Chapter Text
Obi-Wan held his head high as his own troopers escorted him through the halls of the Senate. If the cuffs around his wrists and the suppressant collar around his neck weren’t enough to keep him contained, then his own desire to not harm the men he had fought alongside for three years stayed him.
Even though… even though they had betrayed him. Even though they were cold and unfeeling to him, as if their years of friendship and comradery meant nothing.
Even though, if the reports were to be believed, the clones had eradicated the Jedi as traitors to the Republic. Traitors to the Empire.
And yet, Obi-Wan remained. Alive. Alone.
No one had told him why. Other than to inform him that he was being delivered to the Emperor, each time he asked. What this nameless Emperor could want with him, he dreaded to think.
He would find out soon enough, he supposed.
Whispers filled the air from the Senators lining the halls.
Is that High General Kenobi?
I thought all the Jedi were dead.
Traitor.
He should die like the rest of them.
Do you think we’ll get to see his execution?
Obi-Wan swallowed and kept his eyes fixed ahead, feeling grief well up at the virulent judgment of the Jedi. Of his family.
His people were dead, and the galaxy was glad for it. He had known that the public opinion of the Order had been declining the longer the war went on, the slow disintegration of trust and respect for the Jedi and their way of life, and the Council had discussed the issue and how to rectify it, but the war…
They had been stretched thin, worn down. Their moral obligations perverted against them, forcing them to compromise until their backs were against the wall. Too many duties and responsibilities and not enough resources. But they—most of them—had been trying their best.
Obi-Wan hadn’t thought the people of the galaxy would cheer on their slaughter.
They neared the Chancellor’s office, and Obi-Wan felt a pit crack open in his stomach. He hadn’t been told what had happened to the Chancellor—whether he was dead or worse. He could guess. A Sith Lord would have no qualms treading on anyone and anything on their way to the head of an empire. And the current—now former—leader of the Republic had most certainly been in the way. Mentally, he prepared himself for any eventuality.
The Red Guard outside the Chancellor’s chambers let them pass, and a trooper behind him shoved him forward when his feet stuck to the carpet.
A figure stood at the other end of the room, clad in an ebon cloak that seemed to drain the light from their surroundings. They turned as Obi-Wan and his guard stepped in, lowering their hood, and Obi-Wan’s heart stopped.
“Sheev?”
No. What—? This couldn’t—this was impossible. Obi-Wan’s mind refused to even entertain the idea.
“My dear Obi-Wan,” Palpatine crooned, as the troopers prodded Obi-Wan forward. “I am so very glad to see you well.” It looked like him. His thinning, white hair, his crystal grey eyes. The gentle smile on his lips that never failed—almost never failed—to put Obi-Wan at ease. It sounded like him. His tone, his locution. That accent on his vowels that confessed his upbringing on Naboo. “There’s no need for those.”
He waved his hand, and the binders and collar unlocked themselves and clattered to the floor. Obi-Wan flinched at the motion as much as the sound, if only because it was proof.
The Force flooded back to him, but he was an island of Light in a sea of Darkness.
“What—What is this?” Obi-Wan choked, “Sheev, what’s going on?”
He knew. He knew, but he didn’t want to believe…
If Palpatine was the Sith, then—
No.
No, no, it couldn’t—
“Leave us,” Palpatine said to the troopers, and they turned and filed out without a word. Obi-Wan took a step back as his—as the Emperor closed the distance between them. “The Jedi staged a coup and betrayed the Republic. They tried to kill me, my love. I know you had nothing to do with it, but I’m afraid the rest of the Jedi did not surrender. I am sorry.”
“Are you?” Obi-Wan challenged. “Are you really, Sidious?”
Palpatine sighed ruefully but did not deny it. The shred of hope Obi-Wan held that he was wrong withered and died.
He had been dating a Sith for the past twelve years. Nausea bubbled in his stomach. Dizziness spun through him at the revelation.
“I know this is difficult, Obi-Wan, but it brings me no joy to cause you pain. This was necessary for my Empire to rise. For me to bring peace and justice to the galaxy,” Sheev—Palpatine asserted, directly in front of Obi-Wan now, close enough to take his hands.
Obi-Wan took another step back, ripping away from the man he had loved before they could touch.
“Peace and justice?” he retorted. “You mean tyranny and destruction?”
“The Republic was corrupt. Failing. It needed to be destroyed so that something better could be built in its place.”
He sounded so… so rational about it, that even knowing otherwise, Obi-Wan nearly believed him.
“An Empire isn’t better,” he snapped.
