Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What was she like?” Luke recalls his first student while he regards the eagerly prospective second comer. “Well, she was intense.” Good. Distract him with the truth. Let him sense it. “I hadn’t understood what she was going through when we met, but she was so driven and intuitive. She always knew what she needed to do, or at least that’s how she’d make you feel. That made it easier when she chose a different path: continuing that of her own father instead of mine.”

Luke’s subject, despite his tender age and deliberately limited knowledge of his ancestors, understands the nuance. “I don’t think I can be like Grandpa Bail, or Mom. Nobody would listen to me. Everyone…” Ben Solo trails off. He thinks he’s unlikeable, unimpactful, tolerated only because of his family’s place in the galaxy. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“You underestimate yourself, Ben. You have many of your mother’s talents, but you aren’t her, and you do not need to be.” Luke stares deeply into the blue blur of hyperspace reflected like a turbulent ocean in his nephew’s watery eyes. “Where does your journey lead?”

Ben Solo actually considers the question. He’s so precious when he’s thinking, like it takes every part of him to sit in contemplation. For a moment he looks as he did when he just departed Chandrila: so stoic and certain like he’s not already missing his parents. “I want to learn how to fight,” he proclaims, diverging from his earlier boasts that he’d be the best pilot the galaxy had ever seen. “I want to help people.”

Luke raises his brows. This marks progress — patience and introspection instead of Ben’s inherited boldness. Still, that response is concerning, or it would be if Luke were still a Jedi, if he’d ever really been one. “Fighting is a last resort, Ben. Those who seek violence often find it.” Keep it level. Push a fraction too hard, and Ben will realize he belongs at home, that he just wants to be a child. “There is something else you’d like to say. What is it?”

Shifting in his seat, Ben fidgets with his hands before divulging the real reason why he’s here: “If you teach me to be like you, people won’t be afraid of me. They’ll forget what I did, and they’ll let me help them.” Twin tears finally roll down Ben’s cheeks. “I don’t want to be bad anymore.”

“It was an accident.” Accidents. Several of them, and Leia can only make so many of those disappear. Another might ruin her career, but she wouldn’t care, not much. She would do anything for her son if she thought it would help. That’s why she let him go. She shouldn’t have. “You never meant to hurt anyone, did you?”

“No,” mutters Ben, shaking his head and scrubbing at his eyes, “but I’m cursed. Please help me.”

Reel him in. “I believe I know something… an old ritual. Ben, do you trust me?”

He should say no, but he won’t. Ben’s going to make it even easier than it was on Tatooine where a handful of wupiupi and a jug of water would get Luke a dose of barely expired antibiotics and half an hour with a boy, or occasionally a Rodian if he was in the mood for a first-class suckjob and was willing to mind the musk. Time seems to freeze as such fond memories swirl in Luke’s mind. Those are all he’s had for nearly fifteen years, those and the sordid fantasies that only intensified after he saw through the lies that crazy old hermit had spun about his father with Owen and Beru. No, Anakin Skywalker had been an enslaved bastard whose skills with machines and the Force were likely all that spared him from being carted off to the dirty beds and dark alleys of Mos Eisley.

Honestly, that would have been a more noble life for Anakin than being a pawn for the Republic and the Empire it became, but he hadn’t been entirely worthless. He eliminated the competition on both sides of the Force, for starters, destroying not only its known wielders, but Jedi records that might have foiled Luke’s plans. Pathetic and love-sick as he’d become by the end, Anakin and the Emperor he murdered laid the foundation for Luke’s new Temple, his new Order, one that children just like Ben are already begging to join with the desperation of proper little whores.

Oh, Ben. It’s so easy to enter his mind. Luke’s always known his nephew. He’s been there for him even before he was born ten years ago, but there’s more than that. This boy is special, an extraordinary telepath, but untrained, that only makes him more susceptible to suggestion. It’s nothing to brew the storms inside of Ben, to facilitate his little mishaps. Luke could make him do nearly anything he wants, really, even from great distances, but there’d be no fun in that. It’s always better without the shackles. All Luke’s had to do is line up the pieces, and now he has the most promising Force-user in two generations beneath his thumb.

“Yes, Uncle Luke,” Ben affirms, so full of hope. “Of course I trust you.”

That’s a good boy.

