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Paz Vizsla’s first feeling upon returning to full consciousness was relief. His weapons, his armor, his helmet were still where they belonged. Then came the rage, as he remembered the Battle for Mandalore. The droids, more formidable than any he’d heard of before, bringing him to his knees with their electro-staffs and their sheer indefatigable strength as they outnumbered him and wore him down. These mechanical monsters had defiled his ancestral home world after making a mockery of the name Vizsla.
It had been glorious, Vizsla and Kryze fighting together once more for the honor of Mandalore, alongside Din Djarin, Saviour of the Darksaber. Paz could only hope that they had survived, and were still fighting for their people. He held hope for Mandalore, for he could not hope for himself.
Chained on his knees, he kept his head down and his breathing steady as he took stock of his new surroundings. He could feel the metal flooring beneath him, and his helmet caught the distant thrum of sublight engines. Solid cuffs encircled his wrists, neck, and ankles, and Paz refused to allow the shame of being collared like an animal overtake him. He was still Mandalorian, that was all that mattered.
He wasn’t alone, he realized next, but his cell’s other occupants weren’t focusing on him. The laughter echoing from the other side of the cell couldn’t drown out the sickening thuds of flesh meeting flesh. Paz wasn’t the only prisoner here.
Carefully, taking care not to raise his head, he looked over to the direction of the sounds. The troopers huddling in a loose circle gave off heat signatures - men, not droids. Paz couldn’t see their prey. He sent a quick prayer to the Manda that neither Din nor Bo-Katan were his fellow captive.
”You can’t fool me, Paz of House Vizsla,” a sudden voice boomed above him. “I know you are awake.”
Paz jumped at the disembodied sound, the words ringing in his ears, almost as if… As if…
“As if I’m speaking directly in your mind. No, my friend. But I am speaking directly in your helmet. Did you wonder, perhaps, why I let you keep such a thing?”
”How do you—“ Paz was cut off.
”As I once told your brother Din Djarin, assume I know everything.”
”Where are you?” Paz growled, pulling at his chains as he gave up all pretense of unconsciousness. “Face me like a man, or forfeit like a coward!”
”I’m afraid you do not dictate terms here, Mandalorian. But because it amuses me…”
The man who materialized before him was unassuming at first glance. Certainly, Paz Vizsla wouldn’t normally give him a second thought. But Moff Gideon’s reputation preceded him.
Sudden rage turned Paz’s vision blood red as he beheld for the first time the defiled of the Darksaber. The architect of the Night of a Thousand Tears.
A cruel smile curved Gideon’s lips. “Ordinarily, having a scion of the mighty House of Vizsla in my grasp would be a worthy cause for celebration. But perhaps such an illustrious name has waned over the recent years.”
Paz growled in rebuke, low and dangerous, but Gideon continued undisturbed.
“Now, I’ve acquired a far greater prize.” He snapped his fingers, and his men instantly snapped to attention across the room. Abandoning their sport.
”Bring him.”
The other prisoner bore no armor or Mandalorian kute, and Paz couldn’t contain the relief that swept over his whole body. It wasn’t Din. It wasn’t Kryze or the Armorer, and Paz would bet his whistling birds that the battered young man wasn’t Mandalorian at all.
Gideon stretched out an imperious hand, and a trooper shoved the prisoner toward him. Catching him easily, Gideon spun the dazed young man around to face Paz and dragged him back against the hard lines of his armored body. One gloved hand kept him in place while the other came up to grip the prisoner’s chin.
”Pretty, isn’t he,” Gideon fairly cooed.
Paz played along, looking the prisoner up and down. He was slim and young, with fair hair and golden skin. Even on his knees, Paz’s helmet came up to the man’s shoulder.
”He’s your plaything?” Paz asked, disgust dripping off him. Why did Gideon care to taunt him with his abuse of his little toy?
Gideon chuckled, the discordant sound etching down Paz’s spine. “That is up to him.”
