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Obi-Wan Kenobi crept into Anakin’s room with all the grace and power of a Nexu. The darkness of the night cast deep shadows across his face, cloaking him in the same penumbra that had infected him. He knelt at the edge of the bed for a moment, examining his former—current—Padawan.
Anakin Skywalker was nineteen years old. Geonosis was mere weeks away.
Obi-Wan losing Anakin forever was even sooner. That was where it had all gone wrong, he knew it—the thought had been in the back of his mind even when he’d found the method to travel back in time, and now it was as prominent as it should be. Obi-Wan had to avert that crisis, and everything else would fall into place.
Anakin laid on the bed, his face slack in the night. Even in shadow, his face looked almost cherubic. His Padawan braid curled a circle around itself, next to Anakin’s temple. His lanky body, still so young that it hadn’t filled out yet, was sprawled out over the covers, owing to the warmth of the night. He only wore his smallclothes, with everything else—the lean muscle he was attempting to build, the places where he was still soft—already exposed to Obi-Wan’s gaze.
Obi-Wan pulled the tie at his waist, and his loosely-tied robe came entirely apart, revealing his body as it spilled down his arms. He threw this onto the floor, not caring where it landed. His new breasts bobbed in the air as they lost their support, and a bead of milk collected at the end of one nipple. Down his body, his cock was hard and leaking at the tip, but the head of it pointed straight up at a red, glowing tattoo over his abdomen. The patterning was intricate and delicate, styled as a womb made up of hearts, and it pulsed with an insatiable heat through his body.
Obi-Wan had only one way to ensure that Anakin stayed with him, instead of leaving him for Senator Amidala, and then Darth Sidious. If it was he who housed Anakin’s children in his own body, instead of her—
Obi-Wan reached forward and tugged Anakin’s smallclothes down to his ankles, then carefully tugged the garment off of Anakin entirely, throwing it somewhere behind him. He didn’t care about that part either, where it landed. Frankly, he never cared if Anakin wore clothes ever again, as long as he was with Obi-Wan.
Entirely bare, Anakin looked like a god, innocent and young and full of power. When Obi-Wan had trained Anakin the first time, he’d known that Anakin was full of the Force’s strength, and it had scared him somewhat, because he had no idea how to control it. He had no idea how to control Anakin Skywalker.
After returning to this point in time, he knew. Anakin Skywalker needed a leash, a tether—and Obi-Wan would be it. The children who would grow inside of him would be it—thanks to the Sith artifact that Obi-Wan had found and studied and then, been infected by.
Anakin’s cock was soft against his thigh, and Obi-Wan took a moment to admire it. It was long and thin, much like the rest of Anakin’s body at this stage. Carefully, Obi-Wan reached forward and traced one finger down its length, until he reached the foreskin protecting the head. The skin of it was like velvet, and Obi-Wan played with it. He pinched Anakin’s foreskin between his fingers gently, rubbing it and marveling at it.
Once, not even very long ago, Obi-Wan would have found this very act unconscionably perverse. Anakin was his Padawan, the boy he’d raised and trained up, the Chosen One prophesied to bring an end to the Sith and whose path Obi-Wan had been responsible for guiding. And now, here Obi-Wan was, teasing Anakin’s cock so that it would revoke its flaccid quality for something that could put Padmé’s children in Obi-Wan’s womb.
It was funny, how merely touching an object and falling back through time could change one’s perspective.
Obi-Wan pumped Anakin’s cock to full hardness, slowly, watching it rise from Anakin’s pubic hair. Anakin’s expression crumpled, as if he knew that he was being touched in a way he shouldn’t, but he didn’t wake. Obi-Wan swung his hips over Anakin’s, and he could feel the way he dripped his own lubricant down onto Anakin’s cock.
He shouldn’t have been able to get pregnant. He didn’t have the right body for it, and yet—the Sith artifact he’d found in the desert, fallen from the starry night sky like a gift from the galaxy, made it such that Anakin would be able to impregnate him. Anakin wouldn’t have to wait until twenty-three to have children—nineteen would do. Then Anakin would have more important things to take care of as a man, rather than running off to chase a senator like a puppy.
Obi-Wan sank down on Anakin’s cock, feeling it fill him up in a way he’d never felt before. He began to bounce immediately, with no preamble—he was not here to have fun, or to feel pleasure. He needed Anakin’s seed most of all.
He had been fucking himself on Anakin’s cock for scarcely ten minutes when Anakin woke up. Anakin shifted underneath him, like he was trying to toss or turn, like he was on the cusp of a nightmare, and then his eyes opened. Obi-Wan watched him with unrepentant eyes as he blinked, and blinked, and blinked.
“Master?” Anakin whispered.
