Darth Vader did not appreciate being sent on errands. It was beneath his notice to investigate trivial anomalies, and he would have delegated the task, if it hadn’t been ordered by Tarkin. He was perfectly aware that the Emperor wanted him to play nice with the Grand Moff, so he was on a shuttle to the surface of the planet, surrounded by a squadron of troopers and one very uncomfortable lieutenant, to fulfill the mission.
The sterilization of Geonosis was almost complete, the entire planet having been gassed as part of the pacification of the Outer Rim, with conservative estimates counting 100 billion of the native hive species eradicated—but the analysis of the planet’s surface indicated there was still a pocket of activity. Tarkin wanted it investigated and eliminated, so Vader would obey.
The scanners had seen something like a new castle being built, which didn’t make any sense given the overwhelming and final devastation of the population. The shuttle landed next to the coordinates, and Vader stepped out into the too-familiar rocky desert. He was grateful that everything was filtered red through his helmet’s optical lenses, it provided a sense of distance from unwelcome memories.
Anakin Skywalker had gone into heat and lost a hand here. Anakin Skywalker had kissed his angel here. Anakin Skywalker almost lost an Apprentice in a battle here.
Darth Vader had no feelings about the planet.
He felt satisfaction at the enforcement of the Emperor’s justice, that was all. He would feel even more satisfaction if this trip ended in violence. He was not feeling particularly generous on that day, as he felt the familiar, rising swell of preheat. The humans among the Sith did not suppress their biological instincts, rather used them for more power, but Vader had to admit that they were sometimes inconvenient.
He just had to finish up this mission, and then he could return to his ship, where he would meditate through his heat alone, accumulating and savoring the true power of the dark side through his suffering. It was a privilege to be an omega, to crave so powerfully, Sidious had explained to him once—the Jedi had no right to suppress such a fundamental part of his identity. Obi-Wan had no right.
“Lord Vader, the anomaly is not appearing on our scopes.”
“Explain,” Vader said tersely, his mask’s vocoder deepening and amplifying his voice.
He began to walk toward the coordinates, which he realized with a clench of his jaw and reflexive tightening of his fists were in the heart of the arena where he’d been once sentenced to execution. His cape billowed out behind him as he strode forward into the complex, determined to finish and be done with this.
“Of course, sir, my lord, I mean…” The officer scrambled to keep up, tightening his breathing mask anxiously. The extermination gas was still active in the air, and a slip would mean his death. His fear in the Force was amusing and useful to Vader, and he did nothing to alleviate it.
“From orbit, my lord, it appeared that there were new constructions at these coordinates, but our scouts are reporting nothing is visible at all.”
“That is unfortunate,” Vader said flatly. “I will…”
The officer looked up at him nervously as he trailed off. Vader did not feel the need to explain himself, so he turned and left the officer’s side without a word, moving quickly toward something odd that was tugging at his awareness in the Force. It didn’t make sense—his optical lenses were not picking up the anomaly beyond a slight shimmer, but he could feel it.
He stepped out onto the main arena floor, drawing closer to what his feelings indicated was some kind of structure, rich with life, which just didn’t make sense. It looked like a mirage, hanging in place as he approached.
Then, between one step and the next, that shimmer caught and held him, and it was as if the air around him had turned thick and viscous, catching and holding him in place for two heartbeats before tipping him forward.
What the kriff?
Vader felt dizzy and nauseated, confused and most importantly— hot. It was like his heat had been accelerated to near incapacitation, and the Force around him was delighted with itself, giggling like a child. He fought to keep balance, just as wobbly at that moment as at the first time he’d tried to walk on his prosthetic legs.
He shook his head once, twice, and then a third time. He had just been standing in a graveyard, the Force aching silently with all of the Geonosian death, cold and empty, and now it too was burning with heat, so radiant with life that he almost felt Force-blind. It was as if 100 billion lives had been instantly restored, but that wasn’t possible.
Vader took a steadying breath and looked around, reaching out with his feelings as best he could. His troops were all gone, and the arena buzzed with the hum of native Geonisians. But that wasn’t everything he felt, no…
Obi-Wan was here.
So was Count Dooku.
Vader shuddered, confused and increasingly upset. He pulled all his power to his hands, and tried to activate whatever Force-anomaly had led him here, or rip through whatever delusion this was—but it seemed impossible to fake how convincing the Force was in that moment, both that this was real, and that he was stuck here.
He was in the past. Not his past, but a past.
If both Obi-Wan and Dooku were here, then the war was about to begin. His younger self would be on Tatooine, about to fail or already failed at rescuing his mother. Vader focused and reached out with the Force, sensing for his presence, and swore when he realized his younger self was gone from this reality, into his own. Kriff. His mother was dying, or dead, and there was nothing he could do from a parsec away without a ship.
Vader heard a small squad of Geonosians coming up to arrest him, and he killed them all with a wave of his hand. He was much too close to his rapidly oncoming heat to even begin to pretend to be diplomatic. He reached out with his feelings, brushing up against Obi-Wan’s terribly alarmed Force signature, and Dooku’s curious one.
Dooku was closer. Dooku would die first.
Vader smiled, and pulled his lightsaber to his hand. He took a running jump up several stories landing heavily in the balcony overlooking the arena, killing more Geonosians to clear a path inside the building. He strode quickly past their fallen bodies into the hollowed-out chambers, looking for his prey.
He felt a swell of satisfaction at the idea that the Force was giving him the privilege of killing Dooku twice. Anakin Skywalker hadn’t appreciated it enough at the time, so weak and full of regret, so pathetic, but Vader eagerly anticipated punishing Dooku for taking his hand. That task done, he would be free to search out and destroy Obi-Wan.
