Scene from a Senatorial Gathering (Vaderkin/Obi-Wan)

[raptureofthemoon]

I'm participating in SubObi week over on Tumblr. The Day 1 prompt is Collar/Leash.

 

And here we go....


“Your pet Jedi is well behaved.”

Lord Vader chuckles. “He really isn’t. Or he wouldn’t need the leash.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi, from his kneeling position on the floor, lets the conversation flow over him, around him. This is the first time he's been to the large senatorial gathering and he resists the urge to raise his eyes and see what representative of this New Empire is speaking. He knows some of the voices that float over his head. He has no wish to look up into the faces of people who had once been friendly acquaintances, if not among the few in the Senate that he'd once counted as friends.

Keeping to himself also saves him the punishment set for him when he inevitably meets covetous stares with a challenging eye, political maneuvering with outright ridicule. Tonight, he has no wish to be the test subject of any new devices the Emperor has come up with. He's still having headaches from the last time.

The thought makes him wince. He tries to cover the reaction with a polite yawn, but a gloved hand rests on his shoulder and the other tugs the leash clipped to his collar, exerting just enough pressure so that Obi-Wan leans his face against a sleek, warm, leather clad thigh that smells of rainstorms and mech oil. The familiar scent in these surroundings makes him want to weep but he pushes that thought away as he feels the bond between them pulse.

We will be done here soon. Behave. I don’t enjoy punishing you.

 

 

Obi-Wan resists the urge to scoff aloud. The bruises on my thighs suggest otherwise. He risks a glance up and sees the corner of Ana—Vader’s mouth curl.

I don’t enjoy using the Emperor’s punishments. My own are more pleasant. Don’t tell me you don’t prefer mine.

Obi-Wan keeps silent.

That’s what I thought. You know you can’t hide anything from me, Obi-Wan. Come.

Vader tugs at the leash and Obi-Wan rises slowly, ignores the appreciative glances of some of the party goers. For a moment, he's thankful that Vader deigns to allow him clothes, even though they're fine and thin.

The sleeveless shirt shows off his arms, well-honed from years of wielding a lightsaber. The gossamer-thin trousers slide silkily over his hips and against his thighs as he walks, emphasizing the shape and flow of him. He can feel eyes on him. Hear whispers behind cupped hands. At one point, fingers brush along his flank.

He grits his teeth, increases his step until he's nearly on Vader's heels, feels amusement suffuse the bond.

Vader leads him to a chair at the head of the room, wraps the leash loosely around the arm. The chair is off to the side of the main dais where the Emperor will sit, but still within view of every attendee.

“Kneel,” Vader says.

Obi-Wan takes his place next to the chair, sitting back on his heels. He feels more than sees the Emperor arrive. The darkness is very nearly palpable, slipping over Obi-Wan like a shadow, black as oil, still as deep water.

It's a strange contrast to the roiling mass of Vader's Force signature, slivers of light peeking through the dark. Obi-Wan notices the light most when he and Vader fuck. Those are the moments where he can close his eyes and almost pretend that this is still Anakin. When the light, for one moment, eclipses the dark, calling to the same light in Obi-Wan.

He may be imagining it, may be finding the smallest hope to cling to, but he feels like that connection with the light grows a little stronger every time they're together, lasts a little longer.

Vader sits, tugging the leash to draw Obi-Wan close. Obi-Wan lays his head against Vader's knee. Someone delivers a plate. The rich, savory scent of mini Alderaanian meat pies and roasted alaoi root fills his nose but he ignores it in favor of surreptitiously watching the Emperor from beneath his lashes.

Palpatine sits in his chair, receiving representatives one after another. The business of running the galaxy doesn't seem to change, Obi-Wan thinks.

At one point, while speaking to a young senatorial aid, Palpatine turns his head slightly, looking at Vader and gives a subtle nod.

A moment later, Vader sits the plate in front of Obi-Wan. There are a couple of pastries and several pieces of roasted alaoi left. Vader's hand appears over Obi-Wan's shoulder, pastry held between his forefinger and thumb. An offering.

After a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan reaches to take it.

No. With your mouth.

Obi-Wan risks a glance up at Vader's face. The gold eyes glitter, the mouth moves from a smirk to a stern line that Obi-Wan has seen before in circumstances far less pleasant than this one. He swallows his pride and leans forward, wrapping his lips and tongue around the morsel, drawing it from Vader's fingers.

Slowly, Vader commands, rubbing his thumb along the tip of Obi-Wan's tongue, his lower lip. Obi-Wan feels a little shudder go through Vader.

I think I'll want your mouth tonight. I want you kneeling. I want to see your eyes as you swallow my cum.

Even though he's heard words like these before, he still has to fight the flush rising to his face as he pulls away.

Vader gestures to the plate at his feet. Eat. And don't make me bind your hands, he finishes as Obi-Wan's hands twitch toward the plate. He rests them on his thighs instead, then settles more securely on his knees and leans forward as if in the ending bow of the Peace kata. He plucks a root from the plate, chewing daintily and swallowing before moving on to the next piece.

He can feel the eyes of every person in the room on him. The senators and their partners, the aides, the catering staff, the reporters who will be relaying the goings on tonight to the public.

He feels Palpatine in the Force, watching. He's pleased. His pleasure is a dark thing, warm and suffocating. To see the Jedi yield, here, in front of the representatives of the galaxy, is to show the power of the Empire. And the power of the Sith.

And then he feels Vader. The maelstrom of him ebbing, the pleasure he takes at Obi-Wan's subservience and how the darkness, for just a moment, is tempered by light. Obi-Wan glances at Palpatine, wonders if he can feel this light-side shift, however small it might be, in his apprentice, but the Emperor seems unaware.

Obi-Wan considers that, as he finishes chewing and slowly rises and sits back on his knees. He meets Vader's eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”

Vader offers him his own glass of wine. Obi-Wan drinks and when he pulls away, he does so slowly, carefully licking the last of the wine from his lips, watching Vader's eyes follow the movement, watching his eyes gleam gold, flash momentarily with the blue-sky color that Obi-Wan remembers well.

My mouth, Obi-Wan thinks along their bond. As you wish. He settles back into his original position, head leaned against Vader's knee, pressing back into Vader's hand when he runs his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair.

He will kneel here for all to see. Tonight, he will kneel in private, in the home Vader secured for them. He will let Vader take his mouth, his body. When he's splayed out beneath the Sith, wrists held in a steel grasp, he will look for the light that surges through Vader at his submission. He will tend it, however it needs tending.

One of these days, it might be enough.