Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12319155.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Wars_Prequel_Trilogy
  Relationship:
      Obi-Wan_Kenobi/Anakin_Skywalker, Obi-Wan_Kenobi_&_Qui-Gon_Jinn, Anakin
      Skywalker_&_Qui-gon_Jinn
  Character:
      Obi-Wan_Kenobi, Anakin_Skywalker, Qui-Gon_Jinn, Sheev_Palpatine_|_Darth
      Sidious
  Additional Tags:
      Have_you_ever_wondered_how_much_garbage_content_you_can_fit_into_one
      fic?, Let's_find_out:, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Sith_Obi-Wan, Underage
      -_Freeform, Abduction, Stockholm_Syndrome, Gaslighting, Abuse, Explicit
      Sexual_Content, Knotting, Watersports, (Nonconsensual), Eventual_mpreg,
      Graphic_Description, Rape, Underage_Rape/Non-con, Forced_Bonding, and
      finally, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added, Exhibitionism, forgot_that
      one, Addiction, Bloodplay, Scarification
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-09 Updated: 2017-11-01 Chapters: 2/? Words: 7135
****** Entropy ******
by Glare
Summary
     Twenty years ago, a failed initiate slipped through the cracks of the
     Order that raised him and was lost among the chaos of the galaxy.
     Now, sixteen year-old Padawan Anakin Skywalker finds himself caught
     in the crossfire between a revenge-driven Sith and his Master, Qui-
     Gon Jinn.
Notes
     Hello my friends and welcome to "Entropy".
     With the aid of my partners in crime, Icsek and Kurenaino, I have
     decided to take up a career providing only the worst possible content
     available on the Obikin market today.
     I hope you enjoy our horrible concept.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
The sprawling, winding walkways of Coruscant are always busy with early morning
foot traffic. The grunts of the city planet pass each other in a steady stream
of forgettable faces. Human, Rodian, Twi’Lek, Torgruta. A hundred species from
a hundred planets in a hundred systems, remarkable only in how unremarkable
they are. Little people rushing to their little jobs in their little lives,
unimportant in the vast, cosmic scheme, never to play any role in affecting the
way the galaxy spins.
Aestus watches them come and go like ants from their hill, perched atop a
balcony that had once belonged to some wealthy businessman. Now, however, the
man has been rotting in his own bed for days, filling the apartment with the
putrid scent of rot and decay. Aestus would be surprised that no one has
noticed the stench, if he did not suspect the building’s wealthy, alpha
residents to spend more time in the lower-levels’ omega whorehouses than in
their own apartments. The balcony remains untainted by the smell, so long as he
keeps the transparisteel pane door closed, and the vantage point allows him a
clear view of the people below.
The cigarra that hangs between his lips is a soothing counterpoint to the
excitement thrumming through his veins. His Master would think it a filthy
habit, if he knew, but their meetings have grown more and more impersonal over
the passing years. That is perfectly fine by Aestus, who has little interest in
spending more time kneeling at the beta’s feet than necessary, listening to all
the reasons Sidious is superior because he lacks a knot and a decent sense of
smell. A stupid opinion, if you ask Aestus; Sidious is a loth-cat compared to
Aestus’ loth-wolf on the evolutionary scale. Still, there are things he is yet
to learn, so listening to the old man’s drivel remains on his schedule for now.
Gaze skipping over the crowd below, he keeps his eyes peeled for a certain
someone who has travelled this way at this time for the last several days, now.
The thought of it makes his heart skip a beat, giddy with the excitement only a
good hunt can bring. And this,  oh this , is the best of them all. The one he
has waited for since he was just a boy, looking up for the first time into the
yellowed eyes of the second man he’d call  Master .
There, in the crowd below; he’d recognize that hideous haircut anywhere. Aestus
pulls his own long, auburn locks up until a sloppy bun as he watches that
haircut push its way through the crowd, a small part of him quite grateful he
was never subjected to such an indignity. His own hair had not yet grown long
enough to accommodate the small nerf-tail before his brief stint as a Jedi
Padawan came to its end. One less humiliation he suffered at the hands of the
Jedi, he supposes, and grinds his cig out beneath the heel of his black boot
before beginning the descent to street level.
Aestus dare not enter the building for fear of losing his target, but scaling
down the balconies is easy with the Force as his ally. He can feel it flowing
through him, strengthening his grip, showing him handholds and footholds he
might have otherwise missed. No one in the crowd below even bothers to look
up—something he loves about the people on this planet. So caught up in
themselves that they never take the time to notice what is really important.
He drops down into an alleyway and slips into the crowd from there, following
the trail left in the wake of his target’s blinding Force presence. It had been
an inconvenience, at first, to hide himself from such a bright Light, but
practice has made him a master of slipping through the crowd unnoticed by
neither his target nor the other passersby. To them, he is just another little
person; they do not know he is going to change their galaxy one day.
