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When Obi-Wan had been on the run from the Empire, he’d had nightmares of what would happen if he were captured. Visions of torture. Being starved. Darth Vader tearing through his mental shields and ravaging his mind for information on other Jedi.
Standing just behind Vader in parade rest while an Imperial officer continues to drone on about a budget or something, Obi-Wan almost thinks his nightmares might have been more tolerable. He tries to shift his weight inconspicuously. The clone troopers guarding the door haven’t shifted an inch since this meeting started an hour ago, and he bitterly wonders if they have extra padding in their boots. His feet are starting to hurt. He sends a quick prayer to the force for something, anything, to bring this meeting to an end.
“If we cut the supply budget by four percent and forgo salary increases, you can see that we’ll have –”
Obi-Wan’s prayers are answered by a small child barreling through the doors and bee-lining directly for Vader.
“Dad!” Leia skids to a stop next to the black masked man, completely heedless of the officer whose speech she just interrupted. “One of Lola’s wings broke and Threepio said I can’t fix her without you.” She holds the little red droid up imploringly. One of its wings flops listlessly to the side.
If anyone else had interrupted the meeting, they would have been force choked immediately. Obi-Wan has seen it happen twice, and he’s only been here a month. One of them had to be taken out in a gurney.
“You’ll have to wait, Leia. Admiral –” Vader pauses, clearly taking time to read the officer’s badge. Obi-Wan holds in a snort. He hates Vader, truly, but the man’s clear disdain for his own underlings can be a little funny. If Obi-Wan didn’t know better, he’d think that Vader didn’t actually want to be Emperor. “Blevins is still explaining his budget proposal.”
Leia’s shoulders drop, crestfallen.
This isn’t the first time Leia has interrupted when Obi-Wan is with Vader. Often, the Sith Lord indulges her. Lessons and meetings have been cut short because of some whim or another of the princess. It had caught Obi-Wan by surprise that the man actually seems to love his daughter. He didn’t think Sith were capable of such an emotion.
Watching her cradle the droid against her chest, Obi-Wan has an idea. Maybe it will even get him out of more of these soul-crushing meetings.
Head bowed, he moves a step closer to Vader.
“My lord, I could assist the Princess,” he speaks softly and keeps his hands folded into the sleeves of his robes, hiding his crossed fingers.
Vader’s inscrutable black mask turns towards him. Obi-Wan rarely has a clue what the man behind it is feeling at any given time. Vader had forced a bond between them shortly after Obi-Wan was captured. Obi-Wan has kept it fiercely blocked since then, and so far Vader’s left the walls between them intact. Being able to sense some of his emotions would be useful in times like this, but it’s not yet worth the feeling of oily darkness brushing against his mind.
“Leia? Would you like my padawan to help in my stead?” Obi-Wan shivers. Padawan. Vader is constantly calling him Padawan, reminding Obi-Wan and everyone else around them of the hold he has over the young man.
Large dark eyes stare at Obi-Wan with a single-minded intensity. He could swear the girl is already capable of using her force abilities to pick up on surface thoughts, sometimes. He hasn’t seen such concentration since they were learning about mind-tricks in the crèche, and his friend Quinlan tried to enter Obi-Wan’s mind.
“Yes please,” she turns and gives the room a tiny bow, apologizing for the interruption, before grabbing Obi-Wan’s hand and pulling through the door.
✨✨✨
Leia watches Obi-Wan quietly as he works on Lola. Threepio had brought a tool kit when Obi-Wan requested it, and he’s using a tiny screwdriver to replace a part of her wing now.
Obi-Wan is quiet. She was surprised he had wanted to spend time with her, since they’d hardly exchanged any words before now. She has asked him questions, before, but he always responds with as few words as possible. It’s irritating.
“Why did you want to come help me?” she demands.
His hands still, screwdriver poised just above one of the droid’s delicate joints. “Well, I think you’re much more interesting to be around than Admiral Blevins.”
She harrumphs. “What about Daddy? He says you’re his Padawan and he’s going to teach you everything he knows. Don’t you want to be with him?”
Obi-Wan busies himself with Lola again. He’s concentrating intently on the repairs, brows furrowed. Leia is smart enough to recognize a diversion technique when she sees it.
“If I could follow Dad around all day I would,” she tells him seriously. She can’t imagine why anyone would give up time with her father—much less avoid it as often as Obi-Wan tries to.
“One day you’ll be able to learn from him too,” Obi-Wan says with a smile, “and you can take my place at his side.”
Leia narrows her eyes at him. “We’ll be together with him. Why would you go anywhere?”
Obi-Wan’s smile falters, before growing a little too bright. “Of course,” he concedes. He hands over Lola – wings fully repaired – before standing and walking around the room, inspecting the books on her shelves and the posters hanging on the walls. “What should we do now, Your Highness?”
Thoughts of the future are pushed aside quickly. Threepio never lets her climb trees in the garden, claiming that he is unable to help her down if she gets stuck. Obi-Wan can almost definitely climb trees and help her back down, though.
“Let’s go to the gardens,” she tells Obi-Wan confidently. She grabs his hand once more and drags him down the hallways towards the little piece of nature concealed in the center of the large palace.
