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Ryloth was an unpleasant planet, in Darth Vader’s opinion. Too many deserts, and Wat Tambor had been a pain in Vader’s ass from the moment his ship had touched down—which had only happened because the arrogant Skakoan was too cowardly to hold up against siege in the first place. If Vader didn’t need every single droid for the prolonged battle and if he didn’t hold such deeply-rooted affection for them, he would have already thrown a dozen from Lessu’s highest spires in anger. He hated being here.
Sidious hadn’t given him any mercy—not that he ever did—when Vader had complained of the absolute impossibility of working with Wat Tambor, let alone taking back any of the settlements he’d lost before Vader had arrived. The GAR was steadily pushing up through the nearby deserts assisted by the local population and had been battering at the gates ineffectively for the past few days. If it weren’t for that plasma bridge—the only smart thing Wat Tambor had done the entire time he’d been here—they might well have been overrun already.
Broken glass and crushed sandstone crunched underneath his boots as he walked through the quiet streets in the general direction of the main gate. A trio of moons hung overhead in the night sky, shedding light Vader didn’t need because of the way his helmet functioned.
“There is a strange reading on the radar near the front gate, almost like someone is climbing over the wall. That is impossible though—it might be some sort of local wildlife, such as a can-cell.”
That was what the droid had said—and why Vader was skulking about like a spurned midnight lover. Wat Tambor had agreed that there must have been something wrong with the sensors and equipment, but he had only sent out a small team of droids to repair whatever minor valve or camera had broken. Vader was out himself because he’d sensed a ripple in the Force and didn’t trust that droids were enough.
The Force was curled around him like coils of rope, biting into him and pulling him, but in the end he was the one who chose to follow it to the end of the trail. There was an office building not far from the main gate, a squat thing but long, and Vader listened to his premonitions and ignited his ‘saber before entering. He swung his weapon in a loose circle before using it to cut into the keypad lock, then the door opened inwards.
Vader found himself inside a conference room, open to the elements from one of the pitiful air raids the GAR had managed to send through the separatist blockade. There was a cascade of rubble coming in from the northeast corner, and at the bottom of that heap was one beige-covered Jedi omega, dusting himself off from his descent. As Vader stepped into the room, saber drawn, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s gaze snapped to Vader’s helmet and he too drew his saber, taking a pair of steps toward Vader to give himself a bit more room to fight.
Except the old omega looked downright haggard. If the brief Vader had, at best, skimmed was correct, then Republic forces had been dug in for weeks, trying and failing to break a stalemate that Vader himself was now here to prolong. That meant that Obi-Wan had been here for weeks on a dwindling supply of food and water shared amongst his men, leading whatever charges he could because that was just how Obi-Wan Kenobi was. His cheeks were gaunt just above the line of his beard, and the circles under his eyes were so dark Vader could almost mistake them for bruises. There was a bit of blood splattered across the collar of his tabard, but Vader couldn’t tell if it was his or a clone’s—probably the latter. Vader’s teeth were halfway bared—but probably, it was just a clone’s blood.
Vader wanted to check for himself, tear Obi-Wan’s clothes to shreds beneath the metal fingertips of his gloves, but there were two lightsabers in the way—one blue, one red.
Vader had been tasked to hold the city for only another week, no more, no less. After that he was free to bail on Ryloth altogether and await Sidious’ next assignment. He thought, for a brief moment, to tell Kenobi and spare him the clearly strenuous (and pointless) efforts he’d been making, but…
He didn’t care much about the clones that would die in the pointless squabbles up until that point. There were no droids on this planet strong enough to kill Obi-Wan, and Vader himself certainly wasn’t going to do it, so he flicked his lightsaber off in one smooth movement.
“It wouldn’t even be any fun to pretend to try to kill you right now, old man.”
Obi-Wan didn’t put his ‘saber down, but Vader could see the way Obi-Wan sagged, thanks to the lenses in his helmet. “I was unaware of your presence on Ryloth, Vader. I suppose a greeting is in order.”
“I only arrived a few days ago. I didn’t know you’d be here either.” Vader looked Obi-Wan up and down, again. “When did you last sleep? You look… You’re a mess.”
Vader, again thanks to the lenses in his helmet, was privy to the slight quirk of Obi-Wan’s lips, the way the bristles of his mustache shifted.
“Don’t tell me the great Darth Vader came all this way to try to put me to bed.”
