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“I know what you're doing.”
“Is that so?”
“Don't patronize me, old man.” Vader turned. The setting sun lit behind him cast a golden halo around his amber hair. It was a beautiful effect – perfectly complimenting the liquid gold of his eyes.
Even five long years later, the sight still made Obi-Wan feel slightly ill. The two had only seen one another face-to-face a handful of times. Each encounter was mercifully short. An exploding bridge, or a split-second altercation as the rebel forces made a last-ditch getaway. Obi-Wan suspected that this was not due to his efforts alone. Each moment the two spent in the company of one another was like a lit match on an open wound.
“Don't you dare condescend.” The Sith continued, seething. “We both know the rebel base is hiding in that mountain range.” He threw his arm out, pointing to the jagged cliffs in the distance. Through the tall windows, the gesture perfectly aligned with the barrel of the massive plasma canon, as wide as a t-fighter aimed at the range.
A single blast would vaporize it in seconds.
Yes, they both knew it. If nothing else, Obi-Wan's surrender – the relinquishment of one of the top enforcers of the rebellion directly into the hands of the enemy had proved quite definitively how dire the situation had become.
Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and then closed it.
His title of The Negotiator was not without its merit. He took a slow, steady breath through his nose and out his mouth.
By the time this breath was complete, he would have made his decision.
He calculated his odds, assessed the risk.
His immediate gut instinct needed to be considered first – if only so he could promptly discard it and set it aside.
This isn't you, Anakin. You wouldn't wipe out two hundred people – the women and children,
He had already proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that yes – he was quite capable.
This wasn't Anakin.
This was Vader.
A creature all rage and darkness.
What did he want more than the satisfaction of seeing the rebel base destroyed before they could have time to evacuate?
Really, Negotiation was a simple thing. It was simply a matter of discovering what the enemy wanted more than what you were trying to get from them. Weighing the cost, and accepting what sacrifice needed to be had.
Obi-Wan didn't have the heart to do what he had to do on Mustafar. He hadn't been willing to bend then, a lifetime ago.
As a direct result of his inaction, the Empire had successfully swallowed the Republic whole. Now, all that he could do was throw his life into the cause of resisting what he had stood aside and allowed to be born through his inaction and cowardice.
He would have to correct that mistake now.
Obi-Wan completed his breath, and opened his eyes.
“You're right.” Obi-Wan conceded. It put Vader back, if only by half a step. “We've worked together for too long. You know every tactic I could possibly present to someone in a situation like this,”
“Don't you dare try to play to our history,” Vader sneered. “That fool of a Jedi is gone.”
“Of course... Lord Vader,” Obi-Wan said, the title tasting sour on his tongue.
A curious, cruel gleam lit in the Sith's eye.
“Is that how it is, then?” The corner of his lips tugged upward in a suggestion of a smile that was so very much like his old friend that Obi-Wan had to ball his hands into tight fists to stop them from shaking.
“We both know that I let myself be found and brought in here. That this is just a tactic to buy time.”
“Yes, of course I knew.” Vader spat, shoulders rolling tense like a caged animal.
Vader sat down heavily in the wide black chair in front of the sleek, minimalist desk. He assessed Obi-Wan carefully with those cruel, golden eyes.
Testing the waters, he barked the order.
“Come here,”
Obi-Wan took two steps.
“No! On your hands and knees.” He ordered, a wild gleam in his eyes as the reality of the situation – all that was truly being offered before him began to set in.
A game of discovering what the enemy wanted, more than what you were trying to gain.
Obi-Wan wanted wanted to save the lives of hundreds.
Vader wanted his pride.
It was no question really.
Obi-Wan lowered himself to the cold floor, crawling as ordered to the base of the desk.
Vader crossed one leg over the other, one boot held out in front of Obi-Wan's face.
“Lick it.” He ordered, his voice rough.
Obi-Wan kept his stance carefully neutral, perfectly balanced on a knife's edge. He knew that any rebellion would only stoke Vader's ire. Discomfort or embarrassment would only give him what he wanted far too soon.
Protest could result in hundreds of lives snuffed out.
Obi-Wan cupped the heel of Vader's boot and ran the flat of his tongue over the toe. There was a vague taste of dust and leather, but nothing that Obi-Wan couldn't bear.
He ran his tongue over the boot again. Obi-Wan barely needed the force to feel the electric crackle of Vader's surprised delight at the rebellion general's easy compliance.
“Look how far the mighty Jedi Master has fallen. How does my heel taste?”
Obi-Wan sighed imperceptibly. If all he had to offer was schoolyard taunts, this would hardly be a challenge for him. He glanced up at Vader, who was clearly trying not to shift or move about as he wished to, keeping his legs tightly crossed. His gold eyes had gone dark, his breathing slightly heavier.
Ah, so this is how it would be then.