Threepio will probably still complain and fret, but that’s ok. She has Obi-Wan now.
✨✨✨
“My lord,” Obi-Wan is sitting on a couch in Vader’s office, bent over an old book on the Force he’s supposed to be studying while the Sith goes over reports from the Imperial Army. The bantha leather squeaks quietly under him as he fidgets.
“Master,” Vader corrects him. He doesn’t even look up from his desk. Obi-Wan swallows hard. He’s able to get away with calling Vader my lord in public, presumably because that’s what everyone else calls him, but in private the man insists on Obi-Wan calling him Master. It hurts, like claws digging into his heart. Obi-Wan had growing up dreaming of calling a Jedi master. Before the purge, he’d believed one of the Knights was about to claim him as a Padawan.
Obi-Wan closes his eyes and releases his pain to the force. Now is not the time to wallow in past hopes and dreams.
“Master. I was thinking,” he trails off, trying to gauge how much of Vader’s attention he has. When the dark mask tilts up, those emotionless lenses gazing at him, he continues. “I was thinking I might help care for Princess Leia during the day? It seems Threepio is not always able to keep up with her.”
A staticky noise emanates from the mask’s vocoder—one Obi-Wan has learned to recognize as a hum. Vader is thinking about it. Obi-Wan pretends to be engrossed in the words in front of him, giving the volatile man time to consider his proposal.
“Caring for Leia does not mean you will be able to slack on your training,” he finally says. Obi-Wan sighs in relief.
“Of course, Master.”
✨✨✨
Obi-Wan and Leia quickly fall into a comfortable routine. She spends time with her tutor in the morning, and he attends to his own studies. In the afternoon they have free time. Absent of any instructions, Obi-Wan has fallen into replicating activities he did as a Jedi youngling. They climb trees, do gymnastics courses, play games, and work on using the Force.
Leia is a prodigious talent with the Force. Today, she has convinced Obi-Wan to move on from the boring control exercises he had suggested. They’re playing a rousing game of Force dodgeball instead. Volleying the ball back to her after narrowly missing a particularly hard throw, Obi-Wan sends up a prayer of thanks that the ball is soft. Leia is quite good at blocking and throwing the ball with the Force—she is less good at tempering her throws.
The ball soars across the training room floor, coming to a stop hovering in front of Leia. She pushes it with the force, gesturing with both hands, but gets distracted in the middle of her movement. The ball zips sideways, heading to the door instead.
Where it slams to a stop mere inches from Vader’s mask.
Obi-Wan’s stomach drops. Panicky thoughts run through his mind. Should he have gotten permission to play such a violent game with Leia? Will Vader think Obi-Wan was trying to attack him with the ball?
While Obi-Wan is frozen, Leia cheers and runs over to her father.
“Dad! Will you play dodgeball with us?”
The expressionless mask tilts down to look at her. Vader lets the red ball drop into his hands, and tosses it lightly in the air.
“I came to retrieve Obi-Wan for training,” he tells her, still tossing the ball up and down.
Leia stomps, nose scrunched in indignation. “This is training! We are improving our reflexes and fine-tuning our control over the Force,” she tells him, parroting what Obi-Wan had told her before they started playing.
The strange humming sound comes from the vocoder. Vader looks at Obi-Wan, lenses shining faintly red in the artificial light. He sets a hand lightly on Leia’s head when he turns back to her. Ruffling her hair slightly, he agrees. “I suppose you’re right. Should we play everyone for himself or have teams?”
Obi-Wan lets out a breath, shoulder drooping in relief. They aren’t in trouble. Infusing false confidence into his voice, he speaks up. “Surely it would be most fair for Leia and I to team up against you?”
The grin that takes over Leia’s face is almost frightening. “I think Obi-Wan’s right! We get to team up. And we get two balls.”
✨✨✨
Having sent Obi-Wan on his way, Vader takes one of Leia’s hands in his and they walk back to their quarters together. She chatters about her new nanny the whole way. She goes on about Obi-Wan as if he hung the moon himself.
He can’t fault her for that, when he feels much the same himself. Before – well, before everything - he had thought to take Obi-Wan as a Padawan. When the news came that Obi-Wan Kenobi had been captured, Vader had immediately arranged to have the youngling brought directly to him.
Only to realize that Obi-Wan was no longer a youngling. He had grown into a young man, all sinewy muscle and dewy eyes under short-shorn hair, tousled by his struggles against the troopers who drug him into Vader’s throne room.
Dinner is waiting for them when they make it back to their shared rooms. Vader takes off his helmet with a sigh of relief, setting it down on a side table and running a hand through his flattened hair. Leia makes a beeline straight for the table, settling in and helping herself to both of the legs from the fried tip-yip, hungry from exerting her still-developing powers.
When both their appetites are sated, Vader sends Leia to get ready for bed with a promise of a bedtime story.
He changes into sleep clothes himself. As he sheds the cape and armor, he wonders what Obi-Wan is doing right now. The boy’s life must be lonely. A pang of guilt bolts through his gut, for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t initially Vader’s intention to isolate him, but after Obi-Wan had befriended some of the staff and convinced one to help him try and escape in his first days at the palace, it had become necessary.
