Written as a present for my wife's 30th birthday, something we've talked about a few times, but haven't really done anything with until now. Title comes from Lady GaGa's "Swine." Hints at non-con, hence the rating, but contains no actual sex.
Maybe I Should Have a Little More Just to Stay Out of My Mind
1.
He knows the Senator of Alderaan just well enough to know what will make him most likely to crack. Likewise, Bail Prestor Organa knows more than a little about Emperor Palpatine's newly-minted Dark Lord of the Sith – and being good at self-preservation like he is, he knows to keep most of that knowledge to himself.
A minimal amount of torture is yet necessary, and Bail's dark eyes are troubled as he rubs his bruised throat, but a deal is soon struck. "The Empire thanks you for your cooperation," Vader intones in his tell-tale monotone, footsteps echoing purposefully in his wake.
2.
It doesn't take long; not that Bail expects it to – Vader was a Jedi once, after all, and a skilled hunter – but maybe that's worse because he's not sure he's ready to face Obi-Wan yet, not sure he can do this, … but then, there he is, as bedraggled as he was on Polis Massa, looking as though he's aged twenty years in roughly two months, standing in the center of Bail's little-used throne room, wrists and ankles shackled.
The collar surprises him; thin and sophisticated looking, he balks when Vader presses it into his hands, masked face expressionless, though if this latest incarnation of Anakin Skywalker bears any resemblance to his predecessors, he's most likely smirking. "Put it on him," he commands with lethal softness, and Bail wills his hands not to shake. This is wrong, he thinks, he can't, and then a gloved hand grips the shackled man by the scruff of his beard. "Look at your new Master, Obi-Wan," Vader taunts, and Obi-Wan wordlessly obeys. His eyes, the color not easily classified, gaze with mournful respect upon Bail's face. The device clicks into place at the nape of Obi-Wan's neck, and settles heavily just above protruding collarbones.
3.
Bail gives him a wide berth for the first few days, not requiring him to speak, or even to join him for meals. He's not chained to the dank walls of a dungeon anymore – in fact, Bail grants him to go nearly anywhere within the walls of his expansive palace, with the promise that Obi-Wan will accompany him on outings off-planet eventually – but he's still a prisoner.
"It's the best scenario in these times, Ben, surely you understand that." Bail's hands are light upon his shoulders, but Obi-Wan still fights back revulsion at his touch. "He could have killed you," the Senator breathes in his ear; it tickles a little, reminds him cruelly of happier times. "But he didn't, because of me," Bail continues, and Obi-Wan's sagging shoulders seem to be taken as a sign of consent, because the other man is pressing himself lengthwise against the back of Obi-Wan's thin frame now, breath quickening. "It's because of me, Ben -"
"Because of you that he hunted me down like a dog, and then gave me to you as a pet?" Bail tenses, steps away. Obi-Wan doesn't move at all, waiting, it seems, to find out how Bail will react. He's property now, technically no better than chattel, to be beaten, starved, fucked into obedience, and while Bail used to appreciate Obi-Wan's sharp-tongued retorts, acknowledging on several occasions that Obi-Wan challenged him to think outside of his comfort zone, the fact of the matter is that he's sitting pretty underneath the Empire's collective thumb these days, and has no good reason to change that.
In the end, Bail does not strike him, or physically force him into submission; still, his breath comes in slightly accelerated puffs as he works to match Obi-Wan's placid demeanor. "It's not the worst thing, Ben, you'll see." His facial hair brushes softly against the side of Obi-Wan's face as he plants a soft kiss on his cheek. "I can keep you safe. We're together," he smiles, straightening, brushing imaginary dust from Obi-Wan's sleeve as an excuse to continue touching him. It's almost like what we planned, Ben, before you decided to go to Tatooine -"
"Please," Obi-Wan interjects, "do not mistake my obedience for complacency. I am here because I was dragged before you in chains."
Bail holds his hands up suppliantly. "Of course. Of course, Ben …"
This time, Obi-Wan visibly flinches away. "Don't call me that," he says, his voice barely a whisper now. "Please."
It's not a request Bail has to honor, but he does, because maybe, someday, complacency isn't such a monstrous thing to hope for. Still, he runs his fingertips along the back of Obi-Wan's arm before drawing himself away, the gesture heavy with meaning. "I'd like you to join me for dinner tonight in my private quarters, Obi-Wan," he tells him, and though the other man does not acknowledge this communication one way or another, Bail confidently tells his serving 'droid to set places at the table for two.
4.
It's not common for him to run into Breha – her and Bail seem to keep separate schedules, and, Obi-Wan suspects, largely separate bedrooms – and so seeing her step out from a long corridor one afternoon on his way to Bail's library is something of a surprise. Breha's regal gait is somewhat slowed by the bundle in her arms, and Obi-Wan finds himself gazing longingly – if a bit covertly, half-obscured by a pillar – for a glimpse of Padme's daughter, the shock of dark hair distinguishing her already from her twin brother.
Breha startles slightly when she notices Obi-Wan's close proximity, and then finally nods before turning away, speaking in low tones to Leia as they continue on their journey. Obi-Wan does not follow them; his mind swirls, however, eventually unfolding upon dark thoughts, such as how perfect it must have seemed to Vader to use his own child as leverage to the Organa family, suffering for an heir; how much easier it must have been for Breha to swallow the proof positive of her husband's continued infidelity by having her own project to occupy her time. He thinks of Luke, too, likely being raised by Palpatine's impersonal 'droids, and of Padme's hopeful, heartbroken face as she'd begged him to remain hopeful that this, too, would pass.
5.
The Emperor himself is paying a visit to Alderaan, which Obi-Wan knows days before Bail seeks him out, toting a tailor, who spends several minutes fussing over Obi-Wan's measurements, presumably for the creation of presentable formal attire in the style of Alderaanian dignitaries. "Your participation has been requested," Bail explains. "The collar will be worn, of course," he adds, "but the robes will mostly cover it up."
"What does my participation entail?" Obi-Wan's voice is carefully meted, but there is a wary edge to it that Bail has come to recognize over the past several months of frequent contact. Initially, he was compelled towards offering comfort, towards assuring Obi-Wan that, after all, things could be worse. Now, however, there's an increasingly familiar satisfaction that pools in his stomach at Obi-Wan's discomfort; an appreciation for how vulnerable this man, this Jedi, truly is.
He seizes upon this rush of heady, dark emotion today, nestling purposefully alongside Obi-Wan once the tailor scurries off, running a hand possessively over the other man's chest. "You'll look delectable in soft blues," he tells him; and then, because it's not as though this isn't his for the taking, adds, "and out of them, as the Emperor wishes, of course."
Obi-Wan's face colors, the meaning clear. Still, his voice is steady. "Of course," he responds, and doesn't pull away when Bail brushes a kiss across his throat. "Ben," the Senator murmurs, and his leg fits between Obi-Wan's thighs, parting them. "Come," he commands, and Obi-Wan follows, his gaze dull, though his eye color yet defies classification. Still, it's the only part of Obi-Wan that does not prostrate itself in pliable defeat, and Bail smiles triumphantly and prepares to stake his claim, to take, at last, what the Empire has graciously gifted to him for his own obedience.