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Or Die Beside Him

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“Prove to me you are a slaver.”

Anakin accepted the whip from the Queen and headed down to the arena, ready to to bust them out. Trying to figure out a plan...

First, he had to get to Obi-Wan and get rid of the shackles he wore. His Master looked to be in pretty bad shape he'd barely managed to walk when the guards prodded him.

Anakin might have to help him run.

R2 was up in the balcony, with lightsabers, waiting for a signal.

A warning came through, strong and clear across Anakin's bond with Obi-Wan.

“Make it real, Anakin.”

Seriously? Obi-Wan thought Anakin would flog him? “I can't beat you, Master.”
“Yes, you can. Remember how angry you were with me when I lied about my death?”

“Master Anakin tried to warn him.

“Remember how I used to irritate you as a Padawan? How you resented me? How you wished Qui-Gon had lived instead of me? How you just knew I'd failed him in that last battle?”

“You knew about that?” Anakin demanded, mortified as his feet hit the first hint of sand at the base of the wall.

“Think of all the times I didn't act on your suggestions, when I chose my own ideas instead. I lied to you. I suppressed you. I didn't trust you. I held you back. I was jealous of you. I failed Qui-Gon. I should have been the one who died. I don't understand you. I called you dangerous.”

Anakin's hand was beginning to tremor. “Stop it. Stop. You're
“Making you angry. Yes.”

“You've always told me to control it

“There's fifty thousand people who need you to make a very convincing case that you don't. Either you suddenly discover acting skills you've never possessed, or you need to remember what it feels like to be angry, and aim it at me. Whether you're angry with me now or not, you need to remember how it did feel, and use that. Convince them, Anakin. Now pay attention. I would have left you there. As Watto's possession.”

The frustration that had swirled in Anakin's soul vanished.

His dear, ridiculous Master. I will never hurt you. The Zygerrians can just go to the nine Corellian hells.

There was a hesitation... and then Obi-Wan's shields tightened, locking Anakin outside. Preventing him from seeing what his friend's emotional status was.

“What are you doing?” Anakin didn't like where this might be going.

“I slept with Padmé.”

Anakin's blood ran cold and he almost stopped dead in his tracks.

But his feet keep moving.

“You're just saying that to make me angry.”

His Master didn't respond.

“You are, aren't you?” Anakin demanded, his pulse quickening. “Tell me the truth, Obi-Wan!”

“The truth? The truth is I fripped her, Anakin. She wanted something more experienced. A bit less naive. Someone who knew how to please her in ways she was accustomed to. The way she deserves.”

Anakin couldn't believe the calloused tone of Obi-Wan's thoughts. “You're lying!” Panic clawed at his throat.

“Anakin, it's almost adorable, how confident you are. How you think you're impressive in bed. You're a child. She wanted a man. Oh, she loves you. She felt so guilty about betraying you. But she let me do it again. And again. And again. I give her something you never could. Something she needs. Every second she's a moaning, wet mess in my arms she's comparing you to me.”
“Stop.
Stop, Anakin's mind begged. The dragon that lived in the furnace of his soul was waking up. It couldn't take much—

“And you are always lacking.”

Fury flooded Anakin's eyes, and his grip adjusted against the whip.

“Swing that whip, or die beside him!” Queen Miraj demanded.

Anakin didn't hear her.

All he could hear was the roaring in his ears of the thing that slept in his soul and was asleep no longer.

He reached the top of the stage with a graceful bound and activated the cruel length of tearing, burning cord.

The monster was loose.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan built his shields ever tighter, ever closer.

The instant Anakin figured out he'd been manipulated, their cover would be lost.

The Zygerrians had overpowered Obi-Wan.

It might take them longer with Anakin, but they would succeed.

And then where would the fifty thousand Togruta be?

They couldn't defend themselves. They were as lamblike as a people could get.

They had to be rescued before they were split up and disappeared amongst individual buyers, out of reach of saving.

They didn't have time.

It killed him to wound Anakin this way. To shred the boy's self-esteem.

But he was incapable of acting. Obi-Wan could sense the Queen's suspicion.

It would take an act of unspeakable savagery to ease her doubts.