“It will be. With you by my side,” Sheev said, and there was a sincere earnestness in his eyes that Obi-Wan didn’t think a Sith would be capable of.
He stared. Once more caught off guard. Brain tripping over the words.
“What?”
“You will become my Consort. And as the Imperial Consort you will have many, shall we say… advantages.” Palpatine smiled, unsettlingly wide. “One of them being, of course, the potential to advise me in my decisions.”
“You would allow me that influence over you? I didn’t think Sith liked to share their power with anyone.”
“It is no hardship. I have everything I desire.” His hand came up to caress Obi-Wan’s cheek. “My galaxy. My love.”
Obi-Wan flinched. But then he couldn’t help but press into the touch. Even knowing that it was wrong—was it truly wrong?—that he shouldn’t—why not?—he was desperate for comfort. And Sheev was the only person there to give it to him.
Everyone else that could was dead.
And it was Palpatine’s fault.
He stepped back again, shaking his head to rid himself of the fog that had settled over his thoughts.
“You expect me to still love you back after everything you’ve done?” He had felt more and more at odds with the Jedi as the war went on, but he still loved them. They had raised him, after all. Cared for him. Even when it became harder and harder to think of himself as one of them. Even when it became harder and harder to ignore the Order’s flaws. He still loved them. “After you killed my family?”
“Had your… family,” the disgusted way Palpatine said the word made Obi-Wan’s heart twist, “found out about our relationship, they would have cast you out without a second thought. I will never let you go, my Obi-Wan.”
“No, you would just keep me prisoner.” He should be more afraid of the prospect. It should terrify him. Fill him with dread.
The only emotion he could dredge up was helplessness.
“Should you accept your place, that won’t be necessary. Like I said, you would be my Consort, with power you could only dream of.”
Palpatine took a step forward, putting him right up against Obi-Wan. The tips of their noses brushed. Sheev’s stormy-grey eyes bored holes into Obi-Wan’s retinas.
“And if I don’t?” Obi-Wan asked, quietly.
The Darkness twined about him, a distant screaming in his ears, eclipsed by the crooning of quiet false promises. Promises of safety. Of understanding. Of want and need and power and control and—
Give in.
He couldn’t trust any of it, he knew that, but it was—
A hand slid to the back of his neck and drew him down.
“I will give you two options. Either you rule at my side, or I will make you kneel,” Palpatine hissed in his ear.
Obi-Wan shivered. He told himself it was fear that made his knees weak. Nothing more.
Lips sealed over his. He squeezed his eyes shut as a tongue traced the seam of mouth. He couldn’t help but surrender to the kiss, even though he knew it was wrong. Even though it was Sidious, it was still Sheev, and Obi-Wan…
Obi-Wan was in too deep.
Sheev plundered his mouth, dominating, possessive, and he melted into it, as he always had.
Obi-Wan didn’t love him.
He couldn’t love him.
He shouldn’t.
And yet he was letting Sheev kiss him. Wasn’t pulling back or fighting it. Was enjoying it, because Sheev had always been good at making him feel wanted when that was all Obi-Wan ever craved.
And he hated himself for it.
Sheev pulled back to breathe, Obi-Wan finding himself chasing after the kiss before he could stop himself. The Sith’s fingers brushed away his tears, cold on his flushed cheeks, but more drops followed, trickling down his face.
“Oh, my dear. It’s better this way, you’ll see.”
Obi-Wan let out a single, shattered sob and crumpled to his knees.
A traitor. The Senators had been right—he was a traitor.
To the Republic.
To the Jedi.
To himself.
He wept at the feet of Sidious.
The cacophony of horns blared rich and proud across the Processional Way, heralding his arrival. Beneath his lacy veil, Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed as his carriage passed the exuberant crowds, well-wishers throwing flowers and petals at the feet of the gualaar steeds that pulled him along. His hands were clasped so tightly in his lap that his knuckles ached—he could not bring himself to acknowledge the citizens of Coruscant and was glad it was not expected of him. The only thing expected of him was to keep his head held high and his shoulders straight.
After several long, long minutes, the carriage came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, and one of the Guard helped him down gracefully. He turned toward the steps, and two attendants quickly and artfully arranged the impractically long train of his cape behind him.
The music stopped, and Obi-Wan hesitated a moment too long before he could get his feet to move. A hush fell over the crowd. The silence was ostensibly to make his journey dignified, but to Obi-Wan, it only sounded oppressive, like he was marching towards his own execution. Perhaps it was. After today, Obi-Wan Kenobi would no longer exist. Instead, he would be… well. He would be taking his future husband’s name.