Vader had agreed to let Obi-Wan nanny Leia partly in the hopes that the young man would bond with her, giving him a reason to want to stay in the Palace, instead of being forced to.
Shaking himself out of such thoughts, Vader glances into the mirror before heading to Leia’s room. Yellow eyes look back at him. There is no room in his life for self-doubt or recrimination anymore.
Leia is waiting for him patiently. She’s already set out her chosen book, and pats the side of the bed next to her when he takes too long to sit down.
It’s one of her favorite books – a story about a stray tooka kitten that finds a new family in a menagerie of other stray creatures. Vader dutifully starts reading, falling into the various characters’ easily. Leia is still wide awake when he reaches the end.
He reaches out and gently tucks a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Why aren’t you sleepy, little angel?”
“Who does Obi-Wan have dinner with?” Leia asks innocently.
Vader holds back a sigh. His daughter has an uncanny ability to ask about the exact thing he doesn’t want to think about at any given time.
“With himself,” he tells her simply. If he’s lucky, she won’t push.
Leia frowns. “That sounds lonely,” she says, voice tinged with worry. “Obi-Wan should have dinner with us.”
“If I promise to invite him to dinner, will you promise to go to sleep now?” Vader tries not to think about having dinner with Obi-Wan. With him finally seeing Vader’s face.
Obi-Wan will probably decline anyway.
✨✨✨
“I – well, I suppose so,” Obi-Wan says cautiously, when Vader invites him to dinner at the end of their sparring session. It sincerely sounded like a question, and Obi-Wan wants to say no. He doesn’t want to sit across the table from that emotionless mask while it watches him eat.
He can’t bear the thought of disappointing Leia, though. They’ve become close in their time together. Leia is his only friend, now, and she wouldn’t understand why if Obi-Wan declined the invitation to dinner.
Once again, Obi-Wan almost wishes that their training bond wasn’t so well shielded. He would love to know what Vader is thinking now. Does the man want Obi-Wan to join them for dinner? Or is he merely asking because Leia told him to?
Vader betrays none of his feelings. He nods in acceptance and gives Obi-Wan a time to report to dinner before stalking out of the room, robe billowing out behind him.
While Obi-Wan cleans up, he can’t help but wonder how the meal will go. Vader must eat, somehow. Maybe he’ll attach a nutrient drip to his suit and sit there next to an intravenous pole while it drips into his veins. Or maybe the mask opens to allow him to bring food to his mouth.
Obi-Wan shudders at the next thought: maybe the entire helmet comes off. He’s had nightmares of what Vader must look like beneath it. They’ve trained together enough that Obi-Wan has realized the man has both a mechno arm and leg. Once, during a particularly vicious grappling session, the glove covering Vader’s flesh arm and come off, revealing horrible burn scars on his palm and forearm. They extended under the sleeve of his tunics.
One of his crèche-mates had managed to download a zombie holo, once. The zombies had been shambling creatures with flesh sloughing off them. In Obi-Wan’s nightmares, Vader removes his mask to reveal the visage of a zombie. Dead, burnt flesh around a lipless mouth and pale yellow eyes.
Steeling himself, Obi-Wan heads to his own quarters to clean up and make himself presentable. As much as he dislikes the man who’s appointed himself Obi-Wan’s Master, there’s no need to be rude to Leia.
When he gets to Vader and Leia’s dining room, he’s surprised to see three place settings laid out. The table is laden with curried nuna-rolls, assorted fruits, and pitchers of both water and meiloorun juice. It’s much homier than expected; the chairs have comfortable cushions and sit around a small round table. He’d been picturing him and Leia sitting across from each other while Vader watched from far away, and the head of a long dining table.
Obi-Wan has arrived a couple minutes early. Loath to take a seat before he has too, he tucks his hands in his robes and drifts around the edge of the room. He’s engrossed in reading the titles lining a bookshelf when one of the doors opens and closes swiftly, letting the bright sun of Leia’s force-presence into the room, followed by the oppressive cloud of Vader’s.
Leia tugs him towards the table before Obi-Wan can decide if he could get away with calling Vader by his name, or my lord, rather than master here.
“I wasn’t sure what your favorite foods were so I asked the chef to make one of dad’s favorites!” She tells him excitedly. “They said not all inner-Core people can handle spice, though, so there are a couple mild ones for you.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” Obi-Wan tells Leia, “I’ve eaten a lot of interesting and spicy foods in my… travels over the past few years, but I do prefer something that won’t burn my taste buds off.”
Vader hasn’t spoken a word since entering, but made his way to a spot at the table and is watching Obi-Wan and Leia. He’s missing his cloak, but Obi-Wan doesn’t think too much of it. The armor weave is probably too heavy to wear around his own quarters if he doesn’t have to.
Leia pulls Obi-Wan down into the chair next to her. It puts him more or less directly across from Vader.
Following Leia’s instructions, Obi-Wan takes the more mild rolls from the serving dish and grabs a few pieces of fruit. He notices Vader is filling his plate as well. A pit forms in the bottom of Obi-Wan’s stomach as he tries to ready himself to see what’s under the helmet.
Vader’s hands, when they reach up to undo something at the back of the helmet, are ungloved. The mechno arm is a work of art. Matte black with gold workings so delicate they could be filigree. Obi-Wan knows better, though. Knows the immense strength contained in the workings of the arm.
