He turned and there was Anakin, 20 years old and now officially a man. Now. Fucking today. His undershirt clung to his broad back with sweat, his head hanging down and Obi-Wan was cursing this whole fucking planet and it’s backwards fucking people—
“We do not allow the use of suppressants, here,” the doctor was saying, for the third fucking time, because Obi-Wan kept trying to get a different answer by asking the question a different way. “Under no circumstances do we allow them. We can provide him with a companion, of course. Many older alphas assist with heats regularly, it is perfectly safe.”
“Well, they’d have to, wouldn’t they?” Obi-Wan snapped. The smell was becoming overwhelming, the soft, sweet notes that would be quiet and subtle outside heat becoming almost unbearably strong now. This was Anakin’s first heat, he’d never done anything like this before. The likelihood that Anakin would end up an omega wasn’t high, it had literally been calculated at 3%, which should have made Obi-Wan say immediately, yes, he’s going to be an omega, absolutely, no doubt, but he hadn’t. They weren’t prepared. There wasn’t a plan and this—Anakin could die. It wasn’t likely, but—
He could die. It wasn’t likely, but nothing with Anakin was ever likely.
The smell got stronger and when he looked, there was Anakin, flushed and breathing hard already and, really, he did not look beautiful, except…he did. Obi-Wan had seen some of the most beautiful people in the galaxy done up in their very finest, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more stunning than Anakin in a sweat stained undershirt and sleep pants that hung too low on his hips. Obi-Wan had been most of the way hard already, but looking at Anakin now, he had to resist the urge to adjust himself. There wasn’t much point in modesty anyway—even the beta doctor would be able to smell Obi-Wan’s arousal, but decorum demanded certain things and not adjusting oneself in front of perfect strangers was one of them. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, despairing.
“I heard what he said,” he replied. “Don’t make me do this with a stranger, Master, please.”
Wasn’t that convenient, because Obi-wan couldn’t imagine how difficult it would have been to walk away and leave another alpha in that room. At least he isn’t my Padawan anymore, he thought, despairing. At least there’s that. If asked, he would have done it anyway, he knew that, but at least—
He almost laughed. At least the war meant Anakin had been knighted early. At least all these people were dying, so Obi-Wan wouldn’t have had to fuck his Padawan.
“I wouldn’t, Anakin,” he said, then told the doctor, “Leave.”
The man scurried away and Obi-Wan watched him go, eyeing him with such incredible resentment that he had stop and take a deep breath, feeling the Force around him and then letting it go out into the Force—
Which was a mistake, he thought, looking at the stricken look on Anakin’s face. “Not you,” Obi-Wan said, as gently as he could. “That idiot.” He pointed at the door. He wanted Anakin to laugh, he wanted that so badly, but instead he thought that Anakin might cry, had to watch as Ankain turned away, had to fucking smell it. Salt water, some unpleasant sour notes added to his scent and for a moment, Obi-Wan wanted to do violence to whoever had upset Anakin, which was Obi-Wan himself.
He couldn’t even laugh. That would probably just upset Anakin more, because Anakin hated jokes he wasn’t in on. (It was funny, how recent it was that Obi-Wan began having to actually remind himself that Anakin was only 20 years old. Thousands of men answered to Anakin and it had aged him so quickly in so many ways and left these strange things behind—Anakin could turn a battle, but he couldn’t laugh at himself. Anakin could help plan a strategy spanning multiple systems, but couldn’t bear it when he was treated less than fairly.)
He stared at the doorway, where Anakin no longer was. He’d disappeared into the fresher—Obi-Wan could hear the sink turn on and when Obi-Wan moved into the bedroom, he could see Anakin bent over and splashing his face with water, back curved and arse out and everything clinging to his flushed and sweaty frame, looking like a picture in a dirty magazine for a spread about an omega in heat. ‘Oh I’m in heat,’ it said. ‘Why don’t you come help me with that?’
He could even picture the next photo so very clearly in his own head, Anakin sitting on the bathroom sink getting fucked, his back arched and head thrown back, his legs wrapped around somebody’s waist.
Anakin thrust another picture through the bond, almost identical to Obi-Wan’s, except instead of the vague alpha, it was Obi-Wan fucking Anakin.
If the pose from earlier had been accidentally erotic, made so as much by the scent of heat heavy in the air, the one Anakin made now was erotic on purpose. His back had arched further, his arse thrust outwards and he was looking over his shoulder at Obi-Wan, his mouth parted and eyes hooded.
“You want to do that, we could,” Anakin said, hoarse and low. “We can do whatever you want.”
“Whatever you want,” Obi-Wan disagreed.