The tone of his voice was supremely odd—half irritation, half wry amusement. As if he thought that it was a real possibility that a Sith Lord would come halfway across the galaxy to tuck him in and sing him a lullaby—maybe to throw in a warm cup of bantha milk as well.
Vader huffed out something close to a laugh at the thought inside his helmet, and as his respirator drew in more air, it was tinged with something a little strange—Obi-Wan’s scent, except stronger than Vader had ever smelled before. Jedi loaded their alphas and omegas up with suppressants so strong that for the longest time, Vader hadn’t even known that Obi-Wan was an omega. But now Obi-Wan was acting strange, even in his banter.
“I’m a man of many talents,” Vader responded, aiming for lofty and only hitting the mark because of the vocoder in his helmet.
The blue plasma vanished and in the moment it took for Vader’s eyes to adjust to that slight difference, Obi-Wan had closed the gap between them and had one hand tracing Vader’s gorget, the metal the only thing preventing Obi-Wan from touching Vader’s flesh, dragging his callused fingertips across Vader’s sensitive scent glands—Obi-Wan was being incredibly forward compared to their usual song and dance.
Vader sucked in a too-big breath, and his respirator hiccuped at the disturbance. Obi-Wan’s omega scent filled his helmet, slowly but steadily, and it set his heart rate high and his teeth aching in his jaw.
“Oh, are you?” Obi-Wan asked, drawing back just enough that he could look Vader in the eyes—or as close as he could get. There was a challenge in his voice that Vader was practically helpless to meet. “Why don’t you prove it then, Lord Vader?”
Vader’s breath hissed into him again, and when Obi-Wan tried to back off Vader didn’t let him get away—he reached out with his mechno-arm around the jedi’s ribs, pulled Obi-Wan back in so he could sweep him off his feet. His flesh arm slipped behind Obi-Wan’s knees and with one swift movement, the older omega was scooped up into his arms. Obi-Wan’s surprise rippled out into the Force even behind his shields, and being able to affect him so much sent a shiver of pleasure skittering down Vader’s spine.
“I’m not going to have you here,” Vader rasped, going back the way he’d come.
There was a sudden sharpness to Obi-Wan’s scent, and his hand clenched around the hilt of his ‘saber, but then it mellowed out again into that almost unbearable sweetness. Vader kept his gaze on the rubble he was crossing, on the emptied out buildings beyond, looking for one that hadn’t been destroyed by airstrikes.
There was a slight tink sound, enamel on metal, and between that and how close Obi-Wan’s head was to Vader’s neck, Vader thought he had a pretty good idea of what was going on down there. Obi-Wan was… biting at his gorget, the neckpiece that protected him from blaster fire, debris… mating bites. Vader couldn’t help but laugh at little at the ridiculousness of the act, but then he began thinking.
Something was very off about Obi-Wan’s behavior. Even when he was really into it—which wasn’t always a guarantee, given that he tended toward frigidity especially when they’d been apart for some time—Obi-Wan wasn’t the bite-y sort of omega. There was a reason Vader’s gorget always ended up on Obi-Wan’s neck and not Vader’s—between the two of them, Vader was the one who couldn’t keep his teeth to himself, marking Obi-Wan up all over his shoulders more fervently than he claimed territory for Sidious. And he was being so—Vader hadn’t even had to disarm him after a playful sort of duel, or get trapped with him in a room with no escape, or push him out of the way of falling debris. Obi-Wan had initiated, even.
He’d never done that, before.
After a while, Obi-Wan seemed to tire of gnawing on durasteel and curled back into himself with an agitated little huff, which was cute. He was somewhat restless in Vader’s arms, which was why Vader didn’t even notice anything was wrong until there was a soft metallic thunk on the sandstone chunks underneath him.
Startled, Vader probed the Force instinctively and sniffed at the air, muscles bunching as he readied to fight, to kill, to rend limb from limb—but there was no one around. The source of the noise became apparent when Vader looked down; Obi-Wan’s ‘saber handle was nestled between two pieces of debris, the glint of it bright in the moonlight.
Vader’s gaze drifted to his fretful bundle, and noted that Obi-Wan was sleeping now, in his arms—though he still shifted and twitched, as if there was something internal that discomfited him. His face… he looked younger when he slept, though much of that was hidden behind his full beard. The worry lines that always seemed to be etched in his face went lax, and some disappeared altogether. Even just seeing this, Vader felt like he was stealing something precious, wrenching it from its pedestal to keep for himself. Those who met most often on opposite sides of a battlefield were not often privy to their opponent’s sleeping face, and Vader had only seen Obi-Wan’s once or twice before.