It was fitting—Obi-Wan might have taken three times the number of limbs than Dooku, but Dooku had done it first.
Obi-Wan felt the arrival of what he could only assume was a Sith Lord like a punch in the gut. If the Sith had been hiding their presence in the Force before and had just dropped their act, that was a terrifying level of competence, and if they’d just… teleported in from somewhere else, that was even more terrifying. They certainly hadn’t arrived in a shuttle, or he’d have felt them in the atmosphere, their signature was so dark.
The Force was still trembling with the massive disturbance of their arrival—the impact of their sudden appearance in the Force was still ringing like a struck gong in his feelings, causing him to shiver and then ache with cold and dread. The Sith on Naboo was nothing compared to this. This was darkness on a scale he never could have imagined.
He had to warn the Jedi.
Obi-Wan edged out from where he’d been laying on a ledge and looking down at a massive, probably-illegal battle droid factory in a deep pit beneath the surface of the planet. He debated going straight to his ship to call Coruscant about the Sith and the droids, or to search first for more information about why the Sith was here and who they were meeting. The Sith and battle droids were a familiar combination from Naboo, so was the Trade Federation here? He had to find out…
There was something else calling him to investigate—something maddeningly familiar about the darkness, but he couldn’t place what it was or why it would be so familiar. Had he met this Sith before somehow? How? When? Surely he’d remember…
Obi-Wan felt people begin to die, and instantly the decision was made for him. He pulled the hood of his brown robe over his head and moved quickly, heading up and out of the factory, and toward the administration areas in the hollowed spire of brown rock above it. More and more lives were extinguished, and the Sith’s rage grew ever more dangerous.
Obi-Wan understood there was no time to waste going to the ship himself. He pulled out his comlink instead, whispering a voice message about his situation, and sent it to Arsix, with the instruction to pass it on to the Jedi at all costs if he did not return within two hours.
He stowed away the com and methodically relaxed his hands and wrists as he hurried through the labyrinth of tunnels to the surface, mentally preparing for a fight. He just wasn't willing to let a Sith slaughter people—not without at least trying to protect them, even if it was risking his own life to do so.
He circled ever higher, twice mind tricking Geonosian drones into letting him pass without raising an alarm. He finally heard faint screaming and the hum of a lightsaber, and drew his own hilt into his hand, peering around a corner into a long hallway. He froze when he saw dancing red light spilling from inside one of the rooms, and heard the loud crackle of electricity, and then silence.
“Your power is impressive.” The deep, familiar voice of Count Dooku drew Obi-Wan closer, his eyebrows going up in surprise. What was he doing here? “What is your name?”
Obi-Wan crouched low and snuck a look into the room, immediately blanching at the gruesome mess inside. The floor was strewn with bodies of people who Obi-Wan all recognized—powerful people, bankers, corporate leaders, politicians—all dead on the floor, victims of a lightsaber blade.
“My name is unimportant,” another deep voice, this one pitched low and projected artificially through the filter of a mask’s vocoder, hiding its true nature.
Obi-Wan glanced over the back of the Sith Lord’s helmet, the long black cape, and the red, flickering light of the lightsaber held in an offensive position, but his attention was mostly directed elsewhere. He couldn’t look away from Count Dooku, Yoda’s Padawan, Qui-Gon’s Master—the beacon of righteous indignation to the galaxy.
Count Dooku had a red lightsaber.
Dooku was holding a red blade of his own in a defensive position, his eyes glittering and greedy in a way Obi-Wan had never seen from him before in the Holos.
What the…?
The dark figure attacked ferociously, and Dooku was at once put on the defensive. Obi-Wan could tell that the strength behind the powerful blows from the Sith was quickly tiring out the older man, who wasn’t able to use his notoriously quick and lethal dueling style under the aggressive flurry of blows of the Sith’s lightsaber.
Obi-Wan took another inventory of the faces of the dead, fixing them in his memory to identify later, and then a pained groan pulled his eyes back to the fight. Dooku was holding a hand to his chest, wavering slightly; the Sith finished him off with a vicious stroke to the neck. He fell, and Obi-Wan felt like he couldn’t breathe; he reflexively hid himself in the Force as best he could.
Dooku was dead. Everyone around was dead—everyone except the tremendously powerful and unnaturally familiar Sith Lord.
Kriff.
Obi-Wan was just about to withdraw, when the dark figure swiveled its head back to face directly toward him, and the skeletal mask was straight out of a textbook of Sith history. It was terrifying. His black armor was terrifying. He was so familiar.
“You cannot hide from me, Obi-Wan.”
Vader was breathing hard, his heart pounding with satisfaction at not only killing Dooku, but the rest of the kriffing Separatist Council again, and now Obi-Wan had come to him, delivering himself to be killed. He spun his lightsaber absently, pacing back and forth, ignoring and suppressing the symptoms of the rising wave of heat hormones as best he could.
Obi-Wan emerged cautiously from behind the door, lightsaber hilt in his hand, the blade inactive. Vader’s optical lenses tinted him red, but he could tell immediately that, just like Dooku and the Separatists, Obi-Wan looked exactly like he had on Geonosis the first time. He had the same long, slightly untidy hair, which looked combed back by his fingers, and the same robes and cloak. No brown underlayer, so his neck was still visible.
He looked so incredibly young, which made Vader want to snarl. He was almost the same age as him now, and could see him for what he truly was. Weak.
“Hello,” Obi-Wan said cautiously, his eyes flicking over Vader’s mask. “Who are you? Why have you killed these people?”
