their life, and that they only fell in trust once.

Anain hadn’t understood then. His mother, probably rightfully so, had taken his pelt away from him and locked it up in her bedroom next to hers just in case. “The person who takes your pelt controls you, do you understand?” she’d asked him carefully.

“Like vampires do?” Anakin has asked. He’d not yet met a vampire, but he’d read of their thralls, their ability to manipulate minds.

“No,” his mother had said. “But if you give your pelt to the wrong person and they refuse to give it back, you’ll never be able to shift again. You’ll never be able to find your way home. Our ancestors have been forced into terrible things by the worst sorts of people.”

Anakin had thought and thought on her words because they seemed uncharacteristically serious. He’d told her that he didn’t think the fisherman’s daughter capable of doing terrible things to him.

That had been when his mother had taken his pelt. Just to be safe. “Love whoever you want, Little Fin,” his mother had said, brushing their noses together. “But only trust the once.”

Presently, Anakin strokes his fingers down the soft fur of the pelt he’d laid out on his bed. It’s much browner than the rest of his colony’s distinctive gray hues, had made him stick out like a sore thumb when he was growing up. All the grown-ups had known he was destined for warmer waters just from his coloring.

His mom, if she were alive, would kill him for what he’s about to do. But he can’t—he needs—he needs this date to go well because he needs the next one to go well because he needs the next one as well to go just as well because he’s in love. He is.

And the date can’t go well if Anakin’s a nervous wreck the whole time. And. Well. Nothing calms him down as much as wearing his pelt, even if he’s not shifted into his seal body.

So. It’s stupid. It’s incredibly dumb. But at least he’s aware of it. At least he understands how absolutely stupid he’s being.

He shrugs off his current jacket and picks up his pelt. In his hands, it morphs into a dark brown aviator style jacket, one that complements the light blue of his shirt. His palms are sweaty, but the reassuring weight of his pelt around his shoulders already helps to slow his heart rate.

In front of the mirror, he runs his hands through his hair once more, fixing the chestnut strands to the best of his ability. They still look wild, but there’s a part of the ocean in his core. He cannot be tempered into something tame.

He checks his phone and curses at the time. He’d told Obi-Wan to meet him in front of his favorite karaoke bar at eight in the evening and it was a quarter til.

At least his pelt will keep him warm on the jog over to the bar. And then hopefully a combination of Obi-Wan’s body and alcohol will keep him warm the rest of the night.

—-

Obi-Wan is already there when Anakin arrives at a quite reasonable hop-walk-run. He’s standing nervously outside the place with his hands stuffed into a jacket that looks almost exactly like Anakin’s, if a ffew shades darker with much less fur trim. He looks gorgeous in the streetlight, dressed in a white shirt and sensible pants. And he looks nervous.

Anakin’s heart flutters at the idea that Obi-Wan is nervous over their date. It’s flattering and adorable and Anakin loves him so much he’s going to burst with it.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin greets enthusiastically, coming to a stop right before him. He fiddles with the strands of his hair again, hoping he hadn’t messed it too far up with his hasty commute to the bar. “Hi,” it’s breathless, but Anakin can’t be too embarrassed by that when Obi-Wan still looks so flustered and nervous.

“Anakin, hello,” Obi-Wan tells him in that gentle, waves-lapping-at-the-shore voice. He reaches out to help him fix his hair, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin behind his ear as he tucks one of his curls into place. Anakin shivers. Anakin is going to die. Anakin is going to die very, very happy.

“Hi,” he says.

“We’ve done that bit,” Obi-Wan murmurs, but the words are said gently, only mocking by half. Anakin grins along. “A karaoke bar?” his future husband asks him suddenly, gesturing up at the neon sign.

“Have you ever been?” Anakin asks, enthused. “Sir Ren’s is the best in the city I think. I love karaoke and the drinks are really decently priced! They do awesome seafood too, their fish and chips are just to die for!”

“I bet,” Obi-Wan mutters with a strange twist of his lips that throws his whole face into something that looks almost scary.

“Oh shit, are you vegan?” Anakin asks. “I didn’t even ask. I’m sure they have something vegan. Or not fishy. A seaweed salad maybe.”

The truth is this place too, steeped in its ocean aesthetic, also reminds Anakin of home. A vague home-like sensation that makes him feel more relaxed in the bar’s torn-up booths and sticky tables.