His lips itched as his gaze lingered on Obi-Wan’s forehead, the limp strands clinging because of the sweat. He didn’t do anything to alleviate the near-burning sensation.
Instead, he reached out for the Force, and she answered his call neatly, pulling the lightsaber back from the rubble and levitating it onto the thin padding of the robes which covered Obi-Wan’s stomach. It rolled into the crevice between their bodies, where Obi-Wan’s weight met Vader’s strength, and then settled.
“What am I gonna do with you, you beautiful man?” Vader murmured, almost so low that his vocoder didn’t catch it. “As funny as it might be to watch you realize you dropped it in your sleep…”
He didn’t want Obi-Wan to wake and be distracted by the absence of his most valuable weapon, to run off looking for it because no matter the situation Obi-Wan Kenobi was unfailingly, frustratingly rigid about his rules. There were so many other interesting things they could be doing instead of… all that.
Vader shivered as he got moving again, as the scent of Obi-Wan’s arousal pooled ever stronger in his helmet. He felt like he was going feral—like that one thin thread that sometimes was the only thing to tether him to rationality had snapped entirely. Obi-Wan was a consummate Jedi—which both endeared and infuriated Vader, at turns—and had purportedly been receiving regular suppressant injections since before Vader had even been born, long before he’d received this name.
At the reminder of their different stations, the different and conflicting lives that had nearly kept them from having even the tenuous connection they did have at all, Vader felt hot under the collar, anger simmering in him. If he hadn’t been raised by Sidious—if Obi-Wan hadn’t been raised a Jedi—
Perhaps it would have been easier, if they had grown together. Age gap notwithstanding.
But then, Obi-Wan shifted in his arms again, his eyebrows drawing together in agitation, and Vader’s instinct was to tamp down his anger to not disturb the beautiful, glittering Force signature that belonged to the omega who he’d thought of as his since the very first time he’d had him. He shushed him like Obi-Wan were the one sixteen years younger, holding him close and tight as he ducked into what looked like an apartment building, still nearly perfectly intact. The halls were squat and low, but the actual apartments were a bit more spacious, and once Vader found one with four walls and a bed, he settled.
A specific type of adrenaline pumped through Vader’s veins, making him feel hot and itchy and ready to fight, ready to fuck, but more than that it spurred Vader to set his slumbering omega on the bed. He reached for Obi-Wan’s mind, his Force signature, and encouraged sleep momentarily as he stripped Obi-Wan down from his clothes neither clean nor neat then set all of Obi-Wan’s possessions on someone else’s nightstand.
The smell of omega slick, of Obi-Wan’s omega slick thick and heady, made his teeth hurt, but with a grim sort of determination Vader slipped Obi-Wan underneath the (reasonably clean, cleaner than Obi-Wan himself) bed sheets, letting him rest not out of selflessness but out of some deeply ingrained biological instinct. The leather fingers of his gloves ran down Obi-Wan’s spine, feeling the dip between the thick muscle, and he groaned in his physical frustration, having his omega so close and so wet and ready for him but not quite ready to be touched. His cock pressed half-hard against his codpiece, nearly painful already.
Something really was off. Normally, Vader would shake Obi-Wan awake, joke about how old the omega was to take a nap in the middle of an active warzone, and then stuff Obi-Wan full while trying not to think about how there was a beast inside the cradle of his ribcage tearing into the meat and bone there because it so desperately wanted more than quick fucks when they saw each other every standard month or so. But… it was important for Obi-Wan to get some sleep, so much so that he couldn’t let himself wake the poor omega.
Vader stood up, and he was restless, pacing back and forth. He stripped himself of his armor and helmet, folding everything—including the glove that covered his mechno-arm, baring the black durasteel and gold inlining to the room—haphazardly and putting it on the table, then pacing, then pulling out a pack of ration gel for when Obi-Wan woke up, setting it on the bedside table, then pacing, then painstakingly putting his own gorget onto Obi-Wan, then pacing again. He was acutely aware of the way that Obi-Wan shifted in his sleep, rolling under the covers one way and another while making soft disconsolate noises. Just moments before Vader meant to shush him again in the Force, awareness sparked in Obi-Wan’s signature, and before Vader knew it, Obi-Wan’s blue-gray eyes were pointed at him like a Rancor set on a meal.
Funny that Vader felt like a Rancor instead then, like he was mere moments away from pouncing on his… his. Vader froze, there in the middle of the room with nothing on him except his plain black trousers.
