Archive of Our Own ^beta

“This is the last time I help you,” He muttered, yanking the offered rifle away. It was old, and scuffed, but the fuses were wired properly and the ammo pack was full, so he had little to complain about.

His companion for this ill-advised venture merely huffed, rolling his eyes as he retrieved his own rifle from the storage compartment, dust still clinging to the abandoned dead-drop. A spider was shooed away, the luminescent green of its carapace blending in well with the nighttime foliage.

“Believe me,” The other man said, reluctantly stowing his saber in a hidden pocket, “This is no task joyfully taken.”

Maul sighed, hoping that Kenobi’s penchant for sprawling monologues was equally as packed away. He resisted the urge to tug at his horns, knowing that this miserable, muggy heat held no favour to hoods even in this late hour. “Whatever. Don’t get killed, I’m not dragging your body back.”

The Jedi’s smirk was nearly as infuriating as the quipped words thrown over the human’s shoulders as he strode out into the wilderness, “Darling, I would never.”

True to form, he was left scrambling after the Jedi, snarling invectives as they were chased by whatever breed of insurgents inhabited this bloated Sith-spawn of a planet. “Kenobi! I’m going to roast your ass over an Ewok fire pit!”

Huffed laughter was the only retort to float to his ears between the sharp fizzles of blaster bolts, making him swear virulently at the other man’s insistence that they hide their sabers in the most convoluted pockets to ever exist. Maul threw a couple of containers behind him with quick yanks of the Force, knowing they did their job by the staccato pause in bolts.

Leaping over a speeder that had caught fire, he fumbled at the hidden closures that concealed his saber. He refused to ruin the complex wraps that constituted a shirt, not least because they were protection from the unenviable swarms of insects native to this region of the planet – tripping over his own clothes would have been an ignoble end, likely to be punctuated with Kenobi’s laughter at such a foolish death. I will not, he swore to himself, Give him a reason to mock me.

Easier said than done, as he skidded around the corner the Jedi opted for at the last second, booted feet skidding in the muddy vegetation. The hand yanking him to a deserted niche was quicker than his instinctive yelp, and he glared at the smirking man who clutched at his elbow.

“Hello, there,” Kenobi said, a smirk stretching at his lips. The man’s beard was pricked with sweat, highlighting his features into something fey with the help of dappled mid-morning light. He settled for glaring, not enough room to yank his arm away as they shuffled themselves deeper into the alcove, ears turned to the pounding feet rushing past them.

“I do not get paid enough to put up with you,” Maul said flatly.

Kenobi affected a wounded look, “I’ll have you know that you couldn’t afford me, anyway.”

Such a remark wasn’t worth responding to, he decided, digging a knuckle into the man’s ribs in retribution. The Jedi, in a frustratingly typical display of graciousness, bore the indignity was naught more than a pout, keeping quiet until the only noise filling their ears was the whine of insects and the occasional bird chirping among the swaying foliage outside the camp.

By tacit agreement, they waited a few moments more. Maul pretended he didn’t feel the rhythmic breeze of Kenobi’s breathing trickling over his ear.

The next time they met, Maul had whittled a place for himself in one of the smaller bounty hunter guilds – he nearly didn’t recognize the Jedi sitting a few tables down from him in the smokey ambiance of the bar, too absorbed in being irritated at the quality of armor the guild cobbled together for him.

I had better gear from my mas- from Sidious, he thought, frowning into his beer. It was a tiring exercise, ridding himself of the chains of habit that bound his mind to the decrepit man. Handling a mission that a child could have done would be more humiliating if the pay wasn’t so thoroughly earned, and because of that, Maul kept his thoughts firmly clenched behind his teeth. This is mine, and no one can take it from me.

Were it not for the knife that went whizzing past him, too far off to truly ping his senses as harmful, he would have quietly plied the droid serving patrons for more beer – and possibly whatever fried dish passed as a meal around here. But as it were, the gloved hand snapping out to neatly catch the blade piqued his attention, and he joined the others shifting in their seats to take a proper look at the developing scene.

Quick as a flash, the blade was returned – apparently to its sender, for Maul heard the swift thunk of the knife in flesh with the accompanying gurgle of a live mark. Such skill was… interesting. Attractive, whispered his mind, and he ruthlessly ground the idea under his heel.

It was silent in the bar, everyone pointedly not-watching as the person rose from their seat. The dark cloak hid most of their features, hood still pulled up over their face. Something about them made Maul’s brain itch, and it wasn’t until an arm poked out from beneath the cloak to wave lazily at the other patrons that he felt a snarl pull over his lips.

“Nothing to see here,” Were the soothing words Kenobi dropped casually into the crowd, the alluringly strong mind trick pushing like an inexorable wave against his own senses numbing the others around them both. Maul reacted with an instinctual ember of hatred, burning off the illusion with disgust. It made the Jedi’s gait slow for a micro-second, steely eyes glinting from beneath his hood as the man pressed forward to his own target. Still, his voice was steady, a warm honey that encouraged these witnesses to return to their drinking, “Nothing to see.”

He waited, suddenly restless, not sure why he was obeying the unvoiced question to leave Kenobi undisturbed as he collected the assassin and left through a side-door. Perhaps I didn’t get all of it, Maul mused absently, recalling the rumors that this particular Jedi was gifted in bending minds to his own will. It left prickles under his skin, thorns of annoyance at the idea that his strength wasn’t good enough to eclipse the pull of another Force User.

It was that thought which spurred him to his feet, following the trail in the Force as he tracked the other man down.

What Maul did not expect, however, was Kenobi to be hauling the body next to the dumpster, rifling through its pockets. It seemed… too dirty, for someone with a career as morally pristine as a Jedi Knight’s. He frowned, and he blamed the blood slicked down the man’s shoulder for taking so long to recognize his guild’s own assigned mark as the person Kenobi had so swiftly dealt with.