Anakin straightened and then pulled his undershirt over his head and then pulled his sleep pants down and kicked them away. Obi-Wan had been hard before, but it shouldn’t have been more that he could see where Anakin’s underwear was wet with slick, sticking to his arse. Watching him peel them off, the quiet sound it made when the slick soaked underwear came away from his skin—well, it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault he groaned, he’d literally seen something like it in bad heat porn when he was younger and didn’t know any better. The only thing missing was Anakin simpering and saying, Oh, I’m so wet.
Anakin laughed a little, because obviously that was going to be the thought that made it through. “Oh,” he said in a breathy voice clearly meant to mock. “I’m so wet.” He laughed again, then harder when Obi-Wan groaned a second time.
“You can’t say those sorts of things when you’re naked and in heat,” Obi-Wan said. “And then laugh when I react.”
“Of course I can,” Anakin said. His smile faded and he looked away, face settling into harsh, tired lines. “I’m sorry, Master. I know you don’t—” He cut himself off and pushed past Obi-Wan into the bedroom.
He stood in the middle of the room, his back to Obi-Wan and his head bowed and shoulders slumped. Anakin had never been the most even keeled person in the galaxy and Obi-Wan knew heat would make that worse, a fact that he had could actually smell, because the soft, almost floral scent of Anakin’s amusement from earlier was still lingering in the air even while the heavier smell of his current misery dominated the room. It was almost funny how beautiful Anakin had become, all long, delicately muscled limbs and broad, powerful shoulders and graceful features. Perhaps that should have given away that he would be an omega—Anakin might have been tall, but everything else about him was elegant omega. How had Obi-Wan never noticed? He’d known Anakin was beautiful, had noticed this before with more than a small amount of discomfort, but this part of it he hadn’t noticed.
He placed a hand flat between Anakin’s shoulder blades, moving it until he was running the backs of his fingers down his spine and then back up again, until he brushed the back of Anakin’s neck. Anakin was breathing fast by the time Obi-Wan had reached around and grasped him firmly by the front of his neck and drew him back against Obi-Wan’s still clothed front. The feel of Anakin naked against his front, pressed up against his robes and his hard cock was beyond anything Obi-Wan had ever let himself imagine, the feel of Anakin panting while Obi-Wan held him by the throat almost transcendent.
Ah, he thought, amused at himself. He’d never helped anyone through heat before, but he wasn’t surprised this was where he went. At least…it wasn’t a surprise with Anakin. If he’d ever thought about what sharing a heat with Anakin would have felt like, it would have been this—too much, not enough and more than real.
“Get on the bed,” he said, low and quiet. “On your back.” He let his arm fall to his side and watched Anakin turn to look at him, then slowly crawl onto the bed before flopping gracelessly onto his back.
He stripped off, throwing his clothes on a nearby chair and watching Anakin stare at Obi-Wan’s hard cock while he walked to the bed and then settled himself down on top of Anakin, between his splayed thighs, who then let out a long, quiet moan when their cocks rubbed against each other any time either of them moved. The scent was even heavier now, weighing the room down with arousal and sex and want and the possibility of everything neither of them were supposed to have. No children. No mates. Just this: an occasional heat, maybe; a mission together every so often after the war was over, maybe. (Probably not, a voice whispered. After the war, they would have to separate, to be separated, to kill this attachment that had risen between them. If there were to be missions together, it would be when they were old men and the relationship between them little more than a fond memory. It will be a kindness, he thought, and tried to believe it.)
Anakin wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pulled him down and kissed him and even this was unpracticed. All those people he could have practiced with on all those missions and he never had, too awkward and unaware for him to be anything other than confused by the interest people showed in him. When he did notice, he often seemed more frightened by the attention than anything, once trying to actually hide behind Obi-Wan from the attentions of a Prime Minister’s daughter.
He hadn’t understood it, not until he suddenly did, watching a waitress try to get away from a grabby politician at a banquet. She was frightened not just by what he was doing to her, but also by what he could do to her without any repercussions at all. She had to smile and laugh at his jokes as she tried to get away, because this was her job and nobody worked catering jobs out of anything but need. This, he had thought, is what it means when somebody finds you attractive and you are a slave and they are not. You can do nothing but hope they will not hurt you, that you can hide well enough that it isn’t worth the effort to find you, that it won’t make things worse to hide. He distracted the politician til the waitress could get away and always stood where Anakin wanted him to when such things happened, after. He didn’t laugh, he didn’t make jokes and he glared at those who did.
“We don’t have to do this,” he told Anakin, after he, Obi-Wan, had broken the kiss.
“I want to,” Anakin said. “I don’t want anyone else.”
He laughed in response and Anakin scowled and Obi-Wan said, “I have spent years of listening to you talk about Senator Amidala. The only reason you haven’t been coming back to the apartment smelling like her as often as you can is because you hadn’t presented yet and you wanted to wait.” Well, that’s what Obi-Wan assumed anyway. Perhaps she had wanted to wait.
