Chapter Text
Alpha-17 was walking down the corridor, musing about escape plan 12 and how it wouldn’t work either, not without maximal Vod’e loss, which was totally unacceptable, when Taun We stopped him. He didn’t recognize which trainer was behind her, the armor was off slightly, and the chestplate was all wrong, and not in a single piece at all - too many of the wrong customizations, because what trainer needed a throat guard? - and not enough of the obvious weaponry in the vambraces and greaves. But the paint colors were right, blue and grey.
Paint colors were easy to change, though, Alpha-17 thought.
“Oh, excellent,” Taun We said in her soothing voice of false softness. Kaminoans only seemed soft, but they’d kill you as soon as look at you. “Alpha-17. The Mand’alor has come for an inspection. Please walk him through the training areas and return our honored guest to Conference Room 1 when you are finished. You may call on me at any time if there are further questions, naturally.”
Alpha-17 nodded sharply once and watched Taun We walk slowly, sinuously in the other direction. He waited a beat, his heart racing.
This…
This might be his chance. Their chance.
Because that was not the Mand’alor. Armor was wrong. And that wasn’t the Darksaber, which was made of beskar and painted black for dramatic effect, with a stylized handguard at the very top. That was just a regular lightsaber, which either meant that someone with a trophy was trying to imitate Vizsla’s father, or…
Jedi.
Every fiber of Alpha-17’s being sang in recognition.
Jedi. My Jedi. I’m calling dibs.
Even though he was meant to be a trainer and never actually see combat as part of the regular army, Alpha-17 still had the same urge and yearning as all the other Vod’e. They’d wondered in the quiet of night if the longnecks had actually managed to somehow genetically encode a longing to be in the presence of Force Sensitives, to work with them, live for them, die for them… or if it was just very successful indoctrination. Maybe it didn’t matter, because either way, it worked.
And either way, there was no power in the galaxy that was going to keep Alpha-17 from claiming the very first one he saw.
He slowed his pace as he came to the gap between surveillance cameras, and turned just into the smaller hallway off the main one. It wasn’t much, but there was a gap here and if they whispered, they could have a brief, private conversation.
Alpha-17 immediately, and nearly silently, maneuvered the armored Jedi against the wall in the blank space of surveillance. He grabbed the Jedi’s wrists in his hands and pinned them to the wall, pushing his hips and thighs against him to trap him there.
In a harsh whisper, he spoke.
“No time for bullshit. We need to talk, Jedi. Take your helmet off. Yes?”
The bucket dipped once and Alpha-17 noticed that this armor he was pressed against wasn’t that shit durasteel that most of the trainers had. Whatever it was, it was classy and high quality.
Slowly, Alpha-17 let his wrists go so the Jedi could take his helmet off. Was it stolen armor? Won in combat? It definitely wasn’t any of the trainers, though, that was for certain, he reassured himself again. Too many of the wrong mods, not enough of the right ones. But Jedi and Mandalorians were ancient enemies, all the stories from the trainers said so, even though it was so strange, because the Jedi had commissioned the army from the Mandalorians, but it was all down to money, or so the story went. But which was it, stolen or won?
Either way, it was a solid infiltration, Alpha-17 would give him that. Unless and until any of the other trainers saw him. Then the dance would stop, abruptly.
The helmet was slowly removed and Alpha-17 was vaguely aware he magclipped it to his belt. He was only vaguely aware because suddenly Alpha-17 was busy. Very busy.
Eyes wide, breath short, mouth slightly gaping and cock getting increasingly hard, Alpha-17 stared as if mesmerized at the slightly shorter man he was pinning to a wall.
He had chosen the best Jedi in the entire Order. That was the first obvious thing.
He very much wanted to kiss this Jedi, and he wasn’t sure that was a thing Jedi did. That was the second obvious thing.
The sense of belonging and possessiveness he had over this Jedi had just gotten very sexual, very fast. That was the third obvious thing.
If the Jedi wasn’t here to help them escape, and also wouldn’t have sex with him, Alpha-17 might just go on a murder spree after all. That was the fourth obvious thing.
Naturally, all of the obvious realizations hit him all at once. He tried to get his breathing under control.