The longer he stalks his prey, however, the more apparent it becomes that the
Light isn’t the only thing he’s tracking. He can smell it in the air with every
pull of his lungs, a subtle sweetness that draws a sharp smirk to his lips. It
makes people look twice, suddenly aware of the predator in their midst, but he
can’t seem to find the will to smother it. He walks quicker, steps lighter, and
watches as the little people look twice at not just himself, but the boy who
makes his way through the crowd ahead. The boy who’s scent is like a siren-song
to any alpha worth his knot.
The boy whose name is Anakin Skywalker.
There is something like childish delight fluttering in his chest as he watches
Skywalker duck into an alleyway shortcut he always takes on the way to his
destination. Aestus has already determined this the best place to grab the boy
along his route. It’s dark, infrequently travelled, and provides plenty of
nooks and crannies to hide in should he decide to do so.
Following Skywalker around the corner, Aestus is surprised to find the front of
his tunics snagged in a deceptively strong grip. He’s spun until his back hits
the brick building lining the alleyway, looking down into the reddened face of
one Padawan Skywalker.
“Who the the hells are you?” the boy snarls. “Any why have you been following
me?”
Ah, it seems he hadn’t been as stealthy as he thought. No matter. The boy gives
his tunics a rough jerk, pulling him forward before slamming him back into the
brick. It might have hurt, if not for the euphoria he feels at simply being so
close to the Skywalker.
“Don’t play dumb! I could smell you lurking around for days.”
Aestus raises his hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. “Just a concerned
citizen,” he replies. “A pretty little omega like you shouldn’t be walking
around this city alone, especially when you smell like you’re going into
preheat. Don’t you know these streets are dangerous? Any number of suspicious
characters could be waiting around the next bend.”
The boy shoves away from him, releasing his grip on Aestus’s tunics and fixing
him with a very un-Jedi sneer. “It’s none of your kriffing business,” he
growls. “And besides, I’m a Jedi. They would have to be stupid to try anything
with me.”
Oh yes, this Aestus knows. Between the signature haircut, the potato-sack
robes, and the lightsaber that dangles from his belt loops, Skywalker is
visibly recognizable as a member of the Jedi Order; it is likely the only thing
that has deterred the alphas he’s passed on these little trips from doing more
than simply letting their gaze linger. That is, of course, another difference
between Aestus and the  little people . While they might find the boy’s garb a
clear warning to keep their distance, he has none of those particular hang-ups.
It is why, when Skywalker foolishly turns his back, clearly done with the
conversation and intending to continue on his journey, Aestus doesn’t think
twice before he pounces.
It’s a bit earlier than he intended to take Skywalker, he considers as he
knocks the unsuspecting omega to the ground, but it would be a shame to waste
such a golden opportunity when the Force has all but laid it at his feet.
Skywalker yelps, startled by the unforeseen assault, and that moment’s
hesitation proves Aestus enough time to slam the boy’s skull into the hard
duracrete. Horribly messy, really, but the alpha has never had any particular
skill at the mind tricks Jedi are often so fond of. Perhaps that’s due to his
lack of training; perhaps it’s due to his alpha temperament. Either way, this
is substantially easier than trying to bend as stubborn and independent an
omega as Skywalker to his will with naught but his mind.
Kneeling atop the unconscious omega and watching the people on the main street
pass without so much as a second glance at the commotion in the ally, Aestus
cannot help the breathless laugh that escapes him. He’s done it—he’s actually,
really done it.  Years of planning and weeks of preparation and finally,
finally  Skywalker lays prone and still beneath him, the gentle rise and fall
of his chest the only sign that the boy even still lives.
Aestus sucks in a deep breath, trying to center himself, and registers anew the
sweetness of heat-scent. Not only does he have Skywalker, but he has him like
this: soft and vulnerable. Skywalker can be no more than sixteen, if he’s done
his math right, his body virgin and ripe for the first and last time. The alpha
can almost taste the omega’s slick on his tongue, lidding his eyes as he leans
over to nip at the scent glands on the boy’s neck. “What was he thinking,”
Aestus murmurs, “letting you out of the Temple like this?”
Anakin, predictably, does not respond, but that suits Aestus just fine. The
alpha doesn’t particularly care what it is that’s dragged the boy from the
safety of the Jedi Temple on the verge of such a monumental change; he is
simply delighted to be able to take advantage. This is better than anything he
could have ever hoped for--a weakness he never thought he would get to exploit.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he tells boy as he slides off him, getting his feet
under him before hauling the omega over his shoulder. No one stops him when he
steps back out into foot traffic, their eyes downcast as they scurry along.
