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Obi-Wan’s footsteps echoed loudly inside the vast chamber of his fortress, his hands behind his back and a solemn expression on his face as he paced around the room, too many thoughts inside his head.
He knew it was a rather bodacious word, fortress, but what else was he to call his remote ancestral retreat on Stewjon? And bodacious was a good look to cultivate, especially with the cover he needed to maintain.
It certainly helped in leading his enemies to underestimate him, and he would gladly rip any advantage he could from those who might otherwise stand a chance against him.
So long as no one caught a glimpse inside the austere, even ghastly halls, he could boast all he wanted to keep up the appearance of a spoiled, rich, heir from a posh Core World. Never mind that he hardly stepped foot on the agricultural planet of the family he never knew until he reclaimed the old stone walls as his own refuge; the only ones who would ever step foot inside and live to tell the tale were Obi-Wan himself, and…
And the reason for his current frustration. His plans were going rather well, but a certain someone was still far too much of a loose cannon for his tastes.
He liked to think that, if he had been a Jedi, he would have owned his fellow classmates or padawans, he would’ve dominated them and left them all to dust. He would have sat upon the Grand Master’s chair and looked down towards his subjects like a king would with his people, or a god upon his devotees.
Of course, he was well versed in the knowledge that that was not how a Jedi was supposed to think. And certainly it was not how a Jedi behaved. But for him, who had been nothing but an apprentice, begging for scraps at the foot of his master, it was well within his realm
However, his days as a lowly apprentice would soon be over, once his plans came to fruition. No longer was he following along the path his master set him on: pitting him against a more worthy apprentice, deeming him worth little more than being an acolyte, an instrument to serve only to sway child queens and cajole politicians.
Now, as he looked outside his window, he knew he had laid the foundations and set the traps that would entangle even the great Darth Sidious. He only had to close his eyes to picture the surprise and rage on Sidious’ face when presented with Obi-Wan’s betrayal.
But only if his plans remained as shrouded as they were ruinous to the current order of the galaxy.
He caressed his beard as he assessed the situation with his eyes as clear as he could manage. Secrecy was the key to everything falling into place, yet at the crux of his plans lay one of the most brazen, impulsive, reckless individuals Obi-Wan had ever met. Obi-Wan played bodacious quite well, but it was another thing entirely to see someone who lived and breathed it.
Anakin Skywalker was his greatest asset, even if he hadn’t started out as such. His raw strength and power in the Force weren’t all that drew Obi-Wan to him, but it might have been what first turned his head his way so many years ago.
But Anakin was a desert rat who wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him over the head and bashed his skull over and over until all that was left was a bloody, unrecognisable mass. His will to live was admirable, as was his desire to fight, and he was as dramatic as he was breathtaking, yet it was that very bold nature that made him such a danger.
Not only a danger to his carefully laid out plans, plans that had taken years to take shape and form, but a danger to Obi-Wan himself. His greatest asset was fast becoming his biggest weakness.
And how Obi-Wan hated weaknesses.
Sith Lords of his calibre didn’t have room for vulnerabilities. Weaknesses were for inferior beings, and for other Sith Lords to exploit. Every time he grew even the slightest bit soft on something or someone, memories of Satine flashed behind his eyes, his master would simply toss him a knife — to cut out his weakness or cut out his heart.
His master didn’t care which option Obi-Wan would make. He had long ago told Obi-Wan that a Sith Lord didn’t let weaknesses grow.
A Sith Lord also didn’t take a third, or more. There were only ever meant to be a pair, a Master and an Apprentice. But that had never stopped Sidious from bending or breaking the rules to suit his needs.
Obi-Wan cared little for the rules Sidious had imposed on him from a very young age, always finding ways to bend them to suit his own needs.
But there was one rule Obi-Wan was loath to break. A secret apprentice he could take, but a weakness? He would never sign up for that, and even Obi-Wan was having trouble denying what Anakin had come to mean to him in the time since they had known each other.
He wouldn’t have allowed for such insolence from him otherwise.