He should be happy. He’d chosen this—he wanted this.
Didn’t he?
His climb up the stairs was slow. He didn’t look to either side, kept his eyes forward as he took each step alone. He couldn’t afford to falter, so he forced his focus to remain at the top of the steps. Not on the building beyond them. The veil obscured his vision, draping a haze over the scene that made it feel almost ethereal. The cape dragged on the ground behind him.
The holocams followed his path, and this was, perhaps, the thing he hated most about this whole thing. That it would be holovised. That the entire galaxy would watch his wedding on the steps of the Imperial Palace.
At last, out of breath somehow, he reached his destination, up the final one, two steps, turning to face the man he was to marry.
Palpatine was dressed in black, elegantly embroidered and voluminous robes fit for an Emperor. Obi-Wan himself was in a parody of Jedi garb, if the Jedi in question wore only the finest, whitest, gold-embellished and gem-studded silks. It was, unquestionably, the most expensive thing he had ever worn. Only the best for the Emperor’s Consort.
He had fantasized about this at one point. Marriage to this man. Not… not seriously. More of a far-flung dream of another life. He was—had been—a Jedi. He had an oath that he never would have broken because he had loved being a Jedi, and wouldn’t have given it up for anything, certainly nothing so frivolous as romance. But now… That fleeting fantasy had been twisted. Turned on its head and crumpled up into something reprehensible. This was nothing like he had imagined it being.
“You look lovely, my dear,” Palpatine purred, taking his hands.
“Thank you, my lord,” Obi-Wan replied tonelessly.
Obi-Wan stared at Palpatine. Palpatine stared back. There was a pleased smile stretched across his face. Obi-Wan was too numb to return it.
Happy. He was supposed to be happy. He was marrying the man he loved.
Instead, a dark pit had opened at the bottom of his stomach. Stealing the light and warmth from his chest.
“Smile, love,” Sheev murmured, for Obi-Wan’s ears only.
Obi-Wan swallowed and made his lips twitch upwards.
The Emperor gave their officiant a nod, and the man straightened even more than he already was and cleared his throat.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of the Emperor and his chosen in the glorious transcendence of marriage.”
Obi-Wan’s face started to hurt from the effort of maintaining his smile. The expression felt strained. Heavy. Like gravity was doing its damnedest to pull down the corners of his mouth.
“Fate has willed that these two sentient beings be joined together for eternity. Bound by their love and commitment, they are here to vow themselves to each other, that they might demonstrate to the galaxy their devotion for now and forever. If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."
Obi-Wan briefly closed his eyes with a silent plea to the Force. A plea for what, he didn’t know.
The quiet rang loudly in his ears.
"Then, do you, your Majesty, take Obi-Wan Kenobi to be your husband? From this day forward, to have and to hold, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live?"
“I do,” Sheev said, the smile on his face widening, his gaze never leaving Obi-Wan’s.
“And do you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, take his Majesty to be your husband? From this day forward, to have and to hold, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live?"
Obi-Wan was mute a moment too long. Sheev squeezed his hands, the Force wrapping around his throat lightly.
“I do,” he said softly.
“You have chosen to tie hands in the Naboo tradition to symbolize that you are unifying your two souls to become one, that your unending love will tie you together for the rest of your lives. It represents the joining of your hearts and affirms your commitment to one another. Please, join hands.”
Sheev clasped one of Obi-Wan’s hands between his own and intertwined their fingers. Obi-Wan followed his lead, holding on to Sheev’s hand much too tightly.
The officiant took the rope handed to him, a delicate-looking black braid woven with a red ribbon and crystals.
“Your Majesty, please repeat after me.” The officiant began to wind the cord around their joined hands. “With each knot of this cord, I bind my life to yours. I pledge to honor you, to be faithful to you, and to share my love and heart with you, in all ways, forever.”
Obi-Wan couldn’t hear Sheev repeat the words over the screaming of the bled kyber in the back of his mind. He just barely held back a flinch, throwing up his strongest shields to shut out the terrible sound so he didn’t throw up in front of everyone or start screaming himself.
He came back to himself in the middle of the officiant’s instructions. Luckily, he already knew his vows.
“With each knot of this cord,” he said hoarsely, watching as the officiant made the final loop, “I bind my life to yours. I pledge to honor you, to be faithful to you, and to share my love and heart with you, in all ways, forever.”
“As this cord now ties your hands, so shall your lives and souls be intertwined for the rest of time. May these knots never unravel, and your love never falter.”
And it was done.
