A/N: Written for Season of Kink 2018: Obedience.

"Master." Bastila bows her head and leans forward till her lips come to rest against Revan's inner thigh and the loose strands of her fringe tickle Revan's skin. Bastila has waited all day and night for this very moment, never leaving her master's side unless she is ordered away, and never hesitating to carry out the most basic of instructions. The more she shows her loyalty, the more inclined her master seems to be to show her some level of affection. "How may I serve you?"

You could be silent for starters, Revan thinks, tilting her head and studying Bastila closely. This woman, this former Jedi who's been tortured till she reached her breaking point and turned to the Dark Side, who traded masters as easily as she blinked, has been by her side since she and Carth found and rescued her on Telos. And throughout all that, from Dantooine to Manaan and even in that cantina on Tattooine, not once did Bastila stop talking — but now?

Now she is obedient.

Now, Bastila is finally quiet.

"Look at me," Revan commands.

Her voice borders on cold and harsh but it's the kind of harsh that makes Bastila ache. The kind she desperately wants to serve and fuck and kneel before. When she lifts her gaze to stare up at her master, her beautifully violent and corrupt Darth Revan, a shiver runs down Bastila's spine and blooms warmth beneath her robes. The intensity of Revan's heated gaze makes her clench in anticipation and she finds herself idly trailing her fingers along Revan's upper leg till they reach the crook of her thigh.

She shifts on her knees and rubs her thighs together, trying her best to ignore the growing wetness that throbs and torments her. Trapped beneath the confines of her black robes, Bastila's chest rises and falls with each breath she takes, and her core continues to weep for attention. Bastila tilts her head back further and continues to stare, lips parted only just and cheeks flushed red with overwhelming heat.

"Such a good apprentice," Revan murmurs, stroking Bastila's hair in the same way one would pet a collared kath hound, and leans back on her throne. She parts her legs wider to allow Bastila more room to settle between them then waits, tilting her head and withdrawing her hand so as to rest her chin on it. "But I wonder. . ."

Yes? Her master wonders what? Whatever it is, Bastila will do it. She'd gladly kill her own mother (the woman abandoned her to the Jedi, after all) if her master asked her to. Over the past year, she's come to realise there is nothing Revan could ask of her that she would refuse to do.

The thought comes to her as a sudden realisation. Many times has she felt Bastila's touch but never has she denied Bastila both her own touch and pleasure. This could be fun, Revan thinks. Watching Bastila writhe and silently beg for release till she's so wound up that something as little as a kiss could set her off? Yes, she smiles to herself, this sounds fun indeed. "Remove your undergarments."

Bastila does as ordered, reaching under her robes to remove her bra and underwear, and sets them aside in plain view. The meeting hall is empty and silent, just like her mind, as Bastila kneels and waits for further instruction.

"Sit with your hands between your thighs and lower legs."

Again, she follows Revan's instruction without hesitation. Sure enough, Bastila realises not a moment too soon that in this position she'll be unable to touch herself, or her master. She catches the whine in her throat before it escapes between her lips and forces herself to remain ever so still. The order will be given if and when her master desires something.

"Now, my pretty little apprentice—" Revan pats her bare thigh "—rest your head here, and tell me what you want to do to me. In detail."

Tell her what she wants to do . . . Bastila swallows and nods. Of all things she was not expecting that. Her master wants to talk. Just talk.

"I would," Bastila begins, cautious as she tries to think of where and how she'd begin. In her mind, it's always Revan in charge. Revan who gives the orders and guides her through each step. Bastila enjoys being the apprentice too much to ever want to change positions. "I would tear your robes off."

Revan strips off her own robes till she's only in her undergarments. She slides her hand down over her stomach and pubic mound, pushes beneath her underwear, and makes quiet gasps as she feels how slick she is. All the while, Revan never breaks eye contact with Bastila. "And then?"

"I'd kiss you. Softly."

"Tell me more."

Three words. A simple command but a firm one. Bastila nods and squashes her hands harder under thighs so she can't move them, nor be tempted to touch anything. As great as the temptation is, Bastila knows her place. "I'd touch you. Slowly. Wherever you ask me to."

"Why?"

Bastila shudders at the pressure of her own arousal against her leg, the intense ache that's built in the pit of her stomach, and the throb of her muscles that's become far more pronounced. Perhaps her master doen't quite understand but she was born to serve. Waking up each morning knowing she'll be in such close proximity to Revan turns her on. Being ordered to do something arouses her and it's that very knowledge which nudges her towards Revan's bed every night. "You're my master."

Revan slips her hand free of her underwear then shoves the material down her legs. She's too hot, too aroused; this night will end only one way and Revan wants Bastila's mouth now. Those lips, that tongue; Bastila's mouth will do exactly what it's told and Revan is certainly going to enjoy it. "Remove it," she says, "then kiss me."