“Who are you, and why are you here?” Alpha-17 asked, his voice quiet but hard and desperately trying to not betray the amazing spike of lust, on top of the wide spread of soft longing for the man in front of him.
Who just put his hands on Alpha-17’s waist.
The Jedi’s features were relaxed, like this was normal, like he got pinned to walls by horny clones on the regular. He smiled a little, and oh, oh, kriffing osik, Alpha-17 wanted the Jedi to smile at him like that now and always. “I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, House Mereel, and Ad’be’Alor.”
Alpha-17 blinked, confused. Child-of-boss? What? What did that mean?
“I’m the son of the Mand’alor, Jaster Mereel. The actual Mand’alor, not that poser Vizsla,” the Jedi said very softly, with very hard derision in his tone.
Alpha-17 blinked, updating his information. So… the armor was probably not stolen, then. Okay. Okay. He could work with this. Best of both worlds.
“I’m here… well, it’s complicated. But this is all quite illegal, and immoral, and the Mand’alor considers you stolen children and fully intends to rescue you. We just need to figure out the best way to do it.”
Alpha-17 exhaled softly, relieved. His hunch was right, and he did actually call dibs on the absolute perfect Jedi. Good to know he was still on top of these things.
“Okay. Good. Good,” Alpha-17 accidentally said out loud before he pulled himself together. “There’s more that you need to know than we can say here. But you can’t be seen by any of the trainers, none of them. They’re all Vizsla’s verd’e. So at least hide your lightsaber, so they won’t know you’re a Jedi and shoot you on sight.”
The hands left his hips and took the saber off his belt position at his hip, and fitted it somehow on the back of his belt, underneath his cloak. In doing so, he wiggled and pressed himself up and against Alpha-17, and the clone trainer couldn’t hold back the hissing inhale and shudder that caused.
“There’s surveillance everywhere, but we need to talk,” he said, swallowing back the incredible need that was threatening to overwhelm him.
“I have a ship.” The words were ghosts, barely breathed out and skittering across the skin of his face.
“I won’t be allowed on it,” Alpha-17 countered, trying to breathe in some calm, but instead all he could smell was the Jedi. He closed his eyes and begged his brain to focus. Then he thought about possible modifications to plans 2, 5, and 7.
“You need to demand an audit, see every version of the contract, and then require them to give you a guest room for several nights. The guest room will be bugged, but you can remove those and destroy them without giving offence. Vizsla does it every time he visits. Then require my presence to answer your questions. And,” but here he broke off, his heart hurting.
But the Jedi was here. He was here to take them all back to the Mand’alor, the real one. He might do it.
“What else, darling? What do you need?” The Jedi’s voice was soft, a punch to the gut. He wanted a lot of things. Sex. Dismemberment. Rioting. Sinking this place into the ocean. But what he needed was for his baby brothers to stop being killed by the longnecks.
He explained decommissioning and watched the pale face of the Jedi grow paler. He watched him swallow hard.
“Of course. Take me back to Conference Room 1 and call for Taun We. We’ll get started immediately. We can discuss the other thing you need this evening, in my quarters.”
Alpha-17 startled slightly, confused. “What other thing?”
That smile, that fascinating smile slipped back over the Jedi’s features again. The one that Alpha-17 would kill to see every day.
He reached up and leaned in, his hands holding Alpha-17 tightly mid-torso and touched his lips with his own.
His Jedi kissed him.
Alpha-17 gasped, but leaned in, enthusiastic but inexperienced and aware of it. The sex learning module the clones were given was all about how to take care of your needs, suppress your urges, and not commit war crimes. But his squad at least had fooled around for a few weeks after lights out when the hormones were high, so he knew how to kiss, how to suck cock, how to come as fast as possible to get it over with.
And somehow, for the first time in his life, Alpha-17 really did not just want to get it over with.
Oh, but he really wanted to drop to his knees and cement his possession by sucking his Jedi off. He shouldn’t. Someone might come by. Probably not, but they could.
No, no. His Jedi said tonight. He could wait. He could wait.
And then he felt his Jedi’s tongue in his mouth. He’d never kissed any of his squad like that.