Slowly, Vader lifts the mask and smiles at Obi-Wan.
“Ana – Master Skywalker?” Obi-Wan feels like the words have been torn out of his throat involuntarily. The face watching him now is the face of Anakin Skywalker, except for the liquid gold eyes. “Anakin?” He asks again, quietly.
Plush lips, unscarred by burns or anything else, twist wryly. “Anakin Skywalker is long gone, Padawan. Vader is all that remains.”
Obi-Wan looks away. At anything other than the face that looks as beautiful to him now as it did when he was thirteen. Unbidden, the memory of his first wet dream starring Anakin Skywalker plays in his mind, and he’s intensely grateful that their bond is so well-shielded.
At his side, Leia has started eating indifferently. Obi-Wan wonders how much of her father’s history she’s aware off. She’s seven years old now, just the right age to have been born at the same time the Jedi fell. Perhaps she’s been kept in the dark.
Vader’s expression warns him not to make a scene. Instead of saying anything, Obi-Wan grabs desperately for his meiloorun juice and downs half a glass to soothe his tight throat.
Satisfied with Obi-Wan’s silence, the Sith starts eating, popping small berries between his lips without looking away from Obi-Wan. He looks like a loth cat who’s finally caught the mouse they’ve been quietly stalking for ages.
At a loss, certain that running away wouldn’t be a good idea right now, Obi-Wan turns to his food as well. It’s good – good enough to distract him from the revelation that’s sure to keep him up tonight.
The rolls are messier than he remembers from Dantooine – but maybe that’s just because the chef here has access to more ingredients. Sucking the juice from his fingers, Obi-Wan looks up in time to see Vader staring at him, chin resting on one hand while those yellow eyes are fixed on Obi-Wan’s lips.
Blushing, Obi-Wan removes his fingers from his mouth with a pop and drops his gaze. Hurriedly, he dabs his lips with a napkin, removing the shine that had lingered from the fat of the nuna meat. He keeps his head down for the remainder of the meal.
If he’d looked up, he might have noticed that Vader spends the rest of dinner tracking Obi-Wan’s fingers and lips while he gives Leia distracted answers to her questions about his day.
✨✨✨
Vader falls into his bed, feeling unexpectedly electrified. It had been a rush, seeing Obi-Wan’s expression when he revealed his face to the boy. Watching as he ate. Vader wonders if his Padawan is aware of just how wanton he appears sometimes. How obscene his lips look sucking juice from his fingers, or wrapped around a spoon to get every last bit of the mousse that had been served for dessert.
Restless, he pushes his silk sleeping pants down past his hips, one hand fisting his cock. He pumps it lazily, slowly, at first, picturing Obi-Wan’s surprised face from dinner. Would the boy be just as surprised to see the size of Vader’s cock? Would he be intimidated?
His fantasies change quickly. Instead of Obi-Wan’s innocent expression, he closes his eyes and pictures what his lips would look like wrapped around Vader. His fist speeds up as he gets swept up in the fantasy.
Obi-Wan would take him to the base, choking on it. Coating Vader in his saliva. Vader would pull away before finishing though. He’d flip Obi-Wan over, pushing his shoulders down while stretching his hole. It would be tight, Vader is sure. The first time he’d take his time, getting his boy loose and ready for him. Making it good for Obi-Wan.
Once Obi-Wan was crying, begging for it, Vader would give him his dick. He’d slide in slowly while Obi-Wan’s walls clutched at him and the boy sobbed for more.
He comes into his hand with a groan. Heart pounding, Vader lazily wipes his hand on his pants and pulls them off completely, throwing them on the floor for a cleaning droid to take care of. Satisfied, he lays back in bed and lets sleep take him. The last thing he thinks of before drifting off completely is stormy blue eyes and flushed cheeks.
✨✨✨
Vader starts removing his helmet during training sessions with Obi-Wan. It’s distracting, to say the least. Obi-Wan is struggling to reconcile the fact that the Jedi he’d once thought would take him as a Padawan, who he’d had a crush on, who he’d thought was dead, is a very much alive Sith Lord.
His emotions are slowing him down. He’s tried releasing them into the Force, but it keeps throwing them back at him. Vaguely, he recalls one of the crèche masters telling him that to release one’s emotions they must first understand them.
That’s probably the problem, he thinks in frustration. Obi-Wan doesn’t know how he feels. His life of luxury in the heart of the Empire, burgeoning attachment to Leia, his renewed feelings of attraction towards his first crush: they’re all making him feel sick. He knows he should hate everything about his new circumstances, but he can’t help but be appreciative of them too.
Six months ago he was living in a wasteland on Dantooine. Every day was a battle against dehydration, starvation, and the other scavengers who littered the desert. Now he wants for nothing. The most difficult part of his day is sparring with his new master, and even that has no real risk of injury, only exhaustion. And while he sits here in luxury, his old crèche mates are still out there fighting for their life and trying to avoid notice of the Empire.
His thoughts have distracted him again, dragging his mind away from the man facing off with him on the mats.
“Again,” Vader tells him, adopting a loose defensive stance.
