Two Years Later

Obi-wan leaned up against the cool duracrete wall at his back, watching and patiently waiting from deep within the shadows. The air around him hung tepid and heavy with the undesirable musk of filth and decay that made his lips curl with involuntary revulsion. Over the past year he had come to understand the distinct putrid aroma was an inseparable part of the lowest levels of Coruscant.

Each district in the planet's core had differing variations of it, but every single one of them had the same central notes of excrement and rotting flesh. And it was fitting. The core of Coruscant was a place where no one traveled because they wished to. It was a place where beings with the darkest will ruled as tyrants over the poor and unfortunate that held the burden of being born there to begin with. It was an inescapable gravity well full of misery and regret. Not even the light of day reached down into its depths.

In moments of weakness where he caved in to the self pity that at times could be quite overwhelming, Obi-wan felt right at home in the heart of it all. Thought mostly he didn't tolerate such selfish inclinations of thought. He deserved every scrap of misery that came his way. He had brought it all upon himself.

Still, punishment was not the reason for his recurring visits to the Coruscanti underworld. He had a job to do. It was already well past three hours since he had gotten off his shift at the diner, and nearly two hours since his self-proclaimed second shift had begun.

Obi-wan had learned a long time ago, that the only constant in life was change itself. Worlds could die at the drop of a pin, lives could be lost in the breath of a second. Sometimes it was just that quick. It had been when Qui-gon was run through. Other times change happened in a series of moments, stretched out over months.

Years.

Though those changes could be just as unfair and cruel. All of the atrocities that had happened between Kraysiss and Devaron came to mind when he thought about it. Each moment he had tried so hard to hold onto what was clearly dying. He had killed it the moment he let himself go too far, he just hadn't known it yet. It was like carelessly cutting a beautiful flower and watching it wither away.

Time brought change. And in the last two years, much had changed. But not every change was for the worst. As Obi-wan had hoped, things did improve for the most part. For Anakin, anyways, or at least it seemed. As for Obi-wan, he had always been content to suffer. To pay his dues.

Obi-wan had never been quite convinced that Anakin would ever be free from the danger of lunatic schemers thinking up plots to use and murder him. Though over time he did suspect that his former Padawan was not, and more than likely would not be in need of his services. But of course, Obi-wan could never be entirely sure. So he stayed just out of reach and out of sight.

He had built a hollow shell of a life for himself outside of the temple, away from Anakin. Not concerned with keeping any sort of standard of living, Obi-wan always kept enough credits to eat and put a roof over his head. His apartment was bare bones, even compared to Jedi minimalist standards. Aside from the most basic necessities, he didn't much care. The biggest change to his quality of life since he had taken the Barash happened when he finally left the waste management plant. And even then, he hadn't been looking to make anything easier for himself. Not even if working with droids day in and day out had eroded his spirit down to a single worn thread. And it had indeed done just that.

Living so far removed from any meaningful contact with other living beings proved tedious. Coming home to an empty apartment where the only things to keep him company were his own stray thoughts had been difficult to endure to say the least. Even worse was when unkempt fragments from Anakin would fall through their bond into his awareness.

For the most part Obi-wan tried to ignore those things that did find their way into his headspace. If it wasn't distress or a cry for help, it wasn't his business. For obvious reasons that mantra was incredibly difficult to hold at times depending on the nature of what meandered into his consciousness.

Because between work and his painfully empty life outside of it, Anakin was still the most real thing in his life. Every moment of the two grueling years that Obi-wan had managed to stay out of the boy's line of sight, had always been for him. But those first six months at the waste management plant with no living, breathing being to talk to, had broken him. And that was when he thought he had already been broken. If it hadn't been for his need to sleep and eat, anyone looking in at his life could have easily mistaken him for a droid in a flesh suit.

But Obi-wan had been too proud to move himself from his misery. It had taken Dex catching wind of him living in the lower levels and insisting that he work for him instead, to leave the plant. Obi-wan had never been sure how the Besalisk had learned that he had taken to living outside of the temple as a civilian, though not for lack of asking. Dex refused to comment on the matter at all, and Obi-wan had far too much respect for his old friend to pry the truth from him involuntarily.