He reached out, and up, and touched Obi-Wan’s beard, as if he didn’t quite believe that Obi-Wan was really there. His eyes were wide, round, and his pupils were so big his whole iris appeared black.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan responded, his moan absolutely obscene. His hands braced himself on Anakin’s chest as he worked himself up and down. “Anakin—”
Anakin’s gaze was drawn down to the faintly glowing red tattoo on Obi-Wan’s belly, and then he flushed to the roots of his still-blond hair. His hand traced down from Obi-Wan’s bearded cheek to Obi-Wan’s tits, which were starting to drip more and more with every time Obi-Wan slammed his hips down on Anakin’s cock, and then down to the glowing womb tattoo. His touch was so gentle, so loving—because Anakin was, at his heart, a romantic.
And Obi-Wan was ready to take advantage of that now.
“Is this real?” Anakin asked, his voice in quiet awe. “Master, are you alright? Are you hurt?”
Obi-Wan could practically see it now—the desert, the stars from Tatooine covering the sky. The red glow. The feeling of change, dizzying in its intensity, so much so that Obi-Wan had fallen to his knees, and then through the sand, and through time, until he’d come here, to do this.
“It’s nothing, Anakin,” Obi-Wan grunted. “I just need you to help me for a little while.”
“Help you?” Anakin asked, beginning to squirm so prettily under Obi-Wan. “How?”
“Kriff me full of your babies,” Obi-Wan moaned, slamming his hips down again, again, again. “Use your cock to fill me up until no more come will fit inside me.”
Anakin squeaked, stunned into silence for several long moments. It must have been quite the adjustment—to go from his prudish old Master to a whore desperate for his children. But Obi-Wan needed this, needed to keep Anakin with him. He wouldn’t stop.
“Master,” Anakin groaned, as Obi-Wan began to ride him back and forth as well by gyrating his hips, stimulating him even more. “Master, kriff, do you mean it?”
“Don’t you see my leaking tits, my womb?” Obi-Wan asked, gesturing to the more important parts of himself. His cock was of lesser import, but it also spilled out all over Anakin’s belly, showing off how desperate he was. “I’m gagging for you, Padawan. My body needs you.”
Anakin shuddered underneath him, and then he sat up, propping himself with an arm that was still entirely flesh. He wrapped the other one around Obi-Wan’s waist, and for a moment Obi-Wan felt a deep tenderness rush through him, before it was washed away again by the tide of overwhelming desire and need.
“You’re so pretty,” Anakin murmured, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Is this some sort of Stewjoni thing, Master? I heard a rumor that—”
“It’s not,” Obi-Wan replied, and then he lied. “It’s just the will of the Force. I had a vision—”
He had the truth—in another life, one where Obi-Wan had kept an appropriate distance between them, Anakin had ended up on fire at the bottom of a lava bank on Mustafar. Obi-Wan was no longer willing to tolerate the chance of that happening again.
“A vision that you’d get pregnant with my baby?” Anakin asked, looking deep into Obi-Wan’s eyes as if he could drill the truth out of him.
But Obi-Wan had faced worse than his nineteen-year-old Padawan who was barely a man.
“Twins.”
Anakin’s breath hitched, but Obi-Wan didn’t worry for even a moment that he’d said something wrong. He was proved right a moment later, when Anakin buried his face in Obi-Wan’s neck. He began to kiss, to press searing lips against Obi-Wan’s skin, and as he got more aggressive about it, their torsos rubbed together. Obi-Wan’s tits leaked out against Anakin’s chest, making him wet and filthy, but all it made Anakin do was moan desperately.
“You’ll take responsibility for this, won’t you, Anakin?” Obi-Wan murmured, grinding his hips deep. “Promise me you will. Come inside me and then take care of me.”
“I will, Master,” Anakin swore, voice still muffled in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck. “I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life. If we get kicked out, I’ll find mechanic work. I—”
Obi-Wan thought about it—taking Anakin away from it all. He’d been unbearably lonely on Tatooine, with nothing to fill his days but the unending sorrow and the sense of being completely lost and alone in the galaxy. Even when watching over Luke, he’d been adrift, unmoored from the one person who had mattered most to him since he’d come into his life. If he stole Anakin from the Jedi Order, if the two of them ran away together and hid somewhere quiet, a planet so far off the galactic map that no one would ever think to find one Jedi Master and his Padawan… If he stole Anakin and, at their quiet little home, grew round and happy because of it, pampered by Anakin, keeping him closely tethered to Obi-Wan…
A shiver ran down his spine, and come splattered out between their bellies as Obi-Wan came to the thought. He could have Anakin all to himself—would have Anakin all to himself, as soon as the babies were growing safely in his belly. Anakin had promised to stay with him, and so the leash was firmly in Obi-Wan’s hands.