“Is there an identi-chip there?” He asked, leaning against the duracrete wall as he watched the Jedi play perfectly the part of common ruffian, “Or is your precious Order so poor they’d loot for spare change?”

Kenobi, unexpectedly, snorted. “Don’t tell Anakin that,” He murmured, obligingly taking more care as he felt along the seams of each piece of clothing. Maul huffed, glancing to the open side of the alley instead of watching the studious trailing of fingers, “I still haven’t convinced him we don’t have hallways paved with gold.”

“That old frog actually decided to let the kid stay?” Maul raised his eyebrows in disbelief, taking a moment to compare the name against what his ma- Sidious, dammit had briefed him on for the Naboo blockade. It was an irritating notion unto itself, that he had to dig for information that was previously readily-available, merely from his rank as Apprentice. He felt a brief surge of rage at it, at having been thrown away so quickly, so easily, the long-healed wound across his abdomen pinching at the edges as he shifted against the wall.

He caught Kenobi looking at him with a complicated expression on his face, no doubt trying to parse the fluctuations in the Force. Whatever thoughts were going on in the man’s mind, it made him decide to branch off in a completely different direction. “You know this person?”

Maul loosed a frustrated sighed, “I know that he’s my target, and that killing him is going to piss off my guild.”

The arched brow sent his way made him glare again. Kenobi seemed to sense that he was on thin ice, and shrugged, “Congratulations on the new job, I suppose. What happened to the old one?”

“Shit pay,” He said, flatly enough that the Jedi seemed to think it was funny, given the muffled chuckle, “I was here for the identi-chip. Does this idiot have it, or am I assuming you stole it?”

“Why, will you search me?” Kenobi asked, looking up at him with an innocent smile.

“If needed,” He replied testily, shifting away from the wall. The intimidation didn’t seem to work, a contrary quirk of the Jedi’s lips indicating something rather different than fear. Maul glared, if only to force a distillation of the murky truth.

Kenobi turned back to the corpse, fingers managing to look thoughtful as he inspected the hit’s clothing as the not-smile lurked on his face. “Well,” He said lightly, “That would be a shame.”

A shame to what, Maul didn’t know. He held out his hand imperiously, instead, telling himself the disappointment he felt at the identi-chip being pressed into his grasp was because of how easy this job was, rather than the rasping trail of glove upon glove.

The next time he saw Kenobi, it was entirely by accident, rather than crossed paths due to similar interests. Kenobi looked worse for wear, hair longer, with a weary look about him that matched the dreary state of his robes. The tea pot nestled over the ash-dusted embers of his meager campfire looked cheap and battered, an enamelled blue that edged into green in the shaded divots where age revealed itself.

Still, an utmost concentration seemed to be paid to it, Kenobi’s brows furrowing as he watched the thin ribbon of steam being coaxed from its spout. It was an expression that seemed unchanged since the last time Maul had seen him, so carefully picking over dead drops and dead bodies alike in search of whatever information his Order deemed fit for him to find. To see it over an innocuous round pot, tended by an equally-worn monk so far from any of the temples, was puzzling enough that he found himself lingering by the outskirts of the waning fire.

“Hello,” Kenobi said mildly, sparing him a raised eyebrow in greeting.

Maul stares at him, then at the gently steaming tea pot. “Hello.”

This seemed to amuse the other man, for he huffed, shifting to his shadowed side to draw two cups and a small pouch out of his bag. The cups were set along the edge of the sleeping fire, balanced carefully on stones circling the edge, joined by the tea pot with a careful hand. Kenobi grasped some of his robe’s sleeve in his hand, using it to temper the heat of the lid as he lifted it, placing a measured clump of leaves into the pot.

A swirl of the contents to mix it, and the Jedi replaced the lid, looking at him with a curious expression. “I admit, I didn’t expect to see you here.” He said, “What brings you to this little corner of the galaxy?”

‘Little’ was hyperbole – Vandor was a sizable planet, its cold mountains the perfect setting for the Banking Clans and other businesses to conduct affairs, while still being in range of the more important hyperlanes to the Core. Maul offered up a shrug, sighing out a breath that had been passively warmed with the Force. His fingers were starting to grow stiff, and the man’s tea was beginning to look enticing rather than something to occupy themselves with.

“A job,” He answered, knowing it wasn’t an answer at all. Curiosity turned him to a parallel subject as he frowned, “Don’t you have that kid to look after?”

Catching the thread, Kenobi tucked his hands into the billowy depths of his sleeves, making Maul only a little wistful for the uniform he had left at Naboo a lifetime ago. The man seemed to be considering him, and whatever scale was being weighed, it seemed to account in a satisfactory manner, “Anakin has many classes.”

And that wasn’t an answer, either, but Maul knew this circling pricking of conversation for the discernment that it was. He wasn’t sure if that burning glow in the pit of his stomach was pride that he was still considered with due wariness, or disappointment that this Jedi was treating him the same as the mold he had been shaped in.

It tugged a complicated expression over his face – he hesitated, lingering by the dwindling campfire long enough to gesture if he should sit, the quick flick of his hand the only steady thing about him.

The nicety was swiftly indulged, Kenobi’s hand elegantly tipping toward the spot across from him with the same ease as the smile spreading across his lips. Maul let his eyes flicker over it briefly, convincing himself it was only the homely contrast of firelight and mottled sprinkle of starlight that caught his attention. He watched the embers as he settled in the patch of earth dampened by the recent rain, feeling the chill of eddying nighttime wind at his back and feeling vaguely grateful for the naturally red colour of his skin where tattoos didn’t obscure him.

