Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, and no money is being made from this.

Title: Punishment and Darkness

Summary: Very dark. After the destruction of the Death Star, Luke struggles with feelings of guilt about his actions, and seeks 'punishment'. Rated M for slash, mature themes, torture, BDSM, incest.

Warning: Seriously – Luke goes looking for masochistic male/male sex, and finds it (oral and anal). In later chapters there will also be torture and BDSM, with Luke/Vader slash (i.e. incest). I have tried to keep the descriptions within the guidelines for this site, but the themes are still very explicit. If those sound to you like the ingredients of an interesting story, carry on.


The transfer was uneventful, though he managed to 'persuade' the guards to give him a few punches to the gut as a farewell present. But his heart hadn't really been in it, he was looking forward to meeting some genuine interrogators for a change.

He had decided on a different strategy for these ones. Silence had not provoked any reaction, presumably they were used to silent Rebel prisoners. This time around he planned to give them his name and rank, and to tell them from the start that he had been the pilot who destroyed the Death Star, and to appear to gloat over the deaths he had caused. That ought to get him their full attention.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect. After the first session, he was simply locked in his cell and ignored apart from meals, which were delivered and cleared in silence. He sat on the bunk and hugged his knees - they must have decided to simply execute him without any further questioning. After all what else could they need to know before deciding his fate?

But the following day he was taken through to an interrogation room and strung up again. This time when the interrogator arrived, Luke was sure he had got the attention of an expert. A droid hovered behind him, cutting into flesh, injecting drugs to keep him alert, administering electric shocks, as the interrogator asked his questions.

At first Luke answered every question the same - name, rank, 'Death Star'. But, oddly, every answer was punished, whether or not it was true. He grew confused. What did they want him to say? The interrogator was looking at him intently now, seemingly fascinated by his reactions. Luke blushed, if the interrogator knew he wanted to be hurt, what would he do?

The answer became clear very quickly, as the interrogator took a syringe from the table and injected it into Luke's arm. A numbness spread through his system. The droid continued to cut after each answer, but Luke felt no pain, only the strange slicing sensation. Blood was running off him now, but there was no thrill of pain. He dropped his head and wept.

The interrogator watched him for a minute or two, then lifted his head up with a tug to the hair and spoke. "My orders for you are unusual but very clear. You may remember that you are a Rebel, you may remember that you destroyed the Death Star, but by the time you leave me, you will answer only to 'prisoner'. Any name you think you have will be gone. I will do whatever is necessary to achieve this end, no matter how you have been trained to withstand interrogation techniques. Do you understand?"

Luke nodded. He understood.


At first he had fought it, had repeated his name silently in his head at every opportunity. But soon there was a confusing mess of drugs in his system, sessions of pain, sessions where he watched his body being beaten and broken without any pain, sessions in a bacta tank between to heal him, bright lights on him for many hours without a break, cold water deluging him from above, or into which his head was forced until he thought he would drown. And all the time, questions. If he responded when spoken to by name, he was punished. If he responded to 'prisoner' then he was not. The questions were usually meaningless, the point only being to see if he still responded automatically to a name.

And now, he could not even remember what name he was not permitted to respond to. The questions came with many names now, and he responded to none of them. He was 'prisoner', and that was all.


During this last session he had felt oddly as though he was being watched, though he could not have said why. But when they were finished, the door opened and a small figure entered, leaning heavily on a cane. He was confused to recognise the Emperor. Was he to be executed now? There was a strange feeling inside his head - that feeling of being watched again, but more intense, then the Emperor laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

The wizened figure turned to the interrogator and said "You are to be congratulated, you have done an excellent job. And you shall have your reward." The interrogator smiled, then his expression froze as the Emperor made a small gesture. His body crumpled to the floor like a puppet with the strings cut, and the prisoner had no doubt that the man was dead. He awaited his own demise, which he was sure would follow, but the Emperor instead said "Follow me" and left the room with his prisoner trailing meekly behind.

They went through corridors and elevators, meeting no-one. He could perhaps have tried to escape, but the ease with which the Emperor had killed a man made that seem a foolish idea, so he simply followed, finally passing through a more sumptuous corridor and out into the throne room. His eyes opened wide at the sheer scale and opulence of the room, but the Emperor seemed not even to notice.

He followed all the way to the foot of the dais on which the throne stood, then knelt obediently below the bottom step when ordered to. He remained there, unmoving and with eyes cast down as people came and went, as conversations were held, as orders were given. He wondered what they thought of him, in his stained prison jumpsuit and close-cropped hair, with half-healed cuts across his face, neck and hands. No-one asked, and no explanation was provided.

Finally, there was a buzz amongst the many officials and courtiers who were standing around, and he risked looking up for a fraction of a second towards the door, only to drop his eyes back down as quickly as possible while his heart missed a beat. Darth Vader!

The Sith Lord strode directly across to the throne, and dropped to one knee in front of it, ignoring the small form also kneeling there as though it was invisible.

"Arise, Lord Vader. I am glad that you could return to Coruscant so soon, as I have a treat for you. I know how much you were angered by the loss of men when the weapons platform was destroyed by a cowardly act of terrorism. I wonder if you can guess what I have for you here?" Vader had stood and was glaring down at the kneeling form from his great height. "Yes indeed, this disgusting little scrap of filth is the so-called Rebel who killed so many of our finest. As you can see, his chastisement has already begun, but I think in the circumstances you should have the honour of personally ensuring that he pays for his crimes. My only stipulation is that you curb your very natural desire to kill him outright here and now, and ensure that he has ample opportunity to regret his choices."

"I will do so, your majesty. I assure you that he will pay, most thoroughly."

The prisoner's thoughts were jumbled and confused. He hated and feared Vader. But if anyone could punish him properly, then it was surely the Dark Lord of the Sith.