Obi-Wan lunges. They’ve been at this for ages now. Vader insists that his offensive skills need more work. Obi-Wan countered that his defensive skills were what kept him hidden and safe for so long – that it was mere luck the Imperial officers that found him were able to take him in, not any lack of offensive talents.
Vader hadn’t appreciated his remarks.
His hits are being deflected easily. Obi-Wan draws back, circling the taller man slowly and reassessing. When he comes in again he feints high before ducking low. He very nearly lands a hit. Buoyed by this success, he bounces on his feet and attacks again immediately.
And promptly gets knocked over.
They’re both breathing heavily, though. Obi-Wan notices that Vader is sweating and short of breath with a measure of satisfaction. It’s rare that he can push his mentor so far.
Vader throws a water bottle towards Obi-Wan with the Force. “Drink, and then we’ll go again.” He chugs his own water greedily and the line of his throat draws Obi-Wan’s eyes to it unerringly.
Without looking at him Vader stretches, arms reaching towards the ceiling, and groans in satisfaction when his back pops audibly. After wiping sweat from his brow, Vader plucks at his training tunic contemplatively.
Obi-Wan almost chokes on his water when Vader pulls his tunic off over his head in one smooth motion. Defined muscles are covered in skin peppered with scars and highlighted by the sweat that drips down between his pecs and over rippling abs.
Stepping back onto the mat gracefully, Vader beckons Obi-Wan over, commencing their next match. Vader presses onto the offensive at the first opening Obi-Wan gives him, not allowing any time or room to recover and shore up his defenses. Obi-Wan gives ground quickly. In a bid for space, he launches himself into the air and over Vader, calling on what little he’s learned of Ataru so far.
He lasts a little longer this time. By the time he cedes the match to Vader, Obi-Wan is drenched in sweat and panting.
“Again,” Vader has already adopted a new defensive stance at the center of the mat.
“My lo- Master,” Obi-Wan corrects himself, hoping that the effort will gain him some goodwill. “May we take a break? I feel as if I might collapse of heat exhaustion if we continue right now.” An over-exaggeration, maybe, but Obi-Wan is getting more than just uncomfortably warm.
“Then you may remove your tunic,” Vader tells him placidly.
Obi-Wan’s heart skips a beat, and he reluctantly strips himself of the tunic, heart restarting in double time.
He commits fully to Ataru right off the bat this time, determined to keep moving. To keep space between him and Vader.
Even without the heat of the tunic Obi-Wan’s energy starts to flag rapidly. Vader has the endurance of a fathier, he just keeps going and going. Especially when he’s letting Obi-Wan flip and leap around, utilizing Soresu to block and conserve his energy.
Obi-Wan misses a step and falters. Vader is right there suddenly, pressing the advantage and bearing him down to the mat. He flicks Obi-Wan’s lightsaber out of his grip deftly and tosses it away. Obi-Wan blinks and both of his wrists are pinned down. Vader’s hips rest in between Obi-Wan’s legs and he grins down at him in elation.
Breathing slowly through his nose, Obi-Wan tries to think around the heat building in his gut and making his brain go fuzzy. He isn’t in a horrible defensive position – better than if his legs were trapped between Vader’s. If he can twist right, he can flip them.
Vader must sense what he’s planning, because he wraps one ankle around Obi-Wan’s and leans heavier on him. A bead of sweat drops from his chest onto Obi-Wan.
Magnetically, Obi-Wan’s eyes are drawn to Vader’s chest, and lower, where their bodies meet. Vader notices that he’s lost his Padawan’s attention and follows his gaze. Smirking, the older man rolls his hips into Obi-Wan’s once.
Obi-Wan can’t help the strangled noise halfway between a whine and a groan that escapes his throat. Still smirking, Vader leans down and whispers into Obi-Wan’s ear. “Do you yield, Padawan?”
“Yield,” Obi-Wan gasps. Vader takes some of his weight off of Obi-Wan, but takes a long moment to look him up and down before rising completely.
“I trust that you will be able to make yourself presentable before dinner, Padawan, even though our training ran late.” With that Vader calls his tunic to him with the Force and strides out of the room.
✨✨✨
Vader gets to the dining room early for once. He can’t help it – he’s impatient to see how his boy acts after their heated training session. Leia notices his restless energy but doesn’t comment on it, chattering about what she’d learned in her language class this morning instead.
He lets her chatter flow over him, catching bits and pieces. Her tutor has started teaching her Mando’a. She’s finding it much more interesting than High Galactic, which she finds unbearably stuffy.
Finally, Obi-Wan appears. He’s back in his well-pressed uniform, with high-necked tunics and loose sleeves, hiding himself behind layers. Vader wonders if Obi-Wan has realized it’s simply made those around him – Vader included – eager to unwrap those layers and discover what lays beneath.
Obi-Wan takes a seat quietly, answering Leia in Mando’a when she asks him if he knows the language. Watching them talk, Obi-Wan’s head bowed down to Leia, listening patiently to everything she has to say, Vader’s heart clenches as he’s reminded it’s not just Obi-Wan’s body he’s falling in love with. The domestic scene is one he’s dreamed of. Though young, Obi-Wan has proved himself incredibly capable of caring for Leia. Vader can’t think of anyone he’d rather have by his side, raising her.