Don’t get involved, they know, born from instinct or common sense. Don’t look
too close; there’s nothing to see. See nothing, say nothing,  be  nothing, and
everything will be ok.
Stars, how Aestus loves this city.   
===============================================================================
 
The return to his temporary base of operations is a relatively uneventful
thing. They wind their way down into the underbelly of the city-planet, Aestus
adjusting his grip on the unconscious omega as needed. The boy’s heat-scent is
getting stronger with every passing moment, drawing more attention to them than
the alpha would prefer: alpha whose eyes linger just a moment too long and
omega who stare at the boy on his shoulder with pity. Still, no one is foolish
enough to get in his way--to challenge him for the right to Skywalker’s heat.
The soft, vanilla scent is almost maddening.
Aestus’ hands are shaking by the time they reach the motel he’s holed up in,
and he fumbles the door code three times before he finally manages to hit the
correct combination. Excitement and arousal are coiled in his gut, turning his
steps unsteady as he stumbles across the room to dump Skywalker on the bed.
There is a part of him that still can’t quite believe this is happening--that
the Force would favor him with this gift.
As soon as Aestus drops the omega onto the mattress, the spring squealing in
protest of the rough treatment, he stuffs a hand in his pocket and fishes out
his pack of cigarras. It wouldn’t do to ruin this moment with haste, but he can
feel the Dark Side nipping at his heel, egging him on, and the rut that’s
slowly burning its way through his veins. He needs something to take the edge
off, if he’s going to make it long enough for Skywalker to come around. He
holds the cig between his lips as he bustles around the room, preparing
everything he’ll need and relishing in the artificial calm the narcotic brings.
First things first, Skywalker is still entirely too well dressed for the plans
Aestus has for his future. Kneeling on the bed, the alpha sets to work in
stripping him bare, tossing the omega’s Jedi tunics carelessly aside. He’d once
held that uniform in the highest esteem, but now it is only a barrier between
himself and what he wants.
Aestus can feel his mouth watering with every new strip of skin he bares, more
of the boy’s intoxicating scent filling the room as his body is exposed to the
open air. He trails hands along the omega’s torso, mapping the pattern of his
ribs and the scars that litter his skin. While Skywalker likely hasn’t seen
true combat, Jedi do not live an entirely peaceful life. There is evidence of
injury, either from scuffles on missions or training accidents, on nearly every
part of his body. Muscle twitches beneath Aestus’ palms as he works,
undoubtedly strong for all its leanness, and the gentle pressure he uses turns
the omega lax and pliant against the sheets.
It makes it easy to pull Skywalker to his knees, a hand on his hip balancing
the boy as the other tugs down on the waistband of his pants. Aestus doesn’t
bother to drag them all the way off, instead leaving Skywalker’s pants and
underthings tangled around his legs. Slick is already leaking from the boy’s
hole and dripping down the inside of his thighs, the presence of an alpha in
the early stages of rut speeding his heat along. In the low light, it has a
kind of soft sheen, and the alpha is helpless but to trail his fingers through
it, following the trail up to his cheeks. He pushes them apart, head cocked
slightly as he examines the boy’s rosy hole. Heat has loosened his entrance
slightly, and Aestus is met with only minimal resistance when he reaches out
and presses a finger inside.
The feeling of the boy’s sheath clenching reflexively around him is enough to
draw a gasp from his lips and is doing nothing at all to aid in the erection
that’s straining the front of his pants. He can imagine the way it will feel
around his knot as he pumps the digit slowly in and out of the omega, watching
his rim stretch around the width of his knuckles with a satisfied grin. Of
course, he isn’t the only one who reacts, the intrusion drawing a whimper from
Skywalker and undoubtedly aiding in ushering the boy back to consciousness.
Aestus is quick to pull out, cursing his distraction, and fumbles to finish
what he’d begin.
Leaning over the edge of the bed, he summons his pack from its place by the
door and roots around inside until he finds what he wants: a pair of binders, a
coil of rope, and Force-inhibiting collar. He’s had quite a bit of fun with
this combination over the years, a faint smile gracing his lips at the fond
memories while he snaps the collar around Skywalker’s throat. The Jedi guests
he entertained were perhaps not as thrilled, but that is entirely beside the
point.
Skywalkers wrists are pulled behind his back, the binders snapped close around
them to keep them there before he moves on to the boy’s legs. The length of
rope and few carefully placed knots will keep the omega in a kneeling position,
perfect to be mounted and fucked to Aestus’ heart’s content. Just in time, it
seems, as the boy is starting to twitch, slowly dragging himself from grip of
unconsciousness and back to the waking world. He slides off the bed to snub his
cig out in an ashtray on the desk, watching from there as the omega comes
around.
