Chapter Text
There’s the sound of a body hitting the roof, and Obi-Wan raises his hand to halt Cody’s report.
The Force trembles in the air around them. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan finds himself wishing he’d been better trained in the ways of the Force, in its subtle nuances. There’s only so much you can intimidate out of someone though before they resign themselves to the fact that you’re going to kill them no matter what they tell you or don’t tell you. Jedi especially seem to have a very low tolerance for such tactics. It’s like they want to die.
Jedi Padawans, however, are a different story altogether, though scared stiff prepubescent pups hardly make for the best teachers. Or perhaps Obi-Wan makes for a terrible student. It has been so many years since he’s had to humble himself for anything, and he resents that he must for knowledge.
“What?” Cody tenses and lays his hand on the hilt of his blaster, straightening up from where he’d been leaning over a map of Bukuv IV.
“A warning,” Obi-Wan murmurs back. Cody follows his eyes as he looks upward to the roof, where the Force is screaming, then back to him. Cody cocks his head.
Obi-Wan inclines his.
“Boss, you know I don’t believe in whatever magic cult shit you’ve bought into,” Cody says loudly, with a touch of disdain. “Mix of too much spice and typical Omega hysteria, if you ask me—”
Obi-Wan narrows his eyes on instinct at the slight even though he’d told Cody to—
The transparisteel of the window behind his desk shatters open with a loud blaring warning in the Force. Cody’s blaster is raised in the same instant, a shot being fired just to the left of Obi-Wan’s head as he throws himself down out of his seat and turns mid-fall to look at the attacker.
Cody’s blaster shot gets there first, making contact with an outstretched arm that had been poised to grab at Obi-Wan’s neck. The attacker howls, a sound made of pure rage that makes some long-ignored part of Obi-Wan want to cower away. He scrambles up onto his feet instead, gripping the edge of the desk to unclasp the vibroblade hidden there.
The attacker reels to find him, firing his own shot at Cody even while his eyes seek out Obi-Wan’s. Cody grunts as he’s hit in the shoulder, dropping back against the wall. The assassin hadn’t looked, not for more than a singular second, but he’d managed to hit him somehow.
He’s younger than Obi-Wan had expected. The Force around him seems to–to swirl like a forming hurricane. He looks and feels far more powerful than Obi-Wan has ever seen.
Obi-Wan falls into a wary defensive stance, mouth too dry to form a question. The assassin doesn’t look in the mood for questions. He hardly looks as though he’d understand them.
He attacks, not with the blaster but with his own hands, face drawn into a fearsome scowl as he closes the distance between them. Obi-Wan slashes at him with the vibroblade, exhales triumphantly when he feels the knife hit cloth. But there’s resistance, and when the assassin’s sleeve and glove tear open, durasteel glints in the low light of the office. The attacker snarls and grabs at Obi-Wan’s arm, twisting his wrist until he drops the blade with a curse and cry.
There’s a second where he feels a blaster pressed against his side, and he thinks this is it, that it’s over. He’s about to die.
He pushes out desperately with the Force, and the assassin flies off of him, body hitting the cracked edges of the broken window with a grunt of pain. Obi-Wan snarls at the assassin, more instinct than man, and the attacker growls back as he picks himself up. The smell of blood and alpha rage fill the room as the assassin launches himself at Obi-Wan so fast he almost doesn’t see him move.
His weight lands on top of him and knocks Obi-Wan down onto his back. Hands latch around his throat as the alpha snarls at him, glaring down at him as his fingers tighten. Obi-Wan’s hands bat at the alpha’s, but it’s impossible to dislodge him. His vision blurs as black creeps along the edges of his eyes. The alpha’s yellow irises peer down at him as if fascinated by his death despite himself.
It’s not purposeful, not really. Obi-Wan just doesn’t want to die. Obi-Wan can’t die. Obi-Wan has too many things that need to be done, too many visions unfulfilled. He can’t die like this. There are two alphas in the room with him, one actively killing him. One who has killed for him before. He can’t die like this, omegas aren’t meant to die at the hands of alphas. Everyone in the galaxy knows this.
So it’s not purposeful. It’s instinctual. He lets out a high, breathless keen, an omegan call for help, for mercy. His scent, usually suppressed and blocked from here to the Outer Rim, unfurls in the air around him. In pain, scared omega.
The pressure of the alpha’s hands lessen around his throat as the alpha rears back, looking confused.
Cody isn’t, not if the growl he lets out from the other side of the room is any indication. The assassin responds to it, the sound like wet flimsi tearing out of his throat as he swings around to face the other alpha, one hand still on Obi-Wan’s neck, loosely pinning him to the ground in a hold Obi-Wan could easily break out of had he any idea of what he’d do then.
Because it looks and feels as if the alpha on top of him, the assassin who had been about to kill him mere seconds ago, is now trying to protect him. From Cody.
Cody, who prowls forward, shoulder and arm hanging loosely at his side as he keeps his eyes and all of his attention on the assassin, whose hold on Obi-Wan only tightens at the other alpha’s approach.
Suddenly, the assassin’s durasteel hand shoots out and hovers in the air between them, fingers squeezing around nothing. Obi-Wan has the faintest thought that it would look quite ridiculous if not for the fact that the Force seems to rush up and down the assassin’s arm, right before Cody begins to choke from several feet away.
The assassin on top of him snarls in victory as Cody drops his blaster to scrabble his hands against his throat.
