Chapter Text
Not until he touched Kenobi’s lightsaber later that night and felt the man’s hands catching his shaking body as he fell into those waiting arms; not until he felt those familiar lips close firm around him, his hips thrusting violently upwards as that warm, tight, wet heat swallowed him entirely down, did he at last explode, moaning brokenly in finally realized relief, as wave after wave of his release swept over and through him, until he was at last drained, his prick finally, finally, limp and flaccid against his stomach. Often, he blacked out from the force his orgasm, finding himself eventually in Kenobi’s arms, listening as the older Jedi murmured sweet nothings in his ear as his hands skimmed over Anakin’s skin, touching him all over and soothing tension in his muscles.
Vader endured a month of this sweet torture. For an entire month he wandered through his duties like the robot most believed him to be, the only moments he felt anything were when he was trying to passionately fuck his ever-aching cock into and against the nearest hard surface. He was desperate enough to see a medical droid, who prescribed medications which Vader never took; those moments where he burned and throbbed and ached for that release were the only ones in which he had felt alive in decades. At night he lay, exhausted, in Obi-Wan’s arms and tried to soak up as much of the other man’s presence as was possible. They had sex less and less in the dream world as the weeks passed. Oh, Obi-Wan always got him off as soon as he arrived, releasing the all-consuming arousal which built ever higher throughout the day, but then they would lie in each other’s arms, fingers roaming as they explored one another’s bodies leisurely, and began to talk to one another. Vader never realized he had so much he needed to say to the other man.
“You were always too passionate for your own good, my Anakin,” Vader heard him murmur once, his clever fingers skating down the muscled planes of the younger man’s stomach, before he dipped below to fondle Anakin’s balls and swipe his finger along the messy length of his dick. Anakin felt that exhausted organ give yet another twitch, felt a spark shoot through his body, and felt himself being dragged out of satiated lethargy.
“You feel everything so intensely, without managing it or attempting to control it. And then you suppressed every desire except hatred and revenge for over 20 years – channeled every need your body possessed, every bit of longing for companionship and touch” – and here he swirled that finger around the tip of Anakin’s prick, rubbing along the shaft. Anakin felt heat flood through him, felt his cock stir and start to stiffen yet again. He moaned, exhausted and aroused in equal measure, lifting his shaking hips, and Obi-Wan obliged him by wrapping his hand entirely around that rapidly swelling member, pulling in long, even strokes.
After several moments, during which Anakin released little breathless gasps of pleasure as he was brought back to full hardness again, his hips undulating indolently under his Master’s slow, deliberate ministrations, Obi-Wan paused. Anakin mewed a bit, his heavy eyelids fluttering open, before he felt his Master roll on top of him. He groaned, helplessly, as he was completely covered by Obi-Wan. “Now this, everything between us, is completely overwhelming and addicting to you, because you have allowed yourself to feel again. At least a little bit. And this,” he tweaked Anakin’s nose, before lowering his head to speak against Anakin’s ear, his low voice sending vibrations through Anakin and causing him to shiver in pleasure and shift his hips. His erect cock brushed Obi-Wan’s and he moaned loudly, his back arching even further at the sensation, and subsequently rubbed his now-throbbing prick along the entire length of his Master’s. He delighted in Obi-Wan’s resultant indrawn breath. He did it again. “What’s happening between us, here, it is consuming you utterly, Anakin,” his Master said, after a breathless minute. He pulled back a bit and then forcefully rocked his hops against Anakin’s. The younger man cried out, trying to raise his hips and shove their groins together again when Obi-Wan pulled back and almost sat up. “So we’re going to try something a bit different this time. And then Obi-Wan turned him into a weeping, begging, moaning mess of want and need once more before bringing him over that edge again and again until he found calm and peace at last.
That next night Vader woke from lying in Obi-Wan’s arms to find himself, naked and limbless save for the metal right arm, on his own rough, cool white sheets. He was alone once more, except for the constant presence of Kenobi’s lightsaber. The room was silent around him, and only the harsh ragged breaths that he took from his scarred lungs broke the artificial stillness. Outside, he knew the Emperor’s personal guards patrolled and the lava sill flowed, unceasing and burning the sulfurous landscape. He was physically and mentally exhausted, his body sore and aching from overuse. Glancing down, he observed his cock standing taut and erect, jutting up from the curls of his pubic hair, hard and engorged yet again. It would only take him rolling over and rutting haphazardly into the sheets for it to begin aching once more for release. At the thought of that coming friction, his stiff cock gave a twitch, before swelling even larger and beginning to throb slowly. He moaned softly, exhaustion making him see double, before reaching his metal hand up despairingly towards his heavily-inflated dick and grasping it tight in an almost-bruising grip.