What surprised him the most was how little it had taken for Anakin to override even his most rigid and unbreakable beliefs. It wasn’t even all that long ago that Obi-Wan had stolen him right from under Palpatine’s nose.
It had been such an easy thing, far easier than Obi-Wan would have ever imagined. Just a few tender words whispered in his ear, at the right time, in the right place, a sweet touch here and there, and the young man had melted into his arms.
Wide-eyed, docile, gentle.
Well. Mostly.
As laughably easy as it had been to gain his affections (nearly enough to deter him entirely from continuing with his plans), there was still enough of a chase, a thrill at capturing his prey. And the satisfaction that sang in his very bones when Anakin took his hand made it worth all the headaches that followed as they walked down the path of darkness.
That satisfaction was exactly what Obi-Wan did his best to recall every time one of those headaches blossomed right beneath his temples. Such a grand moment, yet it had blinded him. Getting the most powerful man in the galaxy to bend to his will was bound to have consequences, some foreseeable, and others even Sidious’s twisted mind could never predict.
When his grand moment of triumph grew hazy in his mind behind the pain, sometimes Obi-Wan found himself wondering if the price was worth it all. While Anakin’s impulsivity, his inability to see behind his own immediate desires and think about the bigger picture, was a wild force he could one day harness and unleash upon his enemies, for the time being, it made him far too volatile a man for Obi-Wan to trust with anything of true importance.
He could rage against his foes in the heat of combat and paint himself a portrait in blood. But did he have the patience not to kill those he needed? Did he have the restraint not to fly off if something more tempting caught his eye.
Could he be the enforcer Obi-Wan needed him to become, and mete out punishments and justice while the emperor strived for greater things?
One day, perhaps. One day long down the path they walked together, the path that Anakin had chosen to follow him down. One day when Obi-Wan was done shaping and molding him into the steady and powerful figure he knew that he could one day become. Perhaps then they could walk as equals, side-by-side and hand-in-hand on the path of darkness and conquest.
Until that day, Obi-Wan had no choice but to lead his rabid dog along by leash, to keep him close and keep him from wandering astray and biting someone.
A very short leash at that.
Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder with the slightest of moves, just catching his petulant boy in the corner of his gaze. Anakin fumed visibly, but not audibly. If he had a tail, Obi-Wan imagined it would be swishing around impotently with nowhere else for his rage to go.
Good. So he was learning. Slowly, but enough to know when to hold his tongue. Enough for Obi-Wan not to worry about having to put his rabid dog down just yet.
“Obi-Wan, I—”
Though clearly, not enough.
Obi-Wan raised his hand, silencing the boy in front of him. Without so much of a growl of protest, Anakin bit his lip as his mouth snapped shut. His hands curled into tight fists at his side, but his gaze dropped in compliance, settling somewhere low over his master’s shoulder’s. The obedience was a welcome sight, yet Obi-Wan hid any sight of satisfaction. These little rebellions of his were too frequent to not take with the utmost sincerity.
However, Obi-Wan was only human. He could enjoy the sight before him for a touch longer. His boy was delicious at his most obedient. Docile, sweet, and utterly perfect when he sank to his knees of his own free will, waiting with an unnatural patience for Obi-Wan to give him guidance or instructions. Were he to trust him enough to speak, the softest sigh of Master falling from his now-blooded lips would have just been the icing on the sweet cake.
Yet if he had been just as obedient from the start, would he have even caught Obi-Wan’s attention? That spark of rebellion had been in Anakin’s eyes all along, and where once it had been a mere fascination, that defiance stirred up something inside Obi-Wan as well.
A challenge. The Jedi could not own him. Sidious could not break him.
But Obi-Wan would possess him.
Had Anakin been docile and sweet all along, had his words not been as cutting and biting as the sharp teeth of a krayt dragon, would Obi-Wan’s interest have lasted long enough to tame him?
He did not coerce him. He did not manipulate him, nor lie to him.
A wild man gave himself over to Obi-Wan fully and of his own volition. All that power, and there he was, begging to be on his knees, for Obi-Wan.