Obi-Wan needs to do something. Cody is going to die. This assassin is so powerful, so trained in—in the Force, that he can kill people without even touching them. Obi-Wan wants him. Obi-Wan wants this pretty little instinct-driven alpha assassin to be his. To wield him like his current master must.
But first, he must stop him from killing the rival alpha in the room. Cody would be quite put out if Obi-Wan accidentally let him die.
The vibroblade he dropped is next to them still, and the alpha’s attention is thoroughly on Cody’s bent form. Obi-Wan grabs at it and slashes at the back of the alpha’s knee. The alpha yells and turns to face him with a growl and a betrayed look in his eyes.
Obi-Wan flips the blade of the knife around and grips its edge hard enough that it cuts into his palm. He coos once which seems to disorient the alpha enough that he doesn’t even notice the hilt of the blade until it connects with the side of his head and he tumbles onto Obi-Wan, unconscious.
Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, deadly.”
“He just tried to kill us. He almost managed to
“Darling, Cody. I’m one of the most established criminals in the entire galaxy. We overtook four of the Hutt spice rings hardly a year ago. Everywhere you can buy a vote, we have a foothold in the planet’s politics. If we held attempted murder against everyone who tried it, we’d never get anything done.”
Cody stares at him blankly and then turns to look at the alpha’s body. They’ve tied the would-be assassin to a chair and snapped a Force-suppression collar around his neck. It’s been a few hours since the attack. Obi-Wan has taken a shower, bandaged his wounds, and changed into something a little less blood-stained. Cody has recalled Rex, Jesse, Waxer, and Boil for recon and clean up. They’re on standby now, securing the perimeter and drawing up guard shifts for the little assassin.
The little assassin, who has yet to wake up.
“He almost killed you without even touching you,” Obi-Wan insists, pacing around the bound alpha’s still form, trailing his hand over the line of his broad shoulders. He really is a perfect alpha specimen, all overt strength in the hard lines of his muscle. He’d moved with such grace, such practiced ease. And it seemed to have excited him, the idea of killing. That’s the part of the recollection Obi-Wan keeps returning to in his mind.
The assassin had smelt of rage and struck with brutal efficiency. But when he’d had Obi-Wan beneath him, hands on his throat, the look in his eyes…it had been excitement. Fascination. Eagerness.
What a bloodthirsty, powerful alpha is doing serving anyone but Obi-Wan, it’s hard to say. But Obi-Wan has no intention of letting him go now that someone else had been stupid enough to put him in his lap.
Not even if his second in command looks like he wants to throttle him and finish the assassin’s job for him
“How useful–how perfect would that be to have in our hands,” Obi-Wan murmurs, stroking his finger’s over the alpha’s blond curls. They’re long and look unclean, which is a disappointment. Obi-Wan can’t stand unclean things.
“You can’t just take in a stray assassin, Obi-Wan!” Cody yells, throwing up his hands in an uncharacteristic burst of loud disapproval. “That’s not how it works! We torture the information out of him and then kill him! That’s the message we need to send! You know this! You’re just thinking with your—”
Luckily for the both of them, Cody cuts himself off and crosses his arms over his chest looking somehow both regretful and obstinate. Still, Obi-Wan leaves the unconscious alpha with one more brush through his hair, ghosting his fingers down his neck and over his mating gland in shallow consideration. Perhaps.
He strides back over to Cody’s side and turns to look at the bound alpha once more. “I took in a group of stray clones, didn’t I?” he murmurs, cocking his head as he watches the rise and fall of the alpha’s chest. “Would you not give someone else the same opportunity, Cody?”
Cody growls once, sharply, but doesn’t respond.
“Dress his wounds. Comm me when he wakes up, after you feed him. I’ll be in my apartments.”
Obi-Wan sits behind the desk in his study with his fingers templed. He has many opponents and many more who would like to see him dead. But few could afford to send someone to kill him. They’re not even currently at their main quarters, rather a satellite base on Vulpal, a planet known for its potent spice-growing techniques.
So the assassin had to have followed them here or known to find them on Vulpal. But he’d been ridiculously young. The young did not usually have time nor desire nor credits for in-depth research before a kill. And the way the assassin’s eyes had lit up to see Obi-Wan’s death—no. He couldn’t have been the one to find them. He wasn’t the mind and the blaster. Just the blaster.
Obi-Wan taps his fingers against the armrest of his chair and relaxes back into it. There are a limited number of his competitors who would have the gall and brain to send an assassin to him. Oh, many had tried in the past, especially when he was much less established in the criminal underworld. But Cody had been right. Those assassins had been dealt with in the cruelest ways imaginable before sent back to their owners in crates and once, notably, a jar.
His lips pull back into a silent sneer as he thinks of what Cody had said. You’re just thinking with your—
Cunt, Obi-Wan knows the man had wanted to say. He could not be more wrong, of course. Though Obi-Wan is an omega, he never would have gotten half as far if he ever let his cunt do the thinking. Or if he allowed people who slandered him in such a way to live, but Cody is Cody and that distinction allows his second more wriggle room than Obi-Wan would grant others.
But he is wrong. Obi-Wan wants the assassin for reasons divorced from his alpha scent or alpha posture. He wants him for his power in the Force, the way he’d wielded it. Perhaps if he won his allegiance, his loyalty, the alpha would teach him to command the Force the way he had done so easily. He imagines for a second—just a moment—bringing his enemies to their knees in front of him, scrabbling their hands against the invisible hands around their throats, seeing them realize in their last moments alive that Obi-Wan didn’t even consider them worthy enough to touch to kill them.