Skywalker comes awake with a low groan, eyes scrunched and head lolling at the
pain he is undoubtedly experiencing. There is blood matted in his hair where
his skull had stuck duracrete, a dark patch that stands in sharp contrast to
the soft gold of the rest. Aestus’ heartbeat skips when the boy makes to draw a
hand up and prod at the wound, the binders holding his wrists bringing that
movement to a swift end.
The omega’s eyes fly open, and there is recognition through the panic in their
deep blue when the boy’s gaze flickers to Aestus. His nostrils flare with the
increased rate of his breathing, fear-scent mingling with the heat and cig
smoke in the air. The alpha tips his head back and groans, a lazy smirk curling
his lips as he revels in the feeling of it all. In the wickedness of the Dark,
in the rut washing over him, in the frantic pounding of his own heart. Aestus
can’t remember the last time he felt this good—the last time he experienced
such profound satisfaction.
Never, probably, he thinks as he returns his gaze to Skywallker. He has
anticipated little more in his life than he has anticipated this moment. The
omega is still struggling against his bindings, but the ropes keep him where
Aestus wants him: face-down and kneeling, his ass on full display—the perfect
position to be fucked and knotted and bred until the alpha has had his fill. He
palms at his aching cock through the fabric of his pants, sending yet more
thanks to the Force for this blessing. For letting Skywalker wander beyond the
safety of the Temple’s walls on the verge of his very first heat.
It seems Jinn has learned nothing from his previous failures as a teacher,
still putting himself above the needs of his students. Where is he now, Aestus
wonders as he begins the process of stripping out of his clothing. Is he even
looking for the boy? Even concerned his student is going into heat? He hopes
so. He hopes Jinn is frantic, turning the city upside down in his search for
this ripe little omega. It will make dumping Skywalker on the Temple’s front
steps, broken and beaten and used, all the sweeter.
“I tried to warn you, boy,” Aestus purrs when he climbs atop the bed, his
proximity instigating Skywalker into struggling anew. The alpha sinks fingers
into his hair and yanks, forcing his spine into an unnatural bend, and puts a
stop to that behavior with a hard strike across the boy’s face. Skywalker’s
pained yelp makes his breath catch; surely there is no sweeter tune in the
galaxy. “There is danger around every bend for a pretty thing like you.”
He catches the omega’s chin when he releases his hair, turning his face up and
admiring the handprint he’s left on the boy’s skin, the tears that stream from
glassy blue eyes, the way plump, pink lips work around questions Skywalker
can’t ask.  Who? Why?  In the end, what does it matter? He will be used like
this anyways, taken and broken. What will change for knowing its cause?
“Look at you,” Aestus sighs, turning the omega’s face this way and that in a
mockery of investigation. “Anakin Skywalker: Qui-Gon Jinn’s little pet project.
A slave boy risen above his station…” He lets go, allowing the boy no time to
recover before the alpha shoves his face into the sheets. “I think it well
beyond time someone put you back in your place.”
He moves behind Skywalker, taking firm hold of the boy’s hips and rutting
against his ass, coating his aching cock in the omega’s slick. More for his
benefit than Skywalker’s, of course. Preparation takes patience Aestus doesn’t
have, and he would rather not rub his dick raw when he fucks his little bitch
into the mattress. This is about his pleasure, after all—about settling a score
two decades in the making.
Aestus chuckle as he drapes himself over the boy’s back, feeling how rigidly he
holds himself while the alpha lines up with his entrance. “Fighting will only
make it hurt worse,” he purrs into Skywalker’s ear, nipping teasingly at its
shell. “I can’t wait to hear you scream.”
Forcing the head of his cock past the first ring of muscle, Aestus gets his
wish. Skywalker shrieks—a noise that would certainly bring unwanted attention
were it not for the unscrupulous reputation of this particular motel—and it is
only Aestus’ tight grip on the boy that keeps him from pulling away from the
intrusion. He’s big, he knows, even by most alpha standards, and the omega has
likely never taken anything wider than the finger Aestus pressed into him
earlier. The heat has loosened him naturally, but there is only so much it can
do.
The sheer  sensation  of pushing in is almost too much for him to bear. The
omega is slick and hot and so, so tight, drawing a ragged moan from Aestus when
he’s fully seated, balls pressed to the boy’s supple ass. Skywalker may be
sobbing from the pain and the violation, hands clawing violently at air in the
grip of the binders, but his sheath clenches instinctually around Aestus’
length. It knows what it needs: an alpha cock— his  cock, Aestus thinks
smugly—stretching him open and knotting him and filling him with cum. He’s more
than happy to oblige.
The omega yelps and cries when Aestus fucks into him, still trying to find a
way out from under him even as the alpha sets a brutal pace. He keeps his grip
tight and doesn’t cede to the Skywalker’s whining, the thrill he gets at
forcing the boy into submission just adding another heady level of pleasure. He
is the alpha here; his wishes are the only ones that matter.