And also, Anakin’s friends with half the bar staff so he gets drinks on the house. And Anakin just really likes karaoke. He almost never puts in the ear plugs they hand out the door for those not looking to be lured in by a siren or mermaid’s voice. They just don’t really affect him all that much. It might be because he’s of the sea himself or because he, as a selkie, appreciates pretty things without feeling the urge to own them.

“You don’t have to go up if you don’t want to,” Anakin is quick to reassure his date as he grabs him by the arm and tows him inside. “I won’t judge either way! It’s just a fun thing! Oh–grab those ear plugs, for when the sirens go up.”

Obi-Wan’s face does that weird disgusted thing again before he grabs two sets, seemingly unable to say no to Anakin. It makes Anakin feel nice and warm on the inside, that he’s being trusted like this.

It feels important.

They settle at a small table at the back of the performance area. A werewolf is warbling on about her girlfriend into the microphone, singing along to a popular song from ten years ago. Good. That’s the best sort of atmosphere for a karaoke bar. Anakin doesn’t want Obi-Wan to be impressed by anyone other than him. He hopes no sirens show up. He’ll cover Obi-Wan’s ears with his own hands should they start singing.

“I’m not vegan,” Obi-Wan tells him as Anakin tries to flag down the barkeep. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“We can split,” Anakin chirps, already standing up. “Food, not drinks.”

The werewolf gets off the stage while Anakin places their order. He comes back to the tiny table with both glasses clutched tightly in his hands. “Navy strength gin,” he tells Obi-Wan. “So go slow.”

Obi-Wan tears his eyes away from the stage where the werewolf’s girlfriend, a vampire, is selecting her song. “Noted,” he says. “Thank you.” And then, “So, do you like…singing?”

It’s beautifully easy to slip into casual conversation with Obi-Wan, and it’s almost enough to forget for a second how painfully and totally Anakin wants to know everything about his conversation partner. Not just the surface-level stuff, though the surface level stuff is ridiculously charming. Obi-Wan only eats over-medium eggs for breakfast, on wheat toast, with tea. He never wears shoes inside the house but absolutely wears slippers. He doesn’t celebrate the holiday, but he travels every other month to visit his father.

They eat and chat and time passes slowly and then like it’s been sped up. Anakin thinks about breaking the conversation to go and sing his own love song to Obi-Wan up on stage, but he knows probably he’ll only have a few more hours with Obi-Wan tonight. He doesn’t want to take him home and sleep with him tonight. He wants to do this nice and proper and respectful and slow.

Then a siren, bedecked in glittering blue and green scales and feathers, approaches the stage from the back. Anakin’s attention is snagged on her as she grips the microphone stand with nails so long they could be talons. Obi-Wan stiffens beside him and offers Anakin the complementary earplugs immediately.

Anakin watches Obi-Wan put his in before he follows suit, needing to make sure Obi-Wan isn’t going to be listening, needing to make sure Obi-Wan won’t be enthralled, that the only person he’s going to look at like that is Anakin.

Unable to have a conversation with the earplugs in, Anakin turns to watch the singer. It’s always sort of fascinated him, the way sirens sing. They perform, even when there is no reason to. He’d wondered for years why sirens would go to karaoke bars if they passed out headphones to their guests to keep them from becoming enchanted.

Then he’d realized that sirens just enjoy singing, that it’s a part of them as much as the ocean is. And Anakin’s always liked watching people enjoy what they enjoy, so he smiles at the singer and rests his hand on his fist as he pretends to listen to the music. He’d probably even take his headphones off if Obi-Wan weren’t here. But he doesn’t want Obi-Wan to get any brilliant ideas about taking his own ear plugs out.

When she finishes, everyone claps politely and she bows before walking off the stage. A few heads turn to follow her, perhaps only partially wearing their ear plugs, but no one causes a scene.

Obi-Wan’s arm wraps around his waist and Anakin turns to look at him with a dazed smile as he takes his ear plugs out. They’re touching. It feels great. Those are Obi-Wan’s fingers on Anakin’s hip. It’s great.

Obi-Wan doesn’t look nearly as happy. “Snap out of it,” he tells him bluntly, and Anakin blinks in confusion. Obi-Wan isn’t wearing his own headphones anymore, but Anakin hadn’t seen him take them off. “It’s just an enchantment. Not talent.”

“Her voice was beautiful,” Anakin points out. He doesn’t need to hear it to know that. She’s a siren. “I’m sure if no one was wearing headphones she wouldn’t be able to walk off the stage for the men throwing themselves at her. Talent and enchantment.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches and he stands abruptly. Anakin is delighted.