Then he imagines the alpha standing behind him and on his left, hand raised on Obi-Wan’s command. Taking life because Obi-Wan wills it. Seeing the realization on his enemies’ faces that Obi-Wan doesn’t even care enough for them to kill them personally.
A bolt of molten heat shoots through his core so suddenly that Obi-Wan squeezes his thighs together and clenches his jaw to fight down his sudden arousal.
He’s very grateful that Cody isn’t here. This would be ridiculously hard to explain.
Two hours later, his comm chirps with a message from Cody. Sidious is all it reads.
Obi-Wan stares at the singular word far longer than he feels he should. Sidious. Awake? He responds after several long seconds.
No, Cody sends immediately. Jesse followed the logs. His ship came from where we know Sidious to reside. Makes sense, but will let you know when there’s confirmation.
Obi-Wan huffs and drums his fingers against the desk top. Sidious.
Sidious . A crime lord known for his domination of the Inner Rim crime syndicates. A faceless, voiceless shadow criminal who almost everyone who knew anything about the dangers of the underworld was afraid of. What Obi-Wan has slowly become in the Mid Rim, Sidious has existed as for decades.
He almost feels honored that Sidious has seen him as enough of a threat to send an assassin to his temporary headquarters. If nothing else, it means that the other crime lord is nervous of him. Perhaps even frightened.
And why shouldn’t he be? In the last fifteen years, Obi-Wan and his crew have managed to consolidate power in most of the criminal underworld of the Mid-Rim planets. In the last five years, they’ve managed to topple slave rings the Hutts have operated for centuries, replacing them with spice rings and gambling circles. Everything traded underhanded save for people.
Overthrowing Sidious’ operations has been a distant plan, one Obi-Wan has not yet spent too many hours thinking of. But apparently Sidious must think he is closer than he actually is, must feel him closing in, for why else would he try to have him killed?
Sidious had tried to kill him. Sidious. Obi-Wan knows his name and knows too that the Jedi he has killed have thought him one of his acolytes. A Sith, they have called Obi-Wan, though the meaning still escapes him. But now Obi-Wan has Sidious’ assassin in his possession. Perhaps the boy knows nothing. Yet, Obi-Wan has a feeling this isn’t the case. The boy is too powerful to be a hired hand. Sidious would not allow that power to go unclaimed, though the boy wears no mark. He must have his loyalty in another way, but there is little doubt in Obi-Wan’s mind that he has assurance of it.
What must Obi-Wan do then to secure his loyalty? To control his power?
As if in response, his comm-link chimes, this time with an incoming call.
“Is he awake?” are the first words to leave his lips.
“Awake and karking touched in the head, sir. He bit off Waxer’s kriffing finger!” Cody curses down the connection, sounding irate. There are noises in the background, even more violent curses—probably Waxer—and something else that sounds familiar. The snarls of an angry caged alpha.
Obi-Wan’s favorite kind.
“I’ll be right there, Cody. Please, offer our guest more food.”
“Obi-Wan—”
“ Perhaps with a fork this time.”
He hangs up before Cody can start yelling at him, which would be inadvisable for anything productive, and strides out of his office. He stops at a mirror hanging close to his door and gives himself a cursory glance. He hesitates.
After his shower and the debacle of the assassination attempt—the disaster of being pressed beneath an alpha and thinking his own death imminent—he’d dressed himself in his typical armor; perhaps not armor as a soldier would wear, but the armor of an omega in a galaxy full of alphas. A blood red tunic and jacket, shoulders extending far past his own, as well as tight pants cut asymmetrically along the hem. An alpha’s colors, tailored to hide his omega frame. Tailored to be threatening.
He hesitates in front of the mirror, turning his head this way and that. Aside from his genitals and his scent, there is quite little about him that screams omega . But he can’t forget the way the alpha had reacted to his own distress. Even if he wanted to, the bruises of the other’s hands are flaring up along his neck. He’d…paused when Obi-Wan had whimpered. He’d even gone as far as to forget that he shouldn’t be protecting Obi-Wan from the other alpha, Cody. He’d looked betrayed when Obi-Wan had hurt him.
Betrayed.
Obi-Wan purses his lips and strokes his fingers over his beard consideringly. Hadn’t he wondered just a few minutes ago how he could possibly ensure the assassin’s loyalty to him over Sidious? In a way that his current master has not been able to do?
Why look further than what lays between his legs, when the young alpha assassin had responded so perfectly to his embarrassingly instinctual reactions? How would he respond if Obi-Wan were to purposefully entice him?
He comms Cody, still staring at himself critically in the mirror. “I’ll be a few minutes, darling,” he murmurs when his second in command picks up. “Would you be a dear and desert the room for me? I’d like….to personally ask him a few questions.”
There’s static on the other end of the line as Cody seems to process his words slowly. “Boss, you get that that’s insane, right? I just want to make it clear to you that I view this as absolutely insane.”
“Noted,” Obi-Wan purrs, disconnecting the comm.
He’s not going to shave the beard.
Everything else, however….
Twenty minutes later, Cody gives him a look that could freeze Mustafar thirty times over as he swans up the corridor. His second is standing outside the makeshift prison cell, Rex to one side and Jesse on his other. All three alphas look unimpressed.