Anakin’s scowl deepened, his jaw clenching so tightly that Obi-Wan could see the muscles bulging. “She thought I was going to be an alpha,” he said, voice barely understandable. “She’s a beta and she doesn’t—” He looked to the side. “It’s fine, I thought. I’ll pop my fucking knot and then—nothing, it turns out. And I wanted you anyway.” He bared his teeth when Obi-Wan again laughed. “Fuck off, I did. I do. Are you going to fuck me or am I going to find someone else who will?”
In theory, Obi-Wan knew it was an empty threat. In practice, he snarled and wrenched Anakin up and kissed him hard, too much teeth and too much tongue, but he made his fucking point and when he groped Anakin’s cock, far rougher than he ever usually would have been, Anakin came for the first time. He said, “Please, please fuck me, please, Master, please.” Anakin was still hard, he was in heat of course he was still hard, and Obi-Wan continued the rough treatment of Anakin’s cock, moving down to roughly pull at his balls even as Anakin begged and begged and begged, please, please, please, and came a second time. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, tears on his face. “I don’t want anybody else, I would never, please, please, Master, fuck me, please.” He was sobbing a little, flushed all the way down to his nipples, and promising he would be good, he would, please, he just needed to be fucked, please. Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin’s left tit and his chest was heaving and Obi-Wan ran his fingers through some of the come and rubbed it in for no reason he could explain. He could, however, explain why he grabbed one nipple and twisted viciously. Anakin bucked so violently that Obi-Wan had to grab onto the headboard to stay where he was and he was fairly certain that Anakin would have come again, if not for having just come twice so recently.
This, he thought, is not something I knew about myself. Their bond, their illicit bond that should have been broken when Anakin was knighted, thrummed with lust and want and more pleading.
He then roughly turned Anakin over onto his back, pressing Anakin’s face down into the mattress for a moment just because he could. Anakin went completely limp, all tension suddenly leaving his frame, and he was uncoordinated and floppy when Obi-Wan pulled him up onto his knees and positioned his hands onto the headboard. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure the way Anakin’s lower back curved downwards and his arse stuck up actually was instinct, was Anakin presenting himself to be fucked, or if that was simply what Obi-Wan wanted to believe in the moment, but it certainly made him feel very good, very alpha, to the point where he again suddenly wanted to laugh at himself. He was fairly certain if he actually did that he would risk getting thrown out of bed, so he just sent approval and lust and I can’t describe the way you fucking look down the bond.
He stuck three fingers in Anakin’s arse, because Anakin had slick running down his inner thighs in a way that should have been gross, but was instead the fucking hottest thing Obi-Wan could imagine in that moment. Anakin was loose and open and ready, so fucking ready, and Obi-Wan held up his slick covered fingers to his nose and—Force, that smelled good. (No wonder the rest of the galaxy thought humans were the weirdest fucking species.) He had Anakin suck his fingers clean, because he was the one who’d gotten them dirty after all, and the whole time he was doing it, Anakin was sending down the bond that he would happily do this while getting fucked please, please, please, I’m being so good, Master, please.
Once Anakin had licked his fingers clean, he positioned himself and finally thrust home. The bed shook with this first thrust and he shifted, grabbing Anakin’s hips far harder than he needed to, before he began fucking him, sending his pleasure down the bond to Anakin. So good, he sent, along with the image of how Anakin looked, clutching at the headboard, head hanging down while he panted and moaned and said, “Ah, ah, ah,” over and over again. So good for me, he added when Anakin keened and sent a feeling through that Obi-Wan could only describe as desperate to please, even more desperate for Obi-Wan’s pleasure than his own. You feel so good.
He could feel his knot swelling, pressing up against the rim of Anakin’s arse. I’ve never knotted anyone before, he thought, slightly hysterical. He’d never wanted to, not before now, with Anakin moaning yes, yes, yes as the knot began pressing inside him. Why hadn’t he ever done this before? He couldn’t imagine such madness. He slammed a hand against the headboard, bracing himself, and wrapped his other arm around Anakin’s waist, pushing hard inside Anakin as much as he could with his knot trying to join them together. He shouldn’t do this, he thought. He should stay sitting up, far away from where a mating bite would go. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t, he knew that. Only the worst sort of alphas bonded with a newly presented omega, and they had both made vows, both sworn to be Jedi, who did not have mates. With every thrust the bed slammed up against the wall, when he came, his knot settling deep inside Anakin, he was too overwhelmed to do anything but mouth gently at Anakin’s scent glands.
Anakin, though, Anakin screamed and for a moment Obi-Wan was terrified he’d hurt him, but no. Anakin’s end of the bond was screaming with the same pleasure as he was voicing aloud as he came for a third time.