Preparing the tea was as meditative to watch as it was to make, an experience Maul hadn’t been on the receiving end of for… a very long time. Shadows of sitting across from Sidious as he demonstrated what his academy tutors had drilled into him darting across his mind’s eye, the perpetual thread of dread sitting tight across his throat feeling out of place with the calm movements of Kenobi’s hands, graceful and yet also unafraid of being burned by the weak fire brewing their tea.

He inhaled, deep and quiet as he stretched his senses out, feeling the wilderness around them outside of the gravity well that was Kenobi’s encapsulating presence. It dropped some bit of chain from his spine, the assured safety that felt rock-solid as he teased out the secrets from around them. The Force felt thin, this high up in the mountain range, as if they were only a leap away from the heavens with few barriers to their ascension.

It made Maul wonder, briefly, if this was why Kenobi chose to camp out here. The Jedi always seemed so… prone to flitting out of the mortal plane – it made Kenobi’s rage on Naboo all the more thrilling, fear tangible in the way his obedient detachment could never have aspired to. He resisted the urge to press a hand against the scar roped across his abdomen, the perpetual ache from a panic-incited healing trance fading into the edges of his perception in the face of Kenobi’s wearied contemplation.

Age suited the man, the vigour of youth smoothing into expertise. Maul had been keeping idle track of the gossip surrounding this erstwhile mission partner of his, making him guess at the impact of losing Jinn and gaining Skywalker in nearly the same breath. Sidious’ teachings had come in handy, then, for all that the coming years were slowly eclipsing the amount of time he had even spent under the man’s tutelage – Kenobi was well-tempered, sharpening the edge that had made him a formidable opponent in the first place.

The combined result was… appealing. From a professional perspective, of course, Maul thought to himself with an internal sniff, accepting the enamelled cup offered to him with an absent nod. The types of missions Kenobi must have been sent on while the child he had taken on as apprentice (and, oh, to have been a fly on the wall for that argument with the Jedi’s Grandmaster), from what his own experience had gleaned, were perilous at best and dangerous at worst.

Peering at the sharp-smelling tea in his grasp, watching the plumes of steam curling up toward his face with faint impressions from the Force outlining the fatigue he could practically taste, Maul pondered at how much Sidious chose to involve himself. The docket for Jedi missions, he knew, was carefully considered with their children in mind. No caretaker would be sent from their child’s side for long, not unless there was a valid reason for it.

But, knowing Sidious, validity was in the eye of the beholder. Though intelligence was sparse on the ground, his own standing had risen enough in his new guild that crumbs of larger size passed his gaze more frequently. Laws were scarcely within the interest of the average bounty hunter, and his newest pastime meshed well with an ear bent toward murmurings in bars and ports across the galaxy.

Something was shifting in the Republic, and it bore the unique fingerprints of the Sith – Maul could see them peeking out in the particular crevasses of the exhausted mien in Kenobi’s face, so close as he was to Sidious’ target.

So Maul inhaled, drawing the Force to himself and quelling the concerns and pains that were his perpetual companions, setting out a gambling chip of his own. “Our guild was scouted out to track some funds.”

This piqued Kenobi’s interest, eyebrows raised as he sipped at the kinna-bark tea. Judging by the lack of surprise, Maul guessed that the other man was travelling a similar track in this quadrant of the galaxy. “And what sort of reward does this garner you?” The Jedi queried, tone mild, “I can’t imagine this is in the usual repertoire of a bounty hunter.”

He hesitated for a beat. “It isn’t, no.”

Kenobi seemed content to out-wait him. Maul took the time to savour the hot tea, swallowing each spiced mouthful with an edge of nostalgia. Once upon a time, the flavour would have been melded with other spices, a blend meant to soothe muscles and fend off infection on hastily-bound wounds. Is he injured? He thought abruptly, peering back at the silvered eyes glinting at him from across the slowly-cooling embers.

The idea was disquieting, for reasons Maul wasn’t eager to parse, but the man seemed to have no compunctions about sorting their midnight repast out without help. The independence settled him, maintaining the image their history had drawn of Kenobi’s seeming inability to truly come to harm.

He nodded to himself, gaze catching on the pale purple of a puff-flower as it reflected the moonlight outside their cozy circle of fire, watching as it swayed minutely in the chilled breeze. It almost reminded him that there was weather to behold at this high altitude, but the tightness in his chest could more easily be attributed to old injuries and passing thoughts than the creeping frost of early winter on this planet.

For one reason or another, the Force was weighing heavily in the direction of speaking plainly to Kenobi. Maul couldn’t fathom why, forced to rely more on his infrequent observations and the man’s general reputation as it passed between people of questionable integrity. It almost tempted him to turn the question back on the other, stopped only by the acute feeling that it would amuse Kenobi to do so. He sighed, wishing for a cloak more billowing that the tightly-zipped jacket his funds afforded him as he broached the subject.

“Some parties are… interested in how certain other parties are conducting their affairs,” Maul said slowly, picking apart the thin trail of rumor and happenstance that had originally led him to Vandor. Pleasant as the planet was – and far more hospitable than the rugged steppes of his last stop, filled with venomous lizards that lurked in the sandstone pitted by glaciers from eons past – the trek of digital and physical funds was exhausting to follow, “Some guilds have been reporting unsatisfactory pay, and many of us have been attempting to see if it matches patterns found in other… industries.”

Kenobi hummed, reaching forward to pour himself another cup. He gestured to Maul with the pot, obligingly pouring another serving out when he extended his half-empty cup. The metal was nearly scalding, and served as pleasant focal point through his calloused hands. Bemused, he watched as the man toasted him, deciding on a whim to return the gesture before taking a hearty swallow.