When Obi-Wan stopped shuddering through his orgasm, he noticed Anakin was petting his back through it. Anakin truly was such a romantic; Obi-Wan began to bounce in his lap again. He arched his back so that the intensity of Anakin’s cock brushing across his prostate with every thrust was not quite so overwhelming, but he kept going.
Leaning back from Anakin’s embrace slightly gave Anakin a perfect view of Obi-Wan’s new chest. Anakin’s fingers were insatiably curious—he reached up and grabbed Obi-Wan’s tit, massaging it lightly and making more milk spurt out.
“Is this for our children?” Anakin asked, looking intently at his own fingers now covered in the fruit of Obi-Wan’s body. “Will it last until you have them? Until they grow up?”
Obi-Wan shuddered and groaned at the feeling of Anakin unintentionally playing with his tit. “Longer than that, if you want to suck the milk from my breasts when the twins are finished. Do you want to have a taste and see if you like it?”
Anakin brought his fingers to his mouth, and then his tongue darted out pink and daring. Obi-Wan watched as his nose flared slightly, and he stuck his fingers in his mouth. He licked along each finger, tracing out each droplet and taking it into himself. Obi-Wan was happy that Anakin seemed to like it so much—even after the children were grown, if he could just drain his tits into Anakin’s mouth forever, he would.
Obi-Wan began to feel Anakin’s cock twitching inside of him, signaling that he was close. Once Anakin came inside, he would be Obi-Wan’s forever. There would be no going back, no hideous future in which Anakin burned and Obi-Wan ended up alone in the desert staring at the stars. Obi-Wan would keep Anakin close to him this time, and that was all that mattered.
“Come for me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered into Anakin’s ear, wrapping his arms close around his boy. “Make me pregnant.”
Anakin obeyed, like the sweet, naive boy he was. He shuddered apart in Obi-Wan’s arms, his dick spilling out his life-giving seed, and Obi-Wan’s womb tattoo activated.
There was a low red flash between the two of them, there one moment and then gone the next. Obi-Wan could feel the way his ass tightened down on Anakin’s dick, as if locking the two of them together. Obi-Wan would be getting pregnant one way or another, and Anakin would not be allowed to leave until that happened.
Inside of Obi-Wan felt hot like fire, like lava, only a thousand times better—he was being filled up. Rather, Anakin was being drained of every drop, the magic in Obi-Wan’s tattoo spilling over and affecting the father of those children as well. Anakin kept coming and coming, pulsing his hot seed into Obi-Wan’s new womb. He kept going until Obi-Wan’s belly started to swell, his body filled to the brim with what would make him swell even further later with children.
Obi-Wan already looked three months pregnant by the time Anakin stopped shuddering and twitching, by the time Obi-Wan’s ass stopped clenching down and milking like everything in the galaxy depended upon it. He leaned back to look—it was strange, seeing his own body so round, but he would get used to it and come to enjoy it immensely over the course of the next nine months.
“That will take, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured, reaching out to take Anakin by the face. Now that it was over, he felt less frenzied, more exhausted. “Congratulations.”
Anakin tipped himself back and flopped down onto the bed, seemingly just as tired as Obi-Wan. He looked boyish, lying like that with his arms above his head and his hair frizzy around his head. His Padawan braid was all askew, a perverse reminder of the oaths that Obi-Wan had broken and ground into dust to get here.
He didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it. He only cared that he had Anakin now, forever. There would be no whirlwind romance with Padmé Amidala; there would be no continued visits with Sheev Palpatine. Obi-Wan owned Anakin Skywalker mind and soul now, and he would never let go.
“I love you, Master,” Anakin whispered, like he’d always wanted to say it and never had the chance.
Obi-Wan pet his fuzzy head of hair in response, gently rewarding him for admitting it.
“I love you, too,” Obi-Wan murmured, feeling the abject truth of it from deep inside his soul.
Obi-Wan panted as he felt the dark magic imbued into the tattoo over his womb pulse inside of him, ensuring that the seed took root. He fell forward, too dizzy to keep himself upright anymore, and Anakin caught him in his arms. Anakin kissed all over Obi-Wan’s face, and Obi-Wan breathed in deeply, trying to calm his body down now that it was sated. He held Anakin as Anakin held him, and tried to go to sleep. The last thing he felt was Anakin moving his arm, drawing his hand to Anakin’s face, and then—there was a feather-soft press of lips against Obi-Wan’s inner wrist, making Obi-Wan shiver and think of all that would hopefully come.
Anakin was prophesied to bring balance to the Force, to bring an end to the Sith.
Obi-Wan just hoped that didn’t include all who had fallen from the light.