Vader is quiet over dinner. Obi-Wan is clearly relieved, based on how his shoulders have dropped as they eat and the glances he keeps shooting towards Vader. His conversation with Leia turns towards how Obi-Wan learned the language.
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t have a tutor in it like you. I spent a year on Mandalore, with a woman named Satine. We travelled together and she taught me. There wasn’t really much else for us to do.”
Obi-Wan is sanitizing the story for Leia. Vader had been aware that the previous Duchess of Mandalore evaded Imperial forces for about a year, in the company of a Jedi. He hadn’t realized that Jedi was his Padawan. He’s quite sure they had a lot to do – chiefly, stay two steps ahead of the officer in charge of hunting them down.
“You must have gotten quite close to Satine during your time on Mandalore,” Vader asks. He doesn’t know if he wants an answer, truthfully.
“I would call us good friends,” Obi-Wan answers carefully, “saving each other’s lives will bring you together.” He chuckles and meets Vader’s gaze evenly for the first time all night. “But we were never more than friends.”
The talons of jealousy that had crept in ease around Vader’s heart. He acknowledges Obi-Wan answer with a nod, before turning the conversation back to Mando’a, asking Leia to demonstrate what she’s learned for him.
Dinner passes by peacefully, as it has been for weeks now. Obi-Wan has slotted into this facet of their lives perfectly.
Leia asks Obi-Wan to stay for her bedtime story after dinner. Vader smiles softly at the two of them. He’s not sure how much Obi-Wan’s feelings toward himself have changed, but Leia has certainly done a fine job of endearing herself to the boy.
Obi-Wan agrees with an abashed smile. Beaming, Leia bounds out of the room to get ready for bed. An awkward silence falls between Vader and Obi-Wan. Standing from the table, Vader moves to one of the lounge chairs in the adjoining sitting room, falling into it with legs splayed.
His Padawan follows after a few moments. Instead of sitting, he browses the old books in the built-ins that cover one wall. His eyes light up when he finds a particularly interesting volume. Vader catches a glimpse of it when Obi-Wan pulls it down from the shelf. A book on using the Force to connect with animals. He isn’t surprised that a being as caring as Obi-Wan is would be drawn to such a tome.
“You cannot take any of these books from these rooms, they are far too rare for that, but you are welcome to come read them here any time,” Vader offers.
Clutching the book close to his chest, Obi-Wan gingerly sits on a small settee next to Vader. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I always wanted a pet when I was young. We were told so many stories in the crèche of the Jedi of old that could form amazing Force bonds with creatures they encountered, you know. I imagined I would be one of them one day.”
Turning in his chair, Vader takes one of Obi-Wan’s hands and coaxes it out of the tense fist it’s formed, massaging it gently. “If you stay by my side, you still could be.”
Obi-Wan turns his face towards Vader’s with pained eyes, tears welling up. He doesn’t withdraw his hand, though. “The Jedi are gone. They’re all gone and you are trying to round up the few who escaped.”
Vader swallows. It’s true, he’s been finishing his previous Master’s work, capturing the escaped Jedi. Eliminating the older ones or those too stubborn to give in to him and integrating the rest into his Imperial Forces. Perhaps he can offer Obi-Wan a peace offering, though. It won’t undo the past, but if he can give the boy a vision of a hopeful future he may finally sway him to his side.
“They don’t have to be gone forever,” he starts slowly. “Stay with me. When your training is complete you can start a new Jedi temple. One free of the problems that plagued our order.”
The boy gasps sharply. The tears that have been brewing start to slowly roll down his cheeks. “But you’re going to make me fall.”
He can’t help himself. Vader gets out of his chair to fall to his knees before Obi-Wan, cradling his face between his hands, thumb gently wiping tears from the skin below Obi-Wan’s eyelashes. “My darling boy, no. You can stand by my side without falling. There is no light in the Force that glows as pure as yours. If it is the will of the Force for you to remain in the Light then so be it.” Vader has not been counting on Obi-Wan being his successor as a Sith Lord anyway.
Obi-Wan closes his eyes and drops his head, forehead resting against Vader’s. “Will you leave the rest of the Jedi who escaped alone to live their lives?”
There are so few of them left, it’s no trouble for Vader to acquiesce. Obi-Wan cries harder. His immense relief is palpable in the Force. Vader stands, scooping Obi-Wan up for a moment and resettling him in his lap where he cries quietly until he can release his emotions into the Force and his tears dry up.
When Leia comes in, wondering why her father hasn’t shown up to read her bedtime story, he beckons her to join them on the settee. She tucks herself under his right arm. Obi-Wan, exhausted, is curled into his left side.
“I promised you a bedtime story, didn’t I darling?” Leia nods eagerly. “Have I told you the story of Leia the Krayt Dragon?” She nods again, but quietly tells him to tell it again, so that Obi-Wan can learn it too.
His voice falls into a soothing cadence as he starts recounting one of the stories he’d grown up with himself. Slowly, both Leia and Obi-Wan fall asleep. Vader extracts himself from them slowly. He carries Leia to bed, tucking her in and putting her favorite stuffed tooka in her arms.