Vader stopped pacing. He could feel Obi-Wan clearly in the Force as he drew closer, unwillingly hyper-aware of the shape and resonance of his mind. He shuddered slightly, it was so familiar, too familiar, and he was getting vivid flashbacks of Mustafar—how he’d been cut to pieces and left to die. He lifted the humming blade of his lightsaber and pointed it at Obi-Wan. “I hate you.”
Obi-Wan’s eyebrows went up, and he ignited his own saber, moving it to a familiar defensive position. His voice was the deceptively mild and curious one that meant he was focusing intently. “Have we met before?”
“You do not recognize me,” Vader said smugly, pleased to have the deep, artificial sound of his vocoder. But did he want Obi-Wan to know—to know what he’d become? Tempting… but pointless. He would soon be dead. It didn’t matter if he knew why.
Vader took two running steps forward, lifting his blade up and swinging down hard, attacking Obi-Wan with Force-assisted speed. Obi-Wan barely caught his strike and pushed him back; Vader felt a thrum of pleasure at the startled look in his eyes. He didn’t appear afraid, exactly, if only because Obi-Wan never looked scared, only ever deeply alarmed.
They fell into swift, blade-to-blade combat, Vader attacking again and again, seeking any and every opening, and their lightsabers flashed and crashed together, filling the small room with humming and flickering blue-red light. Obi-Wan used the environment around them as part of his defense, dodging and darting back, and their fight moved quickly between tables, around bodies.
Vader growled in frustration when Obi-Wan caught and blocked him every time—thousands of hours of sparring together had trained them both to predict each other’s moves intuitively, even if Obi-Wan didn’t realize yet that was what was happening, it was. Vader attacked more ferociously, seeking to find or make an opening. Obi-Wan’s defense was very good now, but not as good as it would be after three years of war.
Vader could break him, he knew he could.
“Your powers are weak, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan exhaled hard, the strain of defending himself beginning to show on his face, though not in his bladework. He looked so frustrated. “Do we know each other?”
Vader didn’t answer that, pushing him backward, trying to corner him against the wall. Obi-Wan feinted left and then darted right, moving swiftly toward the hallway leading outside to the balcony. He surveyed the bodies littering the ground, and then gave Vader a deeply disappointed look that made his hackles rise.
“Why have you done this?” Obi-Wan was studying him intently, and Vader wanted him to stop.
He attacked again, pushing Obi-Wan back toward the edge of the balcony, decades of muscle memory guiding his blade, but his rising heat made him feel slightly fuzzy and weak. Obi-Wan defended himself cleanly and quickly, breathing hard, but still strong both in arms and in the Force. He backed into the balcony railing, and his expression was a familiar blend of annoyance and inspiration.
Vader leapt forward, but Obi-Wan was too fast, backflipping off the balcony and jumping down to the floor of the arena far below. Vader followed after him, landing heavily on the dirt, and immediately dodged back, barely missing a surprise attack that would have struck his shoulder and face.
It only took off half of his mask instead.
“Anakin?”
“Anakin?” Obi-Wan repeated himself dumbly, his blade jerking back.
He stared, horrified, at the shadowy, deeply familiar face inside the mask, and then his nostrils flared as he inhaled on instinct, registering the pheromones before he understood what they meant. His eyes widened, and he took two steps back, shaking his head as if to clear it.
He’d never smelled anything like that before in his life.
Anakin snarled, his entire face contorted with rage. “That name means nothing to me. My name is Darth Vader.”
Darth…
Anakin tore off his damaged helmet and threw it aside, tossing his shaggy curls—his hair was so long, when did it get so long—brushing it out of his orange-yellow-gold-red eyes. There was a long, pale scar over his right eye, and it looked like he’d been dangerously close to losing it long in the past. How? What?
Obi-Wan’s mind struggled to accommodate the unexpected figure before him. Anakin was somehow much older, a Sith; Anakin had killed all those people; Anakin’s Force signature was the darkest thing Obi-Wan had ever felt; Anakin was an omega in heat who smelled like spun sugar.
What? It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be him…
He asked, slightly dumbly, “Where’s my Padawan?”
“Ask the Force,” the angry Sith version of Anakin spat at him, spinning his lightsaber and sneering. “He’s gone.”
Obi-Wan gaped at him, but he didn’t have time to confirm it as Anakin lifted his lightsaber up and attacked, his black cloak flaring out behind him as he leapt forward. Obi-Wan defended himself and pushed him back, and then they began to circle each other, Anakin looking for an opening in Obi-Wan’s defense.
Obi-Wan helplessly inhaled, confusion and disbelief in his voice. “What happened?”
He smelled Anakin again, unable to stop—the omega was an intoxicating mix of sweetness and need, impossibly alluring. Obi-Wan’s eyes were drawn to the long, exposed line of his neck, the smooth skin was unmarked by any kind of mating bond. His scent was mouthwatering.
“You fell? You’re… you’re an omega?”
Anakin just glowered at him, his cheeks flushing red, forehead shining with sweat, and his lips were so full, pouting and pink. The black armor on his body made his skin seem paler, his hair more golden. He looked much older and meaner than Obi-Wan had ever seen him, too old and too mean.
He attacked again, but was repelled easily—his form was getting sloppier, his omega scent overwhelmingly strong. Obi-Wan began to feel his body react in a way that it never had before, an alien, hot, staticky feeling rising inside, the hint of a fog descending on his mind.
He tried to focus on the most important part of what was happening, namely that Anakin had fallen far into the dark side and murdered people, but his mind was running on loop, fixated on the fact that Anakin was an omega in heat.