It had crossed Obi-Wan's mind as a part of his... calculations. Something of a wild card.
Perhaps an eventuality he did not wish to confront until there was no more avoiding it.
Vader's fingers twisted in Obi-Wan's hair, pulling him closer by just a fraction of an inch.
Obi-Wan complied, moving as Vader dictated until his head nuzzled against the Sith's knee. Here, the bulge in his pants was more obvious.
Vader stalled, hesitant. He didn't seem to have the wherewithal to cross that final threshold and voice what he wanted. His body was tense, strung taught.
He was hesitating.
That was not good. If Vader's embarrassment should get the better of him, he would lash out – obliterate the base and perhaps half of the planet for good measure to salvage his pride.
Vader flinched as Obi-Wan moved. Obi-Wan paused – but only for a moment - as one might when caught in the gaze of a wild animal.
Keeping his posture carefully neutral, Obi-Wan continued with slow deliberation to free Vader's half-hard cock from his pants. The fingers remained firmly twisted in Obi-Wan's hair, but did not pull him away from the task.
Obi-Wan knew that his old partner Anakin had wanted this – possibly for some time.
He had never been terribly good at shielding his thoughts and emotions. He was perfectly capable of connecting the dots between heated sparring sessions that so frequently gave way to flimsy excuses for extended trips to the fresher from the time his padawan hit the ripe age of fifteen.
Of course, Obi-Wan had paid it no mind. Anakin had been a child. But he had not stayed that way for long. War had quickly hardened Anakin into a handsome weapon of tempered steel. So too their relation changed, kinetic and alight with the promising of something that had never quite managed to blaze into being.
There was the war to consider.
Now, there was no time left at all.
Did he want this too?
In another world, in another life, perhaps.
With another person, someone long now gone.
Purposefully mimicking the action across Vader's boot, Obi-Wan moved his tongue firmly up the underside of Vader's exposed cock. He looked up at him through his lashes and did his best to squash down a flutter of smug satisfaction at how Vader looked briefly disarmed. His gloved hands clenched the armrests of his over-sized chair, his golden eyes briefly gone wide. A flash of vulnerability that made him look... not like Vader.
When a gloved hand gripped the back of his hair, forcing him down, Obi-Wan obliged – relieved to have been torn away from that moment that skirted far too close to the ghost of Anakin Skywalker. He closed his eyes, relaxing his jaw and took the full hot length of him into his mouth.
In the past, Obi-Wan had enjoyed giving oral.
For those sensitive in the force, there was a great amount of fulfillment to be had bringing pleasure to others – even if he hadn't indulged in physical activity for several years now. It would have been easier to shut his mind off, to pretend that this was just another fellow Jedi or even someone he might have met on a mission or on a rare night off in Coruscant.
But this wasn't about his comfort.
Knowing it was what Vader would want to hear, Obi-Wan deliberately gagged as he bottomed out, Obi-Wan's nose brushing against Vader's navel. He suspected Anakin's preferred perceptions of him - on those few rare occasions during their years together - passing statements to indicate that he had self-ascribed to some idealized vision of his former master of being a Jedi monk, pure and devout to the most puerile versions of the Jedi Code.
The low, dark chuckle that the cough earned him confirmed his suspicions. Obi-Wan's hair was smoothed back in the facsimile of an affectionate gesture.
“You have no idea how many times I fantasized about this,” Vader said through a tight jaw. He gripped Obi-Wan's hair, his hips moving in restrained thrusts up into his warm, wet mouth. “Shutting you up during one of your sithspit lectures by shoving my cock down your throat.”
And are you happy now? Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder as he let his muscles go lax, allowing Vader to fuck his throat. It quickly thickened, pulsing hot and hard against his tongue. Obi-Wan's mouth watered from the strain of it, working his jaw and the back of his throat to stroke Vader's cock and ego both.
Obi-Wan made a low, frustrated sound. Vader wasn't taking any effort to hold himself back. He was going to finish too quickly.
The rebels needed more time. He needed more time.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, quietly resigning himself to further punishment. Like gripping a bruise, a small part of him relished the thought of prolonging the degradation.
He had failed his padawan.
In a way, it was only right that he should give up his body and dignity to the monster that devoured him.
Obi-Wan reached forward, squeezing Vader lightly just below the knee.
He knew from a fair few awkward sparring sessions the impact it would have on him.
Sure enough, Vader let out a strangled gasp, his body doubled over and Obi-Wan tasted the salt of pre-come dribble hot across his tongue. Vader breathed heavily, his grip on Obi-Wan's head nearly painful now as he struggled to compose himself.
“What do you think you're playing at, old man?” Vader demanded, throwing Obi-wan off of him and onto the floor. Obi-Wan kept his eyes carefully trained on the vicinity of Vader's navel, saying nothing.
