Archive of Our Own ^beta

"There is an ancient Sith ritual to strengthen and restore health", says Vader. "Well, heretical by Sith standards. But you will find it too distasteful to consider."

"Why? Does it need you to kill someone?"

"Worse, from a point of view. It would require you to engage in intercourse with me."

"That's not so bad."

"I will not allow you to debase yourself to save my life. I would sooner kill myself, no matter the manner."

"It's not... debasement. I... had a thing for you since before I learned you "killed" my father. I always wanted to get to what's under that iconic armour."

"I am afraid you will find it deeply disappointing. I am a wreck that may not be worth salvage."

"Let me be a judge of that."

"I would just as soon see him dead," says Leia with a forced flippancy at the offer, and Luke feels his heart sink. He can perform the ritual but it might not be enough, and the idea of Vader still dying sends a sharp pain through his chest. But then Leia appears to reconsider, thank the stars.

"As long as I am allowed to hurt him. Choke him, bite him bloody... see him helpless and desperate. I think that might be its own reward."

Luke gives Vader a searching stare. Vader gives a slow nod of his helmet and Luke knows it's a genuine acquiescence.

"No permanent damage. Nothing life threatening. And either of us safewords, you stop."

"Safeword is Dooku", rumbles Vader. Just like that, preparations are underway.

"Atmospheric oxygen is in the thirties, should be enough for you as long as you do nothing strenuous. Just in case it isn't, there's a mask near your head that you can call with the Force, that's got pretty much pure oxygen, turned on by pressing it to your face and inhaling. Is that alright?"

"That will be sufficient. We may commence", and being more formal is apparently Vader's tell for nervousness, if that huge cyborg may even be nervous, just like fidgeting is Luke's and arguing is Leia's.

The suit comes off him slowly, gently, four hands working in tandem on unfamiliar tech as he sits on the edge of the table. Luke kisses the top of his head when it is revealed, sweet and familial.

"I want you to know we love you, father."

"Speak for yourself, Luke. I hate his robotic black guts. But not enough to let him die, apparently."

And Leia kisses him too, right above where his neck disappears into his armour, bites the scarred excuse of an ear hard, runs a hand over his chestplate, teasingly. He can smell her, flowers and feminine sweat, overwhelming in it's newness. Luke removes his mask then, kisses his lips, chaste and tentative.

"Father...", he says.

"Beautiful", whispers Leia, "to see my sworn enemy stripped and wrecked", but there is something else than hate in the way she kisses him, biting his lips, angry and lustful and reverent. "For an evil, burnt husk of a man, you sure have lovely lips and eyes." They work on him together, pauldrons, cloak, belt, chest and back plate, codpiece, bodyglove and if the sight of Luke kissing every inch of scarred chest revealed does not undo him, then the feeling of warm, soft lips on the burn, scarred, twenty-years untouched stump of his cock just might, and then force help him Luke actually sucks on it, the pleasure of the action mixing with slight pain as scars are stretched by his filling-out erection, and honestly, after twenty years in the suit, it barely even registers on his pain scale except to make it real.

"Prosthetics off, if that's possible. I want to see you truly helpless."

"They do come off. But I am never truly helpless. Not with the Force."

"Yes, but dismembering you is fun", Leia's smile is predatory but her hands, detaching his left arm, gentle. And no matter how long since it was cut off, seeing his arm take off him and set to the side is somehow odd. The other joins it, and he has a fleeting sensation of being at the twins mercy.

"Can I say it's a pleasure to see you unarmed? Or would that be... unsuited to the occasion?" quips Leia and he can't help but laugh, a wheezy, raspy giggle of a sound - that joke is so him.

"I'll have you know that suit cost an arm and a leg", he quips back once he can breathe again, and Leia smiles at him, radiant, shrugging out of her jumpsuit like she just remembered he is the only one getting naked, one smooth movement that ends with the thin material pooling on the floor around her kicked-off boots and her completely naked, because apparently, a lack of underwear is hereditary, small, soft breasts pressed to him as she kisses his jaw. He curses inwardly being unable to touch them, cup them in his hands, pinch the nipples until they turned even pinker - then, coming up with a truly wicked idea, focuses on them with his telekinetic powers, seeing with satisfaction the princess jump and blush as she feels an unseen force - pun intended - pinching and tugging her nipples.

"Don't forget yourself, Darth, you are at our mercy. Could you take off his legs, Luke?"