An act Anakin was fully capable of.

But would never have allowed himself to commit—

As long as he had control over himself.

The fact remained, Obi-Wan had seen the look in Anakin's eyes. Not recently, but plenty in his Padawanship. The desire to harm Obi-Wan in a vicious, searing way.

All of the pieces were there. The capacity. The old desire.

All Obi-Wan had needed to do was push the right domino.

Obi-Wan could sense Ahsoka's horror. She couldn't hear their words, but she sensed the sudden blackness of Anakin's heart. Obi-Wan could feel her frantic tugs at Anakin's Force signature, begging him to hear her—

He was too far gone.

Far too gone.

The first blow knocked Obi-Wan from kneeling upright to his weight resting heavily on his bound hands.

The second tore through the last shreds of his tunic, revealing his criss-crossed wounds from the earlier beatings to the spectators.

They cheered in approval.

Blow after blow after blow after blow—

The full strength of his Padawan's arm, his knowledge of whips, of how to destroy put to use...

Obi-Wan's blood spilled, his ribs and spine glinted white in the cruel sunlight. He collapsed against the stage and the delight of the crowds pulsed deafening in his ears. Ahsoka's horrified begging in the Force almost drowned out by their bloodlust.

Obi-Wan screamed in pain and writhed against the harsh stone, tightening his shields, ever tightening his shields.

Anakin couldn't know. Couldn't know.

He had to finish this out. If he found out now, he would come to himself. Feel the blood that was sprayed across his face, drenching his hands. Realize what he'd done.

There would be no hiding that from the Queen, or anyone else in this Force-accursed place.

No. He could only find out later.

Darkness closed in around Obi-Wan, beckoning, promising release.

Before he accepted its sweet invitation, he sent a pulse of knowledge to Ahsoka.

“It was all a lie. Fifty thousand people, Ahsoka. Your people, Ahsoka. Keep Anakin on course. Keep him on course. Everything I told him was a lie.”

And with a gurgle, Obi-Wan succumbed to his wounds.

 

* * *

 

“Hey. Hey. Didn't you hear her Majesty? That's enough. If you keep it up, we won't get to play with him any more.”

Anakin shoved the grasping hands aside, his rage a thing too alive, too strong to be reined in all at once.

He blinked, realized his face was wet.

He reached up with a sleeve to wipe away the sweat, only to discover his sleeve was splattered with red.

He tasted the liquid near his mouth.

Not sweat.

Blood.

The betrayer lay at his feet, unconscious.

See how Padmé likes you now.

The figure kept shifting. Obi-Wan to Rush Clovis to whatever that kid Paulo might have looked like. With his dark, curly hair and dreamy eyes.

He found himself being led away.

The mission.

The mission.

He'd allowed himself to become distracted.

Obi-Wan would have to be punished later. He couldn't deal with that right now. He had to save Ahsoka's people.

Ahsoka. Who'd watched him flog his Master, and railed at him for doing so.

She doesn't understand. She can't.

She wasn't in love.

Obi-Wan had a hell of a lot more coming to him, and he deserved every ounce of it.

The image was burned into his brain. Obi-Wan, thrust deeply inside Padmé, driving her to orgasm, a smug, self-satisfied look on his face.

I trusted you, and you betrayed me.

He didn't find himself blaming Padmé.

He'd been afraid, so often, that he wasn't experienced enough for her. That the age gap was detrimental to her happiness.

No. It wasn't her fault.

It was Obi-Wan's. And Clovis's. And that kid Paulo's and any and every being's fault who had ever laid eyes on his wife.

And especially Obi-Wan's.

His anger was still awake when he discovered he'd been led to the Queen's bedchamber.

Ahsoka was nowhere in sight, he and the Queen were alone, and as she licked Obi-Wan's blood from his fevered cheek, it turned him on. A fierce rush of heat deep in his belly.

Padmé hadn't been faithful to him.

Why should he not run this mission the full length?

So he seized Miraj's hip and dragged her against him. She moaned in pleasure and continued sucking Obi-Wan's blood from his skin, savoring the taste. “You made that Jedi scream,” she purred. “Maybe he'll die.”