As the full brunt of his heat washes over him, Skywalker seems to come to
accept that. Tears still leak from the corners of his eyes, but they’re half-
lidded now as he goes loose and pliant in Aestus’ grip. His pitched, frightened
whimpers shift to low, pleasured moans and he begins to push back into the
alpha’s rough thrusts, forcing his cock deeper into his tight sheath. A knife-
sharp smiles curls Aestus’ lips as he releases his grip on one of the
Skywalker’s hips in favor of stroking a possessive hand down his side.
“That’s it, bitch,” he murmurs, tone low and lust-drunk. “Taking my cock so
well…”
The plan was supposed to be simple: to break this beautiful boy and return him
to the Jedi Order in pieces. To watch Qui-Gon Jinn struggle and ultimately fail
to put him back together again. Now, though, with the boy’s sheath clenching
around him and his knot beginning to catch on the rim, he’s beginning to
second-guess that plan. That ugly, dark thing that lurks in the back of his
mind is hissing that Jinn doesn’t deserve the boy back—that he should have kept
a better eye out instead of wasting this little omega’s potential.
And really, while it would be fun to watch Jinn try to repair his broken
student, why should he even bother giving him the chance? Wouldn’t it be all
the more entertaining to watch him struggle in the aftermath of Skywalker’s
disappearance, wondering where the boy has gone for all that he didn’t in
Aestus’ youth? Surely it would be better to simply keep him here, watching Jinn
flail and reveling in the satisfaction of having Skywalker on his knot.
The thought drives him to reach out, grabbing hold of Skywalker’s chin and
turning the boy’s head until he can see his face. “Look at me,” he growls, and
waits for Skywalker’s bloodshot, pleasure-hazed blue to meet his own molten red
and gold. “You are  mine  now, understand?”
The boy nods dazedly, but that isn’t enough. Not for the thing inside Aestus
that’s demanding acknowledgement of his claim.
“I want to hear you  say it .”
“I’m yours,” slips past Skywalker’s lips, soft and small.
“I’m yours,  Master ,” Aestus corrects.
“I’m yours, Master,” Skywalker echoes, and it sends a visceral thrill up the
alpha’s spine. “Only yours. Please—”
Aestus doesn’t bother waiting for Skywalker to finish his request, releasing
the boy’s chin and taking hold of his hips again. The force behind Aestus
thrusts is enough to push the omega up the mattress, breathless  Ah! ’s and
Oh! ’s slipping from Skywalker’s lips with every one. Each is more difficult
than the one before it, his knot swelling quickly as he nears completion. The
omega helps this process along when he pushes himself back onto the alpha’s
cock.
“Master,” Skywalker chants, “Master, please, I need— Ah! ”
With a low growl, Aestus shoves his knot all the way past the boy’s rim,
locking himself inside the omega as the heady wave of orgasm crashes down
around him. He isn’t even aware of leaning forward, of sinking his teeth into
Skywalker’s neck, until he tastes blood on his tongue and feels the omega spasm
beneath him. The boy’s little cock spurts onto the sheets, his sheath squeezing
tight around Aestus’ knot and milking him for more of his seed.
“Good boy,” the alpha praises when he releases his grip on Skywalker’s throat.
“Such a good boy.”
Aestus collapses atop the omega, and as he lips blood off his lips and
considers the trembling form beneath him, he can’t help but wonder what Qui-Gon
would think, if he saw what he’d become.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Happy Halloween kids!
     More garbage!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"I am telling you, something is wrong," Jinn snarls, pacing the circumference
of the Council Chamber in quick, agitated strides. He does not look at the
Councilors, instead staring out the panoramic windows as though they will offer
him better guidance than the seasoned guidance than the Jedi Order’s revered
spiritual leaders. As though he will spot his student among the distant crowds
if only he looks hard enough.
"Padawan Skywalker has disappeared before, Qui-Gon," Windu sighs. "He always
turns back up. What makes you think this time is any different?”
"He hasn't contacted me," Qui-Gon replies, receiving only a raised brow from
the other Councilor in return. Anakin has gone dark for longer than this, only
to return safe and sound. A single day is hardly anything to scoff at, really.
Qui-Gon once had to pull the boy from a three-day racing binge in the lower
levels following a series of difficult exams in his studies. Anakin had claimed
it to be the only method of destressing he found effective.
The true answer is on the tip of Qui-Gon's tongue, but he struggles to get it
off. Struggles to admit what he'd sworn to keep secret; struggles to confess
that he'd broken rules even he should have known better than to test. But the
Council will never direct any real resources into finding the boy if they
believe he’s only snuck off to get into trouble once again. They will trust in
his street smarts to return him to the temple relatively unharmed and not
particularly guilty about his actions. "I believe Anakin was... going into
heat, when he left." Qui-Gon finally forces himself to admit.