When he returns to Obi-Wan, he pauses to take in the sight before him. He’s never seen him look so relaxed – it’s hard to remember that Obi-Wan is only twenty standard years old sometimes. The last seven years weigh heavily on him, often making Obi-Wan appear aged beyond his years. In sleep, face relaxed and lips slightly parted, he looks angelic.
Gathering him into his arms, Vader takes Obi-Wan to his own bedroom. He tucks the sheets in around him and resigns himself to spending the night on the settee. He’s made such progress with Obi-Wan tonight. No matter how much he would love to wake up with the young man in his arms, the potential damage to their fragile new understanding is too great.
✨✨✨
Obi-Wan bounces on his heels, impatiently waiting for Vader to arrive and start their training session. He’s begun looking forward to their time in the salle together. The exercise is invigorating, and the older man has been stripping himself of his tunics more and more often. Reassured that he’s no longer living comfortably in the heart of the Empire while his friends are being hunted by it, he’s allowed himself to enjoy the sight of Vader’s well-muscled torso.
He stills himself when the Sith walks through the door, adopting a serious expression and waiting for instruction. When Vader orders him to turn his saber down training mode Obi-Wan can’t help the grin that sneaks across his face. He’s been working hard on his Ataru and is eager to show off what he’s accomplished.
Predictably, Vader still wins most of their rounds. Obi-Wan is still pleased that he’s lasting longer and landing hits now. They’ve been sparring for a long time, now, and are both drenched in sweat. Feeling uncharacteristically confident, Obi-Wan pulls his own tunic off unprompted when Vader removes his.
He can’t help but preen, just a little, under the appreciative look that earns him.
They hit the mats again. Obi-Wan flips and jumps around the room, using the walls and furniture to propel himself higher and come down with even more force. Eventually, they reach a stale mate. Standing across from each other, chests heaving, Vader makes a move.
He drops his lightsaber, grabs Obi-Wan by the wrist, and reels him in. Head bowed, his lips hover above Obi-Wan’s. Waiting for permission. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Obi-Wan leans up and brushes their lips together softly.
It’s chaste for only a moment. Vader pulls Obi-Wan harder into his chest. One hand cups the back of his neck, tilting his head higher. The other slides down to his ass and pushes their hips together. Obi-Wan’s hands slip across Vader’s sweat-slick chest before gripping his biceps.
“Bed,” Vader pants, pulling away from Obi-Wan. “Come to bed with me.”
Suddenly aware of the state they’re in, Obi-Wan blushes. “We’ll get your sheets dirty. Can’t we shower first?” he asks shyly.
Vader grins at him wolfishly. “Darling, if you want to shower together we certainly can. But I assure you, no matter what, the sheets are going to get dirty.”
Obi-Wan is sure his cheeks are going to catch fire. At a loss for words, for one of the first times in his life, he tentatively lowers some of the shields between them and pushes a thought towards Vader.
“As you wish,” Vader tells him. He picks Obi-Wan up easily, helping the younger man wrap his legs around Vader’s waist as he carries him to his rooms. They stop occasionally to kiss in the middle of the hall. Obi-Wan worries for a second about what would happen if someone were to come along and see Vader unmasked. The thought is quickly banished when said man’s tongue swipes over his lips.
Their frenetic energy calms somewhat when they reach Vader’s room and Obi-Wan is dropped onto his bed. Vader runs his hands all over Obi-Wan, the pressure and slow movements soothing, as he slowly finishes stripping Obi-Wan. First his boots, his socks, the belt still holding his pants up, and finally he pulls his pants and underwear down in one smooth movement.
Vader sits back on his haunches to gaze at Obi-Wan. He squirms nervously under Vader’s scrutiny, desperately hoping that he isn’t disappointing.
Some of his feelings must trickle through the weakened barriers between them, because Vader starts to take off his own remaining clothes, never letting his eyes drift from Obi-Wan.
“You’re gorgeous, Padawan,” he breathes.
Obi-Wan reaches for him needily, the short distance between them already too much. Vader goes willingly. Their lips reconnect and they spend another long moment simply kissing. It’s not long before Vader’s lips start to trail lower – sucking marks into Obi-Wan’s collarbones, circling his nipples teasingly, and dropping even lower.
He nips the skin of his lower belly until Obi-Wan threads his hands into Vader’s hair, trying to direct his mouth to where he wants it. Vader lets out a rumbling laugh, looking up into Obi-Wan’s eyes with a smirk. He allows himself to be moved, though, and when he licks a long stripe up Obi-Wan’s cock it punches a loud moan out of him.
“Turn over,” Vader pulls back and tells him. Obi-Wan whines in response. He had just gotten Vader’s plush mouth on him and he wanted more. When he doesn’t move Vader smacks lightly on the hip. “Now, Padawan.”
Obi-Wan considers playing at disobedience. The smack had sent something shooting through his belly, a burst of elation at the sting. He’s not quite brave enough for that yet, and flips over obligingly instead. When Vader doesn’t move right away, Obi-Wan pulls his knees under himself and lifts his hips, looking back over his shoulder to watch the older man.
“Good boy,” Vader purrs. He places reverent hands on Obi-Wan’s cheeks and pulls them apart. Obi-Wan squirms. Vader’s just sitting there, looking at his hole. “So pretty, Obi-Wan, especially here. Your little hole is so cute. And it’s just for me, isn’t it?”
