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Moff Tarkin smoothed out his uniform as he stood before the closed doors of the Galactic Emperor's office. Why the Emperor had ordered for him to come here he did not know. The construction of the Death Star was progressing rapidly and without incidents and Tarkin's last report on the matter lay only a few days in the past.
Tarkin stood at attention when the massive doors to the Emperor's office slid open, signaling that His Excellency was now ready to see him.
Tarkin strode into the large room, head held high but eyes averted and came to a halt before the throne the Emperor was seated on, bowing deeply and greeting: “Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Moff Tarkin,” the Emperor spoke, “I am delighted to see you.” A smile was visible on the weathered face that was otherwise obscured by the hood of his dark robes.
As Tarkin straightened out his back, clasping his hands behind his back, he spotted Darth Vader's tall form lurking off to the side of the throne. Tarkin mentally scolded himself for not having noticed Vader sooner.
Vader had a reputation among the Imperial forces. Known for his frequent violent outbursts against Troopers as well as high ranking officers, he was widely feared and disliked. Ever since he first met the man, (if one could even call him that... in passing, Tarkin had heard his Troopers whispering about a demon or cursed wraith inhabiting the blackness of that suit) Tarkin had been suspicious of Vader.
This uncontrolled and obviously rage-fueled attitude of Vader had no place in the Army of the Galactic Empire and Tarkin had frankly no idea why the Emperor chose to keep this ticking time bomb so close to his person.
“Moff Tarkin, I see you have noticed my apprentice,” the Emperor said, “it is my wish for you to get acquainted with him, as the two of you will be working together closely in the future.”
Tarkin raised his eyebrows. He wasn't certain if the Emperor knew about the disdain Tarkin harbored for Vader, wether this was some kind of test.
“Please, have a seat Moff.” The Emperor extended his arm in a slow, outward gesture, the paleness of his thin, veined hand stark against the blackness of his robes.
“Yes, your Highness.” Tarkin murmured with a short bow, turning around to look for the chair the Emperor had indicated for him to sit in.
Behind Tarkin stood a metal chair upholstered with black leather that he could swear had not been there when he had walked into the room. Tarkin brushed it off. If he hadn't even managed to notice Vader when he came in, he had surely just missed the piece of furniture too. The low lighting which the Emperor preferred for all Imperial facilities was also to blame.
As he sat down in front of the dais the Emperor addressed Vader. “Come forth, my apprentice.” His tone was noticeably harsher when speaking to Vader.
When Vader moved to step down from the dais, he seemed like a statue come to life. There was a shocking quality to the way he slowly broke out of the perfectly still stance he had assumed beside the throne. It made Tarkin suddenly and terrifyingly aware of the fact that Vader was real and approaching him.
Vader stood in front of Tarkin's chair, close enough so that Tarkin, had he reached out his hand, could have touched him. The tall black silhouette loomed like a wall between Tarkin and the Emperor, obstructing the view.
“Kneel.” Tarkin heard the Emperor say behind Vader and as soon as the word had left his Excellency's lips, the massive shadow in front of Tarkin dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.
It was unnerving how even on his knees, Vader was still towering above Tarkin. This close, the constant, regular rasping of Vader's respirator rang deafeningly loud in Tarkin's ears.
What is happening, your Highness? Tarkin wanted to ask, but the high collar of his Imperial uniform felt suddenly too tight and so the question died in his throat.
The Emperor's voice demanded Tarkin's attention. “It is most unfortunate that you have not taken a liking to my new apprentice yet, Moff. You even had concerns about him harming me. Your worry for my wellbeing is most admirable but there is no need to be afraid.”
Tarkin's eyes snapped back and forth between the Emperor and Vader. The energy in the room had shifted and Tarkin, used to being in control, felt that usual dominance slip away rapidly.
With Vader cowering like a feral beast before him and the Emperor, whose motivations were normally clear to Tarkin now shrouded, holding on to Vader's invisible leash, Tarkin felt exposed and helpless.