Obi-Wan, for one, thinks he looks amazing. He’s switched out his blood red outfit for loose cream robes that cinch on his omegan hips before flowing out along his legs. There are long cuts up each of the sides of the pant legs, so high they’re almost at his hips. He’s wearing a pair of lacey shorts for decency’s sake. The lace is dark red for his own amusement. There’s no collar to speak of, baring his neck and shoulders to the cool chill of the corridor.
Perhaps soon the alpha will be dressed up like this, all for him. Until then, however, Obi-Wan can debase himself in such a way if it means snagging the alpha’s loyalty.
“Thinking clearly, are you?” Cody drawls with a sneer as he crosses his arms and looks up and down.
Obi-Wan smiles beatifically. “Please order the highest, most expensive prosthetic mechno finger for our dear man Waxer. Which finger was it?”
“Index,” Rex reports, looking sideways at Cody before back at Obi-Wan with a furrowed brow. “Boss, he’s—I wouldn’t suggest getting too close at all.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Obi-Wan says cheerfully, waving them away from the door. “Of the two of us, I do the suggesting.”
“I hope he bites off your—” Cody starts to say just as genially, but the door springs open and the alpha’s snarls drown out the rest of his sentence.
Obi-Wan hits the control to close it behind him and suddenly he’s left alone in the room with a half-feral alpha.
This time, he’s tied down to a chair, Force suppression collar crippling that intoxicating power that still tries in vain to swirl around him. Having been left to his own devices, the alpha seems to have been trying to twist himself out of his restraints. Upon Obi-Wan’s entrance, however, the alpha snaps his head around to face him, lips pulled into a snarl around the gag one of his men has fastened tightly to his head. Dried blood cakes his chin and his eyes are a wild yellow.
He’s beautiful.
“Hello there, pretty thing,” he croons, stepping forward into the circle of artificial light that surrounds the alpha.
He really is quite young, probably not even twenty years old yet. That makes sense for how strongly he’d reacted to Obi-Wan’s scent. He must be a newly presented alpha, or perhaps one that has been quarantined away from those of other designations since his own puberty.
Unfortunately, Obi-Wan isn’t the sort of man to not use that against him.
The alpha growls at his approach, but Obi-Wan is a master of his instincts, and there’s nothing particularly terrifying about a bound and gagged alpha. He’s harmless.
His fingers touch on the dried blood and rub slightly. “You hurt one of my men, pretty thing,” he murmurs. Golden eyes narrow at him in defiance. “Feral little thing, aren’t you? Were you not a fan of the food, love? Or just the deliverer?”
The assassin growls again louder, with a hint of confusion. Such a thing makes Obi-Wan smirk inwardly, even as he cocks his head to look at him.
“No one’s bandaged you, have they?” he asks, feigning shock. He’d not told his men to see to the assassin’s wounds, and it’s not often they waste medical supplies on those they kill. His men probably hadn’t seen the point. “I apologize for the pain I caused you.”
He slowly slides a small steel knife out of its sheath on his thigh, choreographing his every movement so that the alpha doesn’t react out of surprise. And, of course, so that his eyes will be drawn to the muscle of Obi-Wan’s thigh, the flash of skin.
For a second, it works, the alpha’s growls petering off into nothing. Until, of course, he feels the pressure of the blade against his skin. Obi-Wan hushes him to no avail, making quick work of cutting his shirt off of him until the entire ensemble lies in pieces around them and Obi-Wan can see the alpha in full.
His first impression is that he’s covered with scars, like roots of a tree branching out all over his chest. He traces along one white line with a gentle finger, following it from his heart down his sculpted chest and over his abdominals.
The alpha growls, but it sounds almost like a whine. Obi-Wan almost curses himself out loud when he notices the way that the alpha’s body seems to push up into the touch, as soft as it is.
The poor boy must be starved for a soothing touch, he realizes as he pulls back and the alpha tries to follow. “Poor alpha,” he murmurs, backing away from the boy to retrieve a kit of medical supplies Kix probably had left at the door. It’s simple, bandages and bacta, but the alpha watches him warily even as he returns. “I won’t hurt you,” Obi-Wan promises him softly, as sweetly as he knows how. “Omegas aren’t meant to hurt alphas. You see?”
And, ignoring the memory of just how many alphas, betas, and omegas he’s ruthlessly cut down throughout his life, he presses his wrist against the alpha’s nose, letting him breath in his unadorned scent. The scent of an omega. The alpha freezes and then inhales greedily.
Yes, Obi-Wan had been right. Either this alpha had been sheltered for years after his presentation or he’s newly presented, because he melts at the smell of omega, eyes falling half-lidded like Obi-Wan has slipped him spice instead of his own scent.
“Alphas hurt alphas,” Obi-Wan keeps murmuring. “Which is why you hurt Waxer. He was an alpha, wasn’t he? He could have hurt you, so you had to hurt him first. Is your master an alpha, darling? Does he hurt you?”
The alpha freezes at the mention of his master and then suddenly rears back with a snarl.
Blast. “Hush,” Obi-Wan demands. Omegas don’t have commands, not like alphas do. But they have…suggestions. Omegas suggest. Alphas obey. Obi-Wan has just managed to twist his suggestions into orders.
It works.