He felt more aware of Anakin’s scent than any scent he’d ever come across before, it was exponentially stronger than preheat, and it was triggering a rising tide of arousal, burning heat coiling low in his stomach. He could almost feel all the blood leaving his brain with every inhale, no matter what he did to stop it
What the kriff was happening? Why couldn’t he think?
Obi-Wan coughed, and withdrew, giving ground and allowing himself to be pushed by Anakin back into a shadowy antechamber off the arena floor. The door at the back was thick and bolted, and he grimaced, turning to hold his position.
Anakin’s shadowy face was captivating, his burning eyes, his icy presence in the Force. Obi-Wan didn’t understand. “What happened, Anakin? You fell? Why? When?”
Anakin glared at him, and darted forward, trying to cut him in half. He failed, and huffed with frustration, just like his Padawan learner, the whiny teenager he’d sent to Naboo weeks before. “The future.”
“What?” Obi-Wan shook his head, defending himself clumsily, and felt like he was losing his mind. This couldn’t be real. “When? Why? How did you do this? How are you here?”
Anakin disengaged his blade and withdrew, breathing hard. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his long black sleeve, and gave Obi-Wan a dirty look. “I’m from ‘68, and I have no idea.”
Obi-Wan gaped at him, eyes flicking over the face of Anakin in his early thirties, almost the same age as him. “What?”
Anakin opened his mouth to sneer in reply, and then froze, inhaling deeply. His eyes narrowed, gaze piercing in the shadows, and he darted forward, nostrils flaring as he took in Obi-Wan’s scent. Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber to defend himself, but there was no attack, just Anakin smelling him and then kicking out hard.
“You’re such a sleemo! You never told me you were an alpha.”
“What?” Obi-Wan said blankly, dodging back out of the range of Anakin’s leg, and smelled himself, frowning in confusion as he caught a scent that shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be possible. How were his suppressants failing this badly? How? Why? “It’s… that’s… it’s none of your business!”
Anakin growled, pointing at him with his saber. “Yes, it is!”
“Why?!” Obi-Wan shook his head, trying to focus on anything other than the overwhelming scent of warm, sticky caramel spilling off Anakin’s skin, and the way it made his cock twitch. Kriff. His voice was slightly rough. “It’s a private, resolved medical issue!”
“Resolved,” Anakin scoffed, slashing his lightsaber back and forth, looking furious.
“Yes, resolved,” Obi-Wan repeated himself defensively, words spilling out quickly. “It’s managed. It’s just what’s done! My designation isn’t important, Anakin. It’s not relevant to who I am. You know that! I’ve told you that a thousand times.”
Anakin’s hatred boiled in the Force, and he attacked fiercely and sloppily. Obi-Wan caught the blow, locked blade-to-blade, staring into Anakin’s familiar, strange face. His scent was making Obi-Wan feel so… agitated.
Anakin seemed just as distracted by Obi-Wan’s scent, and he withdrew again, pacing back and forth in the entrance to the shadowy chamber. His voice turned sarcastic, and he glared at Obi-Wan again, hatred prickling in the Force. “Of course you’re an alpha. I’m so sorry I smell terrible to you, Master. Last time you looked at me like my preheat scent was so disgusting, you immediately passed me off to medical—”
“That’s…” Obi-Wan trailed off, running out of words. He tried to follow what Anakin was saying, but it was so hard to think—the powerful, pervasive scent of Anakin’s need was an invitation, directly contradicting his aggressive behavior, and the heady combination was making Obi-Wan’s brain feel funny. He was sure of one thing though. “I wouldn’t have thought you were disgusting, Anakin!”
“You did too,” Anakin sneered resentfully, lightsaber dropping to his side. He wiped his forehead again and huffed with frustration. “You looked at me like I was disgusting, I remember you did! You held your nose!”
Obi-Wan let his blade drop to the side too, shaking his head, looking at Anakin imploringly. “I would’ve smelled you, Anakin, my Padawan learner, your… your heat.” He took a deep breath despite himself, letting the scent hit his brain and then ripple down through him, a shiver of pleasure raising the hair on his arms, cock throbbing. He smelled so right, just right. Like he was Obi-Wan’s, and always had been.
Obi-Wan shook his head, trying to clear it. “I haven’t… I’ve never actually been around an omega in heat before! It’s private. I didn’t know I would smell you like this! I’m supposed to be resistant to pheromones!”
Anakin glared at him, breathing hard. “You resisted just fine last time.”
“Of course I did, you…” Obi-Wan growled, his temper feeling unexpectedly short. “What did you want me to do instead, Anakin? It’s private, not for me as your Master to see at all, not for me to smell! That’s just the way it is. Stop blaming me for our entire culture!”
“Your culture is weak and wrong, and you taught it to me! You made me weak.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said slowly, voice laden with disappointment. He raised a hand, and yanked hard on Anakin’s lightsaber with the Force, pulling it out of his hand. Anakin tried to stop him, pull it back, but he was too far gone, too unfocused. The unfamiliar hilt with its shrieking kyber slapped into Obi-Wan’s palm, and he turned both sabers off, hooking them to his belt.
“Don’t call me that name!” Anakin glared at him, and then rubbed his hands on his face hard, as if trying to rub sleep from his eyes. His needy scent was intensifying, and Obi-Wan felt drunk on it. He came closer without thinking about it, drawn inexorably to the source.
“It’s your name, Anakin.”
Anakin froze as he approached, and then growled, and swung a fist at him in a sloppy punch, his eyes full of desperation. “Not anymore. It’s Vader.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, voice slightly raspy, easily sidestepping his punch. “Stop fighting me.”