THAT gets the Council's attention, all heads swiveling to stare with sudden
interest. "Padawan Skywalker’s blood testing upon arriving at the Temple
identified him as a beta," Windu says slowly. "Are you telling the Council that
was incorrect?”
Qui-Gon shakes his head sadly, still staring out through the transparisteel.
“The original tests confirmed him to be omega,” he confesses. “I falsified the
data, and recorded him as a beta in his medical file.”
“And what good did you think would come of this deception!?”
“If this Council had known Skywalker was omega, they would have never accepted
my bid to train him,” Qui-Gon snarls, rounding from the windows and stalking
back to the center of the room. “You would have deemed him too emotional, too
much of a risk, and sent him back to his mother on that accursed dustbowl! And
if you hadn’t, you would have treated his gender like a handicap; he would not
be half the Jedi he is today if you’d known!”
“And what did you plan to do, Qui-Gon, when the boy began to have heats? Pump
him full of black-market suppressants and hope they never failed? Whore him out
to whatever alpha would tak me him for a few nights? See him through those
heats yourself?”
“Stars, no!” Jinn hisses vehemently. “No! I don’t—I don’t know, Mace. I don’t
know what I intended to do, but now it doesn’t matter because he is missing and
we are wasting time arguing my mistakes instead of trying to find him!”
The Councilor sighs, scrubbing a hand over his furrowed brow. “Do you have any
ideas where Skywalker might have gone to?”
“I know he has been visiting Padme Amidala recently. However, she has already
confirmed that he never arrived at her apartments."
"Padme Amidala, the senator?"
"She's an alpha, and Anakin's dear friend. I suspect they had agreed to spend
his heats together so that they wouldn't cause him so much pain."
"Discussed with the Council, this matter should have been," Yoda grimly
interjects.
Qui-Gon is feeling enough guilt to duck his head with shame at the
Grandmaster's retribution. He knows it should have, but he had wanted what was
best for his student. Anakin needed to remain a Jedi, but he would not be able
to resist the call of heat the way those raised in the Temple might. Better
that he be with someone safe, someone trusted—
A sharp rap at the chamber door announces the arrival of a new party. All eyes
are drawn to the grand doors as they swing open, revealing a harried-looking
padawan with a small package in his hands.
"What is the meaning of this interruption, padawan?" Windu snaps, fiercer than
perhaps intended, but it has been a long meeting already.
"I'm sorry, Master," the boy mumbles. "We just received this parcel for Master
Jinn. The courier said it was urgent."
The alpha stalks across the room, snatching the small parcel from the boy's
hands before dismissing him with a wave. He dumps its contents into his palm as
the door closes once more: a bloodstained swatch of fabric and an unmarked data
chip. The Council is looking at him expectantly when he meets their eyes, and
does not have to be asked before making his way over to the room's
holoprojector. Inserting the datachip, he waits for the holo to load.
The audio starts before the video, unmistakable panting and keening echoing
through the Council Chamber before the holoprojector springs to life. The video
reveals a sliver of a dimly lit room: just the distant walls, the floor, drawn
curtains, and half of a bed. Shot from the other side of the mattress, the
Council is treated to an image of someone's bared back, chest rising and
falling as they try to catch their breath. There is something familiar about
the unruly wave of the subject's hair, the span of his shoulders, the pattern
of birthmarks upon his skin. It's not something Qui-Gon has actively studied,
but he has seen his student topless enough times to recognize them.
"Good evening, Master Jedi," a sultry voice purrs, accent bearing a high
coruscant crispness.
A hand reaches out, tangling in the subject's hair and forcing his head to the
side so that the camera may see his face. One of the boy's eyes is blackened,
the other half-lidded with the haze of heat, but it is, unmistakably, that of
Anakin Skywalker. Skywalker whimpers in fear, a soft noise that sets Jinn's
teeth on edge, and attempts to turn his face away once again. “No, no, baby,”
the cameraman murmurs, clearly intended to Skywalker and not the audience,
“look at the camera.”
The boy does, but there’s a visible, humiliated flush to his unbruised skin.
Qui-Gon recognizes the wobble to his lower lip, the way his eyes dart to the
side.
Apparently satisfied, the camera man continues, "I'm sure by now you've
realized that your wayward student did not make it to his destination.
"This isn't a ransom; there will be no demands. I just thought you'd like to
know that your boy is in good hands, now." The camera pans down the length of
Anakin's body, across shallow cuts and dark bruising, to a shot of his ass
pressed back into sharply angled hips. Qui-Gon can guess what is happening
before the hand previously in Anakin's hair grabs hold of his ass and spreads
his cheeks, allowing the camera a view of the boy's stretched, reddened hole
and the knot unmistakable buried inside it. "Don't worry, I'm taking very good
care of him."