As Naboo tradition intended, the ends of the rope would be cut and fashioned into permanent bracelets for the couple to wear, but for now, the officiant simply untied their hands.
Sheev held on when Obi-Wan went to pull away, thumb swiping gently over the back of his hand. Obi-Wan tentatively looked him in the eye again and felt his heart flutter at the desire he saw there. It was hard to maintain his resistance at moments like these, when Sheev demonstrated actual affection for him, something beyond manipulations and power plays. It reminded him of the time before the Empire, when he was so certain he was in love. And when he was so certain he was loved in return.
Now, he wasn’t certain of anything.
“By the power invested in me by the great Galactic Empire,” the officiant proclaimed, “I pronounce you wedded under the laws of the Imperial Senate. You may now kiss your husband.”
Palpatine reached up and lifted the veil from Obi-Wan’s face. He caressed Obi-Wan’s cheek, leaning in to press their lips together. He kept it chaste in front of the holocams, but Obi-Wan could feel his urge to let the kiss deepen, to dominate his new husband before the citizens of his Empire. To prove that Obi-Wan was his.
But that wouldn’t be very good for the image he wanted to present.
Sheev ended it with a quick peck and pulled away. Obi-Wan bowed his head and wiped the tears from his cheeks.
He should be happy.
“It’s alright, my dear husband,” Sheev purred. He brushed a thumb over the corner of Obi-Wan’s lips. “Now smile for the cameras.”
Obi-Wan willed the smile back on his face and tried to make it look natural. Together they waved to the cheering crowd, accompanied by the symphony of horns, before turning and striding into the Palace, hand in hand.
The moment they stepped into their bedroom, Obi-Wan desperately began to strip the accursed wedding garb off, tossing it on the floor. He couldn’t stand to have it on any longer. His chest was tight, his breathing shallow and hitching, and his heart ached like someone was squeezing it with vice-like fingers. Was he having a heart attack?
Sheev came up behind him and laid his hands on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck.
“Obi-Wan. Stop.” Gentle. Soothing. Obi-Wan didn’t want gentle and soothing. He wanted to hurt. He deserved to hurt.
“Fuck me,” he gasped out. “Please, Sheev.”
“As you desire, my dear husband.”
Sheev circled around in front of him, a hand trailing over his shoulder, and began to peel his tunics off with deft fingers. Obi-Wan did his best to help, but his own fingers felt thick and clumsy.
Soon enough he was bare, but his desperation hadn’t waned at all. The need was itching under his skin. The guilt was, too, but he shoved that down where he could ignore it. His self-loathing was harder to get rid of.
“Get on the bed, love,” Sheev said, beginning to disrobe.
Obi-Wan did. He laid on his back in the middle of the plush mattress, head cradled in the abundance of pillows, his cock still limp between his legs.
The itch beneath his skin intensified.
When Sheev had shed the final layer of heavy fabric, he crawled gracefully onto the bed, settling between Obi-Wan’s spread legs. But he didn’t move to prepare him. Instead, he leaned down and kissed him, slowly and tenderly. Obi-Wan tried, he tried, to turn it into a battle, to wage war between them with teeth and tongue, but Sheev didn’t rise to the bait. He did not fight back, and yet he dominated all the same, keeping each stroke of tongue leisurely and sensual, refusing to give Obi-Wan the lead.
Finally, finally, he pulled away and began to kiss his way down Obi-Wan’s jaw and neck. Obi-Wan tipped his head to give him better access, still trying to catch his breath. Sheev sucked bruises onto his throat, teeth grazing skin but not biting down, leaving a trail all the way down to his collarbone.
“Please. Please, just fuck me,” Obi-Wan panted. “Please.”
“Not yet,” Sheev replied in a low purr. His mouth latched on to Obi-Wan’s nipple, nibbling and suckling, sending a jolt of arousal straight to Obi-Wan’s gut.
His spine arched, head thrown back.
“Ah! Fuck!”
Sheev’s hand found his other nipple, swiping a thumb over it and rolling it between his fingers until it pebbled and peaked.
“Sheev—”
“Patience, love,” his husband said, lifting his head to do so. The air cooled the spit on Obi-Wan’s skin, stiffening his nipple further. His blood rushed downward, making his cock finally start to harden as well. “I will give you what you need.”
Sheev caressed his sides, from his ribs, down, down, to the dip of his waist, across to the swathe of skin just below his belly button, the little trail of hair down to his groin. He massaged the area with his talented fingers, sliding through coppery curls, so, so close and yet refusing to touch Obi-Wan where he longed to be touched the most.