Chapter Text

It’s a rite of passage, Ben must assume. There is an uneasiness about him — Leia raised a bright boy — but he believes in Luke enough to pull off a deceptively luxurious miniature of Han’s rugged vest and tunic, even his boots and trousers, but that’s where he stops.

Luke peers down into hazel eyes that are far too sad for such a sweet little thing. It’s nearly impossible to see the nascent darkness that Ben wants to be cured of, but Luke knows precisely how to tend that spark. That’s what this is about, in the end, but there’s no harm in enjoying the process.

“The old Masters guided me where they could, but many of their ceremonies were lost.” Luke nods to a nearby crate in the starship’s cramped cabin wedged between two stacked bunks and the matching cushioned booth across from them. “This is one of the few that remains.”

Who doesn’t like presents? Ben lights up like a Life Day tree. “Robes? I already get my own?” He reaches for the lid, but stops abruptly. “What if I’m not ready?”

Luke gazes back at Ben. What would happen? Well, the boy could bolt. That would necessitate rather harsh intervention, but the option is still there with Ben slightly closer to the door. “Then we go back.” Not a chance. “I could tell them it’s too soon, if you wish. This is your choice, Ben.” It’s not. “Are you ready to be a Jedi?”

“How do I know for sure?” Ben blinks at the admirably neat bundle of his discarded things he’s set on the booth. “I know I can do it, be a Jedi, but what if I’m meant to do something else? I’m just… I mean, I’m still little.”

He doesn’t speak like it, and he won’t be for long, anyway. Ben has already started to sprout, skipping over the petite genes Luke shares with Leia to favor Han’s tall, wide physique. That will prove an excellent advantage for the fighter he’ll need to become, despite what that little green goblin purported. “Trust in your heart,” Luke suggests, using the grandmaster’s own words. “Let it guide you.”

“I thought the Force was meant to.”

“The Force works through you. It chose you, now it’s your turn to make decisions.”

Oh, he likes that. There’s no ego boost quite like reminding Ben that he’s not a freak, but gifted, chosen by the cosmos itself. The smile returns, the one that takes up half of Ben’s precious face. “I want to train with you, Uncle Luke.”

“Master,” Luke corrects. Leia never called him that. Luke’s never lied about his admiration for his sister. Her kindness doesn’t blind her, it hasn’t since the Death Star, but she’ll never join him. He tried. He connected with her, but Vader had gotten to her first, filled her with the wrong sort of hatred and a fear of the dark side instead of awe. It’s her pervasive dread that brought Ben here, that left unchecked he might become no different than the monster who forced her to watch Alderaan die among other tortures she’s far more reticent about. Well, you lose some, you win some.

“Master Luke? Did I do something wrong?”

Luke brings his mind back to the here and now. Technically, yes. “As my Padawan learner, you and I will be closer than ever, but there must also be a distance between us. I must be fair to all of my students, even if it’s only us for now.”

Ben tries not to look daunted, again understanding Luke’s meaning. “Yes, Master Skywalker.” He looks at the robes Luke effortlessly floats mid-air. “What must I do?”

“You have already taken the hardest step,” Luke lies. “The next one is the easiest: do as I said.”

He does it. Ben pulls his white briefs down, hopping so the bit of baby fat left in his ass jiggles tantalizingly as he frees one foot, then the other. He folds the underwear into a little square, tucking it modestly out of sight beneath his folded trousers.

Luke looks freely in the moment he can before Ben faces him, hiding his embarrassment well. This will be his first virgin. Luke’s had a few boys younger than this, but each was so recently used, still so loose and juicy from their last clients that he hadn’t even needed the recycled speeder oil that passed for personal lubricant. Ben doesn’t know quite how lucky he is, how for his first time he’ll know gentle hands and fragrant oil. Luke has no plans to leave a single dent in this boy, not yet. He even has a few additional words of encouragement.

“Artoo can handle the ship for a while, but when we’re done, I’ll let you fly her. Would you like that?”

Ben faces Luke, utterly, shamelessly happy. “Full manual? Dad showed me how even though he’s not supposed to.”

“Full manual.”

“You won’t tell Mom?”

“It will be our secret,” Luke assures, tamping down his own grin, “but first — the ceremony.” He lets the robes drift back into the chest, closing it with a flick of his hand that morphs into an invitation to sit on the booth.