“I apologize, pretty thing,” he says, ghosting his hands up and down the alpha’s clothed thighs. “I won’t ask.” Yet. “I just want to treat your wounds, love. And then we can talk. I’ll take the cloth out and you can tell me your name and why you wanted to hurt me so badly. Everyone knows alphas don’t hurt omegas after all.”
It’s bantha shit, of course, every word is absolute bantha shit. In a galaxy like theirs, everyone hurts everyone. Perhaps the alpha doesn’t know that though. The way he’s staring at Obi-Wan with wide eyes as he wraps his blaster wound makes Obi-Wan feel confident that he doesn’t.
“My name is Obi-Wan, sweet alpha,” Obi-Wan narrates as he ties the bandage tightly around the arm and drops to his knees in front of the alpha’s bound feet. He can see his thighs flexing against the rope tying him down. Fascinating.
The knife comes up to cut down his pants-leg, bend it up and backward to expose the injury Obi-Wan had given him just behind the knee.
“I am not a good man,” he tells the alpha, probably the one honest thing he’s said since entering the room. “I do hurt people. Especially people that hurt me and mine. I’ve fought for what I have now, and I don’t plan to lose it anytime soon. I have a lot, mind you.” He examines the wound, conscious of the alpha’s silent gaze upon him. “But there are things I still want. Alpha, do you want?”
He tilts his head up, carefully keeping himself mostly between the alpha’s spread legs, swaying slightly closer towards the alpha’s pelvis, though he doesn’t dare touch yet.
“What do you want?” he asks softly, coating the wound in bacta and neatly tying off the bandage.
The alpha tosses his head, his blond curls flying with the motion. It’s very easy to understand what he means.
An honest smile steals its way across his face. “I think my second-in-command would kill me if I were to free you so soon,” he admits and crows inwardly when the alpha seems to tense all over at his words. At the idea of someone hurting Obi-Wan? Impossible to tell.
He brushes his wrist against the alpha’s nose. Heavy-handed, yes, but incredibly difficult to resist when the alpha responds so beautifully to it.
“May I take off your gag?” Obi-Wan murmurs, rubbing at the cloth against his cheek. “I’m afraid you have torn at your lips trying to bite it. I would heal that too before I leave.”
He has, of course, no intention of going, but he can’t let this alpha think he will stay around for long. He needs the alpha to desire him. To need him before he ever even realizes he wants him.
Obi-Wan’s own need for this burns in his gut with a ferocity that surprises him. This little alpha has not even spoken to him yet, not really, but Obi-Wan finds himself reluctantly, absolutely entranced.
The alpha is so desperate for someone’s kind touch, any fool can see it if they look past his blustering feral rage. What has Sidious been doing to him? Obi-Wan can only guess, but everything his mind comes up with lowers his opinion of his competitor’s intelligence more and more. How could anyone look at the alpha in front of him and think they need pain to control him?
“Would you hurt me if I took your gag off, darling?” Obi-Wan asks, barely concealing his interest in the alpha’s answer. “Would you, even though alphas aren’t made to hurt omegas?”
The alpha shakes his head slowly, and Obi-Wan reaches deep within himself to pull out the half-forgotten instinct to purr in approval.
Either it’s the sound that startles the alpha into tensing, or the fact that Obi-Wan takes the liberty of sliding into his lap and wrapping one arm around his bare shoulders to balance himself while the other works at the knot. His men—probably Cody—have tied the thing ridiculously tight.
But finally, with enough force, the knot comes loose and the gag falls away. Obi-Wan pulls back, intelligent enough to be wary of being so close to an alpha’s teeth, but the alpha just runs his tongue across his red and irritated lips and looks at him like he’s confused.
“I would like to know your name,” Obi-Wan tells him after several seconds where they simply appraise each other.
The alpha wets his lips again and tries speaking twice before the words catch. “No.”
Obi-Wan barely conceals his frown. “Please,” he allows.
“No.”
Obi-Wan’s lips twitch back, the beginnings of a snarl that he catches just in time. The alpha blinks at him, but there’s something darker in his yellow eyes. Something primal, something that understands what the boy does not: he has an omega in his lap.
Obi-Wan makes a point of pulling back and standing up with a sigh, grinding slightly against the alpha’s thigh in his retreat. “Alright,” he says in faux-defeat, stroking once more down the alpha’s face, allowing his wrist to pass over the alpha’s nose. “I will call for my alpha—”
The alpha turns and catches his wrist in his mouth. The slight pressure of teeth against one of his scent glands makes Obi-Wan freeze, but the alpha doesn’t do anything more than hold it in his mouth, as one would catch a hand in their own.
His eyes are two whirling golden fires, and their intensity makes Obi-Wan turn back in interest. The small exploratory lick the alpha leaves against his skin feels monumentous. Feels like the thing that seals both their fates.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he tugs his wrist away. The alpha’s upper lip pulls back into a snarl, but Obi-Wan resettles himself into his lap before it can fully form. “Yes, darling?”
“You. Have. Alpha?” The alpha he’s straddling gets out between wet growls as if the very thought is intolerable. “Which?”
“Which what?”
“Which alpha was yours?” The alpha ducks his head and presses his nose up and down the line of Obi-Wan’s throat, as if he’ll be able to smell the other alpha’s claim.
Obi-Wan pushes away and hits him—lightly—on the nose. “I recall asking a question first,” he tells the alpha beneath him. He won’t stand for this sort of behavior. Eventually this alpha will have to learn his placem and letting him step so far out of line in the beginning will only make correction harder down the line. “If you tell me your name, I will tell you what you want to know.”