He settled them down on their sides out of the way of the wet spot while Anakin still panted, moaning every time Obi-Wan’s knot moved inside him.
“Thank you, Master,” Anakin slurred quietly. “Thank you.”
Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything, just rubbed Anakin’s stomach gently as he drifted off to sleep.
By the time it was over two days later, Anakin was so covered in bruises that Obi-Wan had gone to their ship to get the good bacta gel, which Anakin had refused. “I don’t—maybe it’s a weird me thing or maybe it’s an omega thing,” Anakin said. “But I like them and I don’t want to hurry them away.”
This meant that Obi-Wan spent far more of the rest of their diplomatic trip—meant to be renegotiating the Republic’s fuel deal with the local government, considering the sudden increased demand due to the war—staring at the hickeys poking out beneath Anakin’s collar. People keep talking to Anakin about his heat as well, which always makes him blush and look down, because they were congratulating him and making sure he knew he should pick a mate very soon, because these were peak breeding years. Literally, that’s what one alpha said to Anakin while Anakin gaped. Of fucking course, he thought. (He hadn’t sworn this much since he was 15 and seeing if it would bother Qui-Gon, which it hadn’t, of course.) A culture that didn’t allow heat suppressants probably did like to pair them off young. Anakin was looking increasingly horrified as the man told him about his eleven children, which again explained a great deal about this place, the lack of suppressants and also the number of children running about.
“I’m sure that some people—” Anakin said weakly, as they walked back to their shared quarters. “But surely—eleven—”
“Not something you have to worry about, my dear former Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, patting him on the shoulder before remembering that Anakin was covered in bruises.
Anakin didn’t seem bothered, he absently rubbed where Obi-Wan’s hand had just been as he said, “Still. Even on Tatooine we had better birth control than here.”
“This is a highly technologically advanced society,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s a problem of access to birth control, not a lack of knowledge of it.”
Anakin nodded, still absently rubbing at his shoulder.
The hot springs were justly famous here, which meant the day before they were to leave their host insisted on going with them there, to enjoy the water and the heat. “Very common to take your omega after a heat,” he said, poking Obi-Wan in the side with his elbow, grinning.
For such a sexually conservative place, the baths were segregated not by secondary gender, but by primary gender—men one side and women the other. This meant Obi-Wan had to endure two things—Anakin stepping naked into a hot spring, same as their hosts, while covered in the marks Obi-Wan had left on him and also the other men—all alphas, Obi-Wan quickly realised—staring and even occasionally touching his former Padawan. Before they got in, Anakin having just stripped off his towel, one of the men…accidentally brushed his hand against a bruise on Anakin’s arse. It would have been much more convincingly accidental if he hadn’t then dug his fingers into the bruise, causing Anakin to yelp and flinch away.
Before Obi-Wan could react—battle hardened general, yet here he froze, he thought afterward, bitter—their host, the prime minister, grabbed the offending alpha, lifting him physically off the ground and threw him back towards the building they’d all just come out of. The man went impressively far. “I won’t take any of that shit,” he roared. “Out, out!”
This would have been more pleasing to Obi-Wan if the prime minister hadn’t then spent most of the afternoon sitting with Anakin, reassuring him that he did not allow such things, no, omegas were valued here, precious. Judging by the eye roll Obi-Wan received when the man’s back was turned, Anakin didn’t find this argument particularly compelling.
“Precious and valued as broodmares,” he said to Obi-Wan under his breath, after settling beside him in the hot springs.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed. ‘Precious’ and ‘valued’ were not words that were likely to move Anakin, a former slave who knew what it was to be valued in the most literal of senses, especially considering how little they had cared what Anakin had wanted when it came to his heat days earlier. ‘Precious’ meant very little, if it was simply another way to assign value or lack thereof to a person as a form of control. Simpler things Anakin missed, but this he understood.
While Anakin began pre-flight checks for them to return to the Temple, Obi-Wan briefed the Council in as few words as he could. The original plan had them returning to the fleet, but Anakin would need to be seen by the Healers, get his implant for his suppressants. He’d already taken a morning after pill that was kept amongst the medical supplies onboard, but heat, especially a first heat, meant everything was up in the air.
Yoda called it ‘bad luck’ and Mace didn’t call it anything, just cocked an eyebrow in surprise when informed. Not counting Obi-Wan, Mace was the only other human on the Council, which meant most of the faces that he was confronted with wore that same faintly bemused expression most other species got when human sexuality came up.
“Ready to return to the Temple, Master?” Anakin asked. They were in orbit now, about to completely exit the atmosphere and begin flying out into open space until they were far enough away to go into lightspeed.
“Of course,” Obi-Wan lied.