Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are two dolls in Obi-Wan’s new bedroom.

As far as creepy stuff to find in a new place this has to be in the top ten. He can’t even think of why someone would make such things. Sure, one is the image of a handsome young man but the carved porcelain face is too surly, making it look forever angry. As for the other…

Obi-Wan can’t think of a single reason why someone would ever want a doll fashioned after a man so old his hair had gone past grey and into stark white. Both dolls are off-putting, unnerving.

And that is before mentioning the eyes.

Clearly no expense was spared on either creation; the facial details are beyond intricate, the stitched clothing -elegant black leathers on the young man and red robes fit for a mid century king on the elder- full of stunning details. But the eyes must of been made of something cheap for the color to have bled in such a way. Both were probably meant to be some shade of brown but had faded to a sickly red-rimmed yellow.

At 15 Obi-Wan is too old for dolls but he places both at the foot of his bed facing the door, hoping the disturbing faces would deter his brother from entering.

—-

This is what Obi-Wan forgets:

He cannot move. He cannot even twitch a finger as two figures, close in form but far from human, tower over his prone body.

“Master, he’s too soft. We should try to reach the other one.”

“The other is already destined for the Hells. His acts will not hold enough power to free us.”

Cold fingers clasp his chin, forcing his head to turn, and blue eyes met acidic yellow orbs that stare into his very core.

“I think this one will surprise you, Lord Vader.”

—-

This is what Obi-Wan remembers:

He’s in a room that vaguely resembles the one he went to sleep in but bigger (it hurts when he looks at the corners or tries to think of the dimensions) and the furniture and decorations are far more lavish. The quilt is velvet, the sheets are silk, the walls are the color of blood a royal shade of red, and the four poster bed frame is inlaid with gold. It borders on tacky but in a way that drips with so much wealth no one would dare say so.

There are two human men (of course they’re human. Why would they be anything else?), their appearances reminiscent of the dolls on the end of his bed in the waking world, lounge on plush red couch chairs, seeming content to just watch him as he rouses and becomes more aware of what is obviously a dream.

The elder introduces himself as Sheev and the other as Anakin. They do nothing but sit and talk all night, light and casual conversation, and it’s the first time in months Obi-Wan has felt relaxed.

Surprisingly neither of the men have brown eyes as Obi-Wan had assumed. Anakin’s are a warm blue and Sheev’s a soothing grey.

(then why are the dolls eyes so sickly?)

—-

Qui-Gon had bought the farmhouse on the outskirts of Coruscant suspiciously cheap. Obi-Wan had thought the low price strange and the real estate agent, one Hondo Ohnaka, had to be hiding something but as the one at fault for the move he does not get a say (his father never listened to him before so really there had been no change).

The place came fully furnished and Qui-Gon said it would be good to have a fresh start and had sold off nearly all their previous belongings, leaving Obi-Wan with little more than clothes to unpack. There’s plenty of open shelf space he could put the dolls on but he remembers the pleasant dream the night before and leaves them on the bed.

The men visit his dream again that night. And the night after that. And the one after that. After a week Obi-Wan has come to look forward to seeing the pair, expecting to see them whenever he drifts off to sleep.

Anakin is tactile, letting Obi-Wan curl up on the seat next to him, putting a possessive arm around the teen and holding him close. Obi-Wan, who hasn’t had more than the occasional pat on the shoulder from his father in years, soaks up the affection and leans into every touch.

Sheev listens patiently to everything Obi-Wan has to say, encouraging him to go on about anything that interests him. For someone so used to being overlooked the attention is intoxicating. He never feels forced to talk; Sheev is good, suspiciously good, at picking up when Obi-Wan is feeling burnt out and too emotionally drained to share. On those nights the elder tells him stories, usually tragedies, and he can just sit and listen, basking in the calming presence of the pair.

Occasionally they will teach him things. After finding out why he was expelled from his previous school Anakin teaches him how to properly defend himself. He shows him how to end a fight as quickly and brutally as possible and all the weak spots of a human body.

Sheev shows him how to make his own floral teas, taking him to the window and pointing out the flowers in the garden that can be used (the dream garden contains all the same ones as the waking version but is clinically organized, trimmed and weeded unlike the wild mess in the yard that Qui-Gon refuses to do anything more than water, saying it is not their place to interfere with nature.)