Ben gnaws at his lower lip. “Without clothes? I don’t want to get the furniture dirty.”

“I’ll take care of everything when we’re done. Go on. Go ahead.”

Ben climbs up onto one of the two cushions, his little sack bobbling between his legs before he spins to dangle them over the edge. “Like this?”

“Yes, just scoot a bit closer.” Luke kneels before his nephew, using every bit of discipline he’s ever learned in order to maintain eye contact. “There,” he affirms when Ben’s calves swing freely, although he nearly laughs when he finds only a girlish mound between his legs. “Ben, spread your thighs.”

The boy clearly doesn’t want to, but not for any of the expected reasons. “Doctor Kalonia says it’s normal,” Ben tries to explain, slowly parting his knees to transform a rather stunning tuck into a lovely set of cock and balls.

He’s larger than Luke would have expected based on what he had seen of the boy during the days of diaper duty. What was once an adorable button is now unusually thick for Ben’s age, with a meaty foreskin ready to accommodate much more growth. That’ll be nice; Luke enjoys receiving nearly as much as taking, but basic biology insists he must wait a few years for anything even half decent. Fine; this is more than enough for now.

Luke remains kneeling as for a blessing. Ben is one, after all, a natural firstborn — if you consider tampering with Han’s prophylactics aboard the Falcon natural — as suitable as any child carefully selected for in a fertility clinic. “I’m about to begin,” Luke announces, using his calmest Jedi voice. “All you need to do is relax.”

“Yes, Master.” Ben lets Luke spread his legs farther apart. He only thinks, “Will it hurt?” but Luke hears it clearly enough.

“The texts indicate the extraction is painless. You may even enjoy it.”

“What about you?” asks Ben in genuine concern. “Is it dangerous? I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Unc—Master.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. Empty your mind like we practiced before. You said you trust me. Just let go.”

A lack of interest in effectively doing nothing says little of how deep Ben can sink into the Force. He’d probably levitate in his commitment to releasing his material self if Luke didn’t hold fast to his thighs for good measure. It only takes a minute for Ben to reach a sleep-like state. In two more, he’s ready.

Ben Solo is a buffet for a beggar, so overwhelmingly delightful that it’s almost impossible to know where to begin until Luke realizes that it is finally safe to let go of himself, at least a bit. He maintains the discipline of keeping his erection at bay, unwilling to waste even a dribble of the precum he’s saved for Ben, but he allows his placid expression to slip. He lets his glamor fade, and his dark aura breathe. His nephew can feel that. He thinks it’s his own about to funnel away, and he therefore does not balk.

From somewhere far away, the crazy old hermit tries to intervene like a guardian angel, tries to rouse his namesake, but he’s as weak in death as he was in life. Luke pushes him out, burying his face in Ben’s lap and taking in his faint smell of herbal soap and utter nothingness. Nothingness! It’s part prepubescence, part attention to hygiene, and entirely rapturous. There was no fragrance quite so luxurious on Tatooine, and it was far outside the reach of a farmhand, even one so unwittingly talented with the mind trick.

Ben subconsciously must appreciate the compliment. He stiffens against Luke’s cheek, stirring his uncle from his reverie. Luke draws back, inspecting the otherwise still boy before sampling the offering with a lick beneath the hooded head. Luke rolls his tongue around its circumference before attempting to worm his tongue into the foreskin. He has limited luck, and instead tries to work the thick skin down with the thumb and forefinger of his organic hand. Actually, this must be what the doctor meant — that it’s unusual, but not necessarily problematic that Ben’s foreskin barely retracts.

Well, that might be fine for Ben, but Luke needs more. Any goals of pacing himself are discarded as he slurps Ben’s cock into his mouth, tugging it as hungrily as a calf at its mother’s teat. There’s as little taste as there is smell, or so Luke believes until working his cheeks to slide Ben up and down his throat finally extracts a light, tangy flavor sipped from within the skin like meat from a fresh sand whale sausage.

The cool hum of the starship is obliterated by Luke’s vulgar suckling, but the deeper he takes Ben in, the more he wants. But there’s not more. Ben is ten years old; he can get hard, but that’s only for show. Any orgasm Luke could offer him would be dry, maybe even uncomfortable. Except…

Oh, how had Luke not already thought of this? He supposes in some ways he really is a hick like Owen and Beru were, just a yokel shooting womprats, unlike Ben who is titled nobility. All that stands between him accepting the princedom to Alderaan’s survivors and diaspora is a carefully curated self-doubt complex. This sumptuous child has lived off of pressed juice and diluted sips of supper wine; he’s never survived off of dusty vaporators and recycled waste.

Luke tries to get at Ben’s inner moisture, presuming he of all people should be adept at extracting it. He’s not. He’s too rough, he assumes, when Ben whimpers deliciously, but Luke senses little pain, mostly only confusion. Ben doesn’t feel fixed at all. He worries he’s done something wrong again. Patience and trust will be recurring lessons, Luke accepts, a continual process until he achieves complete obedience.

For now, and to his great irritation, Luke unlatches, dropping the soggy, reddened pecker from his lips to soothe Ben before he breaks through the meditation. “We’ve almost completed the first step. This is difficult for me, too,” Luke whispers, artfully shaping the truth around how hard it is to keep his own cock soft, “but you’re doing well. I knew you would. Now you just have to relax. Let go. Let your urges flow from you.”

Ben sinks further into the Force, so far that he is almost entirely gone into it. Han’s hyperactivity aside, his son truly has the sort of soul the Jedi strove to foster. It is so pure, so kind, so unique, and now it belongs to Luke Skywalker along with its corporeal form. Said form has gone flaccid from such deep relaxation, but that’s fine, that’s for the best considering how difficult it can be to piss with an erection. “Let go, Ben.”

It’s a trickle at first, with just a hint of salt. Luke is about to reach through Ben with the Force and squeeze the rest from his bladder when a few shy squirts offering notes of dark berries and citrus transform into a stream so fast that some of it dribbles down Luke’s chin and into the collars of his black robes. The rest is guzzled down too quickly to be savored, but there will be plenty of time for improvement, to teach the boy to control such functions. But it was good, a warm, fruity, herbal tea. It’s almost enough. Luke could almost be satisfied for now, but he made a promise.

It’s not himself, Luke knows, but the galaxy that’s sick. Maybe it’s the entire universe. He’s not a violent man, not really. He doesn’t like hurting people or lying regardless of his mastery in each. Luke has never robbed anyone that didn’t need to be robbed, never killed anyone who wasn’t in his way, never fucked anyone who wasn’t either peddled to him or fawning over his naive aesthete or his heroic deeds. There is so much to be repaired, and Ben will help, but not while he’s still so weak and pampered that Luke could swear he’s picking up a honey-sweet aftertaste of breastmilk.

Luke gives the cock a little nibble, just a bit of teeth before bobbing his head down in Ben’s lap and rolling his tongue around his protected glans in case somehow he was wrong about the boy’s underdevelopment. He wasn’t, but that does not stop Luke from palming Ben’s little balls like dice, then slurping them in and out of his mouth as if unlike the attached cock, he could free from their succulent casing if he only sucked hard enough.

Enough. Enough. Ben may as well be out like a light, but if this takes any longer, the hazy sensations Luke intends to leave Ben with will seem more suspicious than mystical. This is plenty. There will be more of this later with Ben conscious and consenting to the degree that he possibly could, but now it’s time to continue.

Nonetheless reluctantly, Luke lets Ben’s balls fall from his mouth and dries them with the inner sleeve of his robe. He looks adoringly down at the boy and kisses his forehead before settling across from him on the lower bunk. As an afterthought, he folds his legs monkishly, straightening his entire posture and laying his hands palms-up over his knees.

“Ben,” Luke calls, drawing out the name.

It takes several seconds before Ben’s eyes move beneath their lids, and half a minute before they groggily flutter open. He blinks rapidly, confused, but to his credit, his expression quickly resolves into a mirror of Luke’s emulated Jedi repose. He even tucks his legs up, completing the serene effect, if hiding his privates. “Did it work, Master?” he finally asks when he can evidently bear the silence no longer.

“Do you feel different?” Luke suggests.

Ben tilts his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Lighter?”

“Maybe.”

“Emptier?”

“Yes, Master. I think so.”

“And do you hear the voices?”

The boy listens for the evil whispers, the cruel laughter nobody else hears, the blame, the inciting, exciting power to do all the things he thinks are evil. Then he grins. “No, Master.”