The unfamiliar feelings swirled around wildly inside of Tarkin while he tried to maintain a professional, neutral expression, not allowing himself to show any weakness. Not in front of the Galactic Emperor and especially not in front of Vader.
The Emperor spoke again. “My dear apprentice would like to prove his loyalty and respect to you, Moff Tarkin. Please allow him to do so.”
Tarkin managed to stutter, voice small, “What.., what do you mean your Excellency?”
The Emperor didn't answer. Instead he told Vader, who looked tense down on his knees, “go on Lord Vader, don't make the Moff wait.”
For the first time, Vader spoke and the sound of his artificial voice sent chills down Tarkin's spine. “Yes, my Master.”
And then Vader leaned forward on his knees, closing in on Tarkin like a storm descending, his huge gloved hands coming to rest on Tarkin's thighs.
Tarkin couldn't help but flinch away, the color draining from his face and his hands clenching around the armrests of the chair. He was weirdly grateful for the fact that Vader was not looking directly at him, sparing Tarkin from having to stare into the void-like eyes of the helmet.
Vader paused for a moment, hesitant, and amidst the fear that was tightening around Tarkin's chest like an iron chain, the Moff still delighted in seeing Vader being knocked down a peg.
“Vader.” The Emperor's voice was cold, a warning, Tarkin's fear-clouded mind supplied.
Down in front of Tarkin, Vader flinched, his leather-clad hands tightened almost painfully on Tarkin's thighs. Vader lifted his head and Tarkin gazed upon his own reflection within the black eyes of Vader's mask. His distorted mirror image looked like a stranger to Tarkin, mouth hanging open foolishly and eyes huge.
The part of his mind that was still functioning screamed at him to get it together. How could he dare to be vulnerable in the presence of His Imperial Majesty, this has to be some kind of twisted test and Tarkin was failing it. This would surely have consequences for him and all the hard work he had put into climbing the ranks would have been for naught.
The sensation of Vader laying his large palm on the clothed bulge between Tarkin's legs ripped the Moff out of his stupor. Tarkin let out a noise that he was sure would cost him rank, were his men to hear it. And with horror Tarkin realized that he was half-hard in his uniform pants. It's the adrenaline, this is normal, it's not Vader and it's for sure not the Emperor... Tarkin tried to think.
Vader began unbuttoning Tarkin's pants with surprising gentleness. Ironically, Tarkin was grateful that the leather-coated mechanical hand wasn't cupping his genitals anymore, threatening to crush them at any moment. Once Vader had Tarkin's cock in his hand, Tarkin made an attempt to stop this madness.
“Your Imperial Majesty... I-, this-, this won't be necessary...” Tarkin managed to stutter.
“Moff Tarkin, I insist. And so does Lord Vader, do you not, my apprentice?”
Vader's head was so close to Tarkin's face now, that the horrid mask occupied most of Tarkin's field of vision and the constant noise of the respirator rang like white noise in his ears. “Yes, Master.” Vader rasped and even though Tarkin was aware that Vader was addressing the Emperor, the words made his cock twitch.
The gloved hand began squeezing and moving on Tarkin's cock and it should not have felt this good. Not the smooth leather of Vader's glove on Tarkin's skin, not the way Vader was so close to him, inhumanly large and with Tarkin completely at his mercy and most of all not the fact that the Emperor was watching and controlling all of this.
Tarkin was hard and leaking now in Vader's hand and fighting to keep his voice down. Shameful gasps managed to escape every once in a while, echoing sharp withing the walls of the room.
“Are you pleased, Moff?” the Emperor's question did not register immediately, Tarkin having to catch his breath and struggling to find an answer.
“I- ah-...”
“Is Lord Vader's performance not satisfactory? I am terribly sorry. Vader, is this the best you can do? Come on now and show the Moff a good time.”
Vader's hold on Tarkin's cock was firm and his strokes insistent. There was something robotic and monotonous about the movement, like Vader really was more machine than man, merely executing another order from his superior, total obedience, no questions asked.