Whether Alpha-17 dropped to his knees or they crumpled underneath him was something he would consider later, much later. He had the Jedi’s fly open and cock out as quick as thinking and in his mouth within the next heartbeat.
“What- I- Wait- I- ohfuckdon’tstop,” his Jedi gasped, his gloved hands holding the back of Alpha-17’s head.
It’s just… his Jedi smelled so good. And his cock was just the right size to fill his mouth and tease down his throat, much easier to take than his batchmates. Probably easier to take than he would be.
Alpha-17 worked hard and fast, drowning in the gloriousness of his Jedi’s scent, and his hard cock. It was like the scent filled his veins, wrapped tight around his skin, replaced his bones. All he could do was focus on his perfect Jedi, except… Except Alpha-17 was coming close, too close. He couldn’t just spend in his pants, so he pulled them down and wrapped a hand around himself, aiming for the floor.
Now working himself and the Jedi just as hard and fast, Alpha-17 sucked and swallowed and made no other noise, trying even to control his breathing to lessen the sound. The sound of the wet, glorious sucking, of the hard, dry handjob combined with the already overwhelming eroticism of his first fuck with his own, personal Jedi had him shuddering with release and sucking like his only possible nutrition came from this beautiful man, and only if he did it right.
And in his moment of utter and complete weakness, he was suddenly imagining a world in which he could just spend half the day snuggling and fucking his Jedi, repeatedly, in between fighting and eating and sleeping. It could be a good day for someone else to die, and a good day to fuck his Jedi repeatedly. They weren’t mutually exclusive, maybe.
“Soon, soon, now,” his Jedi whispered harshly, curling over him and coming on his tongue while Alpha-17 swallowed with relish, dedication, and profound satisfaction.
They were both panting slightly as they put themselves away. His Jedi tugged him up again and held him close, though of course he avoided stepping in his own spend.
His Jedi kissed him again, and deeply, tasting his mouth with his tongue, his arms wrapped around him, like… like he mattered. Like he didn’t want to let go.
His Jedi pulled back and looked softly at him. “Pull it together now, darling. You look freshly fucked.”
Alpha-17 was confused. Before, they’d always fucked around in the dark, but there was a look to that?
“Eyes dilated and soft, lips swollen and so very red I want to kiss them again, your whole face has softened, really, and your shoulders are relaxed. You no longer look hunted, wary, and on the edge of homicide. You look relaxed, happy, and ready for round two.”
Alpha-17 took a precious moment to process that.
He was relaxed, happy, and ready for round two. But ‘the edge of homicide’ as his Jedi put it was never really that far away. He focused and ran his fingers over his short buzzcut.
The Kaminoans were killing his baby brothers. How many had they already ‘decommissioned’?
He glared down at his Jedi, who was going to fix this.
His Jedi put his helmet back on. “I see you’re ready,” he said, his voice coming out flatter, modulated, lower. Very different from his normal voice and probably programmed that way for this mission. “Conference Room 1. And call Taun We.”
Alpha-17 didn’t waste any more time, but silently led the way, fuming and ready to kill all the Kaminoans, just as soon as his Jedi said it was go-time.
When the Force had reeled with the sense of no-no-not-this-time when he went to take his suppressants, Obi-Wan paused and thought about it. He meditated on it. Sometimes that sort of thing led nowhere, but this time, he did get answers.
Am I meant to be seducing someone? A gleeful, giddy sort of feeling swirled around him. He had taken it as a yes. It was fairly reliable, according to the Guardians of the Whills, who were much more accustomed to this sort of discernment. And Obi-Wan defied any Sith to manage to create a giddy, happy, joyful feeling within him, if any meddling were to be occurring from that quarter.
The teensy, tiny little personal issue that was coming up was the fact that Obi-Wan had less than zero desire to have casual sex. Or really, any sex at all. It was his personal choice, and he liked it that way. It was why he took one of the strongest doses of suppressant, far less than his buir regularly took, not that Obi-Wan liked to even mentally touch on the subject of his parents having sex. But it helped, if he had to think about it, to consider that they were sort of but not actually the same person, and would at least have the exact same body chemistry, and Ben (best to just use his name) had had an embarrassingly explicit conversation about just what Stewjoni pheromones were capable of, which Obi-Wan had personally filed under ‘Good to know, don’t ever use’.