Obi-Wan cleared his throat, not even bothering to hide the way he ogled Vader—and he never did that, so it almost made Vader want to preen. “What are you being so shy for? I promise I’ve seen the inside of a sonic less than a week ago. You’ve had me in a worse state.”
“Obi-Wan…” Vader started, taking a few steps toward the bed. “That’s not true—here, you should—”
The moment he was within reach, Obi-Wan’s arm snatched his wrist, like he was nervous Vader would leave him alone. The russet-haired omega was surprisingly—or unsurprisingly, he was a Jedi after all—strong, and managed to drag Vader off balance enough that Vader had to sit down on the edge of the bed, one hand on each side of Obi-Wan’s naked torso.
“Obi-Wan!” Vader pulled his hand away before Obi-Wan could attack his neck with his lips and teeth again like he had earlier. The thought of it made him pulse with want and his cock twitch in his trousers, but—Obi-Wan needed to regain his strength. Vader grabbed the ration gel from the bedside table and split the packaging open at the corner; pearls of the semi-viscous liquid gel beaded up on the edge of it. “You have to eat first—when was the last time you ate?”
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over the very slight swell of his tits. “Come now, is that really the most pressing—” and it was here that Obi-Wan jerked his chin ever so slightly toward Vader’s prominent erection—“matter at the moment? I’m not meant to be—well, we can simply say I don’t have much time and—Vader!”
Heedless of what Obi-Wan was saying, Vader reached out with his flesh hand and gripped Obi-Wan’s cheeks from the bottom, right where he could press in between Obi-Wan’s rows of teeth to force this issue if he had to. The bristles of Obi-Wan’s beard brushed against the callused and scarred flesh of his fingers, but it was a comforting feeling. Vader lifted the packet of hyper-nutritious gel up to Obi-Wan’s lips.
“I’m not kriffing you until you’re fed,” Vader pronounced blithely, squeezing gently to encourage Obi-Wan. “Open your mouth.”
For a few moments—just out of spite, Vader was sure—Obi-Wan kept his mouth firmly closed, lips in a pressed line. Their eyes were locked, blue to yellow-gold, neither giving any ground. But, when Vader didn’t relent, Obi-Wan eventually did. Those plush lips, chapped because Obi-Wan probably wasn’t drinking enough, parted, and Vader tipped the packet up. He squished it haphazardly, clumsily, with the mechno-hand, because his other one was busy already. A big dollop spurted out and fell onto Obi-Wan’s mouth, looking for all the galaxy like he was eating his own slick.
Vader shuddered, and his eyelids slipped halfway down as he watched Obi-Wan swallow, the knot of his throat bobbing languidly. His gaze never left Vader’s face, flicking lazily from one eye to the other, then down to Vader’s mouth. Vader himself swallowed, finding his mouth far too wet, like he was salivating over a good meal.
Vader could still feel Obi-Wan’s irritation and impatience in the Force, and that only fanned the flames in his heart more—perhaps that was an artifact of the way they’d met, over and over on the battlefield genuinely trying to put each other down. There was an urge to satisfy and protect bubbling up in him like a wellspring, but watching Obi-Wan grab the nutrient gel packet with both hands and squeeze out the last salacious bits of it himself, so clearly disgruntled because Vader refused to lend him his dick until it was all gone, made him wary of accidentally popping his knot in his pants. That was how hot it made him.
“If you try to tuck me in now,” Obi-Wan grumbled, throwing the empty packet to the ground like it disgusted him, nipping at Vader’s thumb when he tried to push a little spill back inside Obi-Wan’s mouth, “whatever happens after that, you will bear the blame for it.”
Something suddenly clicked in Vader’s brain, the same way things did when he figured out how to reprogram a droid to perfection. “Obi-Wan, are you going into heat?”
“What? No, of course not,” Obi-Wan bit out, quickly divesting himself of the covers Vader had tucked him into. “I’m not due another injection for a month—which, by the way, is how long it has been since I last saw you.”
He said that last part rather pointedly—as if it was Vader’s personal flaw that Sidious had been running him ragged in the Outer Rim, setting up seemingly blank-faced cards to all fall at exactly the right time and no sooner, and not at all Obi-Wan’s fault that his precious Order had practically sequestered him for the entire time who-knew-where. As if Vader wouldn’t have vastly preferred to spend that entire time with his dick in Obi-Wan’s hole, bending his omega in half and making him scream from pleasure in whatever bare-bones nest the Jedi would build, instead of bashing heads and getting contracts signed.