They sat in silence for a while, the Jedi digesting his words as he rolled his cup between his hands. The repetitive gesture was soothing, and Maul leaned back on his heels, relaxing into the quiet companionship so readily offered. Eventually, Kenobi spoke, eyes darting from stone to ember and back.

“Our Agricultural Corps has reported difficulties in obtaining supplies,” Kenobi replied idly, “Nothing drastic, though it’s been changing our projections of future help to many systems. It’s only recently that my research has pushed me back out into the field.”

Maul nodded, frowning at how well that slotted into his knowledge of Sidious’ plans. The thought was disconcerting, and it was underlined by the insistent edge to the Force to pool his knowledge together with Kenobi’s, for it seemed their problems had… if not the same, then a highly similar source.

“Have you been able to find other suppliers?” He found himself asking, abruptly curious as to the answer.

The man shrugged, “The Corps doesn’t use specialized materials, as a matter of course, but the quality of things like fertilizers and filtration systems is suspect to changing. It has been forcing us to assess whether we need to rethink which planets are more heavily impacted.”

He had a sinking suspicion that this reorganization would play directly into Sidious’ hands, and the bolt of anger that shot through him was nearly perplexing, if only for the sheer fact that this, technically, had barely anything to do with him. His scar itched, forcing him to remember his diatribe before being assigned to intercept the two Jedi during the blockade.

But no- this was no longer personal, for all similarity it had to shitting in the same pond one drank from inevitably coming back to haunt you. It had seemed fantastical, at the time, that the long-held Sith plans for overturning the galaxy to rake in their superiority would have such wide-spread and deeply-planted roots. Being forced to confront the rotten fruits of the Sith’s efforts turned something sour in his stomach, pitching him forward into resolution.

It settled low in his stomach, a fire whose quenching would be tested – sooner, rather than later, knowing his luck. And that thought did make him sigh once more, knowing he was barreling forward with little inspection of the future. His visions of late had been sparse, too obscured with golden eyes of fire and impersonal lines of gleaming white armor to glean anything else from the Force.

“If,” He began, bracing himself with a steadying gulp of the spiced tea, “If some systems fall off the list, I might… know where to direct them for- future security, you could call it.”

Kenobi blinked at him, looking far too bewildered for the offer Maul just slid onto the table. He wasn’t keen on doing so, for his position within the guild system was not as stable as he preferred, but it was ill-advised to ignore the Force’s prodding when it deemed fit to intervene. Maul frowned at him, challenging and petulant all at once.

The Jedi inhaled, gusting it out a beat slower as he nodded. “Very well,” Kenobi said, “I shan’t look a gift bantha in the mouth.”

Maul smirked, raising his cup in a toast. It seemed to break whatever barrier the other man had been hiding behind, for he shook his head in amusement and returned the toast.

“To the future,” Kenobi proposed.

“To the future,” Maul replied, pushing away the apprehension that wound itself around such a prophetic statement. He bade his own wish along with it, a silent hope for future bounty. If the Force deemed it acceptable, he wasn’t privy to its sentiments.

The pot of tea held enough to smooth the stilted passing of queries into conversation that passed over everything, and nothing, whiling away the time as the stars spun above them until the sun heralded its presence. Instead of feeling fatigued, Maul rose to his feet with the fizzy feeling of invigoration bubbling in his veins, fulfilling as if he had slept through the entire night with nary a whisper of danger.

Because of that, he leant into the compulsion to extend a hand to Kenobi, helping the other man to his feet. The warm grip was steadying, coaxing the ghost of a smile that flickered unconsciously onto his face at Kenobi’s cordial expression. It was a familiar brand of reluctance to release his hold, letting go of the hand in his as the man turned to scuff out the last lingering embers from the night.

Crossing paths the next time was more the product of the Force’s intervening hand rather than sheer chance. Maul’s new life was a comfortable second skin, now, not the awkward struggle to earn a steady meal that made him ache bitterly for the favour of his old master. The galaxy was rumbling with the earthquakes seeded by Bane’s Heir, shaking into liquefaction to be molded to Sidious’ will – and business, for better or worse, was booming.

Maul scrolled through his list of appointments, double-checking his ship’s navcomputer to figure out what would be the most efficient set of routes for the entire docket. If I take these ports for re-supplying… He mused to himself, tracing the auto-suggested routes and the systems they passed through, adjusting some of the lines, Yes, should be about two weeks.

The burst of satisfaction at plotting the circuitous route with few planned interruptions was one of the best-received benefits of being a bounty-hunter – his schedule was none but his own, and with nobody to dictate his aim, he had been able to build a reasonably comfortable life. He had enough time – provided everything slotted into the places he put them – to take a week to tour the mechanics market on Humbarine for any new items that might catch his eye.

So it was, two and a half grimy weeks later, the mélange of head-hunting and the mildly entertaining hide-and-seek that was item retrieval made him eager to explore the layered markets outside the capitol sector. Fresh from docking his ship in one of the more reputable ports on the planet, Maul strode to one of the ecumenopolis’ many metros with lightness in his step and pockets heavy with freshly-earned chits.

Although it was the sister planet, Balmorra, that hosted weapons markets, there was more to a bounty hunter’s profession than the oft-lauded murder streak that the holo-novelas touted. (Far more. Maul might prefer it to the solid five days spent crawling through a muddy complex to retrieve an heiress’ betrothal ring.) He sighed, checking his messages while the train passed through several stops until his destination.

The head of his guild was congratulating him on a job well done – which one, he wasn’t entirely certain, given the blur of work the past few months as tensions picked up along the major hyperlane routes – and a bonus was apparently pending for his monthly stipend for the boost in reputation afforded to their guild, as well as a recommendation to take his pick in the next round of offers coming on the heels of some major political figure’s assassination. He shook his head, knowing that would require some prodding at the news when he had energy for it, and checked the next message confirming the guild-master's sentiments on his pay raise.