The video cuts out with the briefest flash of a vibroknife and the sound of the
camera man's harsh, biting laughter drowned out by Anakin's screams.
The Council Chamber plunged suddenly into silence, Qui-Gon can do nothing but
stare helplessly at the spot where the holo had played. His mind is a storm,
disbelief, horror, and rage wiping all rational thought. At some point in the
video, his nails had bitten into the flesh of his palm; the drip-drop of his
blood pattering to the floor the only sound to be heard for a long moment.
When he does finally tear his eyes away, he finds the rest of the Council
looking just as a helpless as he feels. What in the name of the force is going
on?
===============================================================================

“Anakin,” a low voice drawls, rousing the omega from the doze he’d managed to
fall into between the latest bouts of fucking. Fingers brush lightly along his
jaw, applying gentle pressure to the bruises that mottle his skin. Yellows,
greens, purples, and blues; nearly healed and still-fresh and every stage
between. It hurts, but not enough to make him open tired eyes. Only halfway
through his heat, and he’s this exhausted; Anakin isn’t sure how he’s going to
last through the rest. “Wake up, Skywalker,” the voice says, the grip on his
jaw getting just a little tighter. Anakin whines unhappily, but the additional
pressure on the bruises and the feeling of something pressed to his lips forces
him to open his eyes at last.
Above him hovers his new Master—his new mate—the alpha who goes by the name of
Aestus. Anakin had managed to pry that much out of him during one of their
earlier breaks, though not without a fair bit of grumbling from the alpha.
Considering the man has apparently decided they’re destined to spend the rest
of their lives together, he has not been particularly interested in sharing
much about himself. Even getting a name had taken far more effort than it
should have.
Aestus stares down at Anakin now, his eyes tainted yellow by the Dark Side
powers that flow through him. His auburn hair falls down to his shoulders, in a
disarray he hasn’t bothered to try and tame over the course of their time
together, and his beard is looking worse for wear after a day and a half
without a shower, matted in places with things not discussed in polite company.
In his hand, pressed to Anakin’s lips, is a piece of some form of nutrition
bar, similar to the ones supplied by the Order whenever he and Qui-Gon had left
the Temple on assignment. They’re bland, calorie-packed, and even the smell of
it now is enough to turn his already sensitive stomach.
“Skywalker,” Aestus warns when Anakin tries to turn his head away, attempting
to bat his hand away and refuse his offer, “eat it. It won’t do me any good if
you die before I have a chance to get some use out of you.”
Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Anakin bites down on the sharp retort that
Aestus has gotten plenty of use from him already. That would only make the
alpha angry. As it is, his continued refusal earns him an unhappy growl, Aestus
pulling his head back around and pressing the food harder against his lips.
“Eat,” he rumbles. “You know what happens when you disobey.”
He does—he does know. His back still aches, the bacta patches wrapped sloppily
around his back and chest to stop the bleeding rubbing with his every movement.
He can still feel the edge of the vibroblade cutting into his skin, and he’s
not prepared to feel it again. If it means saving himself from that agony, he
will capitulare to this request.
Grudgingly, Anakin opens his mouth, allowing Aestus to press the piece past his
lips. It feels and tastes like sandpaper on his tongue, but Anakin suspects
that has more to do with his situation than with the product itself. Aestus
doesn’t completely let go of his jaw, but allows him some freedom to chew
unhindered, feeling the way his muscles work beneath his skin. There is another
piece, after he’s swallowed the first, and another after that, and more until
he’s finished the bar.
By then, he can feel the stirring of heat once more, and isn’t entirely
surprised to watch Aestus’ pupils dilate, black swallowing the gold of his
eyes. The alpha trails his fingers across Anakin’s lips briefly before pushing
past, pressing them into the wet cavern of the omega’s mouth. Anakin gives him
what he wants, curling a hand around the alpha’s wrist and licking and sucking
the crumbs from his fingertips, bobbing his head to take them deeper in
imitation of other, more obscene acts. Aestus’ breath hitches, and the alpha
abruptly pulls away.

Only long enough to snatch his pack of cigarras from the bedside table, Aestus’
shaking hands fumbling to light the cig he sticks between his teeth. Anakin has
watched him smoke a pack and a half since he first woke, sometimes during sex
and sometimes in the breaks between. The air around them is stale with their
scent. While the smell brings Anakin back to Tatooine’s planes, to the clients
who came by Watto’s shop and offered coin for obscene things the Toydarian
always turned down, the knot of fear in his chest unravels slightly as the man
sucks down its smoke. The drugs always take the edge off, sparing Anakin the
worst of his aggression and the pain that comes with it.