He pulled at his prick sluggishly, his arm shaking in fatigue, his strokes uneven and messy, until he could feel that delicious pressure once more burning through his veins. Then he very slowly rolled over until he was fully on his stomach. His painfully inflamed groin was crushed ruthlessly beneath him, his throbbing cock tight between Vader’s body and the firm mattress. Sparks of pleasure raced through him at the compression his distended groin was now placed under. After a moment to luxuriate in the sensation, he tried to use his overstrained muscles to jerk his hips forward, driving his swollen penis harder into the unyielding bed, constricting his engorged groin still further. But he was too tired, his limbs uncooperative. Listlessly, unsteadily, he rutted into the sheets, rolling his hips again and again and feeling pleasure ache deep in his gut, fluttering in small bursts of pleasure, but his movement slowed after several minutes, growing uneven and shaky as he exhausted his limited strength and it was no good. The most he could muster after several long minutes was a spasm, his engorged cock scraping against the sheets, until he stopped, trembling in weariness. He tried once more, thrusting weekly, distantly feeling the scratch of that rough cloth against his cock, dim pleasure undulating through him, but he managed to move even less with each subsequent thrust, his movements growing ever slower and slower, the waves of pleasure mellowing again. He was so drained he couldn’t bring his arm around to slide between his buttocks and stretch himself. He couldn’t even lift his head to breathe properly, and his face was smashed into the sheets as well. He moaned in aroused frustration, his hips jerkily shifting as he finally just rubbed himself against the bed, a randy teenager with his first erection once more, utterly desperate for any friction at all. Nothing was enough. At last, wailing softly, he rolled back over, his hand going back down to his now-hugely enlarged cock, trying to be gentle with himself as he stroked and pulled, massaged and kneaded his groin, skated over his balls, fondling them carelessly, when all he wanted was as much friction and heat as quickly as possible as he got himself off.
Eventually, he was too worn-out to continue even that. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he looked down as his burned, scarred and broken body. His cock was still fully engorged, red and puffy and throbbing. His groin was covered in bruises and scratches from where he had ruthlessly rutted himself against metal walls and wooden bedposts. Only an hour ago, he had brought himself to the brink of orgasm by grinding back against the bedpost and using the Force to swallow his cock in warm heat. Now he couldn’t even manage that. Who could ever want him like this? He couldn’t even jerk himself off anymore, and the only thing he could concentrate on these days was his near-constant erection, his burning need to be taken and filled and brought to orgasm by a ghost, caused by memories of a man he had killed years ago! Hopelessly, he tried to thrust up into his fist, but nothing helped. The stunted, withering stumps of his other limbs were useless. The formerly hard muscles he had unconsciously taken for granted as a Jedi had gone flaccid and turned to fat and flab after long years in the suit. He was pasty pale, his eyes rheumy and weak, and he was covered in the rough, folded skin of former burns. He had had so much new skin grafted on that most of it wasn’t even his.
His cock twitched again and began to leak even as the tears grew. He pulled at it hopelessly. He was pathetic. He couldn’t even summon his usual, all-consuming anger – that anger which had always sustained him as Vader – because he was too aroused. All he could think of was his need for something, anything, to bring him to that high and drive him over it. All he wanted was that final release, to wake up in the morning and wank himself and know relief before that next wave of arousal hit him. Despair flooded him, his hand fell back useless to the cum-smeared sheets, and he turned his face away from the despicable sight he made. Who could ever desire….this.
And then he felt warm arms around him. “Anakin,” that beloved voice called softly, commanding him to open his eyes again and look at him. Vader’s heavy eyes opened, finding his Master’s face hovering above him, auburn beard almost entirely grey and lines of stress and grief lining his face. But his clear blue-grey eyes were tender and understanding. “Master,” he sobbed, begged. For what, he did not know.
Obi-Wan’s gentle fingers brushed away his tears. “You’re still beautiful like this, dear one,” he whispered in that wonderful voice. “Still so very beautiful.” He made love to Vader slowly then, mouth on his abused cock, fingers entering Vader, achingly slow, careful and precise, until Vader was moaning in pure want once more and Obi-Wan eventually seated himself deep within Vader’s much-abused body. “Anakin, my Anakin,” the older man groaned softly, grunting as Vader reached down with his metal arm to haul the man even deeper into him. Obi-Wan rocked his hips slowly then, until he was buried as far as he could go, his arms trembling above him as Vader shamelessly bucked and shuddered beneath him. His arms cradled Vader’s head, lips skimming over the now-bald dome, brushing over his near-sightless eyes, across his heavily-scarred cheeks, as he drove into him, bringing him to release with a hand wrapped tight around his cock, and soft words of praise and adoration which echoed over and over in Vader’s ears long after he fell further into slumber.
When he awoke the next morning all he felt was peace, despite the aching in his limbs.