“Sheev—” he cried, tears beading in his eyes. “Please!”
Spreading Obi-Wan’s legs just a touch more, Sheev leaned down and put his mouth to Obi-Wan’s inner thigh, nursing a bruise there as well. And still, still, avoiding his cock.
Unable to bear this torture any longer, Obi-Wan reached down to tend to it himself, but invisible hands gripped his wrists and forced them back to his sides. He cried out in frustration. Bucking his hips, he fisted his fingers in the sheets, tension thrumming through his body. He didn’t think he could get any more desperate.
“No, no, Obi-Wan. Your only pleasure will come from my hands,” Sheev said, his voice a sensual growl.
“Why don’t you give it to me then?” Obi-Wan snapped, though it lacked conviction.
“Because, my dear, you deserve more than a quick fuck on our wedding night.”
Obi-Wan shut his eyes against the moisture blurring his vision and felt it trickle down his cheeks. Slender fingers wiped them away, gentle and lingering. He helplessly turned his face into the hand that cradled him, unable to stop the tears from falling.
The other hand stroked down to his chest, thumbing over his nipple again, combing through the thin layer of hair, following his abs down to his groin to rub at the crease of his thigh right next to his cock. His hips lifted of their own accord.
“Say my name,” Sheev commanded.
Obi-Wan blinked down at where Sheev was tracing maddening circles a hairsbreadth from the base of his erect cock. His brain was struggling to comprehend the words.
“…Sheev?”
“My true name.”
At the low rumble of his voice, Obi-Wan raised his gaze to meet his husband’s eyes. Now glowing sickly golden, irises rimmed in blood-like red. They drew him in like they were hypnotizing him, rendering him unable to look away.
His breath caught on the lump of despair in his throat.
With the proof in front of him, he could deny it no longer.
Palpatine was a Sith Lord. He had facilitated the destruction of the Jedi and the enslavement of the clones. He had taken everything Obi-Wan loved from him, and in return, Obi-Wan had married him, willingly, and was now begging for his cock.
He’d known Palpatine was the Sith long before the End, he was forced to finally admit to himself. But he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Had convinced himself otherwise. Even after Sidious’s identity had been wholly revealed, Obi-Wan had hidden from the truth. If he looked the other way… then it wasn’t real. If he looked the other way, then he didn’t have to see the consequences of his actions.
Because he had chosen Palpatine above all else, and now Palpatine was the only thing he had left.
The Jedi were dead because of him, and the guilt of that would never leave him. He hadn’t turned to the Dark Side, but he had still betrayed them in the worst possible way.
By seeking pleasure from a Sith Lord.
“Sidious,” Obi-Wan whispered.
The hiss of the last ‘ess’ had hardly left his lips when fingers wrapped around his aching length and stroked.
“Hah—ah—” he panted, thrusting into the grip. Shee—Sidious’s other hand moved to hold his hips down, even as he continued to pump Obi-Wan’s cock. Up and down. Up and down. Slow, but firm.
Obi-Wan bit his lip to hold back his undignified whine at a twist of the Sith’s wrist. It burst free when Sidious’s thumb dragged over his slit, exactly in the way he liked. He was reminded, horribly, of just how well Sheev understood him. How intimately he knew his body. How many masterful ways he could bring Obi-Wan to the brink and tip him over.
“You need this, don’t you,” Sidious crooned, his hand never stopping. “You need my touch. My cock in you.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan sobbed. “I need—” He was cut off by another whine as Sidious swiped over his slit again. His cock throbbed with heat.
“Need what?”
It took him a moment to catch his breath enough to answer.
“You,” he said, his voice breaking in the middle of the syllable.
“Then you shall have me.”
With that, Sidious leaned down and took Obi-Wan’s dick into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth.
Obi-Wan cried out, the sensation of moist warmth and suction overwhelming him. Sheev had never… usually Obi-Wan was the one giving head, his husband considered it beneath him. But Force, was he good at it. His tongue swirled around Obi-Wan’s length, no hesitation in his motions, each lick and suck devised to bring him the most exquisite pleasure.
His hands, still pinned to the bed, strangled the sheets again and again, an outlet for the tension thrumming through him, the clench in his gut, the heat in his groin. The terrible, terrible squeeze in his chest.
He could feel himself hurtling towards his edge, coaxed along by the Sith’s persistent mouth.
“Please,” he moaned pitifully. “Please.”
Sidious hummed, running his talented tongue up the underside of Obi-Wan’s shaft. A tremble ran up Obi-Wan’s spine. His balls tightened. His thighs quaked. His toes curled against the mattress.