The only reason Obi-Wan would even consider coming down to a less powerful suppressant would be if he actually managed to find the person he wanted to spend a lifetime or three with, which would be delightful in one way and possibly quite difficult in another, but on the whole perhaps worth it. And then, you know, sex would be fine. It would be a lovely way to spend time and affection and support the health and well-being of himself and his partner.
Fine.
No problem.
What was not on the table was seducing someone for the good of the galaxy.
No.
Find another Jedi.
Obi-Wan surrendered his frustration and annoyance to the Force. Then he surrendered his blatant outrage and sense of offense. Then he did it three more times until it was actually gone.
Right. Next question. How to think about this…
Quietly, floating softly in his meditation, Obi-Wan outlined the mental construct of a life partner whose mutual vows did not violate the Jedi Order, nor the Resol’nare. He worked to let all other details remain unknown. Species, gender, age, didn’t matter. He considered adding variables like affection and respect, but realized he was really thinking of the riddurok anyway, and that was already present.
Is this who I am seducing? The Force swirled happily around him, burbling with a feeling like laughter and sunshine.
Right. Message received.
He put the suppressants away and chanced a glance down at his vambrace for no other reason but that it was attached to his arm and he often saw his arms without concentrating on them. Suddenly, the colors, his normal colors of blue and orange seemed somehow wrong.
A sinking feeling that had nothing to do with the Force dropped in his gut.
What colors? he asked. A quick flash, a mental image, crashed through his awareness.
Kyr’stad. The Force wanted him to repaint his armor blue and grey.
Obi-Wan had closed his eyes and promised to tell his father what was going on only after he was already gone. It would be better that way.
And he had, once he was one last hyperjump away from his destination. And that was when Ben’buir had filled him in on exactly what he might find. Though the situation was somewhat different than the first time his parent had experienced it, and it hadn’t happened at all the second time around, the Sith obviously had made it a priority this time, which was more evidence to the theory that the Sith were also somehow time travelling, and adjusting plans as they went to account for what his father had done before.
Ben’buir had mentioned absolutely nothing about a handsome not-Jango accosting him in the hallway, reeking of hope and aggression, begging with their eyes for help, and then promptly dissolving into a puddle of lust at his feet and giving him a blowjob.
A blowjob that, by that point, Obi-Wan quite wanted and had subsequently enjoyed.
So.
That had happened within the last two hours.
And apparently Alpha-17, the mandokarla clone trainer, was his Force given soul mate? Who also happened to look exactly like his once older brother used to look?
At least their Force Signatures were radically different. There was nothing about the feeling of Alpha-17 that screamed Jango Fett, just his face.
Right.
Right.
Obi-Wan shook his head a little and went back to his thorough reading of the contract and the twelve addendums. The audit work would begin tomorrow and be delivered directly to his guest suite. Already, however, the beginning of a plan was forming in his mind.
The Mand’alor was the contract holder. Which Mand’alor wasn’t specified. It was possibly in case Tor died, so Pre wouldn’t be written out, or even in a more sinister twist, so at the end everything could be blamed on Jaster, but that wasn’t Obi-Wan’s current problem. The the Mand’alor was the contract holder. They could use this.
So.
In a rather basic and general way, stop decommissioning, stop production, finish and decant the clones still in tubes, take delivery early. Take all DNA samples, ambush all Kyr’stad so they can be tried before the Clan heads for being dar’manda demagolka, and leave quietly as quickly as possible.
Details could be added as they went.
He was nearly through the contract when Taun We returned to show him to his guest suite, where she assured him that Alpha-17 would be summoned to answer his questions about training, and also to bring him dinner, if he preferred not to eat with the other Mandalorian trainers.
Obi-Wan informed her that he would prefer if no one but Alpha-17 knew he were here. He wished to assess the program and training without anyone altering their behavior due to his presence, he explained.
Taun We agreed that sometimes a single blind situation was the only way forward, and then at his bidding, agreed to provide a full listing of the Mandalorian trainers and clone trainers identifying information and pertinent statistics.
A new plan formed in Obi-Wan’s mind.