Truthfully, Obi-wan had been grateful beyond words for the man's help. Dex had let him work in the back of the kitchen to avoid being recognized by anyone, and appreciated the good company that doubled as good help. While Obi-wan was still incessantly determined to be miserable in order to punish himself, working alongside other sentient beings was a much needed breath of fresh air.

He still led an incredibly lonely life void of any true meaningful connection, but that was just fine. He didn't have anything to say to anyone. And just as Dex wasn't about to divulge one of his 'loyal informants', Obi-wan wasn't going to talk about just what had taken him out of the temple to begin with. Both of them were content with not knowing, and accepting that it wasn't something that needed to be shared. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Though as Obi-wan had taken up his compulsory second shift, he was sure that Dex's ever loyal informants had cued him in on that, too. He hadn't needed the force to be certain of it. One day the man had been all smiles and wry humor. The next, his eyes turned colder. Obi-wan watched him closely that day, not seeing him laugh even once. Seriousness was an odd look for Dex Jettster. And after that single unnerving shift passing in all but silence, Dex only had one thing to say.

"Be careful out there friend. Discretion... is everything." He said in gentle warning, not a trace of threat to be found.

Obi-wan knew Dex couldn't be fooled. Not that he had ever taken him as a fool to begin with. At that time, Obi-wan had only been at his new pastime for less than two weeks. He reasoned that it made sense for Dex to be concerned. They had known each other since Obi-wan was little more than a youngling. Back then he hadn't been much more dangerous or fearsome than an angry loth-cat.

But that uncomfortable interaction had been over a year ago, and they hadn't spoken about it since. Dex returned to his usual jolly self, and Obi-wan continued to work diligently behind the scenes at the diner. He figured it was another part of the silent agreement between the two of them. Don't ask, don't tell. And that was more than fine by Obi-wan.

What would he tell anyone who did ask? Obi-wan didn't have words. No one could understand his reasons. And anyone who did would be able to see him for the monster that he was. It was bad enough that he was forced to meet the true nature of himself every day. The memories haunted him were even worse.

It was mostly a selfish reflex to give in to the urge to pay for his debts with service. None of his wrongs would ever be righted, and the act of even trying to pay for them was self serving at best. Obi-wan thought waiting for Anakin to need him would have been sufficient. But seeing as that day was most likely never going to come, he thought that maybe he could pay in other ways. To ease anyone's suffering would be enough to soothe his own hurt for a short while. And he did find that having a purpose helped make the days a little bit easier to get through.

So he went down to the darkest corners of Coruscant, waiting to be needed. Many nights he was able to save a handful of innocent beings from being mugged or worse, and had apprehended even more criminals for their misdeeds.

Ideally, leaving the wrong-doers bound at the nearest police station was preferable. Unfortunately many parts that he had taken to patrolling had no police at all, so Obi-wan had to be creative in his methods of detainment, while trying to frighten the criminals enough to scare them away from immediate recidivism. Sometimes that involved roughing people up just enough to deter them from causing future problems. Admittedly, sometimes he had taken that a little too far.

He had only been prowling the lowest levels for less than one month when Obi-wan had nearly killed a man with his bare hands. Obi-wan wanted to kill him. He wanted to wring his neck and make him struggle for every last breath. He still remembered kneeling over the man's body long after he had lost consciousness, pummeling him senselessly.

Obi-wan had first sensed a bright beacon of fear and pain through the force. It was a dreadfully familiar feeling that sank in his stomach like lead. He never had the misfortune of feeling that himself, but he had felt it in others before.

In Anakin.

Following the trail, Obi-wan came upon the man in the vacant hollow of an abandoned warehouse. Before he saw anything, he heard faint weeping from a young woman, her voice quivering with fear. He heard her desperate pleas turn to frantic begging before the sound of violence ensued. Turning the corner into one of the run-down offices Obi-wan caught sight of the girl trapped between the hard surface of a metal desk and the arms of her attacker, pinning her down and tearing at her clothes.

Obi-wan didn't remember the specifics after that. He did remember the way the man's flesh felt as it gave way beneath his fists to the soft slick tissue beneath. The tender raw feeling in his throat left him vaguely aware that he must have been screaming as he beat the man unconscious. He recalled tears in his eyes, obscuring his vision as he came back to himself, trembling and nauseous. He remembered rolling off the man's body and retching on the cold duracrete floor right after.

In a shameful afterthought, he checked to be sure the man was still alive. And he was, breathing in shallow wheezing gasps and knocked well unconscious. Obi-wan sensed a handful of broken bones and ruptured organs. The poor tormented girl had run off long ago.

With a stray sense of morality still about him, Obi-wan slung the bleeding perpetrator over his shoulder and dumped him off by the nearest medcenter. Obi-wan was sure that if his wounds were tended the man would survive. He only hoped that he wouldn't go on to hurt someone else.

It wasn't up to him to decide who lived and died, no matter how badly he would have liked to let that one just die. He danced on the edge of that line one too many times for comfort. But if the wounded man didn't pull through, Obi-wan only felt remorse for the fact that he had none to begin with.

But that night continued to haunt him for some time. Obi-wan remembered the horrific savagery he felt in that man, preying on innocent flesh. He wanted to believe that he and that monster were somehow fundamentally different, but he knew they were one in the same. Because Anakin had cried and struggled, too. It made no difference.

Mostly he tried not to think about it as he went on, hiding in the shadows until he felt a soul in distress or heard a cry for help. The majority of criminals he did apprehend were thieves. In the future when he came upon rapists and other sexual predators he tried to keep a level head. As much as he could, anyways. In those instances more often than not he found himself shaken too much to keep a grip on himself. Typically those encounters ended up with the perpetrator beaten to a pulp and dumped near a medcenter, much like the first.

But this night in the corner of hell that he had taken to patrolling, things seemed rather quiet. It had been that way since the start of the Clone War- different in unpredictable ways. Some districts were booming with gang violence and syndicate driven skirmishes. And that deep below the surface of Coruscant, police were scant if present at all.

In some districts the syndicates paid the police to leave altogether, in lieu of keeping the peace with their own enforcers. They ran under government authority, but as all the locals knew, they were far from legitimate. Though mostly they did keep crime rates down- outside of syndicate related crime of course. That was just considered internal affairs.

The district Obi-wan had taken to watching over that past week had been full of violence on every block. It had been almost total chaos, to the point that he couldn't do much at all other than help innocents escape their homes when locked in by blaster fire. Judging from the stillness, someone had won that small ground war. To whatever end it might have been, it seemed to be beneficial. For now.

But just as the thought crossed his mind, a pair of shouting voices cut through the droning ambiance of turbo lifts and air recyclers. Obi-wan slowly skirted the shadow of the building he stood beneath, getting close enough to see the fight unfold one level below. It seemed harmless enough. He wouldn't have even paid attention to it on a typical night shift. But for lack of anything better to do, he lurked and listened to the pair shout back and forth. It was something to do about money and product, and a mismatched amount of the two.

Then suddenly, a barrage of emotion surged through him, twisted with worrisome images that darted across his mind. Obi-wan took a moment, processing the information just enough to discern whether or not it required action. No matter how inconvenient, when Anakin touched his mind whether or not he meant to, it was Obi-wan's duty to be ready if he was needed.

Though this time like the countless other times that preceded it, Anakin would take care of himself. Obi-wan knew he was self-sufficient and that really, even trying to protect him was just an act.

Anakin wasn't the Padawan he had once been. He wasn't a Padawan at all anymore. Much had changed in the galaxy since he had laid eyes on him last, the start of the Clone Wars being just one of those things. Now, Anakin was a General in the Grand Army of the Republic. He had forces and men under his command. And from what Obi-wan had heard, he was quite the cunning and skillful tactician, as well as a strong leader.

Obi-wan hardly felt anything come across their bond anymore, usually because Anakin would be halfway across the Galaxy at any given point in time. Distance made it difficult to sense anything.

But even at a great distance, there were two distinct times that Obi-wan remembered feeling Anakin from across the stars. What had come to him had been so much more than stray thoughts and feelings.

The first had woken him up in the middle of the night. It was the dreadful knowing married with a surge of helpless grief, that Shmi Skywalker was dead. Obi-wan had felt Anakin suffer terribly in the wake of her death, and wallowed in knowing there was nothing he could do.

The second instance happened not a week later. Obi-wan was in the middle of his shift at the diner when Anakin called out to him in terror, before fading altogether. The contact had been deliberate. Anakin was calling out to him, asking for help. But Obi-wan could feel that he was much too far away to be able to do anything. Even if he set out that very moment to go find him, Anakin would be long gone, or dead, by the time he managed to even get close.

That day Dex let Obi-wan go home early. That day, Obi-wan did the one thing he didn't think he would ever do. He contacted the Council, hoping to gain some reassurance that Anakin was alright. After being put on hold for longer than he could stand he was met with the unhelpful message that the council was out, along with many Jedi, on a mission of high importance that could not be spoken of over unsecured links.

An hour later Obi-wan saw the breaking news. The Clone Wars had begun. And that was the first time since leaving the order that Obi-wan willfully reached out across their bond, probing at Anakin's mind. With a sigh of relief he felt the boy was alive. His life force was strong. That was all he needed to know. After that he walled off their bond again, as well as he was able.

He had hardly sensed anything from Anakin since then, which made this most recent accidental incursion of thought even harder to let go of. The nature of things that had come across at times was… inappropriate to say the least. This was no different, even though the context was concerning, he sensed Anakin could handle himself. He wasn't the Padawan he once was, and was hardly in need of saving. Obi-wan had sensed as much.

Feeling useless, Obi-wan decided to make for the lift and start his trek back to the upper half of Coruscant. There were still a couple of hours before he would need to catch some sleep, and his favorite bar was on the way up. In theory, a drink or two would help him forget the images that had washed over to his awareness.

It was a rather rare occasion that he allowed himself to drink at all. As a Jedi in the Order, he refrained from it nearly at all times, to keep his senses sharp and his abilities at the ready. Living as a dishwasher by day and vigilante by night, he had allotted himself two nights per standard month to go to the bar if he chose to do so. And after the night he was having so far, he was glad he hadn't used those up yet. If he had, he was sure he would have disregarded the rule altogether.

….

Meanwhile

Anakin's wrists twitched against their restraints as the sting of stiff leather bit into his skin again, leaving tender red welts where the whip snapped against his flesh. He kept a purposeful silence as the blows intensified. There was a sense of sacrifice involved in finding himself, deep down within the emptiness of meditative bliss that could only be found under the whims of another. It was a vulnerable position to be in, one that was... questionable for a General in the Grand Army of the Republic to submit to.

Strategically it was a disaster waiting to happen, bound and incapacitated both mentally and physically. During these sessions he liked to sever himself off from the force as an added layer of surender. It was a trick Tholme had taught him during their short time together as Master and Padawan. Tholme had passed on a number of tricks in stealth as well as a great deal of knowledge dealing with force manipulation that Obi-wan had never possessed to give.

Of course the trick of blinding oneself from the force, and thus one's presence through the force, was a tactic useful when dealing with other non-friendly force sensitives. If Tholme knew how he had taken to using the skill he wouldn't have approved, but that hardly mattered. What Anakin did on his personal leave time wasn't anyone's business.

Anakin was careful about his proclivities and even stricter in anonymity with them. The playmates he chose to take home never learned his real name, nor his true profession. As far as anyone was concerned he was the rich spoiled child of some well-to-do in the Republic. There weren't many other conclusions to be had when someone who wasn't a senator lived in one of the upper most Senate apartment complex suites. But Anakin didn't care about the opinions of those he brought home. There were few things he cared about at all, though there were a small number of non-negotiables.

Being often blindfolded and bound, appearances didn't quite matter. Voice was more important to Anakin in picking potential playmates. A posh Coruscanti accent was preferred. And as time went on, it had become a necessity. Rough firm hands were also a must. Being handled too delicately made Anakin feel sick.

But of course there were a few hard limits he had always been sure to make people aware of. The first on that list dictated that the glove on his right hand was to never be removed under any circumstances. The second mandated that love was never to be mentioned in any capacity. Aside from that, there was little that Anakin didn't submit to.

A strike across the backs of Anakin's thighs brought a wave of warmth after it. Another one cast across the span of his shoulders, breaking his skin, with second blow chasing right after the last. Finally, it had been enough to draw a small cry from his lips. It was the sweetest of meditative trances, pushing him closer to the edge of what he thought his limit may have been.

Sometimes he even surprised himself with what he could handle voluntarily, without the aid of the force to take him away from the pain. Completely surrendered he leaned into it, embraced it. And it embraced him as well, cradling him in the arms of total serenity.

Inside himself he could appreciate the irony of it, how contradictory it was to the code. How completely surrendered passion became serenity. The two were symbiotes of the other, not existing apart from the other. Another lash struck a small cry from him again. His body hummed with sensation, feeling every whisper, every breeze amplified by the static haze of warm tingles that rushed over him in waves.

The novelty of different playmates kept things interesting and fresh. Some of them were quite creative in their means of domination. Others were rather routine, falling into tried and true methods. After long stretches of wartime with little room to sleep or think, Anakin preferred the more physical aspects of submission. This was the first time he had even stepped foot in his apartment for the last six months, and so far this session had yet to disappoint.

A hand lightly traced over the lacerations that bloomed on his back and hips, then teased the insides of his thighs making him writhe, pulling tight on the cuffs that anchored his ankles to either bedpost. Then those fingertips brushed against his entrance with feather light touches, making Anakin shudder as he pressed his face into the mattress. The prickle of gooseflesh covered the backs of his arms and thighs, making his welts ache vaguely in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Oh the things I'm going to do to you…" The man all but whispered, his rich accent heavy with intoxication. Anakin had heard the same drawl in the voices of other men he had allowed into his bed- lust drunk and well past delaying their own wants any further. Any sadist took a great amount of pleasure in doling out the sort of things that Anakin had an interest in feeling. However, they usually gave in long before Anakin ever would. He was just someone with something they wanted. And that was just fine. The feeling was mutual, afterall.

The mattress gave way as the man crawled behind him, knees pressing into the insides of his thighs. Hands firmly gripped his hips in an appraising hold as the man entered him with a soft grunt that tickled Anakin's belly. He felt the hot pressure of being spread apart and dove into the sensation completely. No matter how many times, it always hurt a little bit. He wanted it to.

Anakin's hands gripped the chain that anchored his restraints, feeling the cold metal in his damp palms contrast the hot body that draped over his back, fully seated inside of him. There was a small reprieve to adjust where the icy pain alchemized into aching pleasure before the man took a moderate rhythm, keeping him just on the edge between the two worlds of sensation.

Skillfully sensing Anakin's tolerance, the tempered thrusts became more violent. A hand pulled roughly at his jaw, wrenching his head to the side while the other arm wrapped tightly around his ribs, steadying him. Seemingly unsatisfied by Anakin's lack of resistance the man began fucking him even more roughly, in a way he knew would be painful, perhaps completely intolerable to most.

And it did push Anakin to the very edge of his limit. He pulled tightly against his restraints as involuntary tears welled in his eyes. This was another moment of surrender, pushing past the pain to find the serenity beyond. His toes curled with tension. There was a core of dull pleasure at the center, beyond the meaty flesh of searing pain that surrounded it. The more he focused on submitting to it, the pleasure seemed to transmute everything else.

It was rare to find someone who knew how to push him so far. Perhaps it was the months of endless battle that had Anakin so enveloped inside it all. There was nothing quite like being taken, flogged and fucked senseless, especially after going so long without. The demands of being a General in the Army of the Republic made him even more desperate to work out the stress and aggravation of war. It helped clear his head when he went back to the frontlines.

