Chapter Text
When Firmus Piett had first been transferred to the Executor as a Captain, he had held a healthy dose of fear and terror towards the Dark Lord that was the highest authority aboard the ship. He had even considered transferring off the ship at the first opportune moment, but something had held him back.
It was a decision Piett would never regret.
Over the years, as Piett observed how Lord Vader commanded his men, his apprehension had receded and his admiration had steadily grown. Lord Vader was a tactical genius, incorruptible, led from the frontlines and was all around the best Commander that Piett had ever had the honour of serving under. He promoted officers based on meritocracy, uncaring of their backgrounds. And if anyone failed him, death was the great equaliser that his lord saw fit to bestow on the culprit, again, regardless of whatever background the culprit had.
Recognition of the circumstance in which death by strangulation a la Lord Vader was meted out appealed to the hidden part of Piett that reveled in ruthless efficiency. It was a quick and efficient way to get incompetent officers out and competent ones in instead of the nightmare that was the standard Imperial bureaucratic process. It was a great motivator for everyone, as evidenced from the fact that the Executor’s crew were the best performers in the Empire. And if one day, Piett wound up dying in this very manner, well, he could take comfort in the fact that it would be because he had failed Lord Vader, instead of any act of backstabbing or sabotage from his fellow officers, which was sadly a far too common occurrence in the Imperial Armed Forces.
The day Piett overheard a medi-droid's conversation with one of the physicians in charge of Lord Vader’s health, he learned that Lord Vader was in constant pain from his debilitating past injury. To think that, despite his injuries, Lord Vader still worked tirelessly to bring order to the Empire. Piett felt his admiration for the Dark Lord go up a notch upon learning that, even as he started observing his superior more closely. Surely, someone had to look out for the most powerful protector of the Empire?
By the time Piett had been promoted to Admiral of the Executor upon the occasion of the strangulation of Admiral Ozzel, he was loyal to Lord Vader in the way that a barghest was loyal to its owner. No one else, not even the Emperor, could command his loyalty in such a manner. (And Piett’s mind shied away from thinking about the Emperor. Every time Lord Vader had an audience with the Emperor, he left the Emperor’s presence more weary than before, and Piett...minded.)
Piett supposed things would have continued in this vein for the rest of his career if the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces had not propositioned him one fine day.
“Admiral Piett. I find myself in need of your services in matters of a personal nature.” Lord Vader had said without preamble, when Piett answered his summons to the former’s personal quarters. “Should you choose to reject my request, be rest assured that no harm will befall your person.”
Piett had stared at his lord in stunned disbelief. Surely he had to have misinterpreted the Dark Lord’s words. Piett gestured in the direction of Lord Vader’s bedroom. “My Lord...do you mean...”
Lord Vader had tilted his helmet at an angle that had shown impatience. “Your understanding is correct, Admiral.”
A million questions ran through Piett’s mind as he prepared to answer his lord. Why was Lord Vader interested in him? What did Lord Vader want out of this relationship, or would it be purely sexual? Would it be a long-term relationship or purely a once-off encounter? And the logistics...
As a matter of fact, Piett had not taken a lover for a period of ten years. Midway through his career, he had decided that he would rather dedicate his life in service to the Empire than to a family of his own that he would rarely see. When the need occasionally struck, Piett would set his own hand to resolve the matter quickly and efficiently.
All these and more should have stayed Piett’s reply. He had always been a methodical man, not one prone to leaping before he knew everything there was to know about what laid in front of him.
Yet when it was Lord Vader himself making the request, Piett found that he did not care. Even if he had never once, prior to this, found himself attracted to his lord. No matter what Lord Vader wanted from Piett, Piett had only one reply to give. He clicked his heels together as he declared, “My Lord, anything you need from me, in whatever capacity, is yours to have.” Up to and including my life. Piett kept that last thought to himself; he was not a boot-licker.
“I’m grateful for your loyalty, Admiral.” Lord Vader rumbled as he gestured for Piett to approach. “I will require your discretion in this, as in all things.”
“You have it, my Lord,” Piett bowed as he vowed his silence and obedience.
The seated form of Lord Vader was dark and forbidding as always. His respirator resonated in the quiet office. But the quick divestment of the leather plate over the Dark Lord’s groin and its accompanying codpiece was an unsubtle hint as to what was required of Piett.
Pressing his lips together firmly, Piett dropped to his knees in front of his superior and discarded his cap. “May I...?” He whispered, slightly mortified. Empire knew he was willing but when it came to the actual deed himself, Piett found himself overcome by a sudden bout of shyness.
Lord Vader inclined his head sharply. “You may proceed, Admiral.”