He stepped close to the man, eradicating the distance between him and his would-be apprentice, and ran a thumb over his lip, smearing crimson drops of blood in its wake. From the softening of Anakin’s posture, he might have thought it a gesture of comfort rather than a sign of heated, nearly manic possession.
You are mine, Obi-Wan thought as he zeroed in his attention on Anakin’s bottom lip. Not Palpatine’s, nor anyone else’s. It would be a simple thing to say aloud, and perhaps Anakin would even agree, as seduced as he was by Obi-Wan’s charm. He could say that the skies above them were green and the stars made of giant droids, and Anakin might have believed him, simply because Obi-Wan had told him it was so.
Yet unlike Anakin, Obi-Wan knew when to hold his tongue. One didn’t treat a hound after discipline, lest he grow to think he was the one holding the leash.
“I care little about your excuses for your deplorable behaviour today,” Obi-Wan said with disdain, pressing his thumb on Anakin’s wounded lip until he saw the younger man wince.
“You have potential, talent, and the strength necessary to be at my side,” Obi-Wan’s voice turned into a soft rumble, inching his face closer to Anakin’s, a thrill rolling down his spine at the sight of the other man’s shudder. “But you have to prove to me that you’re worth the trouble.”
Obi-Wan pushed Anakin away as he turned around and moved across the room. He didn’t look back until he perched himself in the chamber’s lonely chair, pulled out far enough from the datapads piled high on his desk to see everything in the room without so much as turning his head. He took his sweet time settling his white robes, casually folding one leg over his knee, and then, and only then, did he look down at the former Jedi and release the hold on his feral mouth.
“You said I was worth it,” Anakin blurted out at once, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Oh, he was a crier. More than once, Obi-Wan had been content to simply watch the tears stream down his face slowly, then all at once. Until being content was not enough, and Obi-Wan had to give in and follow those watery tracks with his tongue before biting into those sweet rosy cheeks of his.
Anakin was delectable, and all Obi-Wan’s to do with as he pleased.
Even if what would please him the most now was forgetting that Anakin had ever stolen away onto a ship to go murder a Hutt.
Obi-Wan simply hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with him. He knew he had laid it on thick when seducing Anakin to his side, something that, looking back, carried far more trouble than Obi-Wan had originally foreseen… But it had been hard to hold back his tongue from spewing sweet nothings into the Jedi’s tender ear, so desperate for love, affection, and praise.
Even now, with his headache growing stronger and the weight of the mess he still had to clean up weighing heavily on his shoulders, the temptation to be soft on him remained.
“Perhaps you are,” Obi-Wan said with a dismissive hand gesture, the sight of Anakin clearly struggling to remain in place, so far away from Obi-Wan, sent a strong thrum of pleasure whirling through his gut. Anakin needed him like he needed water, and it was in everyone’s best interest if the opposite remained untrue.
“But perhaps you’re not,” Obi-Wan’s voice let his voice take on a flat tone, letting Anakin know that his attention, and most importantly, his interest, was waning. Not in Anakin. Never in Anakin. But there were only so many times they could do this over and over again. The rebelling. The punishments that followed. Something had to bend, or else everything would break.
“No, Obi-Wan, don’t… Don't say that.”
There was no rebellion in Anakin’s voice any longer. He sounded small, smaller than he had been in a very long time. Far more like that little boy Obi-Wan had first met in flight from Tatooine. Obi-Wan had been small back then as well, before he decided to cast off the life of an acolyte that had been forced upon him, when he killed Maul and usurped his place as the apprentice with his sights firmly set on a much loftier goal.
But what truly gave him pause wasn’t his words, or the shock of all the fight fleeing Anakin at once.
It was the way Anakin said his name.
Obi-Wan.
Like a plea. Like a prayer.
What a gift and a curse that name had been. He had taken many names since Sidious had taken him from his home, and fashioned himself many others afterwards. But the only one to use his true name had been Obi-Wan himself, in his own mind. He would never admit to anyone having such an odd attachment to a name given to him by complete strangers who he felt nothing towards.
And that had been the case, until he let that very thing slip to Anakin in a moment of weakness.