“No!” Anakin panted, and swung again, his scent sweetening further, like he was subconsciously begging the alpha in Obi-Wan to take care of him. “I hate you!”
Obi-Wan felt an irrational sense that he needed to control the angry omega in front of him, who was a danger to others and himself in this agitated state. A sliver of his rational mind was able to signal only that he might be steadily veering out of control, but was not able to take control back. He was sure that he could smell Anakin’s slick.
“Stop fighting,” Obi-Wan repeated himself, and the voice that came out of him was almost unrecognizably low and assertive. An alpha command. “Be still.”
“No,” Anakin said weakly. His eyes filled with tears, and they were much less yellow, the pupils blown wide and black. He took one last swing and Obi-Wan grabbed his shoulders, walking him back into the wall and holding him still.
“Calm,” Obi-Wan rumbled, even lower, and he was so close. He smelled so good.
Vader inhaled deeply despite himself, and whimpered, leaking more slick. Obi-Wan’s alpha scent was so overwhelming, like the best Corellian whiskey, smokey and strong mixed with the fresh scent of his sweat. He’d never smelled like this before. He was so handsome, so strong, such a good alpha. Anakin had missed him so much. Vader had.
Obi-Wan’s eyes were slightly hazy, and Vader was comforted that the alpha’s instincts were messing with his head just as much as his own were doing the same. Vader shifted nervously, his pants were soaked with slick now, and they clung to him uncomfortably. He felt so hot, shaky, and overwhelmed, and he tensed, ready to flee.
“Relax,” Obi-Wan said again, voice rough and low in a register that felt like it was stroking Vader’s mind and his cock. “Be still, omega.”
Vader swallowed down a whimper at that, closing his eyes, unable to look at Obi-Wan’s flushed face and intent gaze. He’d never been around an alpha during his heat before, had never felt what an alpha’s voice would do to him, how an alpha’s—his alpha’s, of course he was his alpha—scent would make him feel.
Obi-Wan lifted a hand to his neck, and Vader gasped, head clunking back against the wall in surprise at the light brushing contact. Nobody had touched his bare skin in a decade, nobody other than medical droids.
Obi-Wan seemed mesmerized as he rubbed his fingertips on the sensitive scent gland beneath Vader’s ear, and Vader trembled, his breathing fast and shallow. His mind was full of static and his cheeks hot. Obi-Wan withdrew his hand, smelling his fingers thoughtfully, his voice absent. “So sweet.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked up to meet Vader’s, and they were dark with arousal, his gaze heavy-lidded and intent. He licked his fingertips, and then made a satisfied noise at the taste. “Tastes sweet too.”
The combination of the alpha’s approval and the pink flash of his tongue made Vader whine loudly with need, his hips shifting—Obi-Wan’s low voice was hijacking something inside him that made him feel safe and important.
It was infuriating. He knew he should be full of rage for Obi-Wan—should hurt him, should kill him—but he couldn’t… he just couldn’t.
The omega part of him felt such incredible relief at the proximity of his alpha. It was a release that his body had been seeking for more than a decade. Years of heats, all spent alone, suffering, craving, so terribly empty, always empty.
“Master,” Vader said weakly. “I…”
“What do you need?”
Obi-Wan looked at him intently, surveying him up and down. Vader just whimpered and shifted under his observation, unable to articulate just how much he needed Obi-Wan’s hands back on his skin. He reached for Obi-Wan’s mind in the Force, yelling about it there, and Obi-Wan smiled at him, the skin beside his eyes crinkling gently. “I see.”
“Alpha,” Vader whined, and dipped his head forward, burying his face against Obi-Wan’s neck, inhaling his scent.
Obi-Wan’s hands reflexively lifted to hold him close, one cupping the back of his neck, the other digging into his curls, scratching his scalp. It felt so impossibly good.
Vader swayed forward into him, moaning quietly at the contact, and Obi-Wan held him more tightly, tipping his own jaw back to give Vader room to nuzzle into his neck, letting him drink in his alpha scent.
“There,” Obi-Wan said quietly after a long moment, and Vader licked his neck, unable to stop himself.
The hand in his hair tightened slightly, making him whimper, and he felt the intensity of Obi-Wan’s arousal in the Force. Obi-Wan pressed a kiss against his temple—his beard was so rough and soft on Vader’s skin—and then pushed him back far enough to look in his eyes. “Anakin?”
Vader bit his lip, unable to think, unable to talk. He needed, he needed…
Obi-Wan nodded and pulled away, looking speculatively around the small antechamber, and Vader’s hands jumped up to stop him from going too far, grabbing his tabards and yanking him back. Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, and his hands fell to grab Vader’s to disengage him, and then his face went oddly blank. “Anakin? Your hands…”
Vader blushed and tugged them out of Obi-Wan’s grip, moving them quickly behind his back.
“They’re…” Obi-Wan said slowly, his horror seeming to grow. He shook his head, blinking quickly, as if trying to wake up from the haze of hormones that was surrounding them both, so very worried. “They’re both prosthetics?”
Vader made a face and looked away, his shame and anger rising in the Force for a moment before it was smothered beneath a soft, warm blanket of Obi-Wan’s concern. He better tell him. He’d find out anyway. “My legs are too.”
“What?” Obi-Wan inhaled. “Why? How?”
“You cut them off,” Vader whispered, scuffing the dirt with the toe of one of his boots. He wanted to hide from Obi-Wan, he wanted to kill him, he wanted him to take care of him.
“I cut your arms and legs off?” Obi-Wan repeated loudly, extremely alarmed.
Vader swallowed and shook his head, shrugging diffidently. He lifted his right hand and shook it. “Dooku did this one.”