And Leia lifts him, bare torso against her chest, because without the armour he is light enough for it, letting Luke slide his bodyglove out from under him and down to his thighs, baring the points where his prosthetics attach to work on them. He is still kissing the revealed skin as he goes, nipping it like it will make a difference through the scarring - and then, Vader's legs are disconnected, his feeling somehow condensed by being confined to what is left of his natural body. Leia helps him lie down, then, gently, while Luke strips down himself, then, she places a hand over his neck and squeezes, lips pressed to his, other hand stroking her clit, keeping it up until his vision goes black.

No sooner than he has come back to his senses, she presses on his neck again, a mere ghost of a touch but inflexible nonetheless.

"Are you trying to kill me princess? Your brother might not stand for that."

"Not at all lord Vader, I intend to torture you", and kisses him, just a bit, biting his lip hard on her way in.

Vader thinks he might laugh at that, at how much what she considers torture pales in comparison with his reality, and he throws his head back, and she bites him again, blunt little teeth breaking scarred skin like she's trying to add another scar, and he is overwhelmed, by her roughness, her passion, the no less passionate but kinder worship of her brother who is busy sucking a bruise into his thigh just above where it ends like he believes his passion can bring full feeling back to dead nerves and burnt skin. But no matter how helpless he looks without his limbs, no matter how pathetic, he can still give as good as he gets with the Force. He reaches out, just a tendril of his power, brushing over her clit, the smoothest touch she had ever felt there yet firm enough to make her moan, hand squeezing his neck reflexively.

"More, deeper", she gasps, pressing into the ghost touch, "that's an order, Lord Vader". And she kisses him until he can taste blood, see black spots.

There was never an order he was happier to carry out, he thinks, slipping two ghosty fingers into her wet entrance, spreading her, thrusting into her in a rhythm that she matches, ignoring the darkness encroaching his vision. He crooks fingers he no longer possesses, pressing on the sweet spot inside her, making her cry out, bloody lips parted delectably, riding the ghost digits like she wishes to wring the life from them.

And Luke's fingers, for their part, are gentle when they slide inside him, teasing flesh that hasn't been touched that way for years, cautious despite the fact that that Vader would really agree to anything being done to him at this point - and oh, Luke's scissoring his fingers slowly, kissing the scarred, burned remains of his dick and it's still pleasant, more the sentiment than the sensation.

"Look at me, Imp trash", hisses Leia and, when he turns to her, she kisses him yet again, hard, biting his scarred lip, raking fingers over his bald skull, other hand gentle over his heart, until he is lightheaded again, until she's swimming in his vision as she leans away, sweet political smile full of something predatory.

"It's such a pleasure to watch you suffocate intimately, Lord Vader," she purrs, bucking into where she is spread open on nothing, dripping wet.

She's so beautiful, he thinks, so perfect, the face of an angel and the spirit of a Sith Lord.

"The pleasure is mine, your majesty," he rasps and is rewarded by a slap to his face, by another biting, suffocating kiss, by nails raking down his chest like she's trying to add her own signature to the impressive landscape of scars that Kenobi and the lava left.

"More", hisses Leia into his mouth, "more", and he complies, squeezing another ghost finger into her.

Luke presses another.finger into him and he tries to thrust onto it, tries to get any leverage with what is left of his body, but the boy pets him soothingly, urging him to lie back down. "Patience, father. I am going to take you, just not yet." But he does press into him deeper, bolder, rougher, edging into something that almost might have been pain a lifetime ago. His other hand, the robotic one, flits off Vader's side onto Luke's cock, fisting it loosely, slick and messy.

He feels it in the force, the messy tangle of impatient lust and pleasure that they are, all three, edging towards ecstasy. And when Luke does drive into him, there is nothing but pleasure, unaltered by his injuries and overwhelming by that virtue. Luke stills, careful until Vader rasps at him to move, then begins a deep rhythm that unconsciously mimics Leia and Vader's, taking care to hit his prostate every time, so close to orgasm from something so intense yet unwilling to come before his father. And for a split second he sees himself through Luke's eyes - maimed and scarred but still victorious, beautiful, desirable.

He feels overwhelmed, by Luke taking him, by Leia choking the breath out of him again as she rides his fingers - with just the Force, her fingers busy scratching him bloody, and even through the haze in his mind he is proud - by the Force echoes of pleasure, circling through the three of them, stronger with each reverberation. And then he is coming, feeling wet on him, inside him, the twenty years of suffering lifted away... he blacks out.

When he comes to, Luke is holding the mask to his face and both twins are pressed against him, thin blanket covering the three - and he feels better.