“Best to avoid that one for now,” The old man says, singling out a regal white and gold flower that looks somewhat like a face with an elaborate headdress. “Its proper name is Queen Amidala but it is more commonly referred to as Padmé’s Sorrow. A tea brewed from its petals is fatal even with the smallest sip.”

—-

It is clear who is in charge. On the nights he spends mostly with Anakin the man always waits for Sheev’s permission before taking him aside. He only ever refers to the other as ‘master’. He is clearly of a high standing himself, even if he is a little rough around the edges, but he obeys the elder’s commands to the letter.

“He’s powerful so I respect him,” Anakin tells him when Obi-Wan gathers enough courage to ask about it.

“Powerful? As in socially? Is he a lord or something?”

(He has willfully been ignoring how there are times when Anakin is distracted his breathing is accompanied by a foreboding hss-schk hss-schk. How sometimes when he blinks in the split second before his eyes close Sheev is withered and grey, surpassing old and into the realm of unnaturally ancient.

How his dreams are too real to be dreams.)

“‘Or something’ is about right.”

—-

He’s fully aware that the dreams are a coping mechanism. They have to be with the way they give him everything he wants (how convenient he wants exactly what the pair want). They let him experience what he could never hope for when awake.

Like the time he confessed he’s never had his first kiss, that with his nonexistent social life he’s not likely to have it before he’s 30 and Anakin responds by claiming his mouth. It’s rough and forceful passionate and leaves him reeling.

“That was a lovely sight. Anakin, bring him here.”

He’s swept up into Anakin’s arms, a familiar enough occurrence. The first few times it happened he’d squeaked and squirmed but now he relaxes into the hold as he’s carried to Sheev and settled in the elder’s lap.

“Did you like that, dear boy?”

Obi-Wan just nods, too dazed to manage words. A hand wait, were those claws? cradles his head and draws him in. Sheev is calmer but no less possessive, no less perfect, and Obi-Wan moans into the kiss.

It becomes a new tradition. When Obi-Wan goes to sleep and wakes up within the dream he immediately goes and greats each man with a kiss. Slowly over time it becomes more. Anakin has always been physically affectionate but now his hands wander lower, kneading the teen’s ass as he plunders his mouth. With Sheev he slowly gravitates closer until he’s routinely on the man’s lap during their talks. Then it becomes the norm for the elder’s hand to slip beneath the waistband of his pajamas, palming him until he unravels, until he’s nothing more than a spent mess.

The pair never touch, content to both dote on Obi-Wan but holding no interest in each other. The teen tries to repay their affections as best he can. Over time fumbling, inexperienced touches become more certain. They praise him for his quick learning and it makes him all the more determined to please them (aren’t dreams supposed to be what he wants?) to the point that when Sheev makes the suggestion he doesn’t even hesitate getting to his knees and using his mouth. He chokes the first few times how does he not wake up? but soon figures out how to take it all, how to swallow around whoever’s dick is in his mouth the way they like it until they come deep in his throat.

—-

He can’t bear to be separated from the dolls when awake. At Sheev’s request he gets a satchel bag just so he can carry them around and let them see everything (why do they need to see? They’re just dolls. …Right?). Even when he goes to school he keeps one of the dolls in his book bag and his only regret is that he can’t fit both in with his textbooks.

His father makes him leave them in the living room during dinner, the man unnerved by the off putting toys. Obi-Wan always makes sure to put them in a way he can see them through the door, immediately becoming agitated if they are out of sight.

Xanatos mocks him relentlessly for it and Obi-Wan becomes paranoid his brother will do something to them; the older teen liked to ruin anything he was interested with. The second class ends for the day he rushes home so as to not leave one of them unattended. At home he spends most of his time shut in his room so there’s no risk of Xanatos simply taking them from him. It means whatever slim chance for a social life is completely lost.

“Why do you need anyone else?” Anakin questions when he brings it up. A thumb gathers a glob of come that had leaked from Obi-Wan’s lips and pushes it back into his mouth. The teen obediently started suckling the digit without a word.

“This is what you were meant for. You don’t need them.”

