Chapter Text
“I did not want to kriffing see that!”
Maximilian Veers gagged as he plopped down across the table from Firmus Piett, his processed ration a mash of grays and browns on his dull gray plate.
“Nobody asked you to look,” shrugged Piett dismissively, peering up from beneath the brim of his cap as he ate.
He’d never much liked Veers, but he was amused enough by the man’s current predicament, lamenting last night's Imperial dinner gala. Piett hadn’t had time to attend himself, he was still working overtime to make sure he stayed employed, and on the clock on what was effectively Darth Vader’s watch. Some people would tease him and note how he’d basically become Admiral Ozzel’s lap dog, but Piett disagreed. He’d just rather be alive, than joining the ever growing line of former superiors in whatever netherworld Vader had disposed them to. He said nothing else, knowing that Veers would speak again without his prompting - and after a few seconds of indignant grimacing and irritated grunting, as well as Veers nearly failing to swallow his first bite of the grime Imperial cantinas called food - he went right back to lamenting.
“It’s not as if I looked on purpose! I was just looking for my fucking girl, I didn’t expect to find her hooking up with kriffing Tarkin of all people. Like, I get that she wasn't that into me, but what the fuck?”
“That’s Governor Tarkin to you, sir,” Piett drawled in a dry tone, the corners of his lips twisting upwards as he successfully avoided conjuring the mental image Veers painted for him.
“Not when he’s balls deep in my girl, he’s not."
"Aren't you married?" Piett pointed out, and Veers simply waved a dismissive hand at being reminded of missus Veers.
"That's besides the point, you know what I mean. I just don’t get it, Tarkin's an old man! Scrawny fucking senior citizen,” Veers huffed, rubbing at his temples in what Piett assumed was an effort to soothe his hangover headache.
“Well, it’s not like you’re the fittest guy on the block yourself. No offense, but you know what I mean. Also, Tarkin does have a position of power - ladies dig that, I’ve been told. I presume he has a pretty hefty monthly paycheck, especially compared to yours. And have you heard the way the guy speaks? He could probably get even Sloane or Vienne in bed, if he wanted to.”
True, Tarkin wasn’t exactly conventionally attractive, but he did have a way with words. There was a reason for his rank, and the fact that he had maintained it for nearly twenty full years. He may not be handsome, but he did have manners; he had a soothing voice, he could be charming. In regards to men with wealthy dispositions, Tarkin was the top of the ladder. You couldn’t do much better, and for his admittedly aging features, he looked pretty well kempt. Still, Piett himself always found Tarkin's piercing gray eyes unnerving.
“Are you seriously proposing Tarkin is hotter than me?”
Piett cringed and snorted at the very insinuation, but then again, Veers was pretty average - much like himself. Piett had even suspected from the start that the so-called girlfriend Veers had brought along was just there in hopes of hooking up with a bigger fish. It appeared she had met her goals. She’d been a stunning twi’lek, orange and pink skin tone and big brown eyes. Piett wondered whether Veers had actually paid her to play the part, but the legitimate disbelief on the man’s face suggested otherwise. Picking at the mush that was his own portion, he shrugged.
“I mean, I wouldn’t bang him, and I can’t speak for the ladies. Still, could've been worse.”
“Yes, you said that already. And I still wanna know in hell it could ever get worse! I mean, sure, it woulda sucked if I’d just found out about it later - but do you know how kriffing humiliating it is to see your girlfriend get fucked by an old man?” Veers shifted to rubbing at his forehead, his voice a cross between a whisper and a hiss as a couple of nearby cadets glanced curiously their way.
"Girlfriend, huh?"
"You know what I mean! You still got to answer my question."
“Ugh whatever, I don't know. Could've been Vader, I suppose?” Piett heard himself snort, and that mental image was enough to make him curl his lip in distaste; chastising himself inwardly for even thinking the thought.
Veers stared blankly at him for a moment, blinking slowly as the words registered before lowering his gaze to his own food. He pursed his lips, scowling but his disgusted expression slowly transitioned into something more akin to perplexed confusion. Piett was surprised he didn’t have an immediate retort, but accepted the silence as agreement as he began eating again. At least he wouldn’t have to hear more about Tarkin getting busy; thank the Force.
“How does Vader even fuck?”
Piett almost choked on his spoonful as Veers piped up; taken aback by the offhand remark as he coughed a couple of times, clearing his throat. When he could breathe properly again, he searched Veers’ face for any hint of this being just another cheeky jab. Instead, the man appeared genuinely bewildered and contemplative, as if he was pondering the possibility.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I’ve never thought about it, like, how does that even work?”
“How would I even know?” Piett threw his hands up, realizing he was raising his voice a tad too loud when he felt more eyes on him and he shrunk back down into his seat; face flushed. “It was just an example, I didn’t mean anything by it. Kriffsake.”
Veers pouted, momentarily back to picking at his ration but clearly dissatisfied with the answer; absentmindedly scooping the food from side to side with his spoon. Still, as soon as the attention of their peers went back to their own conversations, so did Veers.
“But like, is he human or is he just all droid? How much is mechno? Like, where does which part of him end? Does he even have a dick?”
Piett groaned at the very insinuation, tipping his head backwards in defeat. It was his own fault for taking the initial conversation down this path. When would he ever learn to keep his mouth shut? Feeling a lot less compelled to finish his meal, he focused on Veers, hoping to end any further discussion before it began.
