sithcretapprentice | (no subject)

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It's become almost as easy as breathing, executing Jedi after Order 66, after Starkiller had helped put an end to the rebellion attempts. Now nothing stands between the Empire and total domination- not even those straggling Jedi that he's tasked with hunting down. It's always the same, a padawan who can barely lift a saber, or old masters who know nothing of his brute-force techniques and deadly mastery of the saber. Should they withstand his physical attacks, they soon bow under the pressure of the Force. It always ends the same, with the same kind of heroic speech before they die.

This time will be no different.

An alleged master of the sword, his subject goes by "Strider", last seen occupying an unremarkable planet by the name "Earth". Starkiller's ship is nearing Earth's orbit, cloaked against even the most advanced radars, not a soul is aware as his ship pinpoints the location and he begins his descent, to a location known as "Texas".

"Target confirmed," the voice of his droid, Proxy, says over the intercom as Starkiller begins to ready himself for combat. A holographic image of an apartment building appears, with a flashing red dot indicating Strider's presence within the apartment. He's spent weeks preparing, fighting a training simulation of his opponent to prepare himself. Starkiller is just about to jump ship, when an alarm overhead begins to go off. Starkiller immediately springs into action, the buzz of his lightsaber roaring to life as it casts an eerie red glow along the walls. This never happens.

"It appears we've been breached."

Starkiller doesn't need to be told; he can feel it. Him. Strider.

He throws up his lightsaber just in time to fend off the blade of a fierce orange lightsaber, the owner of whom seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Tall, blond, wearing some form of strange eye protection, but absolutely lethal in the way he moves and twirls his blade.

And so the two of them fought like that, a whirl of red and orange, seemingly hit-for-hit with no end in sight... until Starkiller lands a blow to his face, cracking those triangular shades in half. The blow is enough to send Strider backwards, the blade slipping from his grip, giving Starkiller enough of an opportunity to rench the blade from his grasp using the Force, to then send it hurling back at its owner, searing through his chest with ease. Strider falls to the ground, as Starkiller brings the blade whirring back through the air into his grasp.

"Sir... our scans indicate-"

"I know. Bring him in... use Strider Protocol. He will be no match for you."

Proxy gave no response, leaving Starkiller to stare down at the body in front of him. He had to give it to Strider, it had been no easy feat masking the other's presence but now that he was dead, Starkiller could sense it clearly. A sudden flash of memory, of his own father defending against Vader in a scenario disturbingly like this, has Starkiller reaching up to press a hand to his forehead. It was brave- no... foolish, of them. Both of them.

He no longer has any time to consider it, as Proxy the room. "Initiating Strider Protocol." Before his very eyes, the robot in front of him began to transform, until he was no longer staring at a robot but instead at the very man who lay before them both. Starkiller holds out the orange lightsaber for him, which Proxy-Strider takes. "Keep him alive," Starkiller says. "For now. I'm going to let Vader know our mission was a success."

And so he did, though he elected to keep certain things to himself. In time, perhaps, but his mission was for Strider and Strider alone. This turn of events could be... useful. Starkiller had never dreamt of having his own apprentice, sure that Vader would never allow it. Now he's in a perfect position to do so under his master's nose. It's simply too much to pass up.

After communicating with Vader, he washes and changes out of his combat gear into black robes fit for a Sith and occupies himself with idle thoughts of what the future could bring.

"Target acquired. Bringing him in."

A while passes as Proxy gets him onto the ship, heavily sedated. His wounds are seen to, he's stripped of everything on him and he'll awaken in the middle of a room, arms shackled to chains hanging from the ceiling.

A few hours pass before Starkiller decides to visit his captive, having spoken to Proxy and charted a course for their next location. The ship gives a great jolt as it goes into warp speed and soon after that, Starkiller walks into the room.

Starkiller doesn't say anything, as he steps closer and surveys the boy, circling him in an almost prey-like manner. In comparison to his guardian, this one is... less impressive, physically.

As he makes mental note, Starkiller reaches out with his mind to begin probing, to seek whatever thoughts he can find, going deeper to find out all he can. The process, were a Jedi doing it, is easy and relatively painless. For him? It's the opposite, painful and slow as he pokes and prods around, secrets and desires and memories leafed through like a burglar taking everything he can.

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Somethings off.

It's an innate sense that comes with being force sensitive, but it's been difficult to discern it from regular anxiety. His brother has long been a source of that mixed feeling, no matter how much they train. It's almost like the harder he pushes the more blurred the lines become. He knows he's not living up to his expectations, so he's almost not surprised when he comes at him today harder than he's ever come at him before. Maybe he finally snapped.