Well, it was a good day to hear such news. Taking care of his ship seemed a never-ending task, as well as the armor and rotation of clothing he could fit into the cramped wardrobe on board. Though the guild had supplied him with quarters in the same district the rest of the members resided in, Maul himself barely spent time in them, more content to roam the stars now that he was virtually untethered by Sidious’ scheming.

After minutes of preoccupied thought interspersed with the periodic chiming of the metro’s stops, Maul had arrived at the market district. The colourful banners announcing newcomers to their location fluttered merrily in the wind, a visitor’s first glimpse to the towering levels of shops that lined each side of the airway reserved for speeders and other air cars. He spied a rental shop for jumpspeeders next to a currency exchange booth, and resolved to take a look at their collection if his curiosity took him farther than where his feet wanted.

The next few hours were spent pleasantly, strolling leisurely down the streets and stopping whenever a sign caught his eye. There were a few impulse purchases, from a new leather belt with enough loops for multiple packs, to a lock-picking kit that fit cleverly into a faux credit chit.

He paused at a stall specializing in blaster accessories, inspecting the various repair kits and wondering if the merchant had parts configurable to the A-180 he’d been favouring lately. His thoughts drifted momentarily to the saber that took months repairing from the Naboo reactor’s melting pit, eddying naturally to Kenobi.

It was always going to be a personal ache, that battle, but its outcome was not nearly so bitter as the aftermath. Being tossed away, after so many years honing himself to being the perfect Apprentice by Sidious’ side, now made him feel as tired as infuriated. It was tempered only by the mystifying demeanor of Kenobi, the man’s wariness nearly entirely absent after Naboo – the incessant prickle of flirtation and companionability in turns still vexed him, despite it being nearly two years since their last meeting on the wintry peaks of Vandor’s mountain range.

The memory of kinna-bark tea still rested easily on his tongue, and with a sigh, Maul turned away from the vendor to wander down the street once more. Memories, once subsumed by the fatigue of a busy work life, floated up to the fore-front of his mind.

“You never did roast me over that Ewok fire pit.” Kenobi mused, a fond smile on his face.

Maul grimaced, remembering the humid forest and cramped quarters of their impromptu hiding spot. “Well,” He said, interrupting his own thoughts as they threatened to jump down the nearest gutter, affecting a cool air, “You didn’t die, luckily for you.”

“Luckily for me, yes,” The man laughed, cheeks flushed with good humor in the dim lighting, “Luckier still for the senator that needed the information from those arms dealers.”

“Jedi never struck me as the type to cavort with such sundry people,” Maul remarked, raising a brow at the man. Dossiers compiled about the Order aside, they generally came across as too… monk-ish. Pausing to reflect back on his own life, with the rigorous hours of training and missions, he admitted that perhaps his life as a Sith Lord was similar. He shook his head, “How long did it take you to get here, anyway? It’s out of the way for a Core World.”

Kenobi shrugged, resting his chin on a hand. It shifted the shadows on the man’s face, his idle smile pressed more familiarly into his cheeks. “Not terribly long,” He admitted, “I’m merely one knight working in concert with a team.”

He stilled, eyes cast into the middle-ground as his own memories seemed to reflect back at him from the glaze of the tea pot. “I’m not sure if I got the short end of that particular stick,” Kenobi mused, something mischievous in his gaze when it flicked back to Maul’s, stuttering the rhythm of his dual hearts, “I may have to camp in the middle of the woods, but my friends will be caring for my padawan while he works on a school project.”

That startled a laugh out of Maul, his own days at the Orsis Academy coming back to him, “A menace, is he?”

“Incorrigibly so,” Kenobi agreed, grinning. He leaned forward, voice dropping to a stage whisper, “He’s been trying to convince me the best way to test his theories in his repulsorlift mechanics essay is to join one of the street races in the Bindai District.”

“That’s appalling,” He replied, voice caught between disbelief and hilarity. They stared at each other for a beat, then two, before one of them cracked, their laughter echoing out into the surrounding wood.

The sound eventually petered out into sporadic giggles, interspersed by the faint clink of the cups being refilled. Kenobi’s little tea pot was nearly empty, but the company seemed to stretch each sip for an eternity. The kinna-bark was cooling in the chilled air, despite Maul’s best attempts to coax some warmth back into it by channeling the Force through his hands, and he huffed a little as he gave it up for a lost cause.

“Something on your mind?” Kenobi asked, peering at the way he peered mournfully at his tea.

Maul shrugged, taking a pacing sip, as if it would prolong the inevitable moment they would part ways. “Can’t warm the tea back up.”

“Can’t- can’t warm the tea back up?” The other man shook his head, “How were you intending to do so?”

He stared at him, wondering if it was a trick question. Slowly, Maul held up a hand, palm-out as he wiggled his fingers a bit. “… Warming it? It’s a Force technique?” Kenobi gave him a baffled look, and he sighed, wondering if it was too late to message his old master in order to complain about the state of the world one more time, “Jedi. How did you ever manage to defeat me.”

The way Kenobi leaned back to affect an imperious pose eked some of the offense from the injury of Naboo, and Maul found that he couldn’t define the Force User across from him as an enemy, not with how the man had a lingering smile as he blithely declared, “All things are possible with the Force’s guidance.”

“Except for keeping your drink warm,” Maul deadpanned, unable to keep a straight face at the scandalized noise the other made.

Though Maul hadn’t gotten the opportunity to teach the technique – a grievance on multiple, convoluted levels – the rest of their time on the planet passed amicably. Kenobi had gone off to complete his mission, disappearing into the wooded depths away from his own path. It made the nostalgia hit deeply, reverberating out even now, the wistful wish to walk in the same direction.

“Are you alright?”