He was so, so close.
His husband pulled off, pressing a final kiss to the head of his cock as he went.
Obi-Wan gasped for air, denied release the moment before he could find it.
“No,” he pleaded. His hips tried to thrust involuntarily, chasing ecstasy, but Sidious was still holding them down.
The Sith summoned a bottle of lube and slicked his fingers, prodding two against Obi-Wan’s rim, slowly increasing the pressure until they slipped in. Sidious opened him up slowly, teasing him with the stretch, fingers diving in and out, in and out. And yet it wasn’t enough. Obi-Wan craved more. He wanted, needed, to lose himself in the crudeness of flesh, the flood of pleasure. Of pain. He didn’t want to think anymore, to drown in the shame and regret, all his faults and failures rattling through his mind.
Sidious added a third finger, spearing in as deep as he could go and crooking his fingers in just the right spot, arousal bursting in Obi-Wan’s gut, his cock twitching at the lightning-fire rush of sensation.
He whimpered. Pressed his head back against the fluffy pillows and closed his eyes.
“Sheev—” the fingers in him withdrew, leaving him empty in punishment, “—Sidious, please. Fuck me!”
The only thing Sidious did was jam a fourth finger into him, spreading, twisting, thrusting, working him loose and wide. Obi-Wan squirmed helplessly. Desperately.
Finally, his husband paused to slick up his cock, and blessedly entered him. There was no pain, just a phenomenal stretch. The aching fullness of being penetrated, maddeningly slow. Obi-Wan’s mouth fell open in a shout.
Palpatine leaned down and kissed him again, moaning into his mouth, just as languid and passionate as before. This time Obi-Wan matched him, though he pressed into it a bit feverishly, need surging through him.
Sidious pulled back and whispered against his lips.
“You are mine. All of you. Mine to touch. Mine to use. Mine for eternity.”
A sudden chill darted down Obi-Wan’s spine and he shivered.
In the back of his mind, Sidious’s presence unfolded, blanketing him in Darkness, the bond between them unveiled. He didn’t know when or how a bond had been formed, hadn’t even been aware one existed, but it must have been there a long time, because it was anchored in deep. Confusion swirled through him, he tried to struggle, and then Sidious was brushing the emotion away and beginning to rock his hips and all worries about the bond slipped from his grasp.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan gasped. “Yours. All yours.”
The gentleness with which Sidious thrust was spiraling Obi-Wan into madness. It wasn’t enough, he needed more, he didn’t want to think anymore, he didn’t—
“Harder, please,” he panted out.
He knew Sidious heard him, but the Sith didn’t comply. He maintained his leisurely pace, the motion of his hips smooth and easy. This was torture.
“Please.” Obi-Wan didn’t know how many times he had said that word at this point. It had started to lose all meaning. “Please, please, please, please.”
“You are so beautiful when you beg,” Sidious purred.
He shifted, and his next thrust dragged against the spot deep within Obi-Wan that made electric pleasure jolt through him. He moaned like the whore he was. Canted his hips in supplication. Clenched down on the cock within him.
“My precious consort,” his husband groaned. “So needy. Whoever thought Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi would be such an insatiable whore. Dying to be fucked. You would spread your legs for anybody, wouldn’t you?”
“No, no, no.” Obi-Wan shook his head earnestly. “Just you. Only you.”
“Good,” Sidious growled. “Because you belong to me now.”
At last, at last, he picked up speed, pounding into Obi-Wan now, driving him into the bed, and Obi-Wan cried in relief and overwhelming gratification.
The heat built until Obi-Wan was lost in it. Words were beyond him now, there was only feeling. The all-consuming ocean of sensation.
Sidious kissed the tears from his cheeks, but it didn’t stop more from trickling free.
Obi-Wan realized his hands had been released, and he reached up to clutch at his husband’s shoulders. They rocked together, breathless and moaning, captives of their carnal urges.
Teetering on the edge, Obi-Wan gave himself over to the arousal, the sheer lust of it all.
“Come for me, Obi-Wan.” Sidious punctuated the words with a hard snap of hips, slamming directly into his prostate.
Obi-Wan keened, fingers grasping at skin, head thrown back in ecstasy.
“I said, come,” the Sith snarled into his ear, with another unerring hit to his prostate.
A scream tore from Obi-Wan’s throat as he tumbled over the threshold of completion, his vision whiting out, cum splattering his chest. At the same time, Sidious groaned out his own orgasm, his hips stuttering to a stop as he spilled deep in Obi-Wan’s body. For a moment, everything fell away. There was only the blissful silence in Obi-Wan’s head. The itch under his skin subsided. The overwhelming need satiated.