Somethings off, though. He feels it when he blacks out and then it slowly creeps back in as he gains consciousness. His senses start to wake up again and he feels the cold surfaces against his bare skin, he's aching and his arms are drawn up over his head. This is wrong. He rouses with a soft groan, barely awake by the time he feels something prodding in his brain.

Nope. His brother warned him about this, about siths probing into your mind. Jedis gotta have a mind like a steel trap, he'd say. Make 'em regret trying to get in there. It's probably not what he had in mind when he told him this, but Dave shudders a breath in and breathes it out smoothly. He fills his mind with the obnoxiously loud sound of mechanical screeching in an attempt to ward him back out. Like his brother taught him.

The recollection makes his defences slip. He can't feel his connection with his brother. Somethings been severed. He's not there. He's not anywhere. The panic is immediate and it opens a flood gate of vulnerable feelings, fear, sadness, a guilty sense of relief and pain. Dave grunts, furrowing his brows as he tries to call back the screeching and stop feeling.

Starkiller doesn't expect the mental blocks to be as strong as they are and so for a moment, he's held back. It only takes him a moment to recollect himself, before he's tuning out the background noise and beginning his attack anew... only he finds he doesn't need to.

He simply waits, letting the boy tear down his own defenses with fear.

When Starkiller feels an opening, he doesn't need force. He projects into Dave's mind a painfully detailed recollection of the final moments of their battle. The hard thunk of the blade against Strider's nose that breaks his glasses, breaking bone as well as plastic, the orange lightsaber being tugged from the man's grip before being sent through his chest.

"He's dead."

With those words, the mental assault ends, no sound aside from the humming of the ship's engines, Starkiller staring coldly down at him.

Its easy to forget how mentally tough or stoic he's supposed to be when his brother isn't here to remind him. Dave's lip quirks and it is a very obvious tell that he's not going to be able to hide his feelings.

Even though he knows. Somehow he knows. Hearing it hits him like a sack of breath and he feels winded. Seeing it is another thing entirely and he furrows his brows, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.

"Alright, alright. Stop, stop. I get it."

Despite the fact that his pain is evident in his mind, he's not crying and it doesn't seem like he could if he wanted to. Now he's angry that he's two seconds into this and begging for it to stop.

"You're wasting your time. I don't know anything." He assumes he wants information, what else could he possibly get from him?

If Starkiller were in a better headspace, he might commend the boy for having such an emotionless response. It's much more common, he's noticed, for people to be much noisier at this stage. In the back of his mind, it begins to solidify his forming plans to take on an apprentice, to shape and mold this younger one's mind into one fit to serve by his side.

When Dave says those words, Starkiller lets out a low chuckle. "You have no idea how true that is," he says, moving to step behind Dave. "In fact, I'm sure you didn't know the enormous amount of mental strength it took to shield... not his own Force powers, but your own."

Starkiller looks at him as he moves around him, really takes him in like a hunter would. "Your power far exceeds his, yet he might have lived, if he didn't weaken himself to shield you."

He wants to see where and how he might goad a response, to see if this potential apprentice continues to show promise. If not... his mind idly wanders to what he would do if this were a failure. He could simply kill the boy, but he's gone to the effort of taking him in... lying about his existence by omission. He's invested, if stubbornly. Starkiller's mind goes to other ways he could use him. Maybe he could cook, it's not like Proxy serves up anything decent. Or...

It's a flicker of a thought, remembering how he's met ship captains who often take concubines or consorts, though he's always brushed the thought off. Too many other priorities. But this is different, this is his own personal secret. Vader would surely hear of him taking on a mistress, but how is he to know now?

Starkiller waves a hand, gripping Dave's chains with the Force to yank them up, forcing Dave to his feet.

Dave is a lot of things right now. He's angry, he's grieving. He doesn't need this guy to make him feel guilty, he already feels it intensely. His brother invested everything in him and he took it and did nothing. Got kidnapped. Probably going to die too.

Despite all of the furious emotions, he largely feels hopeless and despondent. The attempts to goad him don't go unnoticed and they needle him. He's angry, but more at himself than anything and it fuels a near suicidal, unimpressed approach when he responds.

"Oh, nice trick. You killed him but you're going to use the fucking mind tricks to make me responsible."

That he's more powerful doesn't seem to interest him, it almost washes over as an afterthought. He's so distracted by his own hopelessness he's not even trying to understand this guy's intentions. Even though a threat looms in his words.

He grunts, snapped out of his thoughts by the chains yanking him up to a standing position. It's only now that he's aware of the fact that he's naked except for his red shorts. His mind doesn't immediately wander anywhere dirty, but he is very aware that he's in danger.