Usually.

"You want it like this, don't you?" The man growled in Anakin's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Grabbing a fist full of Anakin's hair, he pushed his face against the mattress. "Don't you?" He snarled lower, demanding an answer.

"Yes," Anakin moaned submissively.

"Yes Master." The man corrected.

What would your Master think of you now?

"N-no." Anakin countered, feeling a rising panic in his chest. He yanked against the shackles on his wrists and ankles, slipping away from the bliss of surrender and falling into unstable mental territory.

He would think you wanted it.

"St-stop," Anakin whimpered, writhing against the man on top of him, remembering that in the heat of the moment, they hadn't established a safeword in case something like this were to happen. Pulled from the heart of serenity, all he could feel was searing pain while he frantically fought against his restraints.

As the delicate castle of submission and surrender crumbled under one fateful word, Anakin felt himself reduced to the scared dependent boy he had once been. The one he had put immense distance between in his time as a Jedi Knight and General. The one who cowered under abuse. The one who waited for his Master to save him time and time again. But he had been long without a Master now, and had long since learned how to save himself.

Still coming to his senses, Anakin scrambled to rejoin with the force. Helplessness and fear still clawing at his heart, he desperately tore out of his restraints, simultaneously throwing the man off of him and across the room. The man hit the opposite wall hard, leaving a small impression where his head made contact before his body fell to the floor.

Anakin scrambled to sit upright, pulling the flat sheet from the mattress to curl up in. He had only just become aware that his hands were completely numb with raw panic as he wiped at the tears on his face. He thought he felt something brush against his consciousness lightly, but it left him just as quickly. Easily he dismissed it as a phantom of the thing that haunted him, and put it out of mind.

He breathed a sigh, burying his face in his hands. His body was sore, his back covered with aching welts and stinging lacerations. Usually those things were accompanied by the warmth of post orgasmic bliss. Now the only thing he felt alongside them was shame and disgust.

With a bite of sardonicism Anakin thought it strange that the word Master had never made it to his list of hard limits. Clearly it ought to have been there, along with all the other things that triggered him into a less than desirable emotional state.

The man who came to mind at the word certainly wasn't terrifying. There was heartache and bitter emotion related to it, but not any fear that he had been aware of. Really, Anakin tried to ignore the fact that he thought about Obi-wan quite often. Even more often when he was tangled up with one of his many random playmates during sessions when he had more energy to fantasize.

During this last botched attempt at his version of intimacy, he had been more intent on escaping all thought entirely. He needed the mental vacation. But the word Master and the violence he tended to enjoy receiving did not mingle well together at all, apparently. It brought him to all the things that he had worked so hard to get away from. Things that he hadn't thought about for a very, very long time.

He didn't like to associate Obi-wan with those things- the pain and shame and fear that he had felt. Giving in to those things had been the reason his Master had left him in the end, or so Anakin had thought. Well it was that in combination with his feelings for him that had effectively scared him away. Anakin didn't want to attribute that fear and shame to Obi-wan. He didn't want to remember him that way. He wanted to remember that kiss he had been lucky enough to steal.

But of course, that was only in the moments that Anakin didn't feel absolute rage towards the man, which was most times. Obi-wan abandoned him when he needed him the most. Anakin didn't think he could ever forgive that. He hadn't seen the man in over two years. Anakin liked to think he had the ability to move on, and that he had moved on. But no matter how many times he told himself that, the fact remained that in nearly every sexual encounter he had, he found himself somewhere else- in the hands of the one man that he knew he could never have. The one that he hated more than anyone else, and the only one he had ever truly loved.

The man on the floor across the room groaned as he slowly came to, clutching at his head painfully. Nearly simultaneously the com on his side table chirped. It was the Jedi Council summoning him. For them to be contacting him so soon after the start of his leave, he knew it had to be important.

"Wha...What the fuck just happened?" The man across the room said in a distant voice. He was still coming to, with a severe concussion no doubt. It was going to take a certain amount of skill to explain away what had happened. With a touch of force enhanced suggestion, he was certain he could manage it.