Vader tried to be good-natured about it though, pressing in close and finally getting his hands on his omega, feeling the heat of him under his hands. He took in a lungful of Obi-Wan’s heady scent, which was apparently solely from how turned on and pent up Obi-Wan was in Vader’s presence—he’d take it, stuff the knowledge into his cracked and bruised heart.
“You missed my dick that much, old man?” Vader grinned with all the bravado of an alpha in his early twenties, pressing Obi-Wan down into the mattress with his mechno-hand. He watched Obi-Wan go boneless in an instant, just from the suggestion that he was about to get what he wanted, and he reveled in the experience of Obi-Wan’s thighs falling apart for him again. “You want me to knot you wet and messy?”
“Vader, please, control your mouth. You sound so uncivilized,” Obi-Wan whimpered, but despite his words Vader watched as a small, fresh gush of slick dribbled out of his hole, pink and puffy and waiting for him.
Waiting for him.
Tenderness anathema to his entire upbringing since he’d been ripped from his mother at nine shot through Vader like Force lightning, threatening to tear him to shreds. Despite being driven to this point, where Obi-Wan was practically snarling and biting to get his hole filled, he still hadn’t gone to find another alpha, instead faithfully waiting until the next chance happening with Vader.
Letting whatever Obi-Wan had said hang freely in the air and fizzle out because there were more important things than talking at that moment, Vader shucked his trousers and kicked them off the bed, leaving them to crumple in a wrinkled black heap on the floor. His cock was flushed a dark red, almost angry at having been ignored for so long, and it pulsed a little extra precome as Vader briefly took in the sight of his member hovering just over Obi-Wan’s sopping hole.
“Vader,” Obi-Wan complained with nothing more than the tone of his posh, core-world-accented tone.
He took one long, muscular leg and dug the heel of his foot into the meat of Vader’s ass, pressing them even closer together until the tip of Vader’s throbbing dick was pressed against Obi-Wan’s entrance. The scent of arousal, tinged with spice and irritation, swirled so thick around them that it threatened to drown Vader.
“Relax, Obi-Wan. Aren’t Jedi supposed to be patient?”
But he still took himself in hand and fed himself into Obi-Wan, the glide incredibly smooth as Vader embedded himself in that feverishly hot hole clenching around him. Instead of more backchat, Obi-Wan let out a long, low cry, throwing his head back against the pillow as his hands fell like shackles around Vader’s mechno-arm, keeping it where it was pressed just underneath one of Obi-Wan’s tits.
Vader wouldn’t have pulled away anyway, couldn’t have been pulled away anyway. His hips began pumping in and out, slow and gentle, as he relished in the way Obi-Wan trembled excessively around him, in the way Obi-Wan’s fingers dug so firmly into Vader’s arm that the sensors could pick up every callus and ridge on them. Vader watched Obi-Wan’s face, only barely blinking, as he made Obi-Wan flush and squirm and sweat.
Finally, his body screamed, his mind screamed, his heart screamed. Finally.
Obi-Wan’s feet kicked at Vader’s ass and thighs, encouraging him to go faster, but Vader kept his pace slow, teasing, saccharine almost. They’d been waiting for this for—as Obi-Wan had so impatiently pointed out—over a month, and Vader wouldn’t have it be over after five minutes of mindless, frantic rutting.
“Not enough,” Obi-Wan grunted, suddenly reversing his stance and pushing Vader’s hand away. “You’re not—if you won’t, then I will.”
Despite the red flush that adorned Obi-Wan’s face, the panting and the moaning and the trembling, the omega was still a Jedi, and he showed it by shoving Vader back against the bed, sprawling. Vader let out a soft snarl, displeased and confused by his omega throwing him off, but Obi-Wan pinned him down with the Force. In the moment it took Vader to try to mount any sort of counteroffensive, Obi-Wan had crawled over towards him and laid a hand on his hip, which did wonders to soothe his mildly bruised ego.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to use the Force that frivolously,” Vader said instead of shoving back, trying for teasing and falling somewhere like strangled as Obi-Wan swung his leg over Vader’s hips so that he was straddling him, facing away.
Obi-Wan’s back, powerful and strong, rippled in pleasure as he guided the head of Vader’s dick back into his wet hole. Obi-Wan turned his head to look at Vader, just one blue eye seeking him out and seeming so bright in contrast to both his skin and the black of Vader’s gorget, and that in conjunction with the slick dribbling down and sliding against the sensitive flesh of Vader’s cock nearly had him coming right then and there.
“I’m subduing a Sith,” Obi-Wan replied dryly, or as dryly as he could.
Even now, like this—the scent of Obi-Wan and arousal so thick in the air that it could have choked a bantha—Obi-Wan’s quick wit still hadn’t fully left him. But when Obi-Wan sat down, sheathing Vader’s cock inside him in one smooth movement, Vader’s left him instead.
He let out a growl and reached out to hold Obi-Wan’s waist, but he let his omega do as he pleased and set the pace. Watching Obi-Wan’s back, ass, and thighs work so hard to bounce himself up and down over Vader’s lap made pleasure skitter down from the base of Vader’s skull. Obi-Wan rode him hard, and Vader clutched Obi-Wan’s waist so hard that his mechno-hand might leave fingerprint bruises when it was all over.
When he tested his grip by dragging Obi-Wan down on his cock a little harder, Obi-Wan let out the filthiest moan Vader had ever heard in his life—including from the schuttas his Master had always shoved into a room with him during his rut. His mouth fell open in tandem when Obi-Wan squeezed down around his cock, and so he did it again, helping Obi-Wan along until his hands wanted to wander, wanted to feel more of the omega in his lap who was both soft and firm, both yielding and impossible.
The slap of their hips and grunts, moans and whimpers were the only sound that filled the room as Vader’s hands ghosted over Obi-Wan’s ribs, then reached up and around to try to tweak his pink nipples or grope the small swell of his tits. The angle made that untenable for long, but feeling Obi-Wan’s hands shaking where they were braced against Vader’s thighs was more than worth it even if only for a few moments.
Vader’s breath felt punched out of him when his hands drifted down to Obi-Wan’s ass, spreading his cheeks so that he could watch his own cock drilling into the hot, wet clench of Obi-Wan’s hole. He could see the way the burgeoning bulge of his knot began to catch on the rim, the way Obi-Wan’s hole fluttered as it tried to take it in. Every time Obi-Wan sat down fully, he made a high and needy keening noise, caught somewhere in between sweet and feral.
Vader felt like he was losing his mind, halfway to surging up and sinking his teeth into willing flesh, tearing just enough to make his omega bleed—the only thing that stopped him was the sense memory of teeth scraping against metal, that stupid fail safe that Obi-Wan always wore when they were together like this. Given how out of his mind with lust Obi-Wan seemed, Vader wondered if he could have gotten away with leaving it off this time—if Obi-Wan’s scent would be even thicker and more intoxicating if Vader could breathe it in directly from his mating gland, what it would be like if the coppery tang of blood joined it.
And Obi-Wan wasn’t even in heat.
But what if… what if Obi-Wan was wrong? What if he was going into heat, the first he’d had in many years if what Vader knew was right? Maybe—maybe Vader could fuck Obi-Wan so good that he…
Vader shuddered as Obi-Wan continued teasing his knot as he tried to take it in. If Obi-Wan were going into heat, then it would be dangerous, to knot him and pump him full of Vader’s come. There would be a not-insignificant risk even at Obi-Wan’s age of Vader’s seed taking root, of planting a pup inside Obi-Wan’s womb.
He imagined it for just a moment—Obi-Wan, full and round with his own pup, pretty hands resting on top of his big belly. He wanted it, wanted Obi-Wan, wanted his omega. He’d take such good care of Obi-Wan, bringing him anything he needed or wanted, doing anything for him.
“Obi-Wan,” Vader snarled out suddenly, desire and pleasure knotting together tightly in his gut too close to push it away anymore, “I’m—”
Obi-Wan understood, and with one last primal cry of exertion and ecstasy, pushed down one last time and Vader’s knot finally finished swelling inside an omega where it belonged, locking the two of them together. Vader sat all the way up, clinging to Obi-Wan from behind, no longer able to resist his instincts as his orgasm overcame him and he began to come inside.
Vader’s flesh hand splayed out over Obi-Wan’s lower belly, right over where his womb would be, feeling the soft downy hairs and imagining that he could feel the way he was flooding Obi-Wan with his seed. He pulsed deep inside his omega, a practical torrent of come, until Obi-Wan’s belly had swelled just the slightest bit.
Obi-Wan cried out and came on his knot, his watery spend shooting out and landing warm on Vader’s thighs, slicking them the same way he’d slicked Vader’s cock and the cradle of his pelvis. The clench was divine, and Vader nosed up against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, biting it because he couldn’t bite where he really wanted to. He wanted to break the skin, but he didn’t; something about this moment seemed like it would shatter if he did, like glass suspended in the grip of a particularly capricious darksider.
When it was over, Obi-Wan let out a sigh that spoke of a deep satisfaction. His shields were loose, and Vader found himself worming into the cracks of them, bathing in the bright warmth, the happiness and satiation spilling out of the omega Jedi. He knew that Obi-Wan had enjoyed it, and yet…
“Was that what you wanted?” he whispered as he tucked Obi-Wan’s legs in front of him so that the two of them could lie down together. “My knot?”
Obi-Wan hummed affirmatively, going much easier when Vader helped him down. “Precisely the thing.”
The layers of the gorget ground against themselves in a slight rasp of metal as Vader finished tucking himself around Obi-Wan, wrapping an arm around Obi-Wan’s chest and pulling them flush. He kissed the black metal both because Obi-Wan wouldn’t feel it and just because it was there. There was something languorously unspooling in his limbs now that he had popped his knot and filled Obi-Wan up, a tension easing in him. The smell of desire was still thick in the room, but meeting it felt far less urgent now.
The same was true for Obi-Wan—except, because the slippery omega never took care of himself properly, the warm claws of relaxation dragged Obi-Wan back down into slumber swiftly. Obi-Wan’s body softened even further in Vader’s grasp, and the warm satisfaction of Obi-Wan’s Force signature dimmed until Vader was left alone.
Vader lost himself in reverie quickly, the swirling storm of his own mind opening back up into chaos after being tamed momentarily by something (someone) tangible to focus on. Barbs of his own making stabbed into his flesh, into his heart, the moment he couldn’t pretend anymore that Obi-Wan wasn’t going to run out that door the second his knot went down.
He clutched Obi-Wan’s sleeping body to him, feeling the give of it, but mostly needing to feel the warmth, the dampness of their sweat. For a moment he thought to himself: what if he didn’t allow Obi-Wan to go? What if he kept Obi-Wan forever, the Jedi’s input not required?
Vader shivered, and then again, and then his fingers dug a little firmer into the soft, sleeping skin of his omega, and then—
Obi-Wan snored, just a feather-light sound. Barely anything, in the grand scheme of things—Vader thought he could hear artillery fire in the distance. And yet, Vader’s heart still clenched, and though he had been raised up to do any number of things, vile and wretched and beautiful, he knew he could not do that.
Obi-Wan would never forgive him for it. Would never stop trying to escape him if he did that. Not even if Vader waited on him hand and foot, not even if Vader did everything in his power to ensure Obi-Wan never spent another second of his life uncomfortable or unhappy.
Vader pressed his face against the soothing coolness of his own neckpiece wrapped around Obi-Wan’s neck, and his breath came out shuddering. He clutched Obi-Wan close, having him but unable to really have the omega he’d knotted, and a few of his own tears dripped into Obi-Wan’s close-cropped hair.
An electric beep sounded across the room, from the table where Vader had placed his things. It jarred him to hear it for several seconds, and then anger crashed over him like a wave, drowning out the sorrow. He propped himself up on one elbow, to look out over the room over Obi-Wan’s freckled shoulder, a scowl on his face as his knot pulled a little against Obi-Wan’s hole and reminded him of what exactly the noise was interrupting.
There was only one person who had the access codes to that particular comm—Vader could see it, winking at him in crimson, shrilly chirping that his Master wished to speak—but Vader was in no mood to speak to anyone. He already only got a few precious moments that slipped through his fingers like detestable sand, unable to be grabbed even if Vader tried with both hands—how dare Sidious try to interrupt this after putting him on this Force-forsaken planet in the first place?
Vader lashed out in the Force, an irritated strand of it wrapping around the offending comm and crushing it into bits. The room seemed darker, for a moment. A shard of ice settled in his spine, fear for the repercussions he knew would come from this, but Sidious was constantly encouraging him to give follow his passions and let his rage consume him and bolster his strength in the Force. This was only the natural conclusion of his teachings.
Obi-Wan shifted in his sleep, and from this angle Vader could see the way his forehead wrinkled at the sudden influx of the dark. A pang hit him, and his rage simmered into almost nothing. He tried to soothe, running his mechno-hand down the angled planes of Obi-Wan’s side and whispering something nonsensical in his ear, but it was too late. Obi-Wan’s body regained its wakeful tension in fits and starts in Vader’s arms.