The deeply familiar voice drew him back to the cacophony of the bustling market. Maul blinked, turning toward the Force’s urging. It was none other than the man himself, with Kenobi garbed in similar gear to his – ostensibly to blend in, he presumed, and his mind clicked away in wonderance at what could lead the Jedi to do so.

Inevitably, his eye drew down, and then up, registering the dark colours that made the man’s copper hair and beard all the more vibrant. It satisfied some curious part of him, the absent musing at what Kenobi would look like in Sith’s colours. The only aberration was the concern colouring his face, lips pursed into a frown and brows furrowed over crystal-clear eyes.

No, he would make a terrible Sith. Maul didn’t bother to observe the tangle of emotions that sentiment provoked, shaking his head when he recalled the other’s question.

“No- no, I’m fine,” He replied, frowning at the way his words stumbled in his surprise. “What are you doing here?”

It came out more accusatory than he intended, but there was no time to grimace with the amusement that stole over Kenobi’s face. “I dare say the same reason you’re here for,” He said, gaze dragging up and down in the same way his own had moments earlier, sparking a shock up his spine at the attentive gaze, face heating at the studious contemplation. Kenobi’s eyes caught on the small shopping bags the vendors had given Maul with his purchases, “Though, perhaps you have a more sedate schedule for your day.”

Maul hadn’t a single idea how to respond to that, brain still fizzling at the unexpected searing from the Jedi’s meticulous regard. He licked his lips, grasping for words and absently noting how the action was tracked. “I don’t have any schedule,” He confessed, moving off to the side when some other shoppers grumbled as they moved around him and Kenobi. The brass railing was cool despite the mid-day heat, wicking away his agitation at still processing the other man’s behaviour, “It’s been a busy few weeks.”

A warm smile transformed Kenobi’s face at the words, and he adjusted the sunglasses that were perched atop his head. “Well,” The man said gregariously, “How about lunch?”

It was certainly a unique experience to board the metro with his erstwhile opponent (not enemy, no, Maul thought they were never truly so at odds to justify that). The carriages were old, swaying as it zipped down the lines and rocking them into each other at the bends. He tried not to feel flustered, focusing on keeping a hold of his purchases, but Kenobi seemed to merely accept the forces exerted on him as he leaned into Maul’s side to steady himself.

The line of warmth buttressing him against the window was unexpectedly reassuring, and he fought down the urge to turn into the man’s casual slouch, keeping his fingers tightly curled around the poles meant to keep passengers upright lest he wrap them around Kenobi. As if catching the thought, the man glanced up at him, an absent smile turning his lips upwards. He nodded in response, if only to draw the attention off of him.

That seemed to satisfy Kenobi, and so they passed the rest of the journey in relative silence, the other tourists and locals around them providing more than enough background noise to preoccupy them. He found himself drifting into a doze as his mind dipped into an idle rumble of thoughts that held little rhyme or reason, sinking his senses into the Force with a relaxed exhale.

Some similar decision seemed to have occurred to the other man, the delicate prickle of his thoughts sliding up against his own, half-aware but yet ready to snap back to alertness. The sensation added another layer on to his drifting lassitude, the dual knowledge that his back was watched with the unique solidarity that was another Force User so closely aligned to his own signature a comfort that he had gone too long without.

The ping of an oncoming stop roused him, paired with a gloved hand slotting into his own that coaxed him away from his spot and out of the train. For whatever reason, Maul found himself not commenting on how Kenobi’s hand stayed in his, instead paying more attention to where they were going.

Delicate lights twinkled around them, a good clue that they were further inside the city – the lack of speeder traffic barraging against his ears was another, and he quirked a curious brow in Kenobi’s direction. He received only a wink, the hand in his tugging him along the winding streets that held all the aura of a perpetual night-time market.

Open-air seating was scattered along both sides of the path, the low buzz of conversation overlapping itself with the occasional punctuation of laughter or the swooping theatrics of whatever holo-shows were displayed creating an atmosphere of relaxed levity. Maul let himself be guided, curiosity rising as they passed restaurants and cafés dotted with those ever-present lights made from multi-coloured, shaped glass. 

He found himself ducking underneath a string of flower lights, brushing them aside with a careful touch as Kenobi ducked underneath them with an elegant twist. The lights sparked wherever they met his fingers, the subtle buzz of electricity probably the reason behind Kenobi’s unconscious insistence to avoid them, however beautiful they were.

They wound their way into an alley, no less crowded of lines of customers, but quieter, as if some precedence for idyllism overtook the need for night-time cavorting. It seemed almost… romantic, but Maul admittedly didn’t know why Kenobi chose to bring him here, where the groups of people were in pairs more often than large, laughing groups. Perhaps he didn’t want to be rightfully mistaken as a Jedi, out in the open?

It was a sensible conclusion, so Maul huffed to himself, hoping that wherever they were going, it wouldn’t require more walking – he had come to this planet to relax, not trek through the depths of civilization in search of food.

Luckily for the both of them, any oncoming griping was dispelled with the simple act of stepping – finally – into one of the food shops. The air was laden with the zinging scent of spices and meat, making Maul’s mouth water almost immediately. Kenobi tugged him forward so they were side-by-side, and it took him a moment between interpreting the menu’s cramped handwriting to notice that the man’s hand was now slung around his waist.

Moving out of Kenobi’s grip would have had him tripping over the other customers in the too-packed space, so Maul told himself that his attempts to move out of range didn’t coerce the other’s hand to press more firmly, slotting beneath the gap of his armor. It was in this reluctant hold that Maul found themselves edging forward in the line, Kenobi neatly calling out an order for both of them.