As such, he doesn’t struggle when the alpha takes him by the hair, dragging him
up onto the bed after him; struggle will only rile him back up again. Aestus
settles against the headboard, pulling Anakin back into his lap. His cock is
rapidly swelling in response to the omega’s heat scent, already nearly erect
when Anakin gets himself settled comfortably, his back to Aestus’ chest. The
alpha’s hands settled on his waist, rubbing absently at his hip bones as he
finishes his cig. The heat of it washes over Anakin’s shoulder and neck, but he
doesn’t pull away.
Anakin can feel fresh slick as it drips from his abused hole and down the
inside of his thighs, mixing with the fluids left from their previous rounds.
He’s loose and wet and the head of the alpha’s cock teases at his opening.
"Please," he whimpers when Aestus’ grip changes from simply holding to
pressing, working Anakin down onto his stiff cock, and is unsure what he's
begging for. For it to stop, the sith getting on with whatever he plans to do
once Anakin has served his purpose, or for it to continue. For his alpha to
knot him and fill him and make this aching emptiness inside go away.
The alpha decides for him, guiding Anakin up on his knees and back down again
to ride the length of his thick cock. The rhythm of this round is slower than
the ones that came before it, the fluids leaking from him providing an extra
layer of lubrication and making the slide in and out of Anakin's hole something
close to tolerable. Pleasant, even, if he focuses on the sensation alone
instead of the situation. Aestus meets Anakin’s downward thrusts with a roll of
his own hips, driving himself as deep into the omega’s body as he can get.
"Oh—!" Anakin gasps, back arching away from the alpha's grip when the head of
his cock brushes against something that sends electricity up Anakin’s spine.
With a low chuckle, the alpha's grip on him tightens, holding Anakin in place
against his chest as he repeats the motion. Anakin is helpless to stop the
ragged moan that escapes him, the pleasure curling his toes and blurring his
vision as the alpha continues to rock into him. He doesn't recall reaching
back, tangling his fingers in the Alpha's hair as to pull him closer, but the
fine strands are between his fingers and the man is pressed heavily against
him. "Ah! Ah!"
"That's right, little one," he purrs in Anakin's ear, the scent of the cig on
his breath strong as he drives himself into the willing body. "Let me hear how
much you love taking my cock."
Once it starts, Anakin can't seem to stop it. A litany of harsh gasps, ragged
moans; Oh Master's and Please's falling freely from his lips as the alpha works
him toward completion. "Please, Master," he finds himself begging. "Please, I
need—"
He fumbles over the words, unsure of how to ask for what he wants.
Fortunately, the alpha already knows. "What do you need?" He asks, relentless
in his pace. "Do you need my knot, little one? Need it stretching you open? Do
you need me to fill you up with my cum?"
"Please," Anakin gasps. "Please, please, please. Master, please—"
The yelp that escapes him when the alpha drags him back into his thrust, knot
locking into place inside him, quickly turns to a lewd moan when he feels the
alpha's cock pulse. When he feels hot seed filling him up.
Alpha are know for both quality and quantity; this one is no different. Anakin
can scent his strength is the air, his virility proclaimed with all the
subtlety of a siren. Anakin could be carrying his pups already, and the thought
of being round and swollen—so thoroughly bred—is enough to push him over the
edge.
The alpha is praising him, he recognizes distantly, petting his hair and his
face and his sides. He takes the cig from his mouth to press sloppy kisses to
the skin of his neck and shoulders and nipping at the still-healing bond mark
on his throat. Anakin is surprised when the alpha lets him slip the cig from
his grip, bringing it to his own lips and sucking a deep drag from the last of
the stick. While they’ve never had anything been close to a habit, it would be
a lie to say he hasn’t had the occasional few down on the lower levels on
racing nights.
Anakin's stomach and rear are sticky, the sheets wet with blood and the
evidence of their foray, but exhaustion has begun to set into his bones. Sleeps
tugs at the edges of him mind and he only just manages to pass the cig’s stub
back to his alpha before he drifts off into unconsciousness against the man’s
chest.
Chapter End Notes
     Did you know this fic hit 1k views after only 5 days?
     Considering I wrote it for the express purpose of seeing what kind of
     hate mail people would send me, I don’t know whether to be horrified
     or impressed.
     I love you all for it.
End Notes
     Thank you for reading the first chapter! I'm proud of you for making
     it this far.
     Obi-Wan's sith title, Aestus, was kindly provided by Icse. It's
     wonderful, and I love it.
     I usually have more to say in these things, but not today it seems!
     Hope to see you next time!
  Works inspired by this one
      Playing_with_Fire by Glare, Icse, Kurenaino
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