A shiver ran down his spine.

Oh... that would feel good. The betrayer, dying alone in some wretched cell.

Never able to touch his Padmé again.

He couldn't steal Padmé from Anakin if he was dead. Couldn't poison her against her husband.

Anakin crushed his mouth against Miraj's, claiming Obi-Wan's blood from her lips and tongue.

That belonged to him. It was owed him.

It tasted good.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka kept pounding on her Master's mental shields until the strangest sensation leaked through.

And then she pulled back into her own mind and slammed her own shields up in horror.

He was fripping the Queen of the slavers.

And enjoying it. Fiercely.

The thought of her Master having sex was just plain awful. Who the hell wanted to think about their parent doing that?

And...

How could he? He'd nearly killed Obi-Wan. Ahsoka had been trying to monitor her grand-Master's Force signature, and he seemed to be hovering between life and death.

Leaning towards death.

They needed to get out of here, and rescue him and Anakin was fripping the Queen of Zygerria.

Ahsoka had tried to free herself, multiple times, to no avail.

So now she sat in her suspended cage and glared out into the night.

Don't you dare die,” she sent fiercely to Obi-Wan.

“And you should be ashamed of herself,” she mentally screamed at Anakin.

And he really. Just didn't. Give.

A.

Kark.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan awoke to agony.

And someone—

Oh, no. Please no.

Fear and revulsion flooded his system, made him kick at the man pulling down his leggings.

Punishing electricity arced through his body, and by the time he could put two thoughts together again, both leggings and smallclothes were at his ankles, effectively locking his feet together.

He frantically fought, searched the Force for Anakin, for Ahsoka—

Ahsoka couldn't help. But now, sensing his desperation, she was flailing against her own captivity.

And being beaten into submission.

As for Anakin?

The Chosen One dropped his shields and dimly Obi-Wan felt Ahsoka recoil in horror.

Anakin wouldn't be helping him.

Obi-Wan struggled to replace his shields, but it was too late. Anakin held them underfoot.

His best friend had for many years now been the physically stronger of the two.

And for even more years... actually... ever since he was nine years old...

Anakin had possessed a vast strength in the Force that dwarfed Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan had voluntarily lowered his shields to him.

And Anakin held him underwater.

“What's so wonderful about your body, Master?” came the taunting words, delivered straight into the depths of Obi-Wan's soul.

Obi-Wan, weakened, so weakened and every few moments assailed by electricity to negate any attempts to use the Force to defend himself, was gang-raped.

Anakin, fripping the Queen of Zygerria for all she was worth, fed off Obi-Wan's agony and humiliation, placed it over the Queen. Painted Obi-Wan's body over her own, taking the sensations he felt through their bond and rutting into them, overwhelmed with vicious pleasure.

The Zygerrians raped Obi-Wan's body.

Anakin raped his mind.

Somewhere, Ahsoka sat curled in on herself, shuddering, trying desperately to block the Force storm out. Trying to hide herself from Anakin's cruel, shameless broadcasting, and Obi-Wan's broken soul, being forced into view by the man he loved most in the universe.

Every Force-sensitive in the system had to have the images raging through their minds.

Obi-Wan felt shivers of recognition from the far reaches of the Force, and the last living part of his soul died.

It wasn't just this system.

It was everywhere.

His friends... his family... were witnessing this.

No.

Feeling it.

As though they were the ones pounding mercilessly into him.

Anakin fed intense pleasure straight into their bodies and minds, connected to images of Obi-Wan's abuse.

Obi-Wan had fought for life up until that moment.

Now he just prayed for merciful darkness.

He didn't really care if it was unconsciousness or death.

 

* * *

Yes.

Yes.

The betrayer, broken beneath him, his spirit reeling with the sheer scale of the humiliation.

Who's laughing now?

Oh, Force, he's so tight, so fripping tight, filled with blood and come—

Anakin heard the Queen's moan, mingling with Obi-Wan's ragged cries.

Yes. Take it, Master.

Take more. Take it all.

And like it.