What if all the dar’manda demagolke… Hm. What if, to the auditing Mand’alor’s utter surprise, all the dar’manda trainers were wanted criminals? Or just… terrible trainers? Well, then they might all need to be immediately replaced by others. But perhaps their duties could be taken over temporarily by the clone trainers.
Visions of having the demagolke gassed in their rooms in the night danced in Obi-Wan’s head.
And then, perhaps the auditing Mand’alor will decide he’s quite displeased with the level of training and progress, that the program wasn’t all he had hoped it would be, and that he would be cancelling all future ‘units’, and would take possession of the current clones as quickly as possible.
It had potential.
He could comm to have a ship with carbonite freezing capability, possibly even Jas’buir’s Ka’ra’e arrive as soon as possible, but not until he was sure there were no other terrible hitches. Best to do it tomorrow, after he had a chance to finish with all the addendums to the contracts, and after any further conversations with Alpha-17.
Presuming they’d be talking at all that evening.
Oh, Alpha-17.
Someone who looked remarkably like a twenty-something Jango Fett, and yet somehow also not, had no business being so stunningly attractive.
Also a complicating factor… his own son, Ge’tal, seemed to be nursing a life-long crush on young Jango, who admittedly right now looked younger and smaller than his obvious clone. Not that Ge’tal had even hit puberty yet. And that could change everything, in any direction.
Obi-Wan groaned. Perhaps it was best to set the same mental filter for his son that he did for his parents. Just don’t think of them as sexual creatures. Deal with puberty when it comes, have the talk, answer questions, give explicit warnings upfront about their natural biology and pheromones, and then move on. Who Ge’tal chooses as an intimate partner or a life partner once he was older was none of Obi-Wan’s business. And he had plenty of time. If he took after Obi-Wan, it would take him about a hundred and sixty years to sort himself out. Plenty of time for his father to adjust.
And then there was the further complicating factor that Obi-Wan himself had grown up with Jango as his ori’vod. Of course, he wasn’t this time around, and young Jango didn’t remember anything of that time, naturally.
But it was a complication.
Several complications.
In fact, Obi-Wan’s complications had complications.
A knock on the door had Obi-Wan breathing deeply and releasing his conflict into the Force, even as he approached the door with his helmet back on.
It was Alpha-17 with two trays of food.
He put them down on the small table before the couch, as there was no larger table and no karyai, but then scanned around the room and lifted a single eyebrow in query.
“The room is clean,” Obi-Wan confirmed, removing his helmet and setting it on the seat beside him, facing out.
Obi-Wan looked at his tray of food, and at Alpha-17’s. They were markedly different.
“Were you noticed, with the food? Taun We has agreed to keep my presence private. I said I wanted to assess the trainers without them realizing it, but this could prove a difficult complication.”
So many complications. This mission was a house of cards made of complications.
Alpha-17 shook his head minutely. “I got yours directly from the kitchen, and the rest of the Alphas know and are keeping a lid on things.” He looked quite hesitant, but Obi-Wan just waited him out. He watched as the clone trainer took a deep breath and met his eyes again, and rather boldly. “They also know I called dibs on you, so they won’t try anything, though they all like how you smell.”
Many errant thoughts whisked themselves through Obi-Wan’s head, but he dismissed them all for the present moment. He could consider them later, if necessary.
“Let’s table the conversation about my scent for the moment. Eat, and we’ll work as we do.”
Obi-Wan pulled up the pertinent part of the contract he wanted to reference first. It was the projections for ‘units’ both in number, specialty, and training.
“Look at this line here. This is where we should be. Does that seem to be accurate to you?”
Alpha-17 took the datapad and kept eating. When he had an empty mouth, he spoke. “Exactly, except for the decommissions.”
“Those have stopped, by the way. It’s thrown a wrench in their plans, apparently, but I don’t give a damn.” He took the pad back and swiped to the next section, the fifth addendum in. “Do you have any idea what that is?”
Alpha-17 gave the pad an odd look. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Explain, please.”
“An aggression inhibitor neural biochip? No. The longnecks made the Command batches less aggressive than the Alphas genetically. They know what they’re doing, and they’re a lot less aggressive than us. It worked.”