The alpha growls, apparently as unused to compromise as he had been to soft touches. Perhaps Obi-Wan should play fair, let him think. But it’s much more fun to trail his hands up and down his chest and biceps, mapping out the muscle and the scars with a series of light, teasing touches.
“...Anakin,” the alpha finally grunts, either from the pain of imparting his name to his captor, or from Obi-Wan’s nail scraping over his nipple.
“ Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeats. “That’s a beautiful name, pretty alpha.”
“Who?” Anakin snarls, eyes narrowed and flashing between Obi-Wan and the door, as if he’s afraid Obi-Wan’s alpha will storm in and take the omega’s gentle, kind touches away from him.
He needn’t worry. “None,” Obi-Wan says truthfully, leaning up to breathe the word into Anakin’s ear. “I have none, alpha.”
Anakin rears back. “You tricke—”
“I want one,” he interrupts, locking his hands behind Anakin’s neck and adjusting his position so that he’s sitting directly over the alpha’s stirring cock. “An alpha.”
This is, of course, a lie. If Obi-Wan wanted an alpha, he would have had one by now.
But perhaps he had been waiting without knowing it. Perhaps this alpha would be worth the humiliation of submitting, even if only symbolically.
“Do you know why alphas and omegas don’t hurt each other, sweet one?” Obi-Wan asks, rubbing his cunt over the alpha’s bulge. Four layers at most separate him from a cock. He hasn’t let anyone fuck him in years. Ages. But perhaps—maybe—
Anakin has started to pant, looking a bit like a cornered animal. But he doesn’t smell of reluctance. Rather—anticipation.
“Omegas don’t hurt alphas because we know alphas can give us something we want,” his hand trails down the alpha’s bare chest until it comes to rest on the hardening line of Anakin’s cock while his hips lift up to give him room. “A knot.”
He squeezes close to the base pointedly, and Anakin’s eyelids flutter in a moan.
“Have you ever gotten inside an omega’s cunt, Anakin?” Obi-Wan murmurs, letting his hand retreat so he can grind back against the alpha’s cock. “We’re tight and wet and so smooth inside. I get so wet, my suitors need not bother with slick before they slip into me. And, oh—”
This is exaggerated, but he doesn’t think Anakin is in the right mind to notice, not when he’s let his head fall back and he’s watching Obi-Wan move against him with half-lidded eyes. Good alpha, to not strain against his bindings, to know his duty is to be still between Obi-Wan’s thighs.
In reward, he slips a hand up the slit of his robes and dips it past the lace band of his underwear. He is, to his moderate surprise, absolutely soaking. He blinks at Anakin’s chest for a second, mouth slightly parted as he allows his own fingers to deviate from the plan and stroke rapidly over his clit until he’s pushing down into his own hand.
The alpha beneath him growls as the scent of fresh slick leaks from Obi-Wan’s cunt and he quickly removes his own wet fingers to show them to Anakin. The alpha’s eyes are hardly yellow, swallowed almost entirely by black. It’s disconcerting that Obi-Wan thinks his probably look the same.
“Have you ever popped your knot inside an omega’s cunt, alpha?” he murmurs, bringing his fingers up to Anakin’s nose and then trailing them over his lips. The alpha whines as if he’s been critically wounded and he shakes his head slowly.
“Never?” Obi-Wan questions, gripping his chin with his dirty fingers to make the alpha’s eyes focus on him. His thumb rests in the plush pillow of Anakin’s bottom lip, but the alpha doesn’t even lick it. What a wonderful alpha. Absolutely perfect.
“No,” Anakin mumbles.
“How old are you, sweet one?” Obi-Wan can’t help but ask, mind fighting against itself with this new piece of information. There are probably plenty of good reasons why he shouldn’t rid them both of their clothes and take the alpha on this very chair. He wouldn’t even untie him. His hands would be superfluous. All that would matter would be his cock, slipping in and out of Obi-Wan’s cunt at a pace he can control.
“Twenty-four,” the alpha mutters. Obi-Wan laughs.
“My little liar,” he croons. “Perhaps I shall just step away and lay on the floor and touch myself to completion at the thought of taking your knot in my cun—
"Nineteen,” Anakin blurts out with a whine, finally breaking and bucking up in desperation. They’ll work on that.
Nineteen. So young. But—but not too young.
“How long has Sidious had you, dearest?” he asks, leaning back to look at the alpha, letting his hands drop from his face to rub against his still-fully clothed cock. Anakin twitches into the touch, his eyes hazy with arousal.
“Years.”
“How many?” Obi-Wan coos, keeping his voice soft. “How many years?”
“Ten,” Anakin sighs out and Obi-Wan rewards him with the ghost of a kiss against his mating gland, down the side of his neck.
“Did he train you?” he murmurs this question into the skin just above Anakin’s heart. “Are you one of his acolytes?”
The alpha cries out a yes. The room stinks of lust and arousal and desperation, and Obi-Wan can’t remember whose it should belong to. It feels frighteningly easy to grind down against this submissive alpha, to use him to chase his own pleasure. Anakin would let him as easy as he lets him pull his secrets from him.
By the end of the night, he could have the alpha’s knot in his cunt, the alpha’s power at his bidding, the alpha’s mind cradled within his own. He’s read of Force bonds, seen stumped, broken ones in the minds of the Jedi Padawans he kills, watched whole bonds disintegrate as either Master or Padawan dies.