“Are you going to sing?” he asks. “Oh, that would be amazing.”

His date looks rather grouchy about the whole thing but he makes his way to the stage anyway.

He doesn’t even look for a song, just seems to choose the fifth option he sees. He’s still frowning. Anakin is going to love him forever.

And then the music kicks on and he sings.

And it’s wonderful. It’s beautiful. It’s…if there are words to describe the way Obi-Wan’s voice sounds then Anakin can’t remember them. It sounds to his ears like everything he’s ever wanted or held precious. The ocean crashing against eroded rocks. His mother gutting a fish for dinner. Stumbling behind the group of older kids as they all shift from human to sealfolk mid fall off a cliff-face.

Anakin wants. Anakin yearns.

It could be ten years before Obi-Wan closes his mouth, the song concluding. It could be ten seconds. It feels as if Anakin has been irrevocably changed. If he knew Obi-Wan was going to be his husband before, he’s doubly sure now.

He tears his eyes away from Obi-Wan who is shamefully letting go of the microphone to look at everyone around them.

They’re affected. Anakin is going to scream and rage from how affected they look. One tries to stand to greet Obi-Wan as he steps off the stage, but Obi-Wan, perfect Obi-Wan, is having none of it. It calms Anakin slightly that no one—no matter how pretty or fascinating or strange—can tear Obi-Wan’s attention away from him. From Anakin. He moves with the sort of predator’s grace Anakin’s never seen in person before, but his eyes are locked on him and he’s…smirking almost.

Anakin’s never thought about committing sexual acts in a public space, not really, but just half a nod from Obi-Wan and he’s ready to tear their pants off.

He settles back into his seat and before Anakin can think too much about it, he’s crawling over to Obi-Wan and straddling his waist in a sort of half-minded frenzy. Obi-Wan’s hands grip him closer and Anakin doesn’t hesitate to press their mouths together in a kiss much too heated for his plans on going slow.

But Obi-Wan matches him immediately, clutching at his waist and pulling him tight against him as his hands trail up his lower back. Anakin can’t fight the shiver at the sensation and he doesn’t even think to argue before Obi-Wan’s hands are shucking his jacket off. The only thing that matters is removing Obi-Wan’s own layers, and the man seems absolutely willing to help him in this endeavor as his tongue traces the backs of his teeth.

Anakin whimpers and groans and tangles their tongues together, pushing into Obi-Wan’s mouth so he can taste him. He’s never tasted anything like Obi-Wan before. Salty but sweet. Addicting. Mind-numbingly addicting.

He’s got Obi-Wan’s jacket off and somewhere on the floor and his hands are on Obi-Wan’s shirt when a very unimpressed voice cuts through the fog in both their heads.

“Hey, none of that,” the bartender says. “You’re in public for Pan’s sake.”

Obi-Wan breaks the kiss and he looks so achingly, absolutely beautiful all flushed from Anakin’s attentions that Anakin wants to lean back in and lick his own spit off of Obi-Wan’s lip.

Satisfied he’s stopped them from fucking in his lounge, the bartender leaves and Anakin has the singular displeasure of watching Obi-Wan start to regret his own lapse in control or public decency.

“We should get out of here,” he hears himself with a dazed grin, licking his lips pointedly. “Immediately.”

Obi-Wan’s face pales and Anakin furrows his eyebrows because his date looks horrified, but his cock is still hard beneath him. It’s quite a strange reaction, but even worse is the way Obi-Wan bolts up, hands forcing Anakin out of his lap, and into his discarded chair.

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan curses, bending down to grab his jacket from the floor. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m—I’m so, so sorry, Anakin.”

And then he leaves. Just like that. He doesn’t even grab his phone which is sitting on the table. He just…hightails it out of the bar as if he’s being chased.

Anakin has half a mind to chase him, just to ask him what the hell happened and what the hell he did and why he’s leaving and if Anakin can come with him. But he doesn’t. He…knows when someone doesn’t want him around. It breaks his heart that Obi-Wan…well.

He pockets Obi-Wan’s phone because he’s a good person and he should figure out how to get it back to him. Then he stands, stretches, and bends down to collect his jacket from where it’d been pushed to the floor.

Only it’s the wrong color, two shades too light to be Anakin’s pelt.

He stares at Obi-Wan’s jacket clutched in his hands.

“Oh,” he says out loud. “Fuck.”