Work Text:
Obi-Wan has almost had an itch under his skin. It wasn't until he was nine, after witnessing a car run over his dog, did he finally understand. He heard and saw the dog, Nina's, bones break and her organs get squished.
He was in awe as Nina limped away, one her legs in pieces, with little Obi-Wan following as if in trance. His dog was old, older than Obi-Wan and while he didn't love Nina, he liked her at the best of times and thought of her as an annoyance at the worst of times.
He followed the dog into the nearby wood, ignoring the whining and whimpering as the dog refused to look at him. Little Obi-Wan remembered an old saying about dogs; how they would slink away in the night when they knew their time was up, out of sight to die.
He waited, the sun finally setting when Nina stopped breathing and the poetic part of him thought it was fitting that the dog died with the sun. He returned home, ignoring his parent's questions if he saw Nina, and the very next he returned to the dog, one of his mother's kitchen knives in hand.
Carefully, he sliced the dog open. Oh, Nina was beautiful when she was broken down into organs and muscles and bones. The itch under his skin calmed with each slice, and a thought came into Obi-Wan's head.
What if he did this to other people?
Would they look beautiful, sprawled out, broken down into tissue, organs and bones and life giving blood? Something inside of him said yes.
Maybe it was no surprise then, when Obi-Wan moved for University and started hunting. He had a type; pretty blondes, no matter how light or dark their hair is. His first ever victum is a woman named Satine Kryze.
He had her under his charming spell, working for weeks for her to look at him and trust him. He played the part of a young suitor, laughing and giggling whenever they got 'frisky'.
She was beautiful, sprawled out on his table, her long hair stained with blood, her eyes blank and tongue cut off; he couldn't have her screaming for her, now could he? He cut out her liver first while she watched with wide eyes as she tried to scream, choking on her bloodied stump of a tongue.
He knew the ancients believed that the liver held secrets of its owners and holding Satine's still pulsing liver in his red hands, it was awe inspiring.
He continues his cycle, building his persona of clumsy, yet kind Obi-Wan Kenobi. He gets his degree in English and is asked to be a professor for the university. Being no fool, Obi-Wan agrees.
Then, he meets him.
Anakin Skywalker.
The man is young, in his twenties with long golden hair and tanned skin, looking like a God to Obi-Wan's eyes. His friend, Jango, teased him over his instant crush as he held his infant son on his lap, letting the baby teeth on his baby toy.
Jango was wrong, it was no crush. It was pure lust. Obi-Wan has never felt so possessive of one man before in his life.
"Ask him on a date," Jango suggested at one of their lunch dates as Obi-Wan drank his tea with a tense grip, light eyes never leaving the laughing man sitting with another young woman with dark hair as she called him 'Ani'. "Even if he is not interested, at least you tried."
"Hmm, now I know why you have ended up with a large hoard of children." He absent-mildly said back. At the mention of his many children, Jango goes on a long rant about his son Kote and Alpha doing...something.
Obi-Wan wasn't really listening.
But the idea was planted in his head. He could take Anakin, Ani, out on a date, get him loose lipped and trusting. Then, only then, could he finally make Anakin truly beautiful under his steady hands and trusted knife.
"Maybe you have a point, my friend. It is a shame you are not to my tastes." Obi-Wan said, placing his cup of tea back onto its plate. It was a shame. Jango was handsome, strong features and stunning eyes. But he was all wrong, in Obi-Wan's opinion. He did like Jango's dark eyes, which shined gold in certain lights.
And maybe he liked Jango's bastards enough that he didn't take their father's eyes and mount them on his wall.
At his comment, Jango just laughed as one of his older sons, Wolffe (seriously, who named his kids?) wondered over, his scar still raw and crusty from healing. He exchanged goodbyes when Jango got dragged off by his son, who was complaing about Boba throwing up all over Kix.
He simply picks up his cup of tea and watches Ankain over the rim of his cup, lips curling into a slow smile.
Yes, Ankain Skywalker shall look good, sprawled out beneath him, haloed in his golden curls as Obi-Wan held his heart in his grasp.