Why should he stop at only possessing Anakin’s loyalty? His body? When he could have his mind as well?
Molten heat shoots through him at the thought, and he moans before he can trap the sound in his throat. Rather than reacting negatively—bucking up or biting at his skin or any other sort of alpha reaction to a pleasured omega in his lap—Anakin whines back and tilts up his own throat.
Oh, he could be just perfect, couldn’t he?
“I’ve not let an alpha touch me in years,” Obi-Wan kisses across his chest to take one of Anakin’s nipples into his mouth, nibbling at the bud gently until the alpha sounds like each pant is punched out of him. “I knew they wouldn’t be able to give me what I want.”
Anakin keens and his shoulders flex like he wants so desperately to touch Obi-Wan. But he can’t. Obi-Wan decides when he can. Until then, he must stay where he’s put.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” Obi-Wan says with a rumbling, rusted purr. “You would do anything for the first omega that let you put your knot in their cunt.”
Anakin, when Obi-Wan pulls back, looks intoxicated and so eager to please that it’s almost indecent. It’s a matter of seconds to untie his hands, but it’s like Anakin doesn’t even notice the release of pressure around his wrists, too busy looking up at Obi-Wan like he’s his personal angel.
“Do you know why alphas don’t hurt omegas, sweet one?” Obi-Wan asks, pulling Anakin’s hands out from behind his back and gently rubbing feeling back into his fingers and wrists. Mostly for show, he raises one of the captured hands to his nose and inhales. The alpha smells of ash, leather, and something sweet and rare, like honey. For a second, it’s difficult even for Obi-Wan to focus, which isn’t supposed to be happening.
But the alpha smells so warm and eager and already like his, what with all the scent-marking he’s been doing since he entered the room.
He takes another breath before he realizes what he’s doing. To make up for his loss of control, he nips at the pulse point in the alpha’s wrist gently and then licks at the hurt. “Alphas don’t hurt omegas because omegas can give them what they want.” He brings Anakin’s hands down to rest on his stomach, over his womb.
Anakin inhales sharply, and Obi-Wan coos in response, letting the hand linger there and even letting the fingers trace along the cream fabric.
“I’m an accommodating man, sweet alpha,” he murmurs, stroking Anakin’s hair back and away from his face. He’s got a scar that runs through his eyebrow, barely missing his eye. Obi-Wan wants to lick it. “I just want to know a few things, please, and then we can….”
“Make love,” Anakin says with all the confidence of one who has perhaps only read of sex from a trashy novel from one of the Outer Rim planets. It’s frightfully endearing. Obi-Wan is endeared despite himself.
“Yes,” he agrees anyway with a smile on his lips as Anakin beams back at him, sweaty and erect and still tied to the chair. He makes no move to free himself though. He’s being so good, staying exactly where Obi-Wan has put him. “Only, you were sent to kill me….”
He trails off and watches as Anakin’s eyes go wide and wet.
“And I must know why, sweetest. And if your master will try again with another should you fail to return to him. I must protect myself,” here he brings his own hands to cup over his flat stomach as he blinks at Anakin with earnest golden eyes. “No one else will protect me.”
Anakin growls, though he’s not angry with him. He can’t be, not when his arms pull him closer, as if someone will burst into the room any second and take the omega away from him. Obi-Wan purrs into his neck, rubbing his face along the line of skin.
“Sidious,” Anakin mutters as Obi-Wan worries at his neck, biting hickies so dark they’ll match the strangulation bruises Obi-Wan still has on his own skin. “Master said…Meeting, next… month. Oh, Obi-Wan—”
His name sounds wrong in the alpha’s mouth. Not when he refers to another man as his master. Obi-Wan wants that too, that respectful title. He wants Anakin to pant it out while he’s rutting into his sheets while Obi-Wan fucks into him from behind, wants him to wail it until his voice breaks and all he can do is pant and whimper like the best sort of alpha—
But he must take it slow. He must pace himself. His little alpha is just confused at the moment. So young still.
“A meeting, alpha?” he prompts, pressing his thumb into the biggest red spot on Anakin’s neck.
“Weapons dealing,” Anakin whines, tilting his head further up and baring his neck even more. “Didn’t want you there—too good, Master said you were too good —”
“I can be very good, your master is right, darling,” Obi-Wan croons. “Would you like to see how good I can be for you?”
The alpha nods eagerly, breathlessly, hands pawing gently—ever so gently—down the front of Obi-Wan’s tunic. It’s a reverent enough touch that Obi-Wan will allow it.
“I need his name, sweet alpha,” Obi-Wan tips forward to murmur, lips just slightly brushing Anakin’s. The alpha blinks at him, confused. “His real name, love. Who is Darth Sidious?”
Anakin shakes his head helplessly, throat moving. “I—I don’t—”
“You can tell me,” Obi-Wan coaxes. “Shouldn’t I know, lovely? What if he were to kill me? Where would my sweet alpha put his knot then?”
The alpha whines beneath him, arching up desperately. His cock is long and hard and verging on unignorable, resting as it is right against Obi-Wan’s sex.
“I want to know,” Obi-Wan tries with his own frustrated whine that isn’t as much of a performance as he had hoped it would be. Why can’t the stupid alpha just give in , just tell him what he wants to know, then they can get to the much more enjoyable reward.