And in yet another moment of weakness, the tremble of Anakin's voice as he pleaded, betraying all of this young man’s vulnerabilities right then and there, caused Obi-Wan’s resolve to waver.
‘A different strategy, it will have to be.’
“That tongue you have on you,” Obi-Wan licked his too-dry lips as he beckoned for Anakin to approach him. His poor boy’s body shook from the ricochet of emotions flung through him all at once, but Obi-Wan told himself he didn’t feel the slightest bit bad for him. Not after all that he continued to put Obi-Wan through. “It will be your downfall if you do not learn to hold back.”
Anakin bowed his head, though Obi-Wan could see that his knuckles were white from how hard he clenched his fists. So there was still anger there. The spark of rebellion was not quite extinguished. Afraid as he may truly have been that Obi-Wan would tire of him, foolish a thought at that, he wasn’t apologetic.
Anakin still believed he was completely right, and the anger at his righteous actions being punished was truly a sight to behold.
Yet here he was, behaving. In spite of the fear. In spite of the anger, the rebellion, he yielded to Obi-Wan.
And that was all Obi-Wan desired.
Obi-Wan smiled, fully and openly, at that sight, and felt his shoulders relax as a plan formed in his mind.
In his heart of hearts, Anakin desired to bend and kneel at his feet. Obi-Wan had felt that desire buried deep within his mind. It was his nature, and his past, that got in the way of those desires. Left to rule him, they would ruin Obi-Wan’s plans and stop Anakin from truly submitting and becoming the obedient pet Obi-Wan knew he could be.
Affection had reeled him in, though Obi-Wan would not have gotten very far into Anakin’s training if he remained as tender as he once had been. Hate, while a useful motivator, was not something he wanted to foster between them, as bitter as Obi-Wan knew it could be.
But what else was left, if cold, feigned indifference only brought them these same results time and time again?
“Maybe I do know how to keep that mouth of yours shut.” Obi-Wan snapped his fingers, calling for the nearest droid to approach him. “Fetch the red box by my bed, now,” he ordered, never taking his eyes away from Anakin, enjoying the sight of the internal struggle the younger man was facing.
Punishment wasn’t new for them, but that wasn’t what Obi-Wan had in mind. Not at the time anyway. In fact, he wasn’t thinking about a punishment at all.
No, what Obi-Wan had in mind was corrective behavior, of a sort, to gently but firmly put Anakin in his place. Affection put the wrong ideas into his mind, and punishment had only served to build fear and resentment.
Obi-Wan was far too invested and protective of his favorite hound to put him down. It was a feeling that, more often than not, pestered him and annoyed him, as it would drive him to do everything he could to save him from the blame first.
Of course, it hadn’t always been that way. Once, Obi-Wan had desired in him an equal, someone who he could call his peer. As a Sith, he should have known such a thing would be untenable.
Because Sith didn’t have equals.
There were only two: one to embody power, and one to crave it.
But once, they had been a Jedi and a Sith.
And that made all the difference.
Skywalker whirled away from him, his lightsaber igniting in an instant.
“You’re a Sith.”
Obi-Wan smiled wickedly at him as fire ignited inside his gut.
“And you’re a Jedi,” he said with contempt and derision, as his plans had been set ablaze by the inopportune arrival of one insufferable Qui-Gon Jinn.
It wasn't the first time it happened, and unfortunately, he knew it would not be the last. He looked forward to the day when that annoyance was finally gone, where he would be free of his incessant chatter about ‘The Will of the Force’.
But Obi-Wan knew that, as long as Jinn had Skywalker by his side, the pathetic life form would be around.
There was something about Skywalker that… allured Obi-Wan in ways he had never experienced before, ever since their first meeting, many moons ago. It hadn’t been the sheer power Skywalker emanated through the Force, fierce and powerful, almost to a blinding point. Because as much as Obi-Wan wanted to believe he was all about power, when they had first met, he had been about so much more.
Perhaps it was related to what they had come to be to one other. Natural enemies, the Jedi and the Sith. Skywalker and Darth Nerium.
No longer Anakin and Obi-Wan.
