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Title: Raven's Wings
Author: Darth Tiamat (tchel@u.washington.edu)
Rating: NC17
Characters: Vader, OFC
Category: Romance

Disclaimer: George Lucas the Great and Terrible owns Vader and all things Star Wars. I bow to the Great One, and do this out of love and make no money from it. I own Raven. By the way, Raven is a different person than Vader's apprentice, thought up by the wonderful Bithsith in "Dark Purposes." I highly recommend that story. I wrote this before I read that, and now I can't find a better name.

Summary: Short romance piece. Palpatine has a reward for his apprentice.

A long, cold corridor. Somber metal gleams dully under the impersonal starship lighting. Stolid officers and crew ghosting pale-faced through the barren halls, visages blank as the droids that serve them.

Now, a new shape slips along the hall. Cloaked and hooded in darkness, Raven moves across the shining floor, a shadow among shadows. Her face is hidden, but there is purpose to her step, a life to her movements that is sadly lacking among those that surround her.

Raven searches. For a moment, she pauses to concentrate. Her senses roam the unfelt winds, snag on a form that pulls her like a single iron filing to a large magnet. Eyes nearly closed, she enters a lift, then another, navigating faultlessly, unerring in her mission.

At last she is alone. No one dares to approach the area she now enters, except on official business. This hall, these chambers are shunned by all. A blank, unassuming door greets her. The plainness, the blandness of the panel makes her shiver inexplicably. She pulls the warmth of her cloak around her in the sudden chill and draws a breath. She knocks politely.

A soft whir, a hiss. The door opens into darkness. A booming voice resounds from the gloom, a voice that rumbles and is deep as the space between the stars.

"Enter."

She slips through the opening, soundless, feeling the door snap shut behind her. Dim light comes from the ceiling, barely illuminating a tall form, cloaked as she is. A glimmer of armor and blinking lights are visible. He is huge and intimidating in his massive helmet and flowing cloak, but the steady hiss of his breath mask somehow soothes her. She does not kneel, but inclines her head in deference.

"My lord," she says, "I am Raven."

Behind the mask, she feels the beginnings of anger. The mask seems to glower, the harsh planes accentuated by the faint light. He steps forward, towering over his slight form, intimidating.

"You will tell me who sent you." It is not a request.

She bows, despite herself, then holds her head high. "The Emperor himself. I have a message from him, and his token as proof." She reaches into her robe, then holds out her hand. In it is a curiously wrought cloak pin, twin to the one that the Emperor always wore.

He took the pin and concentrated a moment. "It is indeed my Master's token. Give me the message."

She smiled a little. "He told me to congratulate you for a job well done. You are to be rewarded for your loyalty, and are instructed to... relax." A pause. Then, "I am ordered to help you do so." Her heart thudding in her chest, she moves even closer and reaches out to touch his empty hand. She pulls it gently, raises it to her lips. She looks up at his inscrutable face.

He does not resist- yet. Instead he watches, knowing that she is no true threat to him and most likely another of his master's tests. He feels her stroke the leather covering his remaining fleshly hand. His senses come alive at even that muffled sensation. Her motions are gentle, almost loving. He sees her catch his scent as her nostrils twitch. She breathes him in deeply, then lets go of his hand. She looks straight into his eyeshields. The adoration shining from her dark eyes jolts him. He reaches into her mind and senses her deepest desires.

"Do you wish me to leave?" she asks.

He considers a moment, studying her features. There is no sound but that of his respirator. Certainly she is pleasing to look at. Hair black like her namesake cascades down to her shoulders, he can see that under the hood. She is small, slender. Her face is youthful, but it is difficult to guess her age. Her shoulders are unbowed by the heavy cloak she wears, so like his masters', and her bearing shows strength and pride. He wonders suddenly who she is, why she really came. But whatever the challenge, he must rise to it.

At last he speaks. "No. Stay. I should not disobey my master. Indeed, I cannot. Whatever orders he gave you, you may carry them out."

He sees her nod in response. He places a massive hand on her shoulder. He leads her into the even dimmer recesses of his chamber. There is a bed there, a few chairs. Although the bed is large and sumptuous, it looks seldom used.

As if in response to her unspoken question, he says "I have not had a use for this bed in quite a long time. Will we have need for it?"

She nods again, eyes never leaving him. He marvels at her fearlessness, her apparent comfort with his appearance. Most people cannot bear to be this close to me for so long, he thinks. Perhaps this is why she was chosen. Curious, he waits for her next move.

She takes his hand again, the left. In small circular motions she rubs the skin beneath the concealing leather, stimulating the only skin she can reach. Now, looking up into his eye coverings, she makes as if to remove the glove.

He hesitates, then follows her lead and reveals a wide-fingered, pale hand. With a finger, he reaches out to touch the side of her face.

A shiver goes through her, both of fear and anticipation. He is going through with it then, she thinks. She sits down on the bed and he follows. His hand returns to her face. Tilting her head, she nuzzles his fingers and runs her tongue along one, but allows him complete control. With her own hand, she caresses the smooth planes of his mask, feeling the dry, steady breath on her hand.

Now she unpins her cloak and lets it fall around her, revealing her true appearance for the first time. She has pale skin and well-proportioned features. The bone structure of her face is chiselled and strong, she wears no cosmetics and needs none. An aura of confidence surrounds her, even serenity. Her dark eyes glimmer as the dark lord feels the texture of her unfettered hair.

The heart within the armor leaps as she reveals herself, a soul long buried peers out between the layers of stone. Part of him fears this, the other part welcomes it. He is weary of waiting. He resolves to test her fortitude. He crushes her to his chest, pulling her partially into his lap to do so. He lets her feel his strength as he holds her unresisting body against the unforgiving plates that encase him. Still, she makes not a sound.

"So, how am I to 'relax?'" he hisses into her ear. "Did my Master tell you what to do?" He squeezes her a little tighter, hearing her breath catch, then lets go.

She turns to face him and rests her head on his chest.

"If you like, you can kill me. Or you can take your pleasure in me, and then kill me. Or we can come together just this once, and then go our separate ways. But the Emperor wanted someone to give herself to you freely, the better to reward you. That person is with you now."

He considers again, costs and benefits whirring through his mind. It has been too long, he thinks. Such an opportunity may never come again. If she does please me, I may even let her live. Decision made, he feels his body fill with longing and half-forgotten desires. His breathing and heart rate remain the same, but they would be racing if not under control. He lets his good hand slip within her robes to touch the soft skin beneath, even to offer pleasure. He hears her sigh at his obvious acceptance, dimly feels her press against him.

Raven is filled with joy. At last, her dream is to be realized. This magnificent warrior is to be hers, if only in one way and for one night. Now, if she can only help him share this light that warms her heart-

He strokes her thigh through the silken material. Inch by inch the cloth is eased up along the strong limb, torturing himself as well as her. He makes himself wait, allows the need to build up in himself, savors the sweet agony. Finally he has had enough. He reaches for the fastening to his codpiece.

She feels a hand moving, then a warm swell of leather against her rump. She rubs against it, reaches down to caress. She feels him shudder. She strokes the heat beneath the surface, rubs along the satisfying bulge. She squeezes a little, marvelling at this evidence of virility beneath the casing of his training and personality. A moan escapes him, distorted and rumbling but obvious. She feels for the clasp, opens the arching fly. When he falls out, bobbing and eager, she gasps in shock and pleasure. As his hands roam over her, hers roam on him, squeezing and tickling. She longs to lick him, but is afraid to presume this much.

"Go ahead," he says.

With a little sob of relief, she curls up and touches her tongue to the quivering tip of his saber. Lapping gently as first, she increases in speed as her arousal rises. He grows against her, pulsing with dark energy. All at once she is on her back and his hard body is covering her.

"You can finish later," he says, "but I will have you first."

Her eager answer is to wrap her legs around him and pull his weight more fully over her while lifting her robe to expose herself. His hard belt attachments and chest plate press uncomfortably into her flesh, but she still welcomes it.

His cloak, warm and dark, covers them both as he positions himself. He places the burning head against her moist opening. He stops then, testing both of them, torturing himself. He shakes with anticipation. He feels her suppress her own movements, not wanting to disappoint. Now, at last, he thrusts, forcing most of his prodigious length inside in one swift movement. She is almost uncomfortably tight, and he waits a moment longer before drawing out and plunging even further in.

She pushes her face against his chest armor, struggling a little at the intense feeling. Her hands barely meet behind him and she holds tight as little Force-jolts lick across her skin. Now he moves, fast and hard, almost causing her pain but not quite. She climaxes quickly, there is no choice in his overwhelming presence. She projects her pleasure to him and hears him gasp. Inside her she feels a shuddering, an extra throbbing along with the steady movement. Surprisingly though, she does not feel his wetness, he just moves faster. She wraps her legs around him too, letting him bear some of her weight. For many minutes they move together, until she feels the fire overtake her again.

Her writhing brings him suddenly to peak and this time he cannot hold back. Now he moves for a little longer and then relaxes, rolling them both on their sides so that he is still in her. He allows himself the luxury of relaxation, if only for a few moments. He holds her, and she does not stop him. In fact, she seems to enjoy it. A lazy hand reaches up to stroke his faceplates, exploring again the complex shape. A sound like a purr comes out of her, and she is smiling.

Part of him smiles back, basking in her enjoyment as well as his own. He feels her soft hand caressing him again, making him swell surprisingly quickly. Now she curls down and he feels a warm, wet tongue gently stroking his most sensitive skin. The wetness circles him, then moves up and down along his length, sending shivers through his body. Now there is suction, soft at first and then harder, drawing more and more into the increasingly warm mouth. His moan is muffled, but he knows she hears his pleasure. When his tension rises within him, he arches against her. But then, she is gone. He sits up, trying to draw her back to him.

Raven stands a few feet from the bed. She is shivering, hands crosses in front of her chest. Her eyes are large and lost. She looks at her Dark Lord, sees his unfulfilled arousal. She shakes her head, sharply. At last, her decision is made.

"I can't do this. I can't leave you like this!"

She moves to him, pushes him back down and climbs on top of him. Seating herself astride, she eases herself onto his throbbing self and begins to ride. Still moving, she lays herself along his body, putting her arms around his neck. Now she grips and squeezes him with her inner muscles, building up a rhythm. She undulates her hips ever more rapidly, ignoring the chafe of his armor and loving the feel of the leather against her skin. Soon she feels him bucking up against her, and then his pleasure washes over her and takes her with it.

He rolls on his side and holds Raven in his arms. They are still linked, and he allows himself to remember the sweetness of being close with someone without intending harm. She lies against him, fearless, and he admired her for it. Now he pushes her away, helps her to a more comfortable position beside him. He notices that his chestplate had made small dents in her soft skin.

"You said that you couldn't do something. What was it?" His voice, for once, is not menacing, only curious. He watches her face change from relaxation to worry, forehead wrinkling as she thinks about her answer.

"I suppose I can tell you, I will be killed anyway for my disobedience." She looks into his mask, summoning her strength. "I was indeed sent by the Emperor, but not as a reward. I was to be a lesson. I was told to go to you, to arouse you, to bring you happiness, then to abandon you when your pleasure was greatest. You would learn not to trust, to forget the pleasure that a woman can bring. You, he said, would fall further into his control." Her eyes dart from side to side. "He wants more than a servant, he wants a slave."

Vader growls, but not at her. His left hand reaches up to stroke her hair.

"Then Raven must die."

Raven shivers with fear, but presses closer to him, baring her throat. "I am ready. I would rather die by your hand than by his."

Vader laughs softly. "Do not fear, little one. You have pleased me as few have. I said only that Raven must die. You may survive to do as you will, to live in my protection or to wander the galaxy. I am not so cruel as some might say, and service to me is always rewarded."

Then he holds her close to him for one last time. Soon he must go back to the game of fear and control that he hates, but is so necessary.

In the morning, Raven was dead. Her death was duly reported to the Emperor, along with other small matters of state. But during that night cycle, a small scoutcraft left the hangar bay of the Executor for an unknown location. And Vader, during his time alone, let the occasional ghost of a smile cross his lips.

END

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