Obi-Wan took the pad back and continued swiping until he found what he was looking for. “So then this will not be at all familiar?” he asked of the list of sixty-six orders, most of which were war crimes in the Republic, none of which were good.
Alpha-17 dropped his fork, radiating murderous rage. “Those longnecked fuckers.”
Obi-Wan snatched the pad back before it got damaged.
“Alpha-17, I need you to calm down. We’ll get everyone out, but not if you go snapping necks.”
He sat, eyes clenched tight, jaw clenched tight, fists clenched tight, shoulders clenched tight, vibrating in his rage.
“May I help you calm down a bit?” Obi-Wan asked quietly.
One eye cracked open and looked at him. “You mean sex?”
Amused, Kenobi demurred. “No. I mean drain just a small portion of your rage away so you can think and be helpful.”
The clone trainer looked significantly disappointed, though he was already calming down more. Apparently the mere prospect of sex was a helpful distraction.
“Is it going to be permanently gone? I don’t want to lose my edge.”
That was a philosophical can of worms that Obi-Wan was absolutely not going to open right now. “No, darling.”
“Then, okay.”
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed, entering a light meditation and wrapping Alpha-17 in his own shielding, then slowly bit by bit, draining away the majority of the rage and some of the underlying helplessness. It would all come back, of course. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it was one the mind healers used to help him get past some of his difficult moments, and it seemed like a useful technique, so he’d asked Bant about the particulars. It wasn’t hard to do, but Bant said it had to be consensual, and very, very gentle, or it could cause more harm than good.
Having finished as much as he was willing to chance, Obi-Wan came out of his meditation and opened his eyes to see a gobsmacked Alpha-17. What he was thinking, Obi-Wan wouldn’t hazard a guess. His predominant emotions, newly brought to the surface were amazement, awe, gratitude, and lust.
“A bit more work first, please.”
Alpha-17 breathed deeply and looked resolute. Obi-Wan could feel his determination warring with his lust. It was… endearing.
The Jedi shared his working plan with the clone trainer, adding both the removal of the biochips, and the genetic modification to slow the aging to normal for near-human, and Alpha-17 made some quite good suggestions for changes. First, no gassing the dar’manda trainers. If nobody was going to actually die during this mission, Alpha wanted to give his trainers the chance to violently subdue and remove the offending parties from their beds.
“No accidental deaths,” Obi-Wan stated plainly. “None. All accidents will be understood as intentional.”
Alpha-17 nodded his understanding.
They discussed the rest of the plan and Alpha-17 explained that the next batch of tubies would be decanted in a month, and wouldn’t be ready to be moved until then. And that there were two hundred of them.
The numbers were in fact quite small, and the first deliveries weren’t meant to occur for another five years, with replacements for the following four years. Production would begin ramping up in six months, when the next payment was due.
Obi-Wan shared the last of the plan with his lover and when he received no suggested changes, finished his dinner in silence.
“I should return these,” the younger man said, standing with the trays in his hands. “May I come back afterwards?”
The Jedi smiled and nodded once. “Will you be missed if you stay the night?”
A wolfish grin settled over Alpha-17’s face. “Envied, yes. Missed, no. I should show up for morning muster, though. I’ll get your breakfast to you.”
As he waited for his cyare to return, Obi-Wan considered how long he needed to stay off his suppressants, and then realized that he wouldn’t actually want to take these again. Not the full-power variety. He wondered exactly which ones his buir took.
Obi-Wan wondered, too, if he was going to need to stay the entire month. There was no time to meditate on it now, but he could do it after breakfast. But it might do to stay the entire time. He could be onhand should Vizsla decide to do one of his own spot checks, and just capture him. But the trainers he would have removed almost immediately, and then he wouldn’t have to remain cloistered in his suite.
Ah, but his pheromones.
No, perhaps he would need to stay cloistered in his suite.
He sighed, wondering if he could get someone to drop off some of the right sort of suppressants for him in one of the runs hither and yon. And some tea. And armor paint.
Tomorrow. He would meditate on it tomorrow and see what the Force had to say before he made the comm call to his buir’e .
There was a knock on the door just in time to keep Obi-Wan from considering any more plans beyond those of this evening.