Nervously, Piett licked his lips to moisten it as he took in the long, thick and scarred form of his lord’s erection. Many had speculated as to the nature of the Dark Lord’s form under his armour, but Piett was thankful to see that the sexual appendage his lord sported was, though scarred, that belonging to a well-endowed Human male. Unlike many of his colleagues, he did not think all aliens were scum but his sexual orientation was solely towards Human men.
Above him, Lord Vader gave an impatient twitch and carded his gloved hand into Piett’s regulation-cropped hair. Piett took the hint. Folding his arms stiffly behind his back, he bent forward and tentatively gave his lord’s cock a long and wet lick from tip to base.
Static burst forth from his lord’s respirator, even as Lord Vader remained as motionless as a monolithic statue. Encouraged, Piett bent forward and took the head of Lord Vader’s cock into his mouth, despite the strong musk assaulting his olfactory senses, licking and sucking for all he was worth. He may have been celibate for ten years but before that, he had not been known as the best cock-sucker in the Imperial Academy for nothing.
Still, Piett didn’t wish to overwhelm his lord. If his lord had been as celibate as him...he kept his licking and sucking gentle, certain that his lord would let him know if he were to prefer a change in pace.
Sure enough, Lord Vader’s strong thighs soon tensed and his leather-clad grip in Piett’s hair tightened. With terrifying strength, he forced Piett’s face down towards his groin. Piett allowed his mouth to go slack, choking back a moan. That had certainly gone straight to Piett’s own dick, which had slowly roused from its slumber and now pressed an insistent line against Piett’s tightly cut military pants.
It was all Piett could do to keep a firm grip on his own arms clasped behind his back as Lord Vader used his mouth. Were it anyone else, Piett would have protested this rude development but when it was his lord who did this...Piett merely shuddered in pleasure and did his best to continue servicing his lord’s cock through the haze of pain and growing lust.
Piett had always been attracted to power, a failing that had led him to certain ill-advised dalliances when he had been in his twenties. It was part of the reason why he had so thoroughly cut himself off from dating after that, even as he told himself it was due to his dedication to his career. And now, his partner in front of him...undeniably, Lord Vader was power incarnate and literally the second most powerful man in the Empire. Helplessly, Piett lost himself to the undercurrents of lust that all but flooded him.
With a few more short, sharp thrusts, Lord Vader achieved his completion in Piett’s mouth. The tang of salty bitterness ravaged Piett’s tongue as he resignedly swallowed, his mind stuttering away from the logistics of spitting out his lord’s seed in his lord’s pristine office.
Then Piett darted a look up at Lord Vader’s helmet, and was delighted to see the relaxed tilt of his head. Coupled with the languid posture of his superior, Piett concluded that he had pleased his lord. A small curl of satisfaction settled into his stomach, warm and heavy.
Piett remained kneeling ramrod straight, waiting to see if he would be dismissed or if his lord had other commands. After a few beats of listening to the heavy breathing from the respirator, Lord Vader said, “You have not had your release, Admiral.”
Flushing to the very roots of his hair, Piett stammered out a reply, “There’s no need, my Lord, no need to concern yourself with me.”
“I insist, Admiral. Remove your pants.” Lord Vader commanded.
And Piett had no choice but to obey. Certainly his traitorous cock thought it was a good idea, as it all but leapt to attention upon being released from its confinement.
Piett closed his eyes and bit back a moan. Humiliation crawled up his spine at being so exposed, so naked before his Supreme Commander, even though he was still almost fully clothed.
The next moment, Piett felt a hard pressure against his cock and opened his eyes only to see Lord Vader’s black armoured boots pressed against his cock. The invitation was unmistakable.
Unbidden, Piett started snapping his hips back and forth, thrusting his cock against his lord’s boot. The underside of his erection rubbed against the shiny black boots, sending jolts of pleasure snaking along his arousal. So tight was his grip on his own arms, still behind his back, that his nails dug into them painfully.
Piett almost wailed. Shame and humiliation threatened to overwhelm him, but the thin, shiny thread of mind-bending pleasure under Lord Vader’s heavy gaze overrode his common sense.
Then at last, the tension reached a shining crescendo and snapped. Piett jerked like a puppet on strings as white, hot cum spurted all over Lord Vader’s boot.
Horrified, Piett stared at Lord Vader’s helmeted face, appalled that he had made such a mess of the superior he respected and admired. Piett had always been a fastidious man and here he had gone and spilled all over his lord’s boots. It was unforgivable.
In the end, Piett always cleaned up his own messes and well, as it turned out, Piett was a boot-licker after all.
"Well done, Admiral."
(And somewhere deep down inside, Piett had to admit that maybe, just maybe, he was attracted to Lord Vader after all.)