And yet, Tarkin was hyper-aware of the fact that the thing kneeling before him was a ruthless killing machine, held back from striking only by the Emperor's orders.
A new rush of fear overcame Tarkin, his sweating hands scrabbling at the armrests and tensed body twisting, trying to get away. But Vader held his cock in an iron grip and showed no signs of stopping his strokes any time soon.
Just as Tarkin was about to say something in an attempt to make this stop, he saw Vader's other hand lift from his leg and curl up slightly. Tarkin felt a phantom hand close around his throat. No, this was not happening! Tarkin had never been the unfortunate subject of Vader's trademark magic trick before, but now he understood the horror of it.
It took all of Tarkin's willpower to resist the urge of bringing his hands up to his neck in hopes of prying the hand away. Of course there was nothing he could do about it, so he opted to at least try to not look like a fool who thought he could win against Vader's cursed powers. Instead Tarkin's hands hovered in clenched fists above the armrests of the chair.
Vader's hand on Tarkin's cock tightened to the point of almost-pain and so did the invisible hold on his throat. Tarkin was gasping for air desperately, pathetic, high-pitched wheezes escaping him.
Vader had managed to build up a rhythm of strokes that sent chills after chills down Tarkin's spine and had his toes curling in his polished uniform boots.
Tarkin was kept just on the edge of consciousness by Vader's expertly controlled chokehold. He could feel and hear his own heartbeat behind his eyes, the sound intermingling with Vader's fake breaths and drowning out all other noises. Tarkin wanted to close his eyes but did not dare to do so. He feared that if he would even be able to open them again, the beast in front of him would have taken off it's mask and revealed that it really was a devil.
Tarkin's eyes were starting to roll back, out of his control. He was straining weakly against Vader's insistent movements. Wether he was trying to get away or begging with his body to finally be pushed over the edge Tarkin did neither know nor care anymore.
The Emperor spoke, and his voice sounded to Tarkin impossibly far away but at the same time like it was coming from within his own head, “Vader, the Moff is getting impatient, don't let him wait.”
At that, Vader quickened the pace of his previously slow and torturous strokes. Tarkin was shaking at this point, his chest rising and falling rapidly trying to draw air into his lungs, his rank insignia glinting in the light with each movement.
Tarkin's last sliver of control shattered as Vader rubbed his leather-clad thumb harshly over the leaking tip of Tarkin's cock. He shuddered and chocked through his orgasm, back arched off the chair and his vision whiting out at the edges.
Once Tarkin slumped back in the chair, Vader finally let go of both his neck and cock, which he tucked carefully back into Tarkin's pants. Tarkin's laboured breaths sounded almost as broken as Vader's in the silence of the room.
“As you can see, Moff Tarkin, there is no reason for concern when it comes to my dear apprentice. Rest assured that from now on, he will be delighted to please you in every way.”
At the Emperor's words, Vader seemed to shrink, hanging his head in submission and crawling a few feet backwards from were he sat between Tarkin's legs.
Tarkin could only stare at the both of them, shock evident on his face. How could this... creature that was capable of so much destruction be made into some kind of glorified pet-monster for the Emperor?
Tarkin realized it was his turn to answer. “I see, my Emperor,” he croaked, “thank you, your Imperial Majesty.”
The Emperor smiled again. “You are dismissed Moff Tarkin, return to your post.”
“Y-yes, your Highness.” Tarkin stood on shaky legs, almost forgetting to bow. He though it best not not to look at Vader again before he barged out of the room.
The doors to the Emperor's office slid shut behind Tarkin. He felt dizzy, as if everything that had just happened behind those gates had been a dream. But his bruised throat and spent cock were proof that it had been entirely real. Tarkin felt sick to his stomach.
But there was something else. A strange curiosity about the high he had felt when being at the mercy of two of the most powerful beings in the Galaxy. There was also the allure of a promise, the Emperor assuring Tarkin that he himself had power over Vader.
Moff Tarkin ran his hands down his chest to straighten out his disheveled uniform, pulling his collar back into shape. We shall see, he thought as he disappeared down the hallway.