Buy’ce on for safety and concealment from any surveillance there might be in the hallway, Obi-Wan already knew who was on the other side of the door. Alpha-17’s force signature was unique, as everyone’s was. Even his father and his son’s signatures were slightly different, though it was so slight as to not be noticeable in a quick scan.
He shunted his nervousness into the Force and breathed deeply before opening the door, then quickly closing and locking it once his guest was through.
Obi-Wan could lie through his teeth and make it seem like the truth. He could be manipulative and wiley, and twist people around his fingers, all in the name of peace and diplomacy. And that isn’t what he wanted to do here.
He took a moment to look at his lover. He looked to be about twenty, which would mean that his accelerated aging was probably closer to three times as fast, rather than two. He had black hair in a buzzcut that Obi-Wan knew would probably be a riot of curls when he allowed it to grow longer. He was tall and broad, more so than Jango, though this timeline’s Jango was due for at least one last growth spurt. He wore soft, thin, light grey clothes with his name or designation on a patch over his breast to identify him, and soft shoes.
Despite his aggression and his physical maturity, despite the fact that he might well have been aged by his cynicism, despite his intelligence and the fact that he was an adult, Obi-Wan did not imagine the Kamino curriculum, as aided by Kyr’stad, had in anyway emphasized emotional maturity beyond anger and fear management.
Alpha-17 stepped closer and Obi-Wan reached out to pull him into a forehead kiss. He still had his helmet on. Alpha-17 was trembling slightly, and his emotions were all over the place, ranging from lust to fear to gratitude and awe, tumbling through courage, a sense of finding home, and a deep wanting that wasn’t sexual at all.
“There are many things we need to say to each other, more than we can say in one night, or two, or three. Please know that as long as I’m here, you’re welcome to spend the night with me.”
Palpable relief. “And after?” Alpha-17 asked.
Alpha-17 had lived his entire life in fast forward. Forcing him to slow down now, at this crucial point would hurt like hell, and might compromise his growing trust in Obi-Wan.
“After will necessarily be complicated. I’m not sure exactly what it will look like. But if you want to stay with me, that can certainly be arranged.”
“I want it,” Alpha-17 said quickly.
“Changing the subject slightly, this is not the night that we will spend having sex until morning muster.”
Mounting excitement was rolling off Alpha-17, despite his words. “Is that even possible?”
“Sometimes,” Obi-Wan hedged. “Still, sex, or too much sex, it will wear obviously on you, Alpha-17. All throughout the next day. You’ll be calmer. Less aggressive, just naturally. You might actually smile at people and you could accidentally laugh.”
His lover snorted. “Unlikely.”
“You underestimate just how good I can make you feel. But my point is, until we take care of the current dar’manda trainers, you mustn't act differently around them.”
“I know that,” Alpha-17 growled. “I’m an asshole, not an idiot . Fucking you isn’t going to change either one.”
Obi-Wan leaned back and took his helmet off. “Challenge accepted,” he replied, one eyebrow arched up. “I trust you to either know yourself, or use this as a learning opportunity. Exactly what time do you need to leave to not be missed in the morning?”
Alpha-17 told him.
“Do you require sleep, tonight?” Obi-Wan asked, walking to the bedroom and beginning to take off his armor. He used the convenient armor stand in the corner and didn’t think too hard about the fact that Tor Vizsla had also used it.
“Not if the alternative is fucking all night.”
Obi-Wan disarmed and disrobed, quickly and methodically.
“What is your armor made of?” Alpha-17 asked from the doorway.
“Beskar and cortosis, sometimes as an alloy, sometimes one or the other alone.”
“What’s cortosis, and why would you mix it with the beskar?”
“Beskar is the best, if you can manage it, but only if you’re not Force Sensitive. Cortosis is more expensive, not quite as hard, but it doesn’t block the Force. It does, however, short out lightsabers.”
“Why would you be fighting other Jedi?” his lover asked, suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t be. I would be fighting fallen Jedi, or Sith.”
“What are Sith?”