“Are you enjoying this?” He demanded. Vader surged forward, seizing the front of Obi-Wan's robes, a truly vicious smile warped his handsome face.
“I'll give you something to enjoy.”
With a blast of the force, the contents of Vader's desk blew off and clattered across the floor. His body was turned, the air forced out of his lungs and his chest hit the cold metal. Vader's chest was pressed up close behind him, a leg knocking Obi-Wan's knees apart. He could feel the puff of Vader's breath on the back of his neck, suddenly surrounded by him. He carried the scent of oiled leather and sandalwood. He found the latter to be suddenly and immediately disarming.
For years, Obi-Wan had used that same scent in the beard oil he once used – a lifetime ago.
It had to be a coincidence, surely-
Obi-Wan didn't resist as he was bent at the waist over the desk, making the work of exposing him a quick task.
For a moment, Obi-Wan was terrified that Vader might actually fuck him dry. There was certainly enough rage in him, a clear hunger for violence against his former master to use him and debase him, leaving him bloody and broken.
A flutter of panic jolted through him. This – he realized – was more than he had planned.
He could fight, perhaps. Obi-Wan still had the force. Vader hadn't thought to put an inhibiting collar on him. If he could manage to get a hold of Vader's lightsaber -
It was a long shot -
He could lay a crippling blow to the Empire if he managed to succeed -
To face the cold, lifeless body of Anakin Skywalker...
The tide of panic gave way to a strange sort of helpless lassitude.
He couldn't. There was no scenario in which he could suffer to take his life.
Vader hovered on the precipice, a heavy hand keeping Obi-Wan's chest forced down low, his hips flush against Obi-Wan's backside. He could practically taste the sith's heated indecision on how to proceed.
He heard the telltale crinkle of what sounded like a bacta packet retrieved from somewhere within the folds of his robe. When Obi-Wan felt cold, slick fingers slide between his cheeks he visibly shuddered with relief, letting out a long breath.
“Thank you An-” Obi-Wan breathed, even as the gloved fingers wrenched painfully inside of him, digging out a startled whimper of pain.
“You will not call me that.” Vader snarled. He wasn't gentle. His fingers were rough and unpracticed as he worked Obi-Wan open. He forced himself to breathe, to relax. “Don't flatter yourself. Your blood is beneath my service droids to clean off of the floor.” His fingers twisted inward, pushing against Obi-Wan's prostate suddenly, causing him to seize and double over on the desk. A rough groan slipped past his teeth that he was unable to sufficiently contain.
Vader didn't say anything, but it was impossible to miss how he jumped on the reaction. Having discovered the spot, his fingers now ruthlessly stimulated Obi-Wan's sensitive gland.
Obi-Wan buried his forehead in his arm, biting down into the meat of his hand to suppress his vocalizations. It was too much, it hurt. Pain wasn't unusual for him in situations like this. But this sort of over-stimulation was intimate in a way that managed to press heavy against the normally impenetrable fortress of his being. The bacta was doing its job, slicking and numbing over the pain of stretched muscle. What remained was the sensitized pressure against his gland, driving shocks of pleasure up his spine.
Vader grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm back around to pin it against the small of his back as he continued the ruthlessly stroke and stimulate Obi-Wan from the inside. With nothing to muffle himself, Obi-Wan cried out. A deep, crimson flush colored his cheeks down his neck to his chest to hear himself - how depraved he sounded, coming apart so easily under the rough touch of a Sith.
As if by some cruel, cosmic joke Obi-Wan couldn't help but be reminded of his sparse flings with Quinlan Vos – how he had to coax and cajole him into similar plays of roughness. It was why as a padawan he so often touched himself to the thought of his master's strong arms pinning him to the sparring mat or against a wall. Why he found himself drawn to the alluring self-assured strength of Satine.
To his immense shame, there was no denying how his body began to respond to Vader's gloved fingers now. His cock throbbed thick and hard in his pants. It had been far too long since he had been with another – or had even spent time to himself. His neglected body soaked up the pleasure, ripening under it. Beads of slick ran down his thigh, causing a blaze of shame to curl red-hot low in his body.
“No, please...” He whined weakly, but inevitably found himself hurtling towards an involuntary climax. His pants were hitched a bit lower, a leather gloved hand curled around his aching, leaking member. Obi-Wan stifled a moan. Despite it all, he couldn't help but love the feel and the texture of the leather gloves against the heated flesh of his cock.
“How long has it been since anyone touched you?” Vader's breath was warm in his ear. “You haven't been taking care of yourself.” Something in the pitch of Vader's voice changed then. Obi-Wan couldn't see the man positioned behind him, only heard the words.
“That's not like what you always taught me, Master.”
An unmistakable shift in the cadence of his words, a curl of something on the cusp of laughter in his voice.
Force, he sounded like him.
“Anakin-!”
Obi-Wan cried as he toppled over the precipice, coming messily over Vader's fist. His hips jerked into the glove. His face was wet from tears that had suddenly spilled over.
He had come here to negotiate with Vader.
He hadn't prepared for this.
With the admission of a single word, he felt his stone-hard resolve crack at the very foundation.
Vader's voice had gone low again, chuckling dark.
“Interesting...”
His voice sounded thick, a careful attempt to veil some emotion of critical importance from suffusing itself into his words.
Vader drew away from Obi-Wan, who half-collapsed onto the desk. His pants low, his lower half exposed. Obi-Wan breathed deeply, as if trying to draw in more than air.
“Do you miss him, Obi-Wan?”
Vader cleaned off his gloves before pulling them off and setting them aside.
Obi-Wan briefly wished he'd be allowed the same courtesy. He hated feeling unclean, regardless of the circumstances. Whether it was hunkering down in a ramshackle rebel base, or feeling his own come ooze down his thighs. Obi-Wan pushed himself up onto his elbows, his legs trembling dangerously.
“I've missed you... every moment of every day since I left you.” Obi-Wan said weakly. The dizzying rush of endorphins from his orgasm leaving him feeling vulnerable and unusually candid. Vader's nose brushed against Obi-Wan's hair. His hands ran down Obi-Wan's sides, one hand flat on the back of Obi-Wan's spine.
“You're not lying.” Vader murmured, sounding quietly surprised. His hand directed him to lie against the desk. Obi-Wan moaned quietly as the thickest part of his backside was gripped roughly, possessively.
“I missed you too, Master.” Anakin said warmly. Obi-Wan arched, a gut-wrenching sob giving way to a deep-seeded groan as Anakin kneaded his tender flesh.
Sex, he could handle. But he would not survive Anakin – Vader – continuing to speak to him like that.
He closed his eyes, his body burning.
“Anakin, please...” He heard himself speak, as if from far away.
“Obi-Wan...” Vader's voice was honey-rich. Another sob was choked out of the Jedi Master as the sith's fingers turned his master's jaw, seizing a slow kiss.
He shouldn't have begged, he knew that.
Vader would never give in to something as base as a plea during negotiations.
Why had he said that?
Did he want this?
Could he really have brought himself so low?
Something dark flickered across the surface of his mind. The weak fluttering of a bond that should have died when the other half did.
“Oh Obi-Wan, this was never a negotiation.” Vader soothed with a serene smile. “This was your surrender.”
Obi-Wan didn't resist – he wasn't even really surprised - when the cool, cold metal of a force collar was slipped around his neck. Had he known all along this would happen?
When his connection to the force was cut off, he slumped over, nearly blacking out as the air was drawn out of his lungs. He was vaguely aware of his body being caught before his head could fall back and strike the hard surface of the desk.
The noise turned off.
There was nothing left to fight. Nowhere to run, nobody he could save.
A tear slid down Obi-Wan's cheek.
He was not yet ready to face the knowledge that it was not one of despair, but relief.
His vision fogged over and he sank into the darkness.
-
Vader walked across the luxurious personal quarters of his battle cruiser. Across the wide transparasteel windows, he could clearly see the ramshackle litany of rebel cruisers heading into orbit.
Just before them, the fleet of the Empire ready to obliterate them before they could possibly make the jump to lightspeed. The ship's commander buzzed him right on schedule through his comlink.
“We are in position to fire, Lord Vader. At your command.”
Vader reached out, running one hand along the back of a gilded chaise lounge, savoring the moment.
“Let them go.”
“... begging your pardon, Lord Vader?”
“You heard me.”
“The Emperor...”
“I will deal with the Emperor.” Vader cut the comlink short before he could find himself testing the range at which he could deliver an effective force-choke.
The moment slipped past, and so too the rebel fleet shot off into the void of hyperspace – likely bewildered and amazed at their good fortune.
Even as they left, Vader was not entirely certain why he had permitted them to flee with their lives.
He glanced aside, appraising his prize curled up and deep asleep on the chaise.
Obi-Wan's skin was still pink and flush from a thorough bath from two of his personal droids. The robe he wore generously showed his legs through the slip, all the way up to a slip of his upper thigh. Obi-Wan's hipbones had become far too prominent for Vader's liking. The man had let himself get thin.
He made a mental note to rectify this as a matter of priority.
Not for the first time since Obi-Wan had fallen into a fitful sleep,Vader ran his fingers once again through the now touchably-soft locks of Obi-Wan's damp hair. His old master leaned back into the touch without waking. As he did, the cuffs that bound his wrist together jangled merrily. They were lovely things – gold lined with velvet.
He would have to order a custom force-inhibiting collar to match for his pet.
Obi-Wan might complain at first. Perhaps less, after he had gotten a few warm meals.
If he threatened the right people, he could even have his favorite blend of tea on the ship by the time he woke up.