And, as if the Force was laughing at him specifically, Vader could feel the way his knot was starting to go down, threatening the end of yet another tryst. If he were in rut, like the first time, then they would have gone again—but ruts only came once per year, and spending them where Sidious couldn’t keep tabs on him would rouse too much suspicion. He could pass off a crushed comm as irritation at having been given a shit assignment, but some things couldn’t be concealed so easily.
“You should go back to sleep,” Vader hummed, cajoling, hoping, leaning over Obi-Wan without jostling him. He peered down at him through the curtain his own curls made, taking in how his omega who wasn’t his looked still soft from sleep. Then he lied, “it’ll be a while longer before you can pull off, anyway.”
Obi-Wan rolled halfway toward Vader, and wasn’t stopped by the fullness of Vader’s knot, which immediately poked a hole in his attempted deceit. Obi-Wan evaluated him for a long, drawn out moment, in which he slowly rebuilt his shields after sleeping. Nerves fluttered in Vader the longer Obi-Wan didn’t say anything, and it loosened his mouth a bit more than it honestly should have.
“Or I could eat you out? It’s been so long, surely once isn’t enough for you.”
Obi-Wan’s gaze got that far away, dreamy quality that said Vader would get what he wanted as he let out a little pleased noise, but then suddenly a different sort of clarity struck Obi-Wan’s expression. He pressed a steady hand against Vader’s clavicle, and a tangled strand of emotions settled in the pit of Vader’s gut.
“No, I should go. I’ve spent far too long here already,” Obi-Wan said, and the worst part about it was that he wasn’t even trying to hurt Vader—his tone wasn’t unkind, only the words. Obi-Wan didn’t even know how long he’d been there because he’d been asleep for half of it. “My men will be wondering where I am.”
Obi-Wan pulled off Vader’s knot, and it sent a spill of Vader’s come trailing from Obi-Wan’s hole into someone’s blanket. His fingers quickly moved around his throat and divested him of the gorget, and Vader was privy to the happy, sated omega smell coming from Obi-Wan’s body. If he was so pleased, then why—
“They can’t notice an extra fifteen minutes, come on.”
“I’ve already—Vader, I can’t.” Obi-Wan rolled up, using Vader’s forearm as leverage, and he turned away to stand. “There were certain objectives that I’ve already failed to meet.”
“You got more intelligence, though,” Vader protested, gesturing to himself. “Surely that’s worth something.”
“Forgive me for telling you that my 212th won’t find that knowledge comforting.”
Obi-Wan rifled through his pile of clothes, making sure everything was there before he began to dress. He stepped into the first leg of his undergarments far too quickly, and Vader’s lips pulled into a frown. His scent, already displeased, soured even more, so much that even he himself noticed it.
“You’re not even going to clean up?”
Obi-Wan always cleaned up afterwards, like it was as much a part of his vows as the whole anti-attachment thing was. That was how fastidious he was about it.
Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, but then he finished putting on his smallclothes, reaching for his leggings right after. “No, I can clean up when I get back. It’s not as if anyone will smell you on me.”
As always, they were lucky the clones were all betas without a proper sense of smell—it had been spliced out, which was so fucked that Vader could hardly believe that that part hadn’t even been Sidious’ idea—and Vader was presently lucky that Skakoans didn’t have dynamics like humans did. No one would be able to tell, not even with Vader’s spend still slowly leaking from Obi-Wan’s hole, soaking into his smallclothes because he refused to let Vader lap it away with his own tongue.
Almost as if it hadn’t ever even happened in the first place.
Soon enough, Obi-Wan looked just as run ragged as he had when Vader first saw him near the outer gates, tattered clothes and all. Obi-Wan looked at Vader as he clipped his lightsaber to his belt, and it made Vader want to drag him back to bed if only to finally sink his teeth deep into Obi-Wan and make a mark that neither time nor nose-blind betas could erase or ignore. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, because what he really wanted was out of his reach, glittering like pyrite to taunt him to just try to take it.
“It’s been… a pleasure, Lord Vader. I look forward to seeing you again when we take the city.”
“We’ll see about that,” Vader retorted, knowing that he would be gone before that ever happened. This was only ever a pit stop for him, practically—an unlucky happenstance turned fortuitous only by virtue of the company, however fleeting it was. “That plasma bridge is pretty difficult to get past.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage. We always do.” With a dismissive handwave, Obi-Wan turned tail and ran (figuratively) out the door and into the night, away from Vader, leaving Vader alone once again.
And Vader laid back against the crumpled bed sheets, his hair a curly brown halo, his naked body damp with sweat and sour dissatisfaction, and his lips pressed into a thin, firm line.