“Tell me, Padawan,” he said with a sneer that reminded him more of his master than himself as he and Skywalker looked at each other from across the alley, Jinn’s unconscious form in the middle of them. “How feared are you by those who claim you as ‘one of their own’?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Skywalker replied through gritted teeth, wielding his lightsaber close to his face..
“I saw the way Jinn flinches away from your touch, the way you so desperately seek his approval,” Obi-Wan smirked as he replayed in his mind the different occasions he had seen Master and Apprentice before and the obvious signs of a broken bond that barely tethered them together.
That had certainly been a surprise, given how nauseatingly the Jedi professed to nurture such an important bond to their culture. But if the bonds of the Sith were that of a noose tied around each neck, pulling tighter and tighter until it killed one or the other, Skywalker’s bond to his Master was supposed to be a twisting vine meant to flower, but instead it had been left to rot.
“Jedi, we… we don’t…”
“Tooka got your tongue?” He licked his lips, enjoying the sight of Skywalker’s flush on his cheeks. Oh he was a supple young thing, wasn’t he? Easy to push, easy to pull, easy to bend. If only one knew the right places to press.
“I don’t talk to Sith scum!”
And there it was. A slight wobble to his words. His emotions, far too heated for a Jedi, but perfect for the starting kindle of a Sith. The anger, the rage that simmered deep beneath his skin began to rise for anyone to see.
It was just his luck that there was only one person around to see. The anger, so devastatingly beautiful to behold. But that was not all there was to see, for that anger served as a crude mask for the deep, unending pain of a young man betrayed. It wouldn’t hurt him nearly as much if they hadn’t been close once, all those years ago. Back when a young boy, lost in the cold of deep space and unable to sleep without the certainty the suns would rise upon him the next day, looked at him, as close to tears as he was now, and said in a voice too strong for his own body, took weak for his own might:
“I can’t take stuff from strangers.”
It was a strange sentiment coming from a child who had just run off with strangers, but adjusting to a new way of life didn’t happen all at once. It came from one first step, and from plenty of patience.
Perhaps they could just go back to being Anakin and Obi-Wan again.
“And what about a friend?” Obi-Wan said, just as he had all those years ago. In one swift movement, he clipped his lightsaber to his belt and flipped his hood down, looking at Skywalker with an open expression on his face.
He hid nothing and showed everything, projecting his honest intentions into the Force freely. It was a gamble, as Obi-Wan knew how unpredictable the young Padawan in front of him could be, but something, maybe even the Force itself, told him it was what needed to be done.
And it paid off, as his reward was Anakin looking at him as if he had lost his mind but lowering his weapon as he did so. It was a small step, but a step nonetheless. Small steps were good, Obi-Wan reminded himself as he gazed at the blue of Anakin’s lightsaber dancing in his eyes.
He smiled, at the knowledge that, one day, the shadow falling in his eyes would be red.
With patience and a gentle hand to guide him in the right direction, the rage that burned hotly within Anakin would turn him into a being that would bring the galaxy to his feet.
“Kamino,” Obi-Wan knew that was all that he needed to say to pique Anakin’s curiosity.
And when that one little word turned the galaxy into pure chaos, it earned him just enough of Anakin’s trust to reel him in for good.
Jinn’s body laid in the landing bay near the ship. Anakin and Obi-Wan were standing face to face, the fiery pits of Mustafar behind them. Their lightsabers were clipped to their belts, still warm from the fight, but Obi-Wan’s thoughts were with the man in front of him.
Bruised in ego and in flesh, Anakin turned to putty the moment Obi-Wan brushed his fingers through the freshly shorn hair where his padawan braid once grew and whispered, “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
A pained groan ripped from Anakin’s throat as he tried to take a single step back, only stopped by the grip of Obi-Wan’s hands on his face.
“You never even met her.”
This boy, fresh from the horror of the opening cavalcade of Sidious’s grand design. Good news might just break him.
The thought of breaking this powerful man, of Obi-Wan being the one to finally manage it, tasted sweeter than even the finest dessert. That was the first time he had such a thought, but something told him it would be far from the last.