He went limp against the mattress, limbs heavy and boneless, like all the strength had been sucked out of him.
Sidious kissed him again and he let it happen. Kept himself pliant to his husband’s touch.
“My beautiful husband.” Sidious laid a trail of kisses from Obi-Wan’s mouth to his ear and nibbled at the lobe. Their bond oozed satisfaction. “So good for me.”
“Always,” Obi-Wan murmured back. “Always.”
Obi-Wan trailed his fingers along the leaves, the gentle branches of the shrub swaying at his touch. His feet carried him along the path, between hedgerows, past trees and bushes and blossoming flowers, deeper and deeper into the garden.
He would have to go back into the Palace soon. His husband didn’t like him to be outside for too long, but sometimes he simply needed the fresh air—as fresh as it could get on Coruscant, anyway—before he suffocated. This garden was right outside the Palace, though technically not on the grounds, which was the only reason the Emperor allowed the excursions, as long as it was empty, and Obi-Wan was accompanied by his guards.
It was nice to be somewhere without walls. Where he could see the sky. See the sun setting on the horizon and feel its warmth on his face. Where he wasn’t trapped-closed in-confined.
He did not always feel that way. His and his husband’s wing of the Palace was spacious and comfortable. He wanted for nothing—he was provided luscious food, and beautiful clothes, and access to a collection of holobooks that would take him ten lifetimes to read.
He wasn’t a prisoner. But he could never leave.
Why would he even want to?
“Obi-Wan,” someone hissed off to his left.
He jerked, not expecting anyone else to be here with him. His guards had cleared the area. And anyone who would know him was dead.
A face peeked around the trunk of a tree, and Obi-Wan’s heart stuttered in his chest.
He was seeing things now.
“Anakin?”
“Obi-Wan, come here,” the man who could not be Anakin whispered.
Almost without his permission, his feet carried him over to the man, who grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him into a bone-crushing hug that felt oh, so real.
He stood there stiffly, his arms half-raised in uncertainty. When was the last time he had been hugged by someone other than Sheev? When was the last time he had been touched by someone other than Sheev?
“Force, Obi-Wan, it’s good to see you. I’m sorry it took us so long to come get you. It was almost impossible to get on Coruscant.”
“Us? Anakin? What—?”
“Hi, Master Obi-Wan,” another impossible voice said, and Anakin let go of him enough for the imaginary Ahsoka to wrap him in her own hug.
“Ahsoka? But—you’re dead. You’re both—this isn’t—” Obi-Wan shook his head and backed away from the two… imposters? Illusions? Dream manifestations? That must be it. He was dreaming. Dream-Anakin grabbed his arm, and he stared down at where the gloved fingers were gripping him. It felt so real. “No. I’m dreaming. I have to be—”
“Obi-Wan, it’s us. We’re alive. We’re real, I promise,” Anakin said, refusing to let go.
“No, no, no. You can’t be—” His ribs were squeezing his lungs, his mind tumbling over itself in his bewilderment. The Jedi were dead, the Jedi were dead, the Jedi were dead.
“Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka cut into his spiral. “Use the Force. Reach for us. We’re here.”
He hadn’t consciously touched the Force in months. Had cut himself off from it, unable to bear the Darkness that surrounded him.
But now… now he opened himself up, just the slightest bit, and reached.
He found truth. Anakin and Ahsoka shone in the Force, just as he remembered them—Anakin, the bright crackling of a luminous bonfire, and Ahsoka, the clean wash of rain in a storm.
As he connected with their minds, he felt their bonds snap into place, bonds he had thought lost in death.
“How are you here?” he gasped out, reeling. “Why are you here?”
“We came to rescue you, of course,” Anakin said.
Obi-Wan tugged his wrist out of Anakin’s grip, stepping out of his reach. He folded his arms and wished his sleeves were large enough to tuck his hands in, unable to bring himself to meet their eyes.
“I don’t need rescuing,” he professed irritably.
Anakin and Ahsoka seemed stunned by this declaration.
“You don’t need rescuing? Obi-Wan, what in the galaxy are you talking about?”
Shoulders rising defensively, Obi-Wan replied, “Why would I want to leave?”
Anakin gaped at him.
“Oh, I don’t know. Because a Sith Lord forced you to marry him and is now holding you hostage?”
There was a strange tightness in his chest. He tried to breathe through it, but the feeling was stubborn. He hated reminders of what Sheev was. They made the voice in the back of his mind shout, traitor, traitor, traitor. They made the shards of kyber on the bracelet he wore burn.
“My husband has never forced me to do anything. I married him of my own free will,” he said,
“No, I don’t believe that,” Anakin retorted. “He coerced you somehow, didn’t he. Did he threaten you with something?”
“He didn’t coerce me, and he certainly didn’t threaten me. He loves me. I love him.”
Obi-Wan remembered the early days. After Naboo, when the Chancellor had been so kind and considerate of Obi-Wan’s grief. When he had listened, and soothed Obi-Wan’s hurts in a way that the Jedi teachings never could. Obi-Wan had enjoyed spending time with him, and soon Sheev was bringing him to operas and museums and parks, having lunches and then dinners with him, and it had felt like the most natural thing in the galaxy to fall into bed with him.
Then, he had told himself it could never happen again, but a need had awoken in him. Plus, Sheev’s hurt at the distance Obi-Wan had tried to put between them had brought him guiltily back to the Chancellor soon enough. Love had been quick to follow. Attachment.
He would have been cast out of the Order had anyone found out. Sheev would have lost his standing as the Chancellor. And yet he could not bring himself to let go. Obi-Wan owed Sheev everything—most of all his love.
“Sith can’t love,” Ahsoka countered. “They only know how to possess.”
“Stop,” Obi-Wan said helplessly. “Just stop, I don’t—”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting tears. Why were Anakin and Ahsoka doing this? Why did they have to try and rescue him? They should have stayed away. Everything had been fine before they came and turned his life upside down.
“Let me look, I can tell if he messed with your mind,” Anakin said, reaching for him.
Obi-Wan yanked himself away.
“No,” he hissed. “Anakin, stop.”
“Obi-Wan, please. This isn’t you. He’s controlling you—”
“Sheev would never do that to me,” Obi-Wan insisted, his heart pounding. “It’s not like that.”
It couldn’t be like that. If it was, that meant everything was a lie. It meant Obi-Wan had betrayed the Jedi for a lie.
It couldn’t be true.
Traitor.
“Master Obi-Wan—” Ahsoka tried.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “I’m not a Jedi.”
“You told me once that being a Jedi was your life,” Anakin pressed. “That you never wanted to be anything else.”
“Things change. And the Jedi are dead.”
The Jedi were dead, and it was his fault. How could he still call himself one of them?
“They’re not,” Ahsoka said. “The Jedi are alive. A lot of them, anyway. Most of the Temple survived and we’ve been finding more who escaped their troopers. We’ve established a new Temple on—”
“Don’t,” Obi-Wan cut her off. “Don’t tell me.”
Inside, he was a roiling sea. Was it possible? Could they really be alive? It seemed almost too wonderful to be true.
“You can’t tell me. The Emperor will ask,” he added.
“Yeah, well, we’re not leaving you here for him to ask.”
Back to this. He shouldn’t be surprised. Anakin had always been stubborn. Always so sure that he was right.
Strangely, Obi-Wan had missed it. Missed him. And Ahsoka, and all the other members of his family, and he hadn’t realized just how much until now. He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell, couldn’t afford to when remembering them left him immobilized by grief and regret and guilt. He had let his memories of before the End fade because if he hadn’t, he would have drowned in them.
Now, they were all crashing back down on him.
“Anakin, you don’t understand. I… I can’t leave.”
“Why the hells not? How can you stay here with him?”
Another tactic, then.
“My husband would destroy the galaxy to keep me by his side. I cannot go, because it would put others in danger. At least here I have some measure of influence.”
“See?” Anakin said. “You know it’s wrong. You know he’s evil, and yet you want to stay?”
“You’re not—you’re not listening, Anakin.” Why wouldn’t he listen?
“Obi-Wan.” His incredible, beloved, alive friend took him by the shoulders, gazing deeply into his eyes. “We’re not leaving you here.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, and he tried to back away, but Anakin held him tightly.
“Anakin, don’t.”
“Sleep,” Anakin commanded.
A wave of drowsiness crashed over Obi-Wan, and his knees buckled. He opened his mouth to shout for his guards, but no… he couldn’t let Anakin and Ahsoka be caught, Sidious would…
“Sleep.”
It shouldn’t have worked. Might not have if the bond between them hadn’t been reestablished, allowing Anakin to bypass his strongest shields. Obi-Wan’s skills were rusty. And Anakin had always been more powerful.
The last thing Obi-Wan felt before losing consciousness was Anakin sweeping him into his arms.