“Two Bivoli Tempari with flatbread,” The man said loudly, voice jumping over the cheerful din in order to be heard by the cashier. He glanced at Maul for a moment, seeming to make a decision, before turning back to the Zeltron scribbling down their order, “And two Birrhas- made with Avedame!”

“Anything else?” The cashier asked, in the same pitched volume meant to carry. When Kenobi gestured a no, they rung up the order, the Jedi quickly sliding over credits to pay for their meal.

Maul… wasn’t sure what this meant. Was it as thanks? If so, for what? He puzzled over questions like these, not paying much mind to how the Jedi’s hand at his waist was guiding him to a secluded corner of the stoep, nor how the solid warmth was echoed by Kenobi’s mind leaning against his.

Their meals arrived fairly quickly, hot trays of barbecued meat and puffed flat bread erasing any concerns from his mind. He murmured a thank you to Kenobi, digging into the food with relish. The meat was tender, drenched in a thick, sweet sauce, delicately balancing peppery heat and the faint briny taste of oysters.

It was delicious, and with the intriguingly potent drinks delivered to them, a filling meal. The drinks weren’t as satisfying to clink in the cheap plastic cups, but the grin on Kenobi’s face made the gesture worthwhile, regardless.

The good company, with Kenobi’s line of casual warmth pressed into his side, combined with the cheerfully relaxed atmosphere, absconded with his good sense. He was idly charmed with how the string of lights that made itself at home in this corner of the restaurant quarter glittered with variant colours in the other man’s hair, too absorbed with the sight to realize that the spiced wine which sat so complementary in his stomach had an acidic edge to it, only noticeable when his extremities flared with a loose heat as he caught the Jedi’s gaze.

He turns an offended look to Kenobi, having expected better than to be poisoned at this point. Or possibly at all, given the man’s general temperament outside of a lethal duel, but Maul shelved that thought to the dusty corner of his mind he rarely visited.

“What,” He said flatly, shoving his cup toward Kenobi’s face, “Did you do?”

Kenobi gave him a quizzical look, not pausing as he licked a daub of sauce off of his thumb. He glanced at Maul’s cup, then back at him, a delayed expression of realization in his pupil-widened eyes – whatever it was, it was in both of their drinks, and Maul wasn’t sure who’s ass needing kicking for this.

“Oh.” Was the immensely un-assuring reply. Kenobi, glibly, brought his own drink to fore, taking a large gulp with enough gusto that Maul felt a muted sense of panic and nearly attempted to swipe the man’s cup out of his grasp. A thoughtful expression stole over the Jedi’s face, and with a satisfied smack of his lips, announced, “They must not’ve made this batch well, but I suppose cheap liquor can’t have high expectations.”

… Nobody’s ass, apparently. Unless he counted Kenobi for being an idiot, however unintentionally. He instead brandished his cup pointedly, hoping a firm look was on his face instead of- whatever it was he did while drunk. It had been a while since alcohol had gotten to him this quickly.

The action amused Kenobi, because he chuckled, the sound unusually rich for Maul’s experience of him, and fairly slumped into his side.

“I think,” He said, some hidden depth to his smile as he peered up at Maul, “That we should discuss this... elsewhere.”

Of that, Maul could agree. Together, they managed to look pulled together enough to leave the establishment, leaning into each other when the other stumbled on some innocuous piece of ground. Kenobi seemed fit to lead them to a quieter alley, face ruddy and sunglasses tilted precariously as they lingered under the pointed arches and sporadic lights.

The man leaned against the wall they had drifted toward, oblivious or disinterested in the humming heat the drink was imbuing them with. Somewhere along the way, Kenobi had linked fingers through his own, and it was by this that Maul was drawn forward. Kenobi’s eyes glinted, reminding him sharply of the silvered glass the wealthy liked to use as decoration, reflecting light with its own particular sheen.

He found himself leaning forward, something the other man didn’t stop, until his forehead was resting against the other’s. One of his horns, which had been filed down to expediency despite its intimidating stature, had locked around a curl of Kenobi’s – the feathery softness was light enough to send shivers along the nerves on his scalp. The action was echoed by the careful way Kenobi trailed a hand against the back of his head, resting with five-point heat gently and where it could be easily shaken off.

Some time between then and now, Kenobi's hand was now bare, a disorienting sensation for its novelty. It was a tumultuous combination, and the cocktail echoing in bass tempo down his veins prompted him to ask, “What was this, about the drink?”

Kenobi stared at him for a moment, eyes fluttering shut briefly as he breathed. The action rippled heat through him, and Maul forced himself to rest in silence against the other, awaiting his answer. He leaned equally into the Force, feeling faint shock at a similar pull from Kenobi – the man’s signature was familiar enough know to know which swirling vectors held his unique sense-shape.

“The, ah, Avedame is… a traditional base wine for Birrha cocktails,” Kenobi briefly tightened the grip on his hand, loosening too quickly for him to see if the man’s pulse thudded to the same beat as his own, “It’s potent, and tastes good, I think. Usually they- the eatery we were at – has a good bottle on hand that’s well-made, but… Uh.”

He felt himself raise an eyebrow, which was an interesting sensation when pressed against someone else, but it seemed to distract Kenobi, if the flush to his skin was any indication. There was a loose, but distinct, urge to investigate further, but the way the man floundered was currently a more intriguing mystery.

“But?”

“But… it can be,” Kenobi’s tongue flitted out to wet his lips, a distracting gleam in the dim lighting of the alley, “A, uh. Aphrodisiac. If not processed to standard.”

For a moment, Maul could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the way the man leaning into him had the widened pupils of the mildly-drugged, abruptly cognizant of every point at which they were casually clinging to each other. He gusted out a sigh, somehow both amused and exasperated, absently noting how even with the verbal side-stepping Kenobi still had a hand cupped delicately across the back of his skull.

