Title: Raven's Wings

Author: Darth Tiamat

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 reccomend that story. I wrote this before I read that, and now I

can't find a better name.

Rating: NC17, of course!

Category: Romance, I'm afraid.

Pairing: Vader/original female

Feedback: This is my very first posting to anybody, so be nice. However,

my address is tchel@u.washington.edu

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 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 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 chiseled 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 heartrate

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, marveling 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, nut 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.