Anakin sent his own pleasure straight into Obi-Wan's unprotected mind. Watched in amusement as Obi-Wan's body responded, unbearably aroused. Laughed as the Zygerrians noticed and took their cruelties to the next level.

Sneered at Obi-Wan's mortification.

As Obi-Wan's soul struggled, the efforts ever more feeble, against his shattering grip.

Yes. You're enjoying this.

Anakin cried out in pleasure, felt the cry echoed by Obi-Wan.

Felt the Zygerrians' mockery. Heard it— “You want this, Jedi. Take it. Take it.”

Obi-Wan, passed off from one to the next without a break, without mercy—

Anakin fell beside the Queen, exhausted to the bone.

Obi-Wan sensed an end to Anakin's violence, the shards of his spirit trying to pull back.

With a callous hand, Anakin refused to let them go.

Miraj almost more unconscious than asleep beside him, Anakin lay still and watched his Master's suffering, shivering in pleasure, spent though he might be.

He watched through the night, refusing to allow Obi-Wan to hide in his own mind. Denying him even that fortress.

And casually ripping his soul to shreds.

He had time to think now. To calculate.

“Is this how you served Qui-Gon?” Anakin asked, his words flung to the Force and loud, so loud.

He felt Obi-Wan's horror and revulsion.

Anakin dug through Obi-Wan's memories as his former friend struggled to hide them. Struggled to protect them.

Anakin flung him aside. Bruised his mind. Made his soul bleed. Anakin tore through the memories, dragging whatever caught his fancy to the surface to show the universe.

Obi-Wan was being raped with many eyes watching.

It was only right to violate his mind in the same way.

He found a broken little boy who had followed Qui-Gon Jinn to the ends of the universe and back... but their love, intense though it may have been, hadn't been a physical or romantic one. It had been that of a father and son.

Annoyed, Anakin dragged Obi-Wan through the memories of Qui-Gon's death, again and again and again and again, refusing to let Obi-Wan leave, refusing to let him retreat.

Obi-Wan forgot the audience. His distress, physical and mental, was far too great.

“Anakin, stop. Please stop. Please— !”

Yes.

The universe heard him begging.

Anakin let him go, savoring Obi-Wan's instinctive relief, and then started in on the memories of Satine, tarnishing them all with a callous hand.

Obi-Wan's panic was obvious.

Anakin assumed that meant there was something particularly vile hidden in there somewhere, something that would mortify the goody-goody Jedi in a way nothing else could.

But...

It...

Didn't...

Exist.

What the hell?

Obi-Wan had never touched Satine? Not even a chaste kiss?

His most sacred and most visited memories were of... talking ? Sitting together in silence? Him sleeping like a child while she kept watch over him?

Seriously?

These were worthless.

Anakin scattered the memories in disarray, leaving them empty and open and jumbled. And with his fingerprints all over them, his scent permeating them.

This was becoming boring. Obi-Wan wasn't fighting him over it anymore, just looking on in dull anguish.

He could keep digging until he found Obi-Wan's sexlife, but he didn't want to go anywhere near memories of Padmé. He avoided any hint of her like the plague.

Something more interesting, then.

Ah.

How about that trip to the Sith planet Obi-Wan had refused to discuss in any detail? What was it called?

Zigoola...

Again the fear. “Anakin, please

“'Anakin, please,'” his former apprentice mocked back.

He dug into Zigoola. Obi-Wan's unending nightmare of torture, Die Jedi die. The dark side crawling through his blood, shredding his sanity—

Obi-Wan started fighting again.

“Die, Jedi, die,” Anakin whispered in Obi-Wan's soul, holding him down. Forcing him to see. Forcing him to feel. To go back there.

Obi-Wan's mind thrashed feebly against Anakin's brutal strength as his best friend forced him to relive disaster after disaster. Loss after loss. Humiliation upon humiliation.

Obi-Wan had nothing but one single option.

Current horror, or past horror.

All of it on a pedestal before every Force-sensitive being alive, Jedi or civilian. Friend and enemy and stranger.

His mind, so prepared, so trained, so ready to be a haven against the torture he occasionally encountered, was now a place almost worse than staying in the present, in the now with his abusers.

The Force wept.