He could filter it out – enough experience with the poisons has granted him the ability to parse toxins from his bloodstream quick enough to jump back to his feet. It’s a useful skill, one his guild has taken advantage of for the more precarious missions they coordinate on, and Maul’s fairly certain Kenobi has at least an equal amount of skill at this, despite his despairing inability to heat his own tea.

But the fact that the Jedi is taking his time to bring himself back to relative health, remained deliberately pliant and close, strikes a particular chord in Maul’s mind that has him reaching the hand not held in Kenobi’s to the man’s face. The brief swipe of thumb over the man’s lip in question has Kenobi sucking in a breath, the movement of air that much more intimate when he could feel the dampness move across his hand.

On an absent wish, Maul presses that thumb just the slightest bit firmer, absorbed with the cascading effect this has on the other man. A shiver, then a tongue darting out to touch his thumb, and from there his brain shorts out, unsure which direction he should take – should want.

This problem seems solved with Kenobi’s hand pressing against the back of his head, narrowing the space between their mouths. It was a simple press of lips that slowly attenuated into a slick slide that had him crushing Kenobi’s hand in his.

“Okay?” The question was breathed against him, steady and yet still holding that familiar wrinkle of concern Kenobi was apparently innately formed with.

Maul breathed, unsteady huffs as he took stock. The warmth that pervaded his senses was still there, a nudge away from tumbling into a harder edge of desperation, if he wanted it. Kenobi’s eyes were fixed to his, the persuasive silver a thinning circle around muted hunger.

And, he found, that he did want it – he wanted the way Kenobi clutched at him, the way his own hands seem magnetized to the other, seeking out the luxurious pull of warmth emanating from beneath the sturdy not-armor that fitted itself so well to Kenobi’s body. It held a firm underlying layer of safety, something which was fragile and rare, brokered in a trust that started with the shock of compassion which pulled Kenobi’s strike on Naboo and kept him from a near-certain death.

So he nodded, let himself rest more thoroughly into Kenobi’s hold, “Okay.”

Kenobi exhaled slowly, rousing himself from whatever stupor that held him so patiently as he awaited Maul’s decision. The hand at the back of his head shifted, firm enough to convey that the man wasn’t pulling away, but slow enough to incite anticipation along his nerves.

He found himself in another kiss, this one with more intention behind it. This was something he had only done perfunctorily before, and the casual mastery of ardor Kenobi displayed was its own boost to the aphrodisiac coursing through their system, guiding them in an addicting rhythm from one press of lips to the next.

“What do you like?” Kenobi murmured, nipping just under his jaw and only relenting with a soothing kiss when his skin prickled at the touch.

It was too tantalizing too move, too curious was he to find out where the man’s mouth would be placed next to bother with trivial things like scraping his brain together to form an answer, “I- I don’t know.”

That brought him a thoughtful hum under his ear, reverberating into his skin and dropping his stomach down to his toes at the way Kenobi’s voice dropped an octave, the sound kicking his hind brain directly into arousal’s path. “Well, then,” Kenobi drawled, tonguing the spot between jaw and ear, “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Maul nodded, tilting his head up to let Kenobi do as he pleased. It brought him closer to the other man, and the way their chests moved in tandem against each other felt like a dizzying dance in combination with the way hands plied him into a more malleable position.

He felt the way Kenobi’s mind reached toward his, a counterpoint to how he untangled their clasped hands to slide up the man’s arm. Being so buffeted by the Jedi’s presence made his footing feel adrift, the only buoy in this storm the questing mouth and hands bracketing him against the stone wall of the alley. He sighed into the kiss bestowed onto him, feeling the flickers of heat that accompanied the inquisitive swipe of tongue just past his open lips.

Kenobi squeezed a hand at his waist, encouraging him to cant his hips forward. This proved to be a spectacular idea, Maul gasping into his mouth and tightening his grip where it had curled above the man’s elbow, sparking an encouraging groan. He rolled his hips, meeting the other halfway as they ground against each other.

It felt hot, sweat beading under Kenobi’s hand at his nape, and Maul squirmed, seeking to dissipate the sensation while at the same time clinging closer to the man. The hand moved, a heavy press forward onto his neck, before moving between jacket and shirt to coax the outer layer off his shoulder. It was quickly followed by a quick, superficial bite where the collar of his shirt ended, Kenobi’s other hand slipping underneath the jacket to join its pair at the other side of his neck.

The action skimmed his palm over a nipple, already prickling from the careful attention paid to him, making Kenobi smirk as he dragged his hands down Maul’s arms to slide the jacket off of him. He shivered, leaning down to mouth at Kenobi’s jaw in an attempt to coax the man back into another kiss. The man’s beard was an unusual sensation, but the comparative coarseness was a delight to his bruising lips, and he bit at the man’s earlobe when the other seemed too preoccupied in etching a mark on his neck.

He couldn’t have expected the sharp thrust against him, Kenobi feeling entirely too solid for the way he twisted the Force into hauling Maul even closer, as if their clothing were already shed. He moaned at the scattered imaginings echoed over to him, squeezing his hands where they gripped Kenobi.

This, more than anything, seemed an adequate persuasion, for Kenobi yanked at his jacket, pushing it down his arms and heedless of the way it dislodged Maul’s own grip and his purchases from earlier in the day. The bags clattered to the ground, a soft thump of his jacket following. Kenobi’s hands pressed his own against the wall, palms scratching against the worn duracrete, before flitting away to his chest with trailing fingers that felt like they left burning imprints wherever they were.

Maul found himself hoisted against the wall, heels lifting from the ground as he was tipped onto his toes, fingers dragged against the rough wall in a way that bruised his fingertips and skittered sparks up his arms as Kenobi maneuvered him to rest neatly against his own tented crotch. It was easier to relax his stