The vast emptiness of the Western Dune Sea was making Anakin feel unmoored from time. It was bad enough to be on Tatooine at all, let alone speeding out into the desert. He felt on some level like the nine-year-old sent on assignment from Watto to meet with the Jawas, like the past decade had never happened.
He felt hot, shaky, sick—the barren expanse of the desert only let the echoes of his mother’s suffering reach him clearly, so clearly, too clearly. She was out there, suffering and near death, and he wasn’t going fast enough. His speeder whined in complaint as he pushed the limits of its capability, and he growled, pushing it even harder.
The setting suns painted the sand and the stone a familiar burnt orange, and the shadows were growing both longer and darker as night began to absorb the land. The heat of the day’s light was fading, but he still felt flushed and sweaty, his fear about what he was going to find, that he would be too late—it was all making him feel insane.
He blinked rapidly, noticing a strange shimmer up ahead. It looked like a mirage, but it didn’t make sense, it wasn’t nearly hot enough for there to be one. It was so out of place, maybe some kind of trick of the half-light? It hung suspended in the air, and he gasped as his speeder bike plowed directly into it.
It was thick, like the air had turned to toffee. The breath was knocked out of his lungs, and he felt dazed. He dropped heavily to the ground, and gasped, desperate for breath. He groaned when he got a mouthful of sand, and rolled over, dizzy with confusion, spitting and swearing. There was sand on his tongue, in his eyes, on his clothes. Sith hells.
He didn’t understand what was happening, his mind was struggling to process. His head ached like he’d been struck, and he felt hotter and sicker than ever. Somehow his speederbike had vanished out from under him, and his lingering momentum had dropped him forward onto the sand. What the kriff had happened to his speeder? Where was it?
He took a slow, centering breath and sat up, making himself really look around the empty dunes. He was in the same place as he had been before, but the suns were slightly higher in the sky. Everything was different, but the same. The heat shimmer that he’d seen was gone, as was any sign of his speederbike. There wasn’t even a track back in the direction he’d come from—just an expanse of undisturbed sand, as if he’d been dropped from the sky.
Most importantly, though, his awareness of his mother in the Force was completely gone. He couldn’t feel her anymore at all.
No!
Anakin scrambled up and ran in the last known direction, feet slipping in the sand, focusing hard and reaching out with his feelings. He still couldn’t sense her, and he tried again harder, and harder, and then slowed to a stop. He looked around the dunes, wondering if he had a concussion, or worse, as there was something extremely strange happening and he didn’t—couldn’t—understand.
In the Force there was a presence nearby, and it was something like his Master, but not quite—much more muted, less vibrant. It was unmistakably Obi-Wan, though. He would recognize his Master anywhere. What the kriff was Obi-Wan doing on Tatooine? He just couldn’t be on Tatooine, that was impossible, it didn’t make sense.
Anakin shuddered, rubbing the last of the sand off his face and trying to find his calm center. Everything felt slightly off, the Force was so strange, so dark, so cold, and his Master was flickering in it like a small candle. What the kriff was going on?
He changed his heading toward Obi-Wan and frowned in confusion, reaching out to him, and not getting anything in response. Their bond wasn’t active at all, not reciprocated like usual. His Master didn’t indulge him much in the Force, but he’d never actually ignored him before.
Anakin scowled as he crested a final dune and saw the edge of the Jundland Waste, the stone hills rising from the edge of the sands. There was a cloaked figure standing on a ridge, looking out at the setting suns. Obi-Wan?!
Anakin climbed quickly, moving up through the boulders toward the lookout point. His footing wasn’t stable, his sensation of things being off only increasing. He sniffed the air, and stumbled. There was a scent that was somehow deeply familiar and brand new. It was so faint, but he could follow it easily, like he was following the smoke of some kind of peat fire mixed with clean sweat. An alpha?
His stomach twisted, and he felt funny inside. He’d already been feeling hot and anxious, but had blamed that on his worry about his mother, combined with his lack of sleep and his recent exposure to Tatooine’s suns. He hurried up, increasingly desperate to find out what was happening, breathing hard with the effort. “Master!”
Obi-Wan did not respond to his call, remaining completely stationary, his face and hands hidden inside his cloak. He was muted in the Force, like his mind was flowing beneath feet of ice.
Anakin inhaled deeply, feeling overwhelmed that the scent was coming from Obi-Wan. It was so surreal—his Master had never smelled of any secondary gender at all before. He’d been completely suppressed after his presentation, like all human Jedi. He was actually an alpha? That was news to Anakin.
“Master?” Anakin skidded to a halt beside him.
Obi-Wan still did not respond, just inhaled slowly through his nose. His posture straightened almost imperceptibly and he froze, scenting the air again.
Anakin growled with frustration. “Master, what are you doing here?”
Obi-Wan finally turned to look at him, and Anakin’s head rocked back in surprise. Obi-Wan looked so much older, so much rougher, eyes filled with so much exhaustion. The setting suns’ light caught a streak of gray in his beard, at his temples. He was studying Anakin’s face like he was a ghost, or a vision, something unreal.
“Master?”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, like it hurt, and then turned his head away, ignoring him. He ached sharply in the Force for the slow interval of a breath, and then was empty and frozen again.
“Master?” Anakin felt on the verge of tears. He reached out and touched Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and Obi-Wan recoiled, jerking away from his touch, eyes widening. Anakin felt a surge of hurt at being rejected, his voice picking up a whine. “What’s going on?”
Obi-Wan shook himself, taking two steps back, and muttered, voice slightly rough as though he hadn’t spoken all day, or even longer than that. “I’m going insane, that’s what.”
“What? Why? Why do you look so much older? You look like hell, Master.”
“Rude,” Obi-Wan smiled to himself, but his eyes were so impossibly sad. “You would have said that.”
Anakin gaped at him, and Obi-Wan relaxed slightly, intently studying Anakin from his boots to his braid to his face. The scrutiny made Anakin blush and squirm, it was like Obi-Wan was trying to memorize everything about him, and the prolonged observation made him feel so hot and embarrassed.
After a long moment, Obi-Wan tore his eyes away, composing his features, spine straightening. He turned silently and began to walk away from Anakin, following a path back down the ridge. Anakin blinked at his back, taken aback at his abrupt departure, before hurrying after him.
“I don’t understand, Master, wait up! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on Coruscant, right? I thought you were investigating—”
“Stop!” Obi-Wan cut off the babbled speech and looked at the sky, ignoring the apparition tagging along at his heels. “Force, please.” He took a deep centering breath, and felt unsettled, confused by the sweet scent of Anakin, rich with preheat. “I don’t know what sort of ghost this is, or echo, but I can’t… I can’t do this.”
The soft, tender, bone-deep familiarity of the ghost’s voice hurt him, like a sharp knife between the ribs. “What are you talking about? Master, what’s going on? Where’s my mother?”
“Your what?” Obi-Wan stopped despite himself.
He set his jaw, and turned to look at the image of his lost, young Padawan, his eyes slightly hard. Anakin-at-nineteen recoiled from him, so wounded and confused, his scent turning even sweeter, unconsciously begging the alpha inside Obi-Wan to be kind, to take care of him. He was going into heat, and he didn’t even know.
He hadn’t known last time—Padmé, as suppressed and insensitive to pheromones as any other civilized, wealthy, human politician, hadn’t picked up the light scent of preheat, hadn’t known, hadn’t been able to tell him—not until his heat intensified on Geonosis and suddenly, mortifyingly, everybody could tell, suppressed or not.
“My mom, she’s out here somewhere. She’s dying, but I can’t feel her anymore…” He stopped talking, eyes bright with unshed tears, and there was a flare of devastation in the Force. “I can’t feel her.”
“You’re here for your mother?” Obi-Wan studied his face, carefully breathing through his mouth.
“My dreams,” Anakin-not-Anakin nodded quickly, so vulnerable and desperate. He raised and lowered a hand abortively, as if he wanted to grab Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “They’re all true, Obi-Wan! The Tuskens, they’ve taken her! I have to get to her, save her, but…”
“You came to Tatooine because of your dreams? That’s why you left Naboo?” Obi-Wan asked, like he was putting together puzzle pieces that had long eluded him. He’d suspected, but Anakin had never, ever talked to him about this, and he hadn’t had the heart to pry. He should have pried—it had been two years since he’d found the tattered remains of a slaughtered village, saturated with Anakin’s wrath, and lost all hope for his redemption.
“Yes,” the too-solid ghost confirmed guiltily, his eyes shifting. “I’m here to save my mom. Why are you here?”
Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, the cascade of painful memories associated with the question crashing through and past his mind’s eye in an instant. “Why am I here?”
“Yes! I don’t understand, Master. Why are you here? Why are you old?”
Obi-Wan just stared at the taunting, impossible figure, who had emerged from the shadows cast by the setting suns like a dream, or a nightmare. He looked and smelled exactly like the strong, healthy young man that had come to rescue Obi-Wan on Geonosis, all those years ago. His dark Jedi robes, his old lightsaber on his hip, his tidy braid. It was impossible—he was impossible.
His presence in the Force was oddly pure in its agitation, and Obi-Wan appreciated that he was so different from the man he’d fought on Mustafar. He hadn’t realized just how steeped in darkness Anakin had become, how accustomed Obi-Wan had grown to the hints of the dark side that he’d written off as growing pains, or the lingering trauma of war, to be dealt with when it was all over.
The vivid ghost gesticulated broadly with frustration, eyes wide and bright, and it made Obi-Wan’s heart ache. He missed his Padawan, this Anakin, his Anakin, so much, too much—had he conjured him from pure longing? Had he finally lost his mind? He’d known it was a risk, a decade spent mostly alone in the desert was a recipe for madness.
“Master, come on, what’s going on?” The false Anakin’s brow furrowed and he stepped closer, making Obi-Wan take an instinctive step back. “You’re supposed to be on Coruscant, investigating who tried to assassinate Padmé!”
The suns were puddled low on the horizon by now, and the oncoming twilight made everything feel so liminal, so unreal. Anakin was clearly present in the Force, his scent so strong, but it wasn’t possible. This was a dream, or a hallucination, it had to be. It would be over soon, it had to be.
Obi-Wan asked, despite himself. “What year is it?”
“What?”
“What year?”
The ghost tipped his head to the side, eyes wary. “It’s 7955, Master?”
Obi-Wan shook his head slowly, and turned to walk back toward his house. It hurt every single time he heard the word “Master,” and he couldn’t take it. Maybe he could leave this shade behind, where he belonged. “‘68.”
“What?!” Anakin stumbled and tagged along after, his presence in the Force bubbling and frothing over with panic. His scent took on a sour, worried quality that made Obi-Wan’s hackles rise unconsciously. “It can’t be!”
“It’s 7968 C.R.C., I assure you.”
Anakin stared at him, and then whined. “Then my mother…”
“She is long dead,” Obi-Wan confirmed quietly.
“What?”
“I’ve seen her headstone.”
“No! I just felt her, she was alive!” Anakin abruptly turned back, striding quickly away from Obi-Wan, heading up to the ridgeline and reaching out with his feelings. It felt like he was screaming the question of her location into the Force, begging whatever mechanism that had taken him away to return him back to her.
Obi-Wan just shook his head. So this was his mental state when he found her last time, this is what it had been like. Agitated with fear, anger, and preheat. “Don’t kill them all this time!”
“What?” Anakin turned back, his Force signature trembling unhappily, jogging down to Obi-Wan’s side. His voice took on a familiar quality that Obi-Wan knew signaled oncoming tears. “What are you talking about?”
Obi-Wan walked steadily along the path, trying to control his own emotional state. “I’ve been to the Tusken village, Anakin. The village you slaughtered indiscriminately in your rage at finding her body. Let her go, before you cut down innocent children.”
“What?” Anakin’s tears began to fall, the detonation of his disbelief and despair making the Force ripple unpleasantly. “No, that’s not…”
“Not what, possible?”
Anakin started crying harder, wiping roughly at his cheeks. Obi-Wan felt both called to touch and soothe, and repelled as though burned. He couldn’t process what was happening, it didn’t make sense, it hurt so much to have this happen, to have Anakin there. Him, as he was, before everything. He was so beautiful.
His scent…
Obi-Wan’s eyes were drawn despite himself to the long, unbitten neck of the needy omega beside him, who was radiating the impossibly alluring scent of preheat, the alpha part of himself temporarily taking control from the non-functional, confused rational part. He smelled mouthwatering, like sweat and slick, the pheromones sweet and sticky as caramel.
He couldn’t help but notice that Anakin’s tears only enhanced his beauty, his eyes were glistening, his cheeks flushed pink and smeared and shining with tear tracks. The last traces of light from the setting suns caught and shimmered on his skin. His neck was so long and unmarked, and his chest heaved, his breathing fast and shallow. He was so perfectly beautiful.
Anakin cleared his throat and asked, voice ragged, “Where are you going?”
“Home,” Obi-Wan said quietly, turning his eyes forward. Whatever this was, it would end soon. When the suns set, maybe. When he reached home. Better to let it go, not cling to every moment.
“You really live here, on Tatooine, out in the Jundland Wastes?”
Obi-Wan nodded, his pace steady.
“Why?”
Obi-Wan was swamped in memory, and then pulled himself free, letting it all pass out and away. He felt the swell of pain, and released it uneasily. He rubbed his beard, hiding his expression. “I will not retell that story for the sake of a ghost.”
Anakin scoffed, indignant. “I’m not a ghost!”
“You’re certainly not real,” Obi-Wan laughed without humor. He exhaled hard with relief when he saw the dome of his house, and hurried his pace.
“I am too real.” Anakin was looking at him worriedly, keeping pace. “If this really is ‘68… where am I, Obi-Wan? Are you here alone? Why do you look like hell?”
Obi-Wan repeated himself flatly. “I will not retell that story.”
“Master, please.”
“No, thank you.”
Obi-Wan watched as the last rays of the suns’ light dipped beneath the horizon, and frowned with confusion and frustration when ghost-not-a-ghost Anakin was still there. He didn’t know what the Force was doing, why this was still happening. His impossibly-19-year-old Padawan was shooting him worried looks in between expressions of deepest grief. His presence in the Force was the same. His scent was the same. Was he real? How?
Obi-Wan pulled open the plasteel door to his small house, and used the Force to turn on the lamp, illuminating the single main room where he lived and slept. He stepped out of his boots and hung up his cloak, ignoring as Anakin followed him inside, doing the same. Obi-Wan was unsure how to handle having an omega that smelled so maddeningly sweet in his small house. The scent reminded him so much of the arena at Geonosis, the fight with Dooku, before Anakin had been heavily dosed with suppressants and sent to Naboo for a new hand.
“Why are you living here, of all places?” Anakin’s voice was tight with frustration, circling the small room and coming to stand in the middle, hands on his hips. “How long have you been here?”
Obi-Wan ignored him for the moment, ducking into the small kitchen nook and putting on some tea, following his usual routine in preparing for bed. He usually slept with the sun, for all that he could actually sleep. He always spent some hours awake in the middle of the night, but he usually could get a few hours at dusk and again at dawn.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
He mechanically poured hot water over a small pinch of tea, a luxury that he carefully rationed, and waited for the tea to steep. Young Anakin was pacing around behind him, restless as ever, looking at the artifacts from Tatooine’s prehistory that Obi-Wan had collected from the sands over the past decade, frowning down at the vacuum-sealed chest that stored a lightsaber similar to his own, though not identical.
He was humming with discontent and confusion in the Force, and Obi-Wan wasn’t much better. He had no idea what to say. Anakin’s scent was driving him insane, forcing him to focus on avoiding the arousal that kept surging up inside, instead of thinking things through.
He took a sip of the tea and sat down at his small table, out of habit reaching for his data pad, which was smacked down by an irate Anakin, who stood close beside him, looming over him. “Stop ignoring me! Why are you really here, Master? Why am I? What’s happening?"
Obi-Wan forcibly pushed aside how much it hurt to hear the word, “Master.” He put his mug down carefully and looked up at Anakin, appreciating his overwhelmingly real scent, his overwhelmingly real presence in the Force. He closed his eyes, and took a slow breath through his mouth, trying to avoid the distraction of pheromones. He’d never missed his suppressants more.
He opened himself up to the Force, and sought an answer. The Force seemed playful, oddly pleased with itself. He had a flash of insight, accompanied by a very uncomfortable sense that another dimension’s future had been radically changed, and so had this one’s. The Force was insistent on one thing, though, and that was the fact that it had borrowed a real Anakin. This wasn’t his Anakin, but it was an Anakin, and that fact was so surreal.
Anakin huffed in frustration that Obi-Wan was still ignoring him, and Obi-Wan felt a swell of irrepressible fondness for who he had been, who he was. Anakin poked his shoulder impatiently, and Obi-Wan marveled at the fact that he was able to touch him—that he was a real, tangible person. There was an omega in his house, and it was an Anakin. Not his, but still the same.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and inhaled deeply, taking in his sugary scent. Anakin was leaning down so close to him, pressed against him, unconsciously seeking an alpha’s touch. So sweet, so needy. Obi-Wan thoughtlessly reached up and placed his palm on Anakin’s cheek, his thumb stroking along his cheekbone.
Anakin blushed at his touch, leaning into his hand, his eyes fluttering closed, eyelashes long and dark as they brushed his cheek. “Why, Master? Why are you here?”
Master. He had to stop that. Obi-Wan couldn’t take it. “I suppose…” He dropped his hand, swallowing, voice slightly thick. “You failed me.”
Anakin froze, a thrill of horror washing over him the Force. “What?”
Obi-Wan’s fingertips grazed the hanging end of Anakin’s Padawan braid, and it was so soft. “The Anakin that I trained, he fell to the dark, and betrayed everyone, including me.”
“No,” Anakin recoiled and gasped for air. “That’s impossible!”
Obi-Wan smiled sadly at the denial. “He killed… so many people. Friends, children. He tried to kill me.”
Anakin shook his head quickly, backing away and bumping into the shelf of antiquities. He clumsily kept them from falling, and then shot Obi-Wan a charged look, begging him to take his words back, the scent of his distress spiking. “No!”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, voice implacable. “I’m here to hide from the Sith Empire that he helped put in place.”
He watched the idea sink in, the despair and shame blooming in Anakin’s Force signature. The sadness and fear from losing his mother was tangling up with the idea of his failure, his betrayal.
He looked so lost.
Anakin’s heartbeat was pounding in his ears, and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. This was like a nightmare. “How is that possible? I would never, never try to kill you!”
Obi-Wan laughed, but it was beyond sad and hollow. “I wish that were true.”
Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s sadness in the Force like a kick in the chest, and he felt so sick and shaken. He hadn’t eaten for days, having felt hot and nauseated with anxiety, and he wished he had something to throw up now. “I can’t imagine betraying you. I wouldn’t.”
“You did.”
Anakin stared desperately at the wrinkles beside the sad eyes of his Master, his sun-beaten face, the gray streaks in his hair and beard, all the unmistakable signs of stress and sorrow. The last time he’d seen Obi-Wan, weeks ago on the landing platform on Coruscant, his Master had been so young, so handsome— in only 13 years he would be hiding like this on Tatooine, and it would have been all Anakin’s fault?
“Master,” Anakin felt so hurt, so guilty. He wanted to rub himself all over Obi-Wan, press up against him until he felt how sorry he was for whatever he’d done that had made him look so broken. He’d failed him, betrayed him. “I’m so sorry, Master!”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice was forbidding but still so kind, and it sent a strange thrill up Anakin’s spine, and he suddenly felt very weak. He stumbled forward to his knees beside Obi-Wan’s chair, pressed up against his leg, rubbing his cheek on the rough fabric of his pants. He smelled so good, so strong.
Obi-Wan’s hand lept to tangle in his hair and push him back, and he looked down at him with alarm. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” Anakin muttered, stroking his fingers up Obi-Wan’s leg. “Don’t push me away.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, sounding resigned. Why did he have to smell so kriffing good?
Anakin let his hand slide higher, not thinking about it, just needing to touch more of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan’s other hand snapped to catch his wrist and hold him still. Anakin realized his palm was on Obi-Wan’s inner thigh, and his fingertips were awfully close to touching the subtle line of Obi-Wan’s cock in his pants.
Suddenly that seemed like the best idea he’d ever had. Maybe he could? Maybe this future, alternate, false version would let him? He was older, gruffer, than his own Master, but the fact that his Master had been older than him had never been a problem for his fantasies before. Quite the opposite, actually.
Obi-Wan was looking down at him warily, holding him in place by his hair and his wrist.
“What?” Anakin asked weakly, face beginning to burn. He licked his lips, craving stimulation, his stomach twisting into knots. “I feel so strange, Master. What’s happening to me?”
“You’re going into heat.”
Anakin blinked up at him, jaw dropping, his plush, pink lips falling open. He licked and bit his bottom lip, eyes filling with confused understanding. “I’m an omega?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed, feeling slightly unsteady. Anakin’s palm on his thigh felt like it was scalding him, resting just inches away from his cock, and Obi-Wan was spending most of his attention and energy preventing himself from getting visibly hard.
Anakin pushed his head unconsciously into Obi-Wan’s hand. “This is heat?”
“Not yet, but soon.”
“Oh,” Anakin sighed. “I’ve felt so sick.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan said gently. He needed to take his hands off Anakin, stop touching his hair, but it was almost impossible to fight the instinct to pull him closer instead, drink in his scent, suck on his skin, bite and mark his neck.
His beauty was so surreal and overwhelming to Obi-Wan at that moment. It had only ever been an annoyance to him in the past. Back when he was still Obi-Wan’s Padawan learner, it was irritating to Obi-Wan that he would notice that he was attractive at all, and then when he was a Knight, it was an observation that Obi-Wan had to set aside over and over. Yes, Anakin is handsome. Water is wet. Space is cold. It didn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered.
This Anakin, the boy kneeling at his feet, was almost painfully nineteen, his skin fresh and dewy. His curly, sand-colored hair was cut short, his Padawan braid hanging neatly down against his long neck. His hands were lightsaber calloused and strong, both warm, living flesh, not metal. His face was unscarred, his wide, blue eyes much less haunted. He was so tall, lanky and lean.
Kneeling on the floor, his face tipped up to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes, he was so close. He smelled like he was already getting slick, his body preparing itself to take Obi-Wan’s cock, his knot—be bred with his come.
His presence in the Force was so needy, and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if Anakin was even aware of all the ways in which he was scrabbling at the long-inactive training bond, seeking connection. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself from letting him in. He felt so good, so comforting, years erased, the past returned. The other half of his mind, healthy and well.
Anakin licked his lips again, and his mouth looked so wet. “And you’re an alpha? I suspected but…”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and cleared his throat. “I am, yes.”
Anakin tried to move his hand higher toward the increasingly visible length of Obi-Wan’s cock, and then moaned quietly when Obi-Wan tightened his grip on his wrist. “Why can I smell you like this? You never smelled anything like this before.”
“The injections that kept me suppressed are expensive, and they seemed rather pointless out here.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Anakin tried to push closer again, his eyes half-lidded and dark, and his cheeks flushed even more red as he inhaled Obi-Wan’s scent deeply. “You smell so good.”
“Anakin…”
Anakin squirmed uncomfortably, his scent spiking. “Master, I feel so hot.”
“That would be the heat.”
Anakin whined with annoyance at Obi-Wan’s deadpan voice, his cock throbbing. “Master, be serious!”
“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, the hand in Anakin’s hair scratched an unconscious apology, making Anakin shiver, his cock throbbing.
“What’s going to happen to me now?”
Obi-Wan made a low, thoughtful noise. “You’re going to start feeling delirious, more than you already are, with confused thinking and disrupted attention. You'll feel more feverish and… uncomfortably aroused. You’ll become physically more… receptive.”
Anakin’s breathing was fast and seemed so loud, the sound of Obi-Wan’s rough voice describing what would happen to his body was doing something to him. “What does that mean?”
Obi-Wan sounded slightly uncomfortable, and Anakin kept his eyes on his cock, imagining that every breath of his was making it get harder. It seemed so big already, kriff. “You’ll get slick, and more… relaxed. Makes it easier.”
“To?”
Obi-Wan sighed. “To be knotted, Anakin.”
“Oh,” Anakin said shakily, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of slick leaking in his underclothes. He smelled himself, and then blushed at how much he smelled like sex. “I already smell different.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed, voice slightly tight. “Your scent will become ever more… inviting.”
“Do you like it, Master?” Anakin felt a swell of insecurity, the idea that he wasn’t pleasing to his alpha suddenly the most heinous thought he’d ever had. “Do I smell okay?”
“Calm down,” Obi-Wan said more gently, fingers scratching his scalp again soothingly. “You smell good to me, yes.”
Anakin shuddered with pleasure at the affirmation and then relaxed. “I’m so glad.”
His mind felt hazy, his priorities had all been resorted by the heat, with being touched, taken, claimed by his alpha moving to the very top of the list. The needy omega part of him loved knowing that he was alone inside a very strong and powerful alpha’s house, with nobody around for miles and miles. There was nobody watching them, nobody judging them.
Obi-Wan was so silent and still, and Anakin nudged him in the Force. He wanted to hear him talk, wanted to crawl up and on him, cover him in his scent, get Obi-Wan’s cock inside him. “Do you think the Force is leaving me here to stay?”
Obi-Wan frowned at the question. “What?”
“The Force brought me here. Do you think it’s forever? Or do you think I’ll go back?”
“I don’t know, Anakin. It’s not supposed to be possible, what you’ve done, or rather what the Force saw fit to do. I have no way of guessing the whims of the Force on this, except that I did not sense any plan for a return.”
Anakin listened to him talk and hummed happily, not really paying attention. It didn’t matter what happened later, the only thing that mattered now was Obi-Wan and his scent, his knot. He slowly pushed closer, fingertips pushing toward the now-visible shape of Obi-Wan’s hard cock in his pants. He was so big, Anakin wanted to sit on it, sink down on it, have it fill him up completely, it would feel so good, he knew it would.
“It is only reasonable to assume you are going to stay here now, which is what the Force suggested earlier, as the other dimension was already changed when you… are you even listening to me?”
“What?” Anakin froze, looking up, eyes wide and innocent. “Yes, of course.”
Obi-Wan smiled with fond exasperation, his hand in Anakin’s hair dropping to tug on his braid. “You’ve never been a good liar, Anakin. Not to me. I always knew when you weren’t telling me the truth. I just chose to let it go.”
Anakin nuzzled against him and whined with need, Obi-Wan’s smile making him feel even hotter than he was before. “Master…”
Obi-Wan’s face shuttered slightly, his smile fading. “You shouldn’t… don’t call me that. Please stop.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No.”
“Oh, all right.” Anakin shook off Obi-Wan’s restraining hands, which had gone rather lax, and he crawled up onto his lap instead. Obi-Wan exhaled hard in surprise, but allowed him to do it, catching and holding his hips up to prevent him grinding down on his cock.
Anakin smiled happily at being held, at being closer to the bare skin of Obi-Wan’s neck. He put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders and arched his back slightly, finally pressing his cock against Obi-Wan’s stomach, and moaned at the pressure. Obi-Wan’s face was pained, but Anakin could smell how much he wanted him. He wanted to fuck him, he did, he must.
“What should I call you instead? Alpha?”
“My name is fine, Anakin.”
“Oh, all right.” Anakin leaned his head forward and rubbed his cheek against Obi-Wan’s beard and neck, almost purring with satisfaction. He rolled his hips, and pleasure sparked up his spine, his cock feeling so good against Obi-Wan’s hard stomach, he was so strong, so fit, with gray in his hair, he was such a good alpha. “Obi-Wan?”
“Yes?”
“I feel really warm.”
“I know you do.”
Anakin frowned down at him, his hands jumping despite himself to unfasten his belt clasp, desperate to get his hot, stuffy clothes off. “Are you… what are you going to do about it?”
Obi-Wan stared up at him. His eyes were very dark, pupils blown with arousal, which was good, but his expression was growing more hesitant, which was bad. “What do you want me to do? I shouldn't do anything at all. You’re very… Anakin, you’re very young.”
Anakin felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment at being called young, a shiver running down his spine. He felt himself get even more noticeably slick and shifted his hips involuntarily. Obi-Wan’s nostrils flared and his hands tightened, making Anakin’s cock leak into his pants too. He needed to be naked. Now. He was making such a mess.
He scrambled at his tunics, desperate to get them off. “I’m almost 20.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan laughed once, more like a sharp exhale. “You don’t understand how young that seems to me, you’re almost like a baby.”
“Really?” Anakin whined, not sure why exactly that idea was making him leak and ache, but it did. He dropped his inner tunic, exhaling loud with satisfaction at finally being bare-chested. He leaned forward again and rubbed his face against Obi-Wan’s neck, sliding his fingers into the chest hair just visible above his low collar. Such a good alpha.
Obi-Wan shook his head, his voice deep and low. “I am far too old to be touching you like this, Anakin. I could easily be your father.”
“I know,” Anakin murmured, feeling a bit dazed at the idea, something about it made his omega instincts almost sing with satisfaction. He licked the skin of Obi-Wan’s neck, feeling almost high with it, head buzzing with his scent. “You’re so safe.”
Obi-Wan put his nose against Anakin’s temple and inhaled his scent. His fingers gripped Anakin tighter, and he exhaled hard, his breath hot on Anakin’s neck, his hips flexing an almost indiscernible fraction. “You like that, do you?”
Anakin hummed happily, licking his neck again and trying to get even closer. He felt very wet, and very floaty. The only thing that mattered was getting as much of Obi-Wan’s alpha scent on his skin, inside of him. He felt so achingly empty, needing something he’d never felt before. “Call me your baby again.”
Obi-Wan scoffed, pushing him back to give him a skeptical eyebrow. “I think you are rapidly losing coherence.”
“No, I’m not,” Anakin pouted at him, trying to wiggle his way closer again. “That made perfect sense. I like that you’re older than me, Obi-Wan. You’re my alpha. You’re like my daddy.”
Obi-Wan’s cheeks flushed deep red. “Anakin, absolutely do not—”
Anakin grinned, trying to use Obi-Wan’s distraction to roll his hips down, finally feeling the hard length of Obi-Wan’s cock against his ass. He moaned at the pressure, his Master was so hard, he wanted to fuck him, he did. “Is that another not allowed one? No daddy, like no Master? What about alpha? Can I call you alpha, alpha?”
“Obi-Wan is just fine.” Obi-Wan’s voice was like gravel, and he caught and held Anakin completely still against his chest. “Use my name.”
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whined, trying to rock down on his cock again. “I feel so empty. I want it, need it. I’ve never had anything inside me before.”
Obi-Wan blinked up at him, surprised. “What? Nobody? Nothing?”
“No,” Anakin shook his head quickly. He began plucking at Obi-Wan’s tunic, and grinned with satisfaction when Obi-Wan let him take it off. His Master’s chest was so broad and strong, he was hairy and freckled and perfect.
“Not even your own fingers?”
Anakin met his eyes by accident, and then blushed, looking back down at his chest, stroking his finger up and down between his pectorals. Strong alpha, he smelled so good. “A couple times, yeah.”
“I see,” Obi-Wan said, his hips rocking slightly as though he were unaware of it, his cock sliding against Anakin’s ass and Anakin’s back arched as he moaned loudly. He was burning up, drunk with heat, the scent of his skin, the taste of Obi-Wan on his tongue. He wondered if Obi-Wan would let him kiss him, but was afraid to try. He didn’t want to be wrong, that would be agony.
Anakin panted, “Do you want to?”
“What?” Obi-Wan blinked at him. He looked so impossibly aroused, his old Master, his alpha.
“Do you want to see me as I, uhh…” Anakin trailed off, having trouble saying it, feeling stupid and feverish. He rocked against Obi-Wan’s cock again, voice turning breathy and high. “If I open myself up? Do you want me to do that now for you? Then you can…”
“Then I can, what?”
Anakin bit his lip shyly, eyes closed as he whispered, feeling almost dizzy with the idea. “Knot me.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groaned quietly.
“Please, Obi-Wan?” Anakin nibbled on his neck, rolling his hips again to press where he ached with emptiness against Obi-Wan’s cock, whimpering at how big it was already, even without a knot. He wanted him to fuck so deep inside him, fill him full of come, so badly, more than anything.
“So you can knot me, alpha, please?”
Obi-Wan’s self-control had been hanging by a thread for minutes—very tenuous with a sweet, wet, impossible omega writhing on his lap—and when it snapped, it snapped very abruptly. The scent of his omega’s slick, his breathy, whispered invitations were just too much.
He pushed Anakin off, and before he could protest, he stood up too, looming over him slightly and walking him backward toward the bed. “Take off your clothes.”
Anakin gasped, excited, and hastened to obey, stumbling as he attempted to shove his pants off and step out of them while still walking backward, and it satisfied something visceral and irrational inside Obi-Wan, the alpha part of himself almost high with it. Anakin should always obey him like this. Everything would have been different if…
He pushed that thought out of his mind, focusing his attention on Anakin’s scent, the attractive pull of his sweat and sugary slick. Anakin was naked now, and he looked so beautiful, his golden skin was soft and smooth, his body lean and muscular. His flush ran from his face down to his chest, and his cock was hard, shiny at the tip with precome.
Obi-Wan could see the slick on his inner thighs as he walked.
Obi-Wan’s house was not very large, and it only took a few steps until Anakin tripped and sat back onto his small bed, looking surprised. Obi-Wan stood over him, his hands moving to unfasten his own pants, and Anakin watched with rapt attention, his eyes going wide when he finally saw Obi-Wan’s bare, hard cock. He squeaked, “Obi-Wan?”
“You can take it,” Obi-Wan said, his voice almost unrecognizably low. “Get comfortable.”
Anakin nodded quickly, scooting back and turning over. He almost dove into Obi-Wan’s small pile of blankets, shoving his face in them and inhaling deeply. He moaned and spread his legs, lifting up his hips, presenting instinctively, and Obi-Wan exhaled like he’d been punched—he could see everything, the slick, pink skin of Anakin’s virgin hole, and he grabbed the head of his cock, squeezing tight.
His omega was going to be so hot and wet around him once he fucked inside.
Anakin needily reached back and began stroking between his legs, gathering slick, and then pressed a finger into his wet hole. He moaned loudly, adding a second one and beginning to fuck them in and out, and he was audibly slick. “It’s so easy, Master, so much easier than ever.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said forbiddingly. “I told you not to call—”
“Alpha,” Anakin whined in correction, cock twitching and he looked back over his shoulder, fingering himself faster. “I’m sorry!”
Obi-Wan stood at the edge of the bed, fingers lightly brushing down one of Anakin’s strong calves. His legs seemed almost hairless from a distance, but that wasn’t actually true, it was all just fine and blonde, almost invisible on his golden skin.
Anakin huffed with impatience, rocking his hips back again, presenting even more forcefully for his alpha. Obi-Wan smiled slightly, his cock aching. Did Anakin even know that’s what he was doing? Probably not. It was such an innocent gesture, such a needy one.
“I need your knot, Master, please.”
“I told you—”
Anakin groaned and shoved his face back into the blanket for a second before he looked back, embarrassed and apologetic. “Sorry, I like saying it, I’m so used to it. Do you really hate it?”
Obi-Wan winced, wishing it didn’t matter, wishing his chest wasn’t aching with longing and regret and shame and everything else. His cock was hard, his omega was wet and open, just fuck him, shut up about the past, and fuck him. “I watched my Padawan kneel and swear to the Sith, and call him Master. I can’t hear you say it like this, it… it hurts.”
“I’m so sorry,” Anakin whined desperately. His Force signature radiated sudden resolve, washing over Obi-Wan and driving away his lingering sadness like a flash flood, until all that was left was Anakin’s adoration. “Obi-Wan, I won’t. I promise, alpha, I won’t.”
Obi-Wan crawled up onto the bed behind Anakin, kneeling between his spread thighs, palms sliding up the back of his legs to his ass, grabbing and parting the soft curves of his cheeks to look at how slick, pink, and perfect he was. “Thank you, darling.”
Anakin groaned, rocking his hips back into his hands. “Obi-Wan, please. I want… I want…”
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, that!” Anakin nodded vigorously, his fists twisting in the sheets as he pushed his hips back, so needy. “Fuck me, please!”
Obi-Wan bent forward, feeling pulled down magnetically—he needed to lick Anakin’s slick, and the maddeningly sweet taste was just as mouth-watering as he expected. He licked him again, more roughly, tongue flat against his hole, he was so soft, and then circling his rim, and he made a pleased sound at the taste that was muffled against Anakin’s skin.
Anakin sounded so close to tears with need. “Please!”
Obi-Wan pulled away, and the contrast between his hot mouth and the cool air on Anakin’s skin made him gasp. He felt so impossibly hot and shivery, and the only thing that mattered was Obi-Wan’s mouth, Obi-Wan’s cock. He whimpered in complaint when he felt Obi-Wan withdraw to his knees, and then groaned with relief when Obi-Wan leaned forward, covering him. His strong chest was pressing down on Anakin’s back, and his weight felt so good, so safe.
“Alpha,” Anakin whispered gratefully, and then whimpered when Obi-Wan lined up the head of his cock with his hole, pressing lightly against him. “Please!”
Obi-Wan kissed his neck gently at the same time as he flexed his hips forward, the fat, blunt head of his cock sliding inside, and he made a low, pleased noise that Anakin felt more than heard. He was completely overwhelmed by the sensation of being fucked for the first time, with Obi-Wan’s cock stretching out the tight muscle— it was so much, almost too much, he wasn’t going to be able to take it, he was taking it.
“Good,” Obi-Wan murmured in his ear, rocking his hips back and then thrusting in again, a little more forcefully, going even deeper. “Very good.”
Anakin couldn’t believe he hadn’t taken the whole thing yet, he felt so full, Obi-Wan was opening him up inside, working himself in, deeper and deeper, and—
Anakin groaned loudly, and Obi-Wan grabbed his neck with his teeth, not biting, just holding him still, making him go limp and relaxed. “Alpha…”
Obi-Wan hummed, and then one last sharp thrust of his hips forward brought them together, and Anakin felt his balls slap against his skin—he was all the way inside, his thick cock buried all the way inside. Anakin’s brain crackled like it was full of static, filled with overstimulation, not pain, just overwhelming sensation, his entire world had narrowed down to where Obi-Wan was moving inside him.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin moaned, and then squeaked when Obi-Wan thrust his hips forward again, and again. He was fucking him deliberately at first, and then faster, fucking him down into the mattress. It was so perfect, it was like he was meant to do this, built to do this, born to do this.
Obi-Wan slid a hand into his hair and then made a fist, pulling Anakin’s neck out long and then turning his head so that he could look him in the eye as he took him. His dark, hooded gaze made Anakin whimper, his cock throbbing and leaking precome into the sheets, he was close to coming, so close.
“M-alpha,” Anakin panted, proud of himself for catching and changing the word.
Obi-Wan smiled at him, the lines by his eyes crinkling, he looked so fond of him, like he loved him. “Thank you, Anakin.”
Anakin bit and sucked on his bottom lip, looking up worriedly, and Obi-Wan smiled again, bending forward and catching his lips in a deep kiss—their lips pressed and sliding together, tongues meeting and sending a wave of heat down Anakin’s spine. He whined against Obi-Wan’s mouth, and Obi-Wan pulled back, letting him gasp for air, and he was sure his eyes were full of stars. “Thank you!”
Obi-Wan just shook his head fondly and kissed him again, and the pace of his hips slowed, the rhythm breaking into shorter, rougher thrusts. Anakin made a little whine at each one, at how each one was fucking Obi-Wan’s hard length against something inside him that felt so good, too good. He couldn’t bring himself to talk, too busy kissing, but he felt himself radiate in the Force a warning, a plea.
For the first time, he felt older Obi-Wan’s mind open to him in return, and the Force hummed and trembled as a bond between them was woven together—the ice around Obi-Wan’s mind cracked and melted, and they were pooling together in the Force, minds mixing and sharing their pleasure, their relief at being together.
Anakin felt a wave of Obi-Wan’s possessive satisfaction, his alpha pride in taking and having his omega, and it pushed him over the edge, his eyes rolled back, mouth falling open. His whole body seemed to go tight as the overwhelming release of an orgasm made him clench down around Obi-Wan’s cock, around the small knot that was beginning to catch on his rim, and his come was spilling against the sheets, wet against his stomach.
Obi-Wan groaned loudly as Anakin came on his cock, and he fucked inside one last, sharp thrust before his own knot began to swell, locking him inside as he began to fill him with come, so deep inside him, maybe even breeding him with it. He was so big, his knot was so big, Anakin had never felt anything like it before, it was perfect.
His mouth felt so wet, words felt hard to shape, and he begged, “Bite me, bite me, bite me!”
“Don’t tempt me,” Obi-Wan’s gruff voice answered him, his hips fucking his knot slightly deeper inside, making Anakin whimper and complain, babbling quickly.
“Why not? I’m not going back. I can’t. I want to stay with you here. Don’t you want to keep me? I love you, I always have.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groaned. He rolled them carefully on their sides, moving Anakin out of the wet spot, keeping him held close and secure on his knot. His breath was hot on Anakin’s neck, his mouth so close to his mating gland. “Don’t.”
It seemed to Anakin like the most important thing in the entire galaxy, the thing he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything before. He needed it! “I’m yours, Ma- alpha. I always was! I need you, please, please!”
Anakin could feel in the Force the moment that Obi-Wan’s tenuous self-control crumbled, and he cried out as he felt Obi-Wan’s sharp teeth digging into his neck, breaking the skin, their bond in the Force turning gold and solid. It hurt so much, but it felt so good, and his cock twitched, even though he’d just come. It was so perfect, Obi-Wan’s knot locked inside, his teeth in his neck.
Obi-Wan went still, as though he realized what he just did, and carefully removed his teeth, sighing, radiating a mix of satisfaction and guilt in the Force. He gently kissed the wound and pressed his forehead against the back of Anakin’s head, pulling and holding him close to his chest.
The moment seemed to stretch out to infinity, and Anakin was lost in it. He was floating in the Force, in their bond, in his pleasure at being surrounded by his alpha, filled with him. The knot buried inside him seemed to drive all the thoughts out of his head, and he couldn’t bother feeling anything but satisfied.
“You have a son. That’s why I’m here.” Obi-Wan’s voice seemed to come from far away, and Anakin shook his head, trying to clear it enough to understand.
“What?”
“A son, here on Tatooine.”
“Really?” Anakin felt a swell of happiness. He loved the idea of family, and he rubbed his stomach without really realizing he was doing it. “Then why aren’t you raising him?”
Obi-Wan sighed, threading his fingers through Anakin’s hand on his stomach, holding him tight. “Part of the long story, darling.”
“Ma—” Anakin began, and then cut himself off. He huffed and frowned. “That’s going to be a hard habit to break, Obi-Wan.”
“I know. Thank you,” Obi-Wan murmured, and kissed his bite mark again. “I appreciate that you will try for me, young one.”
Anakin groaned and rocked on his knot, his happiness detonating in the Force. He loved being called that. “Thank you.”
Obi-Wan licked the mating bite softly, his knot stubbornly full. He absently slid the hand on Anakin’s lower stomach down to his rapidly hardening cock, wrapping both of their fingers around it and squeezing gently, making it throb and twitch, jerking him off slowly and bringing Anakin to another intense orgasm, kissing him as he clenched down on his knot. “Good boy.”
Anakin whimpered, and relaxed in his arms, so tired, drifting off. He knew on some level that his heat had just begun, and that Obi-Wan was going to have to fuck him repeatedly over the next few days, and the thought just made him smile. He thanked the Force, grateful to it for bringing him here. Exactly where he should be.
“Go to sleep, Anakin.”
Anakin nodded, and closed his eyes with a smile. Right where he belonged.