—-

They celebrate his 16th birthday by taking his virginity. It may have been legal in the previous state he lived in but Obi-Wan is aware it is not so in Coruscant, aware that the things they’ve already done have crossed a line. But this is a dream so it doesn’t really count. Sheriff Fox is hardly going to lock up his dolls because a horny teenager has too real, it feels too real fantasies.

Sheev slides in one oiled finger, crooking and twisting until he finds the spot that has Obi-Wan seeing stars. The man adds a second finger then another, stretching him open while he toys with the teen’s prostate and Obi-Wan can’t help but come from the stimulation. He’s still dazed from it when Sheev folds his legs up over his shoulders and pushes in. There’s a litany praise, all “just perfect for me,” “you’re taking me so well,” ”such a good slut” and it’s nearly as addictive as the ridged cock moving in and out of his hole. He’s quickly lost to the sensation, rolling hips ensuring that sweet spot is hit every time, and it’s all he can do to grasp the silk sheets in tight fists, toes curling as Sheev makes him come a second time as the elder spills inside him burning his insides.

Obi-Wan isn’t given a chance to recover. The moment Sheev pulls out and moves off him Anakin is there flipping him onto his stomach and hiking his hips up. The man lines himself up with the sloppy hole and bottoms out in the first thrust making Obi-Wan cry out. A hand threads through his hair, petting soothing him as he’s given a moment to adjust.

“You good?” Anakin’s voice is rough, barely held back and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to disappoint so he nods. It’s enough for the man and he immediately sets a punishingly fast pace. Anakin has never been big on words, preferring action, and the room is filled with the sound of slapping skin and Obi-Wan’s soft “ah, ah, ah!” as he’s fucked into the mattress. It’s rougher than the teen would prefer but the man is hitting his prostate with each thrust and he likes the feeling of Anakin’s strong hands on his waist. When one of those hands moves to his -at this point- over sensitive cock it doesn’t take long for him to scream as his third orgasm of the night is pulled from him. It draws an inhuman growl from the man as he plows the teen even harder through it until he comes with a guttural cry.

For a moment Obi-Wan swears he sees something dark run down his leg, as though Anakin’s seed is the color of pitch. He blinks and it’s gone.

—-

“You should kill them.”

Obi-Wan pauses. He’s seated on Sheev’s lap, the elder’s cock still inside him from when he’d rode the man earlier that night (Sheev did that sometimes, keeping the boy pinned under him or holding him as he is now until Anakin was forced to beg the older man for a turn not bothering with asking Obi-Wan, the teen’s consent redundant).

He’d been telling them about the time when he was twelve and Xanatos had forced a collar on him, yanking him around all afternoon leaving welts a bruises all over his neck. He’d taken it off and played innocent when their father had gotten home and Qui-Gon refused to believe the younger boy when he’d told the man what had happened despite the damage and the fact he’d been home all day. Obi-Wan had been punished for lying and hurting himself because obviously Xanatos wasn’t capable of such cruelty.

“Now, now, Anakin,” Sheev chides. “They clearly don’t care for our darling boy but he cares for them.”

“But master, if he kills them he could be ours. Forever.”

“Hmm, would you like that, Obi-Wan? We’d take such good care of you. Do you want to belong to us?”

The wording is strange and Obi-Wan is not sure of the logic involved; the men exist only in his dreams, he can hardly stay with them. And he definitely doesn’t know how murdering his family will achieve anything. But it’s a nice thought. His brother is a psychopath and his father entirely ignorant to it; Xanatos is the apple of his eye, Obi-Wan just an afterthought. Outside the house is no better; he’d been expelled from school in Bandomeer for fighting, never mind the fact that he’d only tackled Bruck because he’d been about to throw a rock at Bant. The rock hadn’t left the other boy’s hand so there was no proof and Obi-Wan was deemed the instigator. And despite all of Qui-Gon’s talk of a fresh start he has no friends outside this room in Coruscant. It would be so much easier to stay here where Sheev and Anakin dote on him, where all he needs to focus on is which man wants to use his body and how to best please them.

“Yes.”

Sheev’s eyes flash yellow and from behind him comes a muttered “fucking finally” from Anakin.