Luke Skywalker cannot help but return the smile. “I wasn’t sure I could contain it, but you did a wonderful job, my pupil.” Pupil, not Padawan, not yet. “Are you ready for the second phase?”

“Yes, Master. I want to keep going.”

In all of this, Luke hadn’t really considered how to position Ben. It would be awkward on the bunk with the amount of pillows that would need to be propped beneath the boy to get at his hole. It would probably be easiest for Luke to sit on the booth and simply have Ben climb onto his uncle’s lap. Allowing him some control could foster goodwill and important agency, but it’s too early to grant Ben that much trust. “Take the med-crate from the locker,” Luke decides. “Set it down by the door, and stand on top.”

The instructions clearly stump Ben, but he does what he’s told, taking the sturdy box from one of the old storage cubbies and placing it in the only part of the cabin where there’s really room to fuck him properly. “Like this, Master?”

“Lean forward a little.”

There, that’s good, nearly a perfect height. Luke tries not to stare for fear he’ll be entirely mesmerized by the tiny pink dot between Ben’s skinny asscheeks.

“Master? What are you doing?” Ben sneaks a look behind him at his uncle with his trousers around his legs unwinding a long white cloth from around his hips and out of his asscrack. His heartbeat quickens almost as much as Luke’s does.

Usually Luke would shun the ridiculously uncomfortable diaper-like wrappings the Jedi called underwear in favor of modern briefs, but appearances matter more than ever today. “Just getting ready. You may feel some discomfort,” Luke warns earnestly, showing Ben the tube of lubricant he’d kept nice and warm in his pocket when his nephew hazards another glance. “This will help with the infusion.”

“Infusion?”

“I’ve taken as much of your negative energy as I could, but it must be replaced with the light.”

“But why does it look like that?”

Ugh. He’s not supposed to see his master like this, not yet. Fear wells up in Ben at the sight of his uncle’s unavoidable erection, or perhaps its splotchy discolorations from all the healed-over scabs. Again, Ben’s not stupid. Moreover, he may not have grown up watching massiffs mount each other, but the old Chandrilan customs that have already garnered the boy dozens of marriage proposals from highborn girls may have expedited his sexual education.

“Hold still Ben. This will be over soon.”

The boy steps off the box, looking at the floor as Luke approaches. “We’re not supposed to do this.” We? Leia’s diplomacy has rubbed off on her son more than Luke might have imagined. “Aren’t there other ways?” Ben presses his back against the door. “I’m not ready.” Tears spring from his eyes at the realization of what he’s just said. “No, I mean, I—”

Luke considered pulling up his clothes and retreating from the terrified child until he comes to his senses, but it’s either now or never, and never is not acceptable. “Don’t be afraid.” Luke summons some of the goblin’s old words. “Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. Fear is the path to the dark side, Ben. Calm yourself. Turn around and recite the Code,” Luke encourages in his softest voice. “You are so close.”

Ben gets on the box, even manages to get to banthashit about ignorance and knowledge before Luke takes one of his hips and amply douses his pucker with enough lube to get a fist inside. Luke’s not huge. Not small, just not huge, and Ben’s big enough that this would barely hurt if he behaved himself, but Ben does not behave. He reaches for the door panel. When Luke stops him, he bolts across the cabin, cowering beneath the viewport.

Unacceptable. Exciting, but unacceptable. Luke kicks off his boots and his trousers with them. It’s been a long time since he’s had a decent tussle. He makes for the boy with his sexy little nipples and big, pouty lips and soft, floppy hair, and then Luke tastes blood. 

There are seconds, two, maybe less than that in which to act, but Luke does it. He’s the Golden Boy; his reflexes are legendary even at a disadvantage. With no time to spare, he grabs Ben’s ankle as the boy leaps over him to the hall through the door he’d thrown his uncle into. Ben falls hard for a lightweight, but he’s too young and pliable to actually be injured, not like Luke.

Hate. In this one moment, Luke abhors his nephew. He never has before. He loves him like he loves Leia, like he loves Han. Ben is a wonderful, brilliant, funny boy, but he doesn’t understand the rules. While this wasn’t supposed to happen, it can still prove useful. Luke glares down at the cowering Jedi aspirant, mentally pulling a page from the laughable childcare books he’s memorized in preparation for his new role as a guardian. This is fine; it’s just a teachable moment.