“I don’t know, but I would assume he does. He does wear a codpiece, has to be protecting something, I suppose. I… have seen part of his head, just from the back, and he’s… definitely part human,” Piett muttered, remembering the misshapen and scarred pale flesh of Vader’s bald skull that he had glimpsed by accident. “I’ve literally never seen him show any interest in neither men nor women, so I don’t know. I doubt he gives a kriff about sex in general, it’s just speculation. Can we just not talk about this? I don’t know, okay?”
“Wait, you’ve seen Vader with his helmet off?!” Veers gasped, and Piett gave him a stern glare as he nodded wordlessly; a rare warning, and thankfully Veers seemed to at the very least get the message.
Piett sincerely hoped that would be it, but he bit the inside of his cheek when the excited hint of inquisitive interest remained on Veers' features. The man cast as subtle a glance around himself as someone of his meek self awareness could muster, and leaned forward across the table to point his dirty spoon right at Piett’s nose.
“But everyone has to fuck, right? Unless it’s one of those asexually reproductive species. And you said Vader had a human head, right? Like, he can’t survive with just his head on that body, can he? I’ve never met anyone who’s just a head and nothing else, is that even possible?” Veers babbled on, and Piett grumbled something under his breath to attempt to shut the rambling out.
“Well, I suppose, but I don’t know. It’s not like I’m privy to Vader’s sex life, he can do whatever the kriff he wants as long as I don’t have to partake in it,” he muttered.
“Fine, fine, I'll stop! He has a human head but he doesn’t fuck. He’s a guy. Makes no sense, but whatever.”
Veers expression went sullen, as he scooted back and folded his arms across his chest like an unruly, disappointed preteen. He glared daggers down at the heap of smeared food on his plate, and Piett found himself finally able to disassociate himself enough from the intrusive mental image of Vader banging Veers’ so-called-girlfriend to think about returning to his own lunch. He hoped it would stay that way, already dreading nightmares of the spectacle his mind had conjured up haunting him for years to come. Munching away, he enjoyed the peace and quiet until he received a not so subtle kick in the shin underneath the table.
“So, do you think he… you know?”
Piett looked up just in time to catch Veers raising his eyebrows with a suggestive wiggle, his wrist slack and his hand moving up and down to gesture the obvious matter of the question.
“Why in the world would you even ask that? If I don’t want to know whether he has a sex life, you think I want to know if he does that?” Piett sighed in exasperation, and was rewarded with an incredulous, unabashed shrug.
“I mean, if he doesn’t fuck, how else is he gonna get off? He can’t just walk around and never nut? I mean, he is stingy, but he's not that stingy.”
Piett had to admit that that was very unlikely, but he still wasn’t intrigued about entertaining the thought. Rubbing at his face with both hands, he felt drained and forced himself not to have his mind invaded by thoughts of Vader of all people pleasuring himself. He did not want to face Vader upfront, being forced to keep a straight face while imagining the man beating his meat. He was already nauseous at this point, he didn’t need to actually throw up.
“Do you have to?” he groaned, taking his cap off to run both hands through his hair a couple of times, then putting it back in its place as he at least tried to finish his water, regretting his current life choices.
“Ugh, come on. You’re being a fucking baby. I mean, every guy does it. I do it, Tarkin sure does it, and I’m pretty sure you do it, too,” Veers rolled his eyes, stating the obvious.
Piett ignored the beet red blush rising to his cheeks, letting it speak for itself rather than dignifying Veers with a verbal response.
“I thought so. See? Besides, Vader spends so much time on his own, I can't imagine he doesn't at the very least get bored enough to wank every once in a while,” the man stated in triumph, a smug smirk on his face before he went right back to musing aloud. “Do you think his dick is, like, his own or…?”
“You are trying to kill me, aren't you?”
“But think about it--”
“I’d rather not,” Piett shook his head, hanging his head in defeat as his mind provided him with further depictions of Vader's genital area. “And I suggest you stop, my lunchbreak is almost over and I really need to finish this kriffing meal without it coming back up again.”
Veers let out a loud, annoyed grunt as he finally admitted defeat began to shovel his own now cold ration into his mouth. Piett could swear the man finished it in under a minute, and he himself forced a few more stale bites down his throat. The visual of Vader masturbating was not doing much to add to his waning appetite. To his relief, they both managed to finish their food in relative silence, albeit an awkward one. As Piett rose up to take his leave, getting ahead he cussed inwardly as he heard Veers' rushed footsteps scurry to follow. He left his utensils and tray at the wash dispatcher, Veers mimicking the procedure and coming up beside him as they headed for the single exitway.
“I mean, Vader is kriffing enormous, wouldn’t he have a huge--”
Veers stopped mid sentence as the hydraulic doors swooshed open, and they stepped into the lengthy corridors only to nearly crash right into the towering form of Darth Vader in the flesh. Piett felt the colour drain from his face; Veers frozen with his mouth hanging open, eyes wide as he halted and nearly stumbled on his own feet. With a loud clacking noise, his teeth collided as he snapped his jaw shut.
“Lord Vader, I--” Piett attempted to remedy the situation with a curt bow, but was immediately cut off.
“Huge what?” was all Vader said, head subtly cocked to one side.