“An order of dark side ritualists dedicated to acquiring personal power and dominion, at all costs, and preferably over the entire galaxy. What they cannot control, they seek to corrupt and destroy. And what they can control, they end up corrupting and destroying anyway. You’ll know them because when they’re not hiding, their eyes are yellow, they often look obscenely old, they are intensely creepy, and their lightsabers are red. And if you are even slightly Force Sensitive, you may be able to hear their kyber screaming in agony.”
“What’s a kyber?”
“It’s the semi-sentient crystal that powers most lightsabers. Sith torture theirs to turn them red.”
“Why?”
“See reference: corrupt and destroy,” Obi-Wan said, pulling his boots off. Then, for effect, he lifted his lightsaber and let it float above his palm. He disassembled it with a thought, letting all the pieces float outwards, then pointed. “That’s my kyber. The Mandalorians consider it the soul of the Jedi. My father has two, one in his lightsaber, and his old one, which was tired and didn’t want to fight anymore, so my second father wears it on a chain around his neck.”
Alpha-17 approached silently. “It glows,” he said softly, looking closely at it.
“Yes.”
“Can it see me?”
“Mmm, it can feel you.” Obi-Wan chuckled almost silently. “It likes you.” And then he felt a tiny pulse from the singing crystal. want him.
Almost instinctively, Obi-Wan plucked his kyber out of the floating array of lightsaber parts. “Hold out your hand,” he said quietly, feeling a little bittersweet and almost knowing how this was about to go.
Alpha-17 gasped as Obi-Wan placed his kyber in his open palm.
He snorted almost silently and pursed his lips ruefully. His kyber was singing happily with the feeling of homecoming. Waves of awe were radiating off of his lover.
Osik.
“It wants to be with you, now. Which means after this I’m going to need to go get another one.”
Alpha-17 was looking at him in shock, blinking. Obi-Wan gave him a moment for a complete reboot before he said anything.
“It won’t be safe to carry it with you yet, not until the dar’manda trainers are gone. But when they are, I can meditate with it, and perhaps I’ll be able to convince it to work as a private sort of secure comm for us. If you would like that.”
“You’re… giving me… your soul.”
“Keep it safe,” he said in response.
Alpha-17’s left hand wrapped around the contented kyber and in the bare moment before his lover reached for him, Obi-Wan reassembled his lightsaber with a click and set it down on the small table that also held his bandolier.
And Alpha-17 didn’t let go of the crystal. Not when they kissed, not when they pulled clothes off of each other, not when he explored Obi-Wan’s body and asked about each and every scar. Not when they had a drawn out, sometimes stuttering conversation about all of the exact differences in Stewjoni biology from the dietary needs, to the extra organs and their implications, to the dual gender, to the sexual control pheromones.
“I still would have called dibs on you,” Alpha-17 assured him, kissing around his labia gently, the unrelenting fascination still filling him.
Obi-Wan smiled and sighed. “Yes, I suppose you would have. I just would have held you at a distance for much longer.”
“This way is better,” Alpha-17 said, licking and making the Jedi gasp.
“The Force agrees with you. It certainly wasn’t my idea to stop taking my suppressants.”
“Whose idea was it?” The licking had gone further afield, slowly, and slowly a questing tongue was seeking inside of him. “You taste better than any food I’ve ever eaten,” Alpha-17 moaned quietly.
“I’ve seen the food you’ve eaten,” Obi-Wan gasped. “That’s a very low bar.”
“Whose idea?” the clone trainer prompted again.
“The Force.”
Alpha-17 didn’t let his confusion stop his current quest and Obi-Wan just relaxed into his explorations, enjoying the softness and the pleasure.
“Then you came here.”
“Then I repainted my armor. Then I came here.”
“How did you know what the trainer’s colors were?” The question was a brief interlude in which Alpha-17’s tongue was not buried in his pussy.
He didn’t want to explain the smallest, briefest, and least exhausting Force vision he’d ever had, nor did he want to explain that the dar’manda trainers were part of a larger and well-known terrorist group that Jas’buir had been hunting for years.
“No more questions,” Obi-Wan gasped. “Suck on that,” he said instead, indicating his clit with a finger before grabbing his lover’s fuzzy buzzcut and holding him steady.
“Hmm,” was his only response, though Obi-Wan could feel that he was intrigued, and then as the Jedi writhed underneath him, very, very satisfied.