Everything He Never Wanted
Sins of the Father vignette
In "Sins of the Father" Vaderkin never really comes right out and explains
what he may or may not have done with Angel, Padme's clone. You can read
it however you want. If you believe that Vaderkin could never touch another
woman except his wife, go for it. However, if you think Vaderkin may be twisted
enough to willingly engage in acts that deeply disturb him, this is how things
may have played out ...
before Sins of the Father]
It’s a rare occurrence to be certain, yet he would not dream of denying it.
He’s drunk. He stalks down the dark corridor. He may have shunned the Jedi
teachings, their narrow code of conduct, but he still lives by his own strict
moral code. That code does not include drinking to excess. Except when it
happens – which isn’t often.
He’s seen far too many drunks in his time to be deluded into thinking it’s
glamorous. He knows he’s being an ass. And he doesn’t care. He knows the
heightened sense of control is an absolute illusion. But it’s that illusion
he needs tonight. To be completely out of control while feeling completely
He stops in front of the beautifully carved wooden doors, his chest heaving
with the force of his breath. He feels like a virgin on his wedding night.
He hates that. He pounds on the doors, forgoing the security scanner which
would undoubtedly grant him access.
He pounds again, having no concept of how much time might have elapsed. He
raises his fist to pound yet again and the lock clicks open.
She stands there, blinking at him with those huge, luminous eyes. He doesn’t
wait for an invitation. He pushes his way inside. She turns to close the
door and he presses her back against it.
She doesn’t speak. She’s not smart, but she can follow orders and she knows
that on these desperate nights when he darkens her door, silence is necessary.
She yields to him with everything she has and everything she is; and perversely
it angers him. Contrary creature that he is, her supplication is sweetest
when hardest won. And he does mean won. Not forced or coerced or
manipulated. There would be no satisfaction in that.
But there is nothing to win here. She was designed specifically for
this purpose. In a gesture that was everything he never wanted. The gesture
cost Zemda Farr his life.
There is some part of him that always knew he would never be able to satisfy
his wife. He would never be enough. Not smart enough, not patient enough,
not educated enough. He always knew it was only a matter of time before she
figured it out and left.
And she did.
It’s impressive in a twisted sort of way. For Padmé to get any farther
away from him, she’d have to actually leave the galaxy. He takes a perverse
sense of accomplishment in that fact.
Most of the time.
But not tonight.
It’s been a dozen years since he last saw his wife – fourteen since he last
touched her. And he thinks of her every. single. day.
Angel is a poor imitation.
Oh, she’s beautiful. And sweet. And absolutely loyal. So are prized felinx,
but he doesn’t want to fuck those either.
Okay, well, he usually doesn’t want to fuck Angel (and he never wants to
fuck the felinx). She usually unnerves him with her vacant smiles and accommodating
nature. Padmé was always most attractive when she was in high dudgeon,
cheeks red, nostrils flaring, fists clenched. Nothing has ever gotten him
as hard as watching his wife’s anger fly out of her control, watching her
passions consume her.
Except right now his wife and her passions are in the Outer Rim playing moisture
And he’s drunk in the west wing of the Imperial Palace fucking her clone
even though it creeps him out.
Almost fucking her clone. They're both still wearing too many clothes.
He pulls her nightgown over her head, tossing it carelessly to the ground.
Her panties are gone in mere moments. She moans, pressing closer to him.
He fists one hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he can kiss her neck
while his other hand opens the fly of his pants.
“My Lord,” she gasps.
He smacks her. Not hard. And she likes it. It’s the upshot of having a consort
designed solely for the purpose of sexual gratification. She likes everything.
Which is good. Because he does things to Angel he would never have dreamed
of even mentioning to Padmé.
But still. He doesn’t want to hear her talk. He comes harder when she’s
He’ll hate himself in the morning. He always does. It’s a game he plays –
more with himself than her. Every few months he gets lonely enough and drunk
enough and horny enough to find his way down here. And she’s always waiting.
Like a good girl.
Because she is a good girl.
And unlike the other few women he has bedded, Angel takes no offense when
he calls Padmé’s name while he comes.
And in the morning when he stumbles into the 'fresher and vomits, he can
blame it on the booze.
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