He stroked his captive’s cheek, smiling when the boy flinched. “Isn’t that right, my dear? You could stay my little plaything, and one of us at least will have loads of fun. Or you can take the place your father made for you.”
The young man came alive, lifting up his bound hands to push away Gideon’s touch. “Never!”
“His recalcitrance is expected, if irritating. But I’ve been enjoying the process of breaking him.” Gideon continued to stroke the boy’s face. “He will be my greatest triumph, one way or another. But until then…”
Raptor-quick, Gideon wrenched his captive around and slammed their mouths together. Paz winced, watching the way Gideon’s tongue force the boy’s mouth open to lick and plunder the inside depths possessively. The boy struggled against the violation, but he was clearly weakened and easily overpowered.
Finally, Gideon pulled back to look at Paz once more. Paz stared back, trying to appear unaffected by the brutal display.
“Jedi are such sweet things, aren’t they?” Gideon faux-mused. “But I suppose not to a Mandalorian. Am I right, Paz of Clan Vizsla?”
Jedi? Paz reared back, grateful that his helmet hid his expression. Gideon’s little toy was a Jedi?
Clan Vizsla had a … long, complicated history with those called Jedi and Sith, but nothing that Paz had ever experienced firsthand. His own best knowledge of the Jedi came from Djarin’s little foundling and his search for a Jedi teacher.
Gideon was smiling again, that edge of smug condescension gilding every word he spoke. “Jedi are rare commodities these days. Owning one is enough to keep me at the top of the Imperial hierarchy.” His thumb traced the Jedi’s bruised lips. “And with this one in my grasp, soon the asset will also be back in my hands.”
Gideon wasn’t watching the Jedi’s face, but Paz was. And so he was ready when the Jedi bit down - hard - on the thumb forcing its way into his already violated mouth. Paz laughed out loud as Gideon jerked his hand away, but the mirth died quickly. Gideon, in the first display of temper Paz had seen from him, lashed out, backhanding his captive to the ground.
He continued his monologue as if nothing had happened at all. “You see, this one isn’t merely a Jedi. He’s also the only son and heir of Lord Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith.” Gideon intoned the name with a reverence that surprised Paz. “And that makes him the rightful heir to the Empire. Once he accepts his place, of course.”
Gideon smiled slyly. “I wonder if Din Djarin knew that when he gave up the asset to his safekeeping.”
Gideon stepped over to his prone captive. He looked down on the small form for a long moment, and then… Paz tried not to flinch as Gideon ground his armored boot into the Jedi’s back. The Jedi moaned in pain on the ground.
At Paz’s deep growl, Gideon looked back over to him. “I don’t suppose you want to help me recover the asset your Mandalorian brother stole from me?”
Paz thought of Djarin’s weird little foundling with the weirder powers. He remembered fighting for that little foundling’s freedom, and he remembered all his brothers and sisters who died for that foundling. The home they’d all lost. To keep the little one safe. Paz didn’t know what had happened to reunite the foundling and Djarin, but as he stared back at Gideon’s smiling visage, there was only one thing to say.
“Rot in hell, coward.”
He watched with a warming sense of satisfaction as the smile slid off Gideon’s smug face.
But then Gideon straightened. “I see you are as unreasonable as your covert brother. Very well, Paz Vizsla. I am a magnanimous man. You are at my mercy, but I am not completely without kindness. You have the following choices. One, remove your helmet and pledge your sword to me —“
Paz scoffed.
“Or two, fuck the Jedi here and now.” Gideon laughed at Paz’s open, disgusted shock. “After all, we all enjoy a little light entertainment.”
Paz stared from Gideon to his fellow captive and back again, mouth working soundlessly beneath his helmet. Finally the words burst through: “You sick fuck, there is no possible way either of these —“
Gideon cut him off by grinding his heel down harshly on the Jedi’s back, eliciting a choked scream. Simultaneously, his head turned toward his guards. “Remove his helmet.”
Paz thrashed in his chains as the guards stalked toward him, but his struggles were useless. Sooner than he could bear, hands seized his head, trying to find the clasps to unseal his helmet. His identity. “Wait wait wait!”
Gideon lifted a hand, and his guards’ efforts ceased.
Paz glared past the guards at his primary tormenter. “Unchain me. I’ll do it. Just call them off.” And then, as the Jedi cried out again, “And stop hurting him.”
“As you wish.” Paz locked eyes with him as Gideon stepped away. “So long as you perform well.”
Finally, Paz was unchained from the wall, although his collar and cuffs remained. He had to endure Gideon’s guards loosening his body armor and baring his flaccid cock. And then he was led to the captive Jedi and prodded into position.
For a moment, Paz could only breathe in deliberate, measured beats as he faced this ordeal. A soft, metallic snick sounded, and then his head was pulled up by the neck. Rearing around, Paz snarled, but could do nothing as a leash was attached to his collar and then his wrists uncuffed.
The Jedi was kicked onto his back, and Paz was pushed down to his knees between the Jedi’s limp legs.
“Strip him, Vizsla. Tear those rags completely off and let us all enjoy that sweet body.”
“That’s not necessary,” Paz growled back.
“Tear his clothes off, or we’ll tear your helmet from you.”
Gritting his teeth, Paz obeyed. It was easy to rip the remnants of shirt and trousers from the pliant body beneath him. It was much harder to fight the hatred seething within him. Hatred for Gideon and his goons, for the Empire, for the Jedi for being weak enough to be taken and forced into this position.
For himself for being weak enough to be taken and forced into this position.
“You might want to harden up, if you want to stay Mandalorian, Vizsla.”
Growling, Paz reached between his own legs to grasp his soft manhood.
“Get me something slick,” he called. Only to be told, “Use what’s already before you.”
Grimacing, Paz found he had no choice. He shoved three fingers into the boy’s slack mouth and pumped them a few times. Trying to coat them with saliva. The Jedi choked underneath him and moved his head, trying to escape. Paz held him still.
“Be good, Jedi. Stay still for me,” he found himself whispering. “Just be still and take it, and then it’ll all be over.”
The Jedi was only half-conscious, and at this moment Paz wished he would swoon completely. Make it easier on them both.
With his wet hand, he pumped himself to hardness and slicked himself up.
Two guards moved to join them, and Paz looked around to Gideon. “Hey! Call them off. I don’t need them.”
“You do not control the scene here, Vizsla. They stay. Let them help you conquer your enemy.”
The guards pinned the Jedi’s bound arms above his head with their knees and then seized each of the Jedi’s legs. They pulled the Jedi’s legs up and back, folding him practically in half and opening him up for Paz. The Jedi whined helplessly, trying to struggle in their grasp.
“Hey, easy Jedi,” Paz tried to soothe him.
“Get to it, Mandalorian!”
It was the worst moment of Paz’s life as he worked his way inside the Jedi’s naked, subdued body. The Jedi screamed as Paz forced him open, and each cry wrenched Paz’s heart.
This was not the Way. This was not what it meant to be Mandalorian.
“Fuck him hard, Vizsla! That’s it. He’s a Jedi, your ancestral enemy. Don’t they all deserve to be conquered and subjugated? He’s the sole heir to all who destroyed your planet and ruined your people!”
And unconsciously, Paz began to thrust harder, as shame gave way to fury.
“That’s it, Vizsla. Take what’s rightfully yours. He’s a tight little bitch, isn’t he?”
Paz tried his best to block out the noise. Wishing he could touch his helmet, cut off the auditory receptors entirely. But Gideon and his goons would notice him trying.
And despite how much he hated everything that was happening, the little Jedi’s body was tight and hot around him. It was easier to lose himself in the physical sensations and block out everything else.
He continued to thrust, chasing the pleasure now coursing through him. Pleasure that soothed his disgust and guilt. He lost himself in the warm, pliant body beneath him.
Shutting away his victim’s cries and his enemy’s mocking laughter.
Siderea Sun 31 Aug 2025 02:37AM UTC
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