Sheev smiles too wide, too many teeth and kisses him deeply.

“Such a good boy. As a reward Anakin will fuck you.” Obi-Wan knows there’s no point bringing up that being fucked by Anakin is a usual occurrence; if Sheev has said that tonight it is a reward then it is a reward and he does like being rewarded. He pulls himself off Sheev’s cock with a wet plop, too hot come trickling out of his hole as he’s immediately grabbed by the younger man and directed to stand facing the wall.

His fingernails scratch at the paint as Anakin ruts into him. Obi-Wan has become used to the man’s roughness during sex and knows how to move his hips to give them both the most pleasure. Sheev watches with an unnatural smile as he sips his tea.

Yes, the teen thinks, I’d like to stay here forever.

—-

When Sheev had told him about the poisonous flowers he had imagined it would be a gentle way to die. That his brother and father would have their tea, close their eyes to sleep, and simply not wake up.

This was not gentle.

He’d regretted it before it even touched their lips. He’d tried to take back the cups but, in true Xanatos fashion, as soon as Obi-Wan tried to deny him something he had to have it. He had sculled his cup as Obi-Wan fought to grab it even though he had been bemoaning his little brother’s prissy tea habits moments before. Qui-Gon had taken a deep swig of his own in preparation for the inevitable bickering match.

Both were now seizing on the ground, struggling to breathe as their tongues swelled, clawing at their throats. Xanatos managed to pull himself up, stumbling into the kitchen, either to get away or to wash his mouth with water it was unclear. A violent tremor raked his form sending him back to the floor, a thrown out hand saw the still burning hot kettle come down on top of him, his choked screaming as his skin blistered and burst ringing in Obi-Wan’s ears until his body finally gave up and expired.

As Xanatos took his final breath the porcelain of Sheev’s face cracked, spewing out a dark, twisted form that cackled as it delighted in its freedom. Obi-Wan was frozen in place, unable to look away from his dying father as the thing regained its composure and took in the scene. It glided up to the teen and when it got no acknowledgment it grasped his face in a clawed hand and forced him to look at it.

The face was familiar; twisted and sunken, but familiar.

“One sip and death is guaranteed. But, with such a small amount it will be slow. Every moment will be incredibly painful.” A withered hand emerged from the cloak holding a knife, the handle facing towards Obi-Wan. “Wouldn’t it be kinder to end his suffering quickly?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes rolled around, swinging between his son and the dark figure but unable to focus on either, his pupils blown wide.

“O…bi..‘an, plea-se…d-don…”

Obi-Wan takes the knife.

His hands shake as he holds it over his father’s chest. He needs to get it between the ribs, right in the heart (just as Anakin had taught him) or he risks dragging it out and causing more pain.

“Do it.”

He screams as he thrusts the knife down. Blood covers his hands as he pulls his father’s body into arms, hugging it tightly as he sobs (paying no mind as Anakin’s doll breaks apart just as Sheev’s did moments earlier). He feels sick and there’s no one he can blame but himself. There was so many times to stop, so many chances to take it back. No one forced him to pick the flowers, no one forced him to dry the leaves, no one forced him to poison his family.

Obi-Wan ignores the horrifying figures in the room as he cries, paying their conversation no mind, not hearing the “Vader, bring him to me” as he grieves the result of his own actions. He’s forced back to reality when pitch black hands grab under his arms like he’s a child and hoist him off the floor, causing him to drop his father’s body like a broken toy. He struggles and fights but this creature is armored and Obi-Wan is left with the feeling all he’s achieved was to amuse it. It puts him down in front of the withered one and his legs don’t have the strength to hold him, sending him to his knees before the thing. A dark hand grabs his hair and forces him to look up into sickly red-rimmed yellow eyes.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, darling boy?” He knows that voice too well and he barely manages to hold down the vomit. “Your family is gone and you belong to us.”

“N-no, please no,” he doesn’t know who or what he’s begging for. It can’t be Sheev before him. It can’t be Anakin holding him in place. He needs this to be a bad dream.

“Hush now, dear. I said you would be taken care of and in this matter I indent to keep my word.” The creature’s smile is too wide, too many teeth.

“After all, you do make such a lovely doll.”