“Yes, just for you,” Obi-Wan pants, eager for Vader to do more.
He nearly squeals when Vader leans down and licks. His tongue laves around Obi-Wan’s rim, coating it in spit. Obi-Wan isn’t sure how long they spend like this; it feels like forever and like it can’t go on long enough. Finally, Vader’s tongue dips in. His muscles have been loosened just enough to let it in, and Vader tongue fucks him, getting him soaked, before adding a finger.
Obi-Wan can’t contain the sounds escaping him. He’s just coherent enough to be glad they’re tucked away in Vader’s room, far away from anyone else in the palace.
Vader pulls away and Obi-Wan turns his head, ready to demand that he come back. His words catch on his throat when he sees the bottle of lube Vader has summoned. He’s coating his fingers in it, and brings two slick digits to Obi-Wan’s hole, petting over it teasingly before sinking into him with both fingers.
He takes his time stretching Obi-Wan. He slides his fingers in and out slowly before starting to scissor them. He’s spread them as far as he can when Obi-Wan feels the cool slide of more lube dripping around his rim.
“Look at you, so wet for me,” Vader coos. “Are you ready for a third finger?”
“Yes, yes, please,” Obi-Wan begs. He gets his wish immediately, as Vader pulls out until just the tip of his fingers are past his rim, and slides back in with three. There is a stretch, a slight burn, but Vader waits patiently for Obi-Wan to relax around him before his starts to fuck him on all three. When he does they reach deep, finding a place in Obi-Wan that makes him scream. Vader is talking to him, but Obi-Wan can’t make sense of what he’s saying when he curls his fingers over that spot again and Obi-Wan’s neglected cock jumps, pre-come beading up at his tip and dripping on the sheet below him.
Pulling his fingers out, Vader runs his mechno hand soothing over Obi-Wan’s flank. “Are you ready, Padawan?”
Obi-Wan hums in question, turning to meet Vader’s gaze. Tears slip out of the corners of his eyes, and he feels so empty he thinks he might die if he isn’t filled again soon.
“Are you ready for me to fuck you?” Vader repeats himself. Obi-Wan follows his significant glance down, to where Vader is coating his dick with lube. He nods eagerly and pushes his hips back towards Vader, arching his back even further. “Use your words, Padawan.”
“Please fuck me,” Obi-Wan asks breathily, “please I’m so ready.”
Vader taps the bulbous head of his cock against Obi-Wan’s hole before pushing in. There is pressure, and Obi-Wan does his best to breathe out and relax, allowing Vader in. Vader still his hips when Obi-Wan has taken the head.
When he takes too long to move, Obi-Wan whines and squirms below him. Vader’s mechno hand pushes down on his back, stilling him. “Force,” Vader breaths out ardently, “I wish I could take a holo of you.” Slowly, he starts to slide the rest of his length in.
Vader stills again when his hips meet Obi-Wan’s ass, waiting there until Obi-Wan begs him to move again.
He doesn’t have to wait long. Obi-Wan’s voice cracks on a “please sir, please,” and Vader moves. He sets a slow, deep rhythm pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in and grinding against Obi-Wan when he bottoms out.
Obi-Wan feels like he’s going to fly out of his skin, but it’s still not quite enough. He snakes one hand under himself, grasping for his own cock, when Vader knocks it away. “Only my hands, my tongue, and my cock get to make you come from now on, Padawan.” He wraps his slick, warm, flesh hand loosely around Obi-Wan.
Vader speeds up his rhythm, slightly, squeezing gently around the head of Obi-Wan’s cock every time he fucks back into him. The tension in Obi-Wan’s gut winds tighter and tighter, until Vader flicks his thumb over the slit of his cock and he comes. The orgasm is so intense that Obi-Wan sees white.
When he comes to a long moment later Vader has both hands on his hips and is fucking Obi-Wan with short hard thrusts. One hand runs up Obi-Wan’s chest, briefly pinching his nipples, before wrapping around his throat and pulling him back until he’s sitting in Vader’s lap, speared on his dick.
He feels Vader’s teeth on his shoulder as he pants for breath, chasing his orgasm. Obi-Wan reaches for him with one hand, tangling his fingers with Vader’s mechno ones on his hip, and Vader spills into him with a groan.
They sit there, both panting, until Obi-Wan’s breath slows. Vader pulls out of him gently and settles Obi-Wan on his side. “Wait here, let me clean you up.” He gets off the bed and blindly grabs something from the pile of their discarded clothes. After wiping the mess of come and lube off of Obi-Wan, Vader tosses the underwear back onto the floor and joins him on the bed.
Pulling a sheet over them, he wraps himself around the young man, letting him curl into his chest. As Obi-Wan’s breathing grows deeper, Vader can’t resist running a possessive hand up and down Obi-Wan’s back. Light fingers trace all the way up to Obi-Wan’s hair, tugging lightly on the short strands. His fingers nails scrape pleasantly along Obi-Wan’s scalp before moving back down his neck again, lingering near the nape. “You should grow out a Padawan braid,” Vader suggests quietly.
Obi-Wan tucks his head under Vader’s chin, on the brink of sleep. “Yes, master.”