“I can’t—”
“But you know,” Obi-Wan argues, incensed beyond measure. He bats the alpha’s hands away and pushes himself off the alpha’s lap, backing to stand several feet away from him. “ I should know. I won’t be able to protect myself if I don’t—”
“I can protect you,” the young, foolish alpha protests, pulling at his remaining bindings uselessly, looking absolutely heartbroken at the distance between them.
Obi-Wan crosses his arms over his chest. He needs to leave. Anakin is refusing to tell him Sidious’ identity, but he’s told him enough things that his men can at least start building up precautions. “You can’t protect me,” Obi-Wan says disdainfully. “You’re tied to a chair.”
He turns around to face the door, lifting his commlink to his mouth, a familiar sequence already typed in. “Alpha,” he says pleasantly into the machine.
“...Boss,” Cody’s voice answers, deeply suspicious. He doesn’t get much further than that however before there’s the splintering of wood from behind Obi-Wan and a snarl of pure rage. A weight falls against his back, pushing him up against the closed door.
“Palpatine,” the alpha growls into Obi-Wan’s ear even as hands grip his shoulders and push him down to the floor.
Obi-Wan lands with a huff, skidding along the rough ground until he’s near where Anakin had been tied to the chair. Had been, is the key word, because there’s only the remaining pieces of chair and rope, and the alpha himself is bearing down on him, lips curled into a snarl and eyes dark.
Alright. Perhaps Obi-Wan had been too hasty in his leave, hadn’t thought of anything but the need to get out of the room drenched in the scent of ash-leather-honey just to be able to think straight. And now he has a strong, virile alpha on top of him, completely freed from his bindings, and Obi-Wan can only half remember why that’s a bad thing.
The alpha’s cock ruts against his robes, freed from the confines of his pants between seconds.
“Boss?” Cody’s worried voice chimes from the comm link still in Obi-Wan’s hand. Anakin snarls at the intrusion, reaching for the device with every intention to destroy it.
Obi-Wan hits him on the nose, hard, and scrambles onto his stomach. “I’ve got this under control, Cody!” he tells his second-in-command.
“Under control—” Cody repeats in a tone dripping with incredulity, but Obi-Wan cuts him off.
“Absolutely under control!” Anakin’s hands grab at his hips and yank him back beneath him, growls reverberating around the room. “Just time for a little…tit for tat—”
He’s about to say more, give Cody Sidious’ name—and isn’t that a realization, that the shadow crime lord of the Inner Rim is none other than an elderly senator from Naboo—but before he can, Anakin grabs ahold of the commlink and crushes it between his mechno-fingers with a snarl.
“Omega,” the alpha rumbles, clambering over Obi-Wan’s back, pinning him down with his weight as he ruts against the curve of his ass, hard line of his cock catching against the heat between his legs. Obi-Wan can’t stand it. He can’t stand how much he wants it. His words have abandoned him. He’d provoked the young, half-feral alpha too much.
“Palpatine,” Anakin growls in his ear as he humps down clumsily, body knowing instinctively what to do but lacking the skills to do it. “I told you. Palpatine.”
Obi-Wan grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut as he turns his head to the side, resting his cheek on the floor. “You did,” he mutters as the alpha’s teeth and lips trace over every part of his face and neck they can reach.
“Can’t leave, no other alphas,” Anakin snarls, nipping at his ear and worrying it between his teeth. “I gave you what you want.”
“You did,” he agrees again. “And now will you take me like a dog on the floor?” He fills these words with as much derision as he can, though he isn’t confident at all that he could stop Anakin should he decide that yes, he will ruck up and rip down Obi-Wan’s clothes, expose his wet and wanting cunt to the air of the makeshift prison cell and fuck into him in one go.
He can feel himself grow wetter at the thought and hates himself for it.
But Anakin surprises him, pulling back with a whine, licking once more at his cheek as he goes. “I told you,” the alpha says in a high voice, sounding confused and panicked. “I gave you what you wanted and I can protect you now, look, I’m not tied to a chair anymore, and you smell so good—”
“ Then what do you want?” Obi-Wan snaps, heart rate spiking even as his breathing relaxes. The alpha shifts on top of him, and hands come to push at his sides until he’s rolled over roughly and Anakin glowers down at him, radiating confusion and misery.
“Call me sweet alpha,” Anakin demands, no hint of Alpha command in his voice, as if he isn’t even aware that he could perhaps force Obi-Wan to do any number of things for him.
Obi-Wan stares at him.
Anakin whines, sharp and loud, a noise more akin to a pup’s than that of an alpha assassin.
Slowly, carefully, telegraphing every one of his movements, Obi-Wan rolls them over until he’s perched on top of Anakin who looks up at him with wide desperate eyes, cock flushed and pressed against his stomach. A handsome thing, big enough that Obi-Wan can imagine the stretch will hurt when it penetrates him.
But more importantly:
“Oh, my lovely, darling, little alpha,” he murmurs, caressing Anakin’s cheek and allowing the alpha to nuzzle into his palm. “You don’t want to take me like that, do you?” He shakes his head in tandem with Anakin’s dazed denial. “Not my sweet alpha.”
Anakin keens, cock jerking and leaking at the words, and Obi-Wan smirks.
This is not a total victory. He needs much more than this to be satisfied with his hold on the alpha. But this…this is progress. This is promising.
This is perfect.