“But the others?”
Vader looked down, so angry and ashamed at the maimed state of his body. “Yes.”
“Why?” Obi-Wan asked intently. He cupped Vader’s jaw and tipped his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes, studying his expression. “Anakin, why did I do that?”
Vader exhaled hard, and pushed his face into Obi-Wan’s hand, craving the sensation of skin on skin. He felt so hot and shaky, his knees seemed like they might give out at any moment. He didn’t want to explain. “I fell, and… killed people, and… we fought, I lost, and you left me to die alone.”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, aghast. He tugged him back against his chest, stroking his hair and hugging him tightly. Vader let him, leaning on him and letting him carry most of his weight. “I… I am sorry, so sorry, Padawan.”
“Master,” Vader whined against his neck, hips shifting. He felt so empty, it hurt. “I need…”
“What do you need?” Obi-Wan asked seriously, his voice so low, but Vader couldn’t bring himself to say it, it was impossible to admit, impossible to ask for. The tone of alpha command returned, and Obi-Wan ordered him roughly. “Tell me now, Anakin.”
“You,” the omega inside Vader replied instantly, and he rubbed his cheek against Obi-Wan’s neck, the words slipping out of his mouth in a whine. “I need you, alpha, it hurts, it hurts so much. I need you, your, your…”
“I can’t knot you here,” Obi-Wan replied tightly, and Vader’s cock throbbed. He leaked even more slick, and Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, and then groaned, his arms tightening further. “It’s too exposed. It’s not safe.”
Vader whined, pouting. “Don’t care.”
“Don’t you want a nest?”
“Never had one before.”
“Never?” Obi-Wan sounded so unhappy. “What have you done instead?”
“Meditated alone.” Obi-Wan exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, and Vader pulled back, scowling at him. “It’s true, I did.”
“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan felt a deep pull of fondness for the man in front of him, who was still his young Padawan learner, just grown into a man—still the same in so many ways. Yes, he was a Sith Lord who was still radiating some non-trivial level of danger in the Force, and yes, he had just time-travelled somehow, swapped places with his very dear Padawan, and murdered a lot of people, but he was also Anakin.
Obi-Wan’s instincts were very clear on the matter, and his heart only agreed with them—Anakin was his omega, his responsibility, and right now he needed his alpha to take care of him. They’d deal with everything else later.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Let’s try through here.” Obi-Wan focused on the heavy door, using the Force to unbolt the lock and pull it open. He led Anakin forward, bringing him into a small, shadowy chamber, which appeared as though it was used as a holding pen for animals about to be released into the arena. It was thankfully empty, and smelled like it hadn’t been used recently. There was a chariot pushed to the back corner and a bare dirt floor. It would be sufficient.
Obi-Wan closed and barred the door behind them, illuminating the dim lightstrips along the wall. He inhaled with satisfaction as their combined scents began to fill the small room, mixing together in a viscerally satisfying way to Obi-Wan’s alpha self. He was running almost purely on instinct now, knowing he needed a soft, safe place for his omega. Somewhere he could fuck and knot him, fill him with his come, his omega.
The packed dirt floor seemed clean enough, and Obi-Wan pulled his cloak off his shoulders, and carefully laid it out flat. He turned to Anakin and removed his long black cape from his shoulders, spreading it out on top of his cloak. He pulled off his belt and laid it aside, adding his tabards and tunics to the growing pile of fabric on the ground.
Anakin was standing still in the place where Obi-Wan had left him, hands hanging at his side, watching intently as Obi-Wan undressed. He was radiating so much nervous desire, and Obi-Wan smiled softly at his insecurity, and began to undress him too. Anakin allowed him to pull off his chest armor and his belt, but was more hesitant about removing his tunic. “Should I leave it on? I have some scars, alpha, and—”
“Let me see,” Obi-Wan encouraged him, voice rough and low. “I want to see you.”
“Okay,” Anakin said bashfully. He pulled on the bottom of his tunic, anxiety lingering and puddling in the Force. “If you’re sure…”
“I’m very sure, omega.” Obi-Wan pulled off his tunic, and exhaled hard. Anakin was so beautiful, so strong and lean. He ran his hands over the soft skin of Anakin’s chest, skimming over the large uneven patches of scars, making Anakin whimper quietly and squirm. “What are they from?”
“After you…” Anakin swallowed and licked his lips, so nervous, so sweet. “I was laying on rocks by a lava river and they were so hot, they… they burned my skin pretty badly, and it felt like I was on fire, but I wasn’t, I was just getting burned.”
“Anakin.”
Anakin took a shaky breath, his voice sounding more and more choked up, and he wiped at his eyes roughly. “I think I deserved it, Master, I—”
“Shh,” Obi-Wan quieted him, stroking his face, and kissed him gently on the lips, and then down his neck. “Tell me later. You can tell me later, I promise.”
Anakin sniffed loudly, his hips rocking and scent spiking. “Alpha, I need—”
“I know.” Obi-Wan returned to his lips, kissing him and tasting the sweetness of his mouth, his hands sliding down Anakin’s back to hold his ass, groaning at the wetness there. He pulled his face back and studied Anakin’s expression, pressing harder on the wet spot, smiling as desire washed over Anakin’s pretty face, making his wet mouth drop open, eyes hazy.
Without looking, Obi-Wan unfastened Anakin’s pants and pushed them off his hips and down his thighs, making a low noise of approval at the way his scent intensified as he did, an overwhelming, mesmerizing scent of hot, sticky sugar, he needed to taste it again. He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked on them, groaning with satisfaction as he tasted Anakin’s slick.