He finally meets the guy's gaze, taking a proper look at him. He doesn't feel good about it.

"I'm simply telling you the truth, what you infer from there is your own," Starkiller says, his tone aloof, almost like he's talking at Dave rather than to him. When he rounds as the boy is lifted to his feet, he almost reaches out to force him to look, only for Dave to finally give in.

Starkiller's eyes are dark, no trace of remorse in them. There's something behind that darkness though in the way his eyes trail along Dave, a possessiveness to his gaze as if he's looking at a new, expensive object that he's discovered can do more than he imagined.

He steps forward, reaching out a hand to place on Dave's chest and in doing so, he opens up his mind to surface-level thoughts so that Dave can see some of the images running through his mind; all involve him being used any which way, at the mercy of Starkiller's whims.

Oh, okay. He's got more mind tricks. There's a part of Dave that wants to tell him he obviously feels like shit. Maybe call him an asshole. It just seems like a largely meaningless gesture that would probably end up worse from him.

He can't interpret anything from the look he is giving. Whether he wants to kill him fast or torture him slowly is a mystery, but he finds himself with a fleeting desire not to die. He always thought he'd rather die than be tortured, but he's surprised by the will he still has to leave.

It's superseded by a different feeling when he starts to feel the weight of his gaze. He instantly knows he isn't going anywhere fast, but it's not completely clear until he feels the hand on his chest. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and he struggles to force his breathing to stay steady. Hold his gaze. Don't let him trick you.

Too late.

The images flood in and Dave is immediately startled by them. The whiplash is enough to make him nauseous and any trouble he thought he was in before has just drastically changed stakes.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He hates that he chokes that out. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to push the images from his mind. He's being fucked with.

Starkiller doesn't answer him, letting the images linger for a long few seconds before they begin to fade away, though while they might fade from Dave's, they still blaze within Starkiller.

Once more, he steps behind Dave, his touch trailing along as takes his place behind him. From there, both hands move to the boy's sides, starting near his armpits and trailing slowly down.

They stop at the waist of his boxers, almost as if he's savoring the way his fingers feel against skin. When all you're used to touching is metal, it's almost startling how different it is. He stops every now and then as his finger passes over a scar or mark, but he doesn't stop to look as his fingers move underneath the fabric, urging it down as his fingers move along. When they slide past Dave's ass, Starkiller grips Dave and pulls him hard backwards, grinding himself against Dave's bare ass, his hard cock evident even through his clothes.

If it wasn't predatory before, it is now. Dave wants to recoil from the touch, but he's forcing himself to hold his ground. His skin prickles under the fingers and he hates that he's playing it slow and teasing out confused sensations. The contact is nice, but the nicer he feels the sicker it makes him.

He allows himself a soft wince in response to his boxers being dragged down. The exposure to the cold air isn't great, but he thinks he'd prefer it to the hard shape he feels in place of it. He sucks his bottom lip while he tries to think of his next move, but the next instinct is just to jerk forward and try to pull away from the contact.

"Nope. I'm not doing that with you."

"What about your situation implies you have a choice?" Starkiller asks, leaning in closer to Dave's ear, his voice low.

His hands push down Dave's underwear the rest of the way, leaving them to fall down around the boy's ankles. He grinds a little harder momentarily, before pulling back completely. Starkiller's hands move up to grip the chains Dave is hanging from and as he does, his fists begin crackling with electricity.

The electricity arcs through the chains and into Dave; not anywhere near full voltage, but enough to hurt.

He doesn't sustain it for long, before he's letting go and giving an idle wave of his hand. Using the Force, he pulls the chains upwards until they are high enough to lift Dave off the ground completely.

Shockingly, Dave does not have any sort of comeback for that. He knows pleading his case is pointless, he's not going to beg and sarcasm is just asking for trouble.

His skin prickles upon being fully exposed. It's not warm in here and so he can really feel the body heat from the man grinding up against him. It feels like he's touching a hot stove over and over, he just wants to pull away from it but he's stuck here feeling it. He half dreads the idea that this guy might bend him over and do what he's going to do right now and he knows it will be painful and humiliating. Despite this, he finds himself hoping that he just gets it over with.

No such luck, he pulls back and any relief Dave feels is instantly flushed from his mind as he feels the pain of being electrocuted. Although he's been largely stoic so far, the pain makes him yelp. He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw forced to clench as the pain waves over him and his body unconsciously jolts and jerks around.

Blessedly, it ends, but now they're moving and Dave fruitlessly tries to extend his feet to keep himself on the ground. He half-heartedly considers just telling him to get it over with but suspects that would encourage him to draw it out. He tilts his chin up to level a flat look, arching his brow as if to ask what now?

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