The wash of tears that followed when he showed Anakin the hologram of his very living, very free mother wasn’t enough to sate Obi-Wan’s new-found appetite, but it would settle him for the time being.
“How?”
“I saved her, when the Jedi would not. When the people you saved on Naboo would not. Though certainly, either could have spared the expense.”
Anakin continued to look at the blue image of his mother, and when Obi-Wan finally shut it off, he looked like that lost boy Obi-Wan had met so many years ago, amazed that it was cold in space.
Anakin wiped his face on one of his flowing sleeves, stirring something deep inside Obi-Wan. Anakin turned his face away from Obi-Wan, and for a moment, he loathed the action, as Anakin hiding his face was as well as hiding his thoughts. Obi-Wan had known, from the very first word exchanged between them, that one only needed to look at Anakin’s face to know what he was thinking.
“You want to use my mother against me.”
Clever boy. Well, if it had been too easy, Obi-Wan might have grown bored.
“I don’t,” Obi-Wan said simply, and he meant it. If only because he knew it wouldn’t work.
Oh, he could certainly gain Anakin’s obedience for a time. But obedience under duress was a hollow thing. It wasn’t built on strength. It wasn’t built to last. It carried no loyalty, no tether to one another. And Obi-Wan knew first-hand how weak such a bond would be. It was something he and Anakin had in common after all.
“I simply didn’t want my master to get to her first. Nor would you have wanted that.”
“I don’t imagine Dooku would be very interested in one slave woman.”
“Dooku is not my Master, and she is no longer a slave.” And what Anakin didn’t imagine would be the death of him one day, if Obi-Wan didn’t intervene on his behalf. “Freedom suits her. And I think it would suit you as well.”
The unimpressed look Anakin shot at him might have been enough to startle a laugh out of him, if he were a lesser man with no control over his reactions. “I am a Jedi,” Anakin said flatly. “I am free.”
“Are you?” Obi-Wan tssked. “Your whole life, you’ve been manipulated by everyone around you. By your slave masters. By your Jedi masters. By the man who wanted to be your Sith master. Wouldn’t you like a taste of true freedom?”
Anakin’s face soured, as if biting back what he truly wished to say. It thrilled Obi-Wan to know there was such a spirit inside him. That the Jedi hadn’t killed that yet with their strict rules and unyielding dogma. That would be Obi-Wan’s alone to break.
“It’s not something anyone can give you. Freedom is something you must take with your own bloodied hands. The Force will set you free, not keep you trapped as the Jedi would have you be. I only wish to break the chains that have kept you weak, and docile.”
“I am not docile.”
Obi-Wan smiled mirthlessly. “Oh, but you are. You are what exactly the Jedi have made you to be. But you could be so much more.”
In the drowning, miserable sounds and smells and lights of this soulless world, Obi-Wan couldn’t see the minute shifts of Anakin’s expression, could not hear the rhythm of his beating heart nor feel the heat radiating off his skin. But in the Force, Anakin was so brilliantly alive that Obi-Wan could have sworn he heard his thoughts racing around at lightspeed as he toed closer to the man. And to his delight, Anakin didn’t flinch away, not even as Obi-Wan left his line of sight.
No Jedi would let a Sith close enough to stab them in the back.
Yet Anakin did.
“You are the Chosen One,” Obi-Wan whispered into his ear, enjoying the way the younger man’s body trembled and leaned into his touch. With Anakin’s back pressed hotly to his front, it took all of Obi-Wan’s will to stop his arms from circling around the Jedi’s waist and holding him tight. This was not the path he had planned on taking. Not days ago, when he had seen Anakin walk into Palapatine’s office after a decade and knew had to act quickly to disrupt his master’s plans. And certainly not all those years ago, when he first learned of the boy with the highest Midchlorian count ever recorded.
Yet in that moment, it seemed as if all his planning was always going to lead to this. And who was Obi-Wan to argue with the will of the Force?
“You will rule the galaxy,” he purred, letting the tip of his tongue play with Anakin’s earlobe, passing it as an accident as he continued talking, his voice soft and sweet. He would be lying if he said he didn’t relish the soft gasp torn from Anakin’s lips, though he pretended to pay it no mind. That he could save for later. “And I can get you there… You just have to say yes.”
Anakin turned around and kissed Obi-Wan with an intensity that left him dizzy and reeling. Obi-Wan, in return, finally circled his arms around Anakin’s waist and pressed them together, smiling into the kiss as he realised that all it had taken for Anakin to break was for Obi-Wan to hold his hand while he pushed him off the edge.
Time passed slowly as he waited for the droid to come back. He drummed his fingers in his armchair as he looked down at Anakin, smirking at the way his boy struggled to remain in place.
Obi-Wan held back the urge to force Anakin to his knees, making him go lower and lower until his chin hit the floor. He knew that Anakin wouldn’t complain, wouldn’t even say a single thing, he would just let it happen while Obi-Wan enjoyed the view.
Unfortunately, the dreadful droid decided to interrupt his thoughts by entering the room, its sounds grating on Obi-Wan’s nerves. He looked at it in contempt, wondering if they were really necessary in his fortress, only to discard that thought as soon as it came, for he had little time, or will, to do the menial, mundane tasks that they did around the place.
“Go,” Obi-Wan dismissed the droid as soon as he had his hands around the box, a dangerous smile covering his features while a tingling feeling went up and down his spine.
Obi-Wan finally looked at Anakin, and raised an eyebrow, waiting.
He was delighted in the struggle so clearly written in the younger man’s features, and while he knew he could order Anakin to do what they both knew Obi-Wan wanted from the former Jedi, Obi-Wan needed Anakin to truly submit to him.
Anakin was his weakness, and he had been trained from a very young age to eradicate them before they could overpower him.
But, there was a part of him that suffered at the idea of ripping Anakin from him, of taking a knife and plunging it into his heart as he had been trained to do. A part of him would even rather plunge that knife into his own heart than to extinguish the beautiful, brilliant flame that was Anakin Skywalker.
Anakin, who looked into his eyes with such fierce determination in his gaze, while Obi-Wan pictured his dead body, surrounded by a pool of his blood. It disgusted him, in more ways than one, but forced himself to only think of that as Anakin maintained eye contact. Only that, and nothing more.
Finally, Anakin looked away, biting his still-reddened bottom lip before letting out a sigh. His shoulders dropped as he flexed his mechanical arm and lowered himself to the ground.
Once his knees made contact with the cold marble of the floor, Anakin looked up at him, a hint of defiance still written in the depths of his blue irises. Obi-Wan licked his lips as he took the muzzle and leash from inside the box, leaving behind the rest of the fun bits and pieces for another day.
He approached Anakin in a few short strides, his palm going for the back of Anankin’s neck once they were one in front of the other. He played with the strands of Anakin’s hair that fell into his nape, and pulled, his cock stirring inside his pants as a soft groan of pain escaped Anakin’s lips.
He ignored the discomfort of his pants as he tied the leash around Anakin’s neck, caressing his soft skin as he made sure it was tight, digging into his flesh. The muzzle covered more than half of Anakin’s face, and Obi-Wan traced the tear tracks on Anakin’s cheek with his thumb as he secured the muzzle to the leash.
“You will learn your place,” Obi-Wan dug the metal of the muzzle into the flesh of Anakin’s face, his cock twitching inside his pants as Anakin winced and cried in pain.
“I once said you would rule the galaxy as the Chosen One,” Obi-Wan bent down so his lips would be almost touching Anakin’s. “But I’ve come to learn you don’t want to rule at all.”
He straightened himself before stepping on Anakin’s cock, holding his face by the muzzle. Obi-Wan was hard inside his pants, and smiled the same way he did that night; the night everything changed between them.
Obi-Wan pulled Anakin to his feet with force, uncaring if he was able to stand, enjoying his cries of pain as the younger man wobbled on his feet.
“You were born to obey,” Obi-Wan licked Anakin’s neck before biting into the flesh, leaving a dark, big bruise as he stepped away.
“And you will come to love the leash around your neck.”