“Alpha,” Anakin whined, hands going for Obi-Wan’s pants too. “I need it.”
Obi-Wan’s cock was so hard as his omega’s hands pushed against it, shoving down his pants and pulling it out, fingers stroking it gently, incredulously. He whispered shakily, “It’s so big…”
“Go,” Obi-Wan said roughly, pointing Anakin toward the pile of fabric on the floor, the alpha command laced through his words as he pulled off his boots. “Hands and knees.”
Hands and knees.
Vader clumsily stepped out of his boots and pants, stumbling toward the nest his alpha had made him, almost too high on his alpha’s command to care about the way Obi-Wan could definitely see his scars and prostheses, the ruined state of his body. He felt an overwhelming wave of desire, approval, and affection in the Force, as his alpha sensed his flaring insecurity.
“You are beautiful, Anakin.”
“Vader,” Vader whimpered, looking back over his shoulder at his alpha, whose eyes had been fixed down on his ass before flicking up to meet his gaze. “That’s my name. Darth Vader.”
Obi-Wan shook his head, face crumpling slightly. “It’s not, Padawan, I can’t call you that. I can’t. You’re Anakin, my Anakin.”
Anakin Skywalker was weak and stupid, and Vader had killed him.
It was all he wanted to be Anakin again, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t be.
Vader turned his face away and felt tears begin to fall again, his throat tight, breathing fast and shallow. He knelt down and then bent forward to his elbows, burying his face in the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunics, inhaling the scent greedily. His cock throbbed at the way Obi-Wan’s incredulous lust hit the Force as he bent over, and he instinctively spread his legs more and arched his back, presenting for his alpha. It felt right, it was what needed to happen.
Obi-Wan fell heavily to his knees behind him, his hands sliding slowly up the back of his thighs, and his disbelief and arousal echoing in the Force. Vader shivered at the teasing contact, and then moaned loudly as Obi-Wan’s palms cupped his ass, his thumbs spreading his cheeks to look at his slick hole.
Obi-Wan groaned quietly at the sight. “You’re so wet, Anakin.”
“Yes, alpha,” Vader whined and nodded, increasingly incoherent with need. “Yes!”
Obi-Wan bent forward and licked him, his tongue wet and hot against his sensitive skin, beard rough between his cheeks, and then made a low, approving noise at the taste. “So sweet.”
“Please, please, I need…”
Obi-Wan hummed acknowledgement and pulled back. Vader gasped with surprise when two of Obi-Wan’s thick fingers pressed against his hole and slid inside easily, so easily. Obi-Wan’s fingers spread wide, testing how open he was, and he exhaled hard. His voice was so rough and low. “I knew you were already ready for it, darling, so sweet and open for me.”
Vader just whined and rocked his hips, trying to get the fingers deeper inside. Obi-Wan grabbed and held his hips still, curling his fingers and stroking deliberately against a place that sent crackles of pleasure up Vader’s spine, more intense than anything Vader had ever felt before. “Master!”
Obi-Wan did it again, slowly and gently stroking against that perfect spot. Vader’s cock throbbed and leaked precome, his balls were so tight, he was so close. Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully. “Can you come from this?”
“So close,” Vader whined, overwhelmed at the pleasure radiating, almost too much, he was so close, and then the fingers abruptly slid out. He made a loud noise of protest, turning his head back, tears on his cheeks, mouth open and panting. “I need—”
Obi-Wan met his eyes, and he looked so impossibly aroused. “I want you to come on my cock, Anakin.”
Vader whined and rocked his hips in invitation. His alpha was so handsome, his long, copper hair slightly messy, a flush running from his cheeks to his hairy chest. His cock was so big, long and thick, a true alpha cock. Vader should have known he was an alpha by cock size alone, he thought stupidly. He’d always known it was big, but not this big. “Please!”
Obi-Wan exhaled hard, and grabbed Vader by the hips, adjusting him to the right angle, and Vader whined at being manhandled. He felt as the tip of Obi-Wan’s hard cock rested against his slick hole, rubbing gently. He whined, needing more, trying to rock his hips back and being prevented by Obi-Wan’s hand holding him still. “Please!”
“Have you been fucked before?”
“No,” Vader panted, pouting slightly. “So what?”
Obi-Wan made a low, satisfied noise, and he stroked a hand up and down Vader’s spine in a soothing gesture. “Have patience.”
“But I want your knot!”
“And you’ll get it,” Obi-Wan laughed roughly, rubbing the head of his cock slightly harder, teasing his hole. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you, but I won’t hurt you either, Anakin.”
“Vader,” Vader whined sullenly, and then whined even louder in protest when Obi-Wan pulled his cock away.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, commanding and undeniable. “Your name is Anakin. I will not call you anything else.”
Vader turned his head to look back at him, feeling so lost. “But I can’t be. I’m not anymore.”
Obi-Wan shook his head, and surrounded Vader with his boundless affection in the Force, soothing his anxiety as best he could. His voice was so familiar, so kind, Vader had missed him so much, needed him. “You are to me. You always will be.”
Vader bit his lip anxiously, and Obi-Wan leaned forward swiftly, closing the gap and kissing him hard, licking into his mouth. His chest was laying against Vader’s back, his hard cock sliding between his thighs, so close to where Vader wanted it. It felt so nice to be covered by his alpha, to be reassured, to feel so safe, so wanted, so accepted. Maybe he could be Anakin, just for a minute, just for a bit…
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, and looking desperately into Obi-Wan’s dark eyes. “Please, I need you, Master!” Obi-Wan groaned at that, his eyelashes fluttering closed for a moment as his arousal almost detonated in the Force. He opened his eyes, and they were so intent, Anakin felt like a prey animal, about to be caught and consumed, and he whimpered a quiet, “Please.”
Wordlessly, without breaking eye contact, Obi-Wan reached back and lined up his cock with Anakin’s wet hole, and hips pushed forward, the thick, blunt head slipping inside so easily. Anakin gasped and moaned, his entire world narrowing to the unfamiliar sensation of a hard cock sliding inside him, opening him up and filling him up inside. Yes, it was perfect, so perfect, his alpha was here, taking him, yes.
Obi-Wan kissed him again, and the kiss was rough, filthy, distracting. Anakin kissed him back as best he could, and then broke off and moaned loudly as Obi-Wan thrust his cock inside him harder, sinking in even deeper. They stared at each other, and Obi-Wan did it again, and again, his hips sliding back and then forward sharply, slowly and deliberately fucking his cock inside.
Anakin whimpered disbelievingly, feeling almost split open, almost too full. Obi-Wan’s eyes were so dark, so intent, and he worked his cock inside. “You’re so tight, Anakin.”
“I am?” Anakin asked dumbly, his brain a hot, hazy mess of sensation. “You like it? Like me?”
Obi-Wan looked at him so fondly, a hand sliding into his curls and tugging gently. “You’re perfect, Anakin.”
Anakin moaned at his words, and Obi-Wan thrust forward harder, their hips finally meeting and slapping together as his entire cock slid inside. He remained still in place for the interval of several deep breaths, both of them adjusting to the sensation of Obi-Wan being buried so deep in Anakin’s tight body. Obi-Wan flexed his hips and groaned, “So perfect for me, darling.”
Anakin nodded, soaking up the praise, his mouth open, his head fuzzy and light, overwhelmed by his alpha’s scent, his cock filling him up so well. His own cock was leaking into the fabric. Obi-Wan began fucking him steadily, and the way he angled their hips rubbing against that perfect spot. It already felt so good, too good. “I’m going to—”
“Come,” Obi-Wan ordered roughly, voice slightly strained, his thrusts sharp and deliberate. He reached a hand around and began to stroke Anakin’s hard cock, the pressure so perfect, gentle but firm, his wrist twisting slightly. “Come for me.”
“Master,” Anakin whimpered, feeling totally surrounded and overwhelmed. He was so close.
One last perfect thrust and Anakin cried out, going tense on Obi-Wan’s cock, coming hard. It was probably the strongest orgasm he’d ever experienced, almost making him black out, eyes full of stars. He felt his come spill in hot pulses in Obi-Wan’s hand, and then groaned when Obi-Wan brought that hand to his mouth, tasting him. “So perfect.”
Anakin whined helplessly, his brain soaked and shimmering with pleasure, lost in the overwhelming release of his orgasm. His omega instincts were so loud, and he felt the rightness of them, he wanted it so bad. “Bite me, bite me, bite me!”
Obi-Wan fucked him harder, growling slightly. “Don’t—”
“Please, I need you, Master!” Anakin knew that it was right—it was inevitable, it was essential. His mouth was sloppy around the words, but he was insistent, “Bite me, mate me, alpha, please!”
Obi-Wan growled, his hips speeding up, fucking Anakin fast and rough into the ground. Anakin whimpered and took it, it was so good. “What’s your name?”
“Anakin, Master,” Anakin slurred intently, feeling as Obi-Wan’s knot began to swell, catching slightly on his rim as he fucked him even harder. He was so close. “My name’s Anakin, I’m yours, your Anakin, and—”
Obi-Wan’s orgasm ignited in the Force, and he groaned loudly as he came, his hips stuttering out of rhythm. Anakin felt as his resolve crumbled in the Force beneath the blinding intensity of his orgasm. Obi-Wan bent forward and bit him hard, his sharp teeth digging into Anakin’s sensitive mating gland, breaking the skin. His hips fucked in hard one last time before his knot swelled completely, spilling his come deep inside Anakin and keeping it there.
Anakin groaned, the overwhelming, overstimulating pleasure of Obi-Wan’s knot pressing against that most sensitive place, the sharp pain in his neck, their Force signatures muddying and pooling together, a strong, golden bond weaving itself into place between them. He was floating in it, taken, claimed, fucked full of his alpha’s come. It was perfect.
Obi-Wan released his jaw and pulled back, groaning slightly. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yes, you should’ve,” Anakin insisted sullenly. “Shut up, alpha, yes, you should have.”
Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, and gently kissed where he’d bitten. “If you say so, omega.”
“I do,” Anakin sighed. He shifted his hips experimentally, and they both groaned as he tugged on Obi-Wan’s knot. “Kriff, Master, it’s so big. I’m so full.”
“It will stay that way for awhile,” Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully, his breathing slowly returning to normal, the alpha roughness retreating from his voice but not leaving entirely. “I think. I’ve never knotted anyone before.”
“Oh,” Anakin smiled dumbly. “I’m special.”
Obi-Wan carefully rearranged them to lay on their sides, holding Anakin tightly against his chest, and Anakin felt so safe and so cherished. Obi-Wan kissed his neck, and held him even tighter. “You are special, yes. Very special to me, Anakin, always.”
Anakin relaxed, the knot filling him up pushed all thoughts from his head. He knew there were things to worry about, but he just couldn’t do it. “I’m so sleepy.”
Obi-Wan made a low, satisfied noise that Anakin felt more than heard. “Sleep, Anakin. You’re safe here. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I know,” Anakin sighed happily, and snuggled back against him, savoring the feeling of skin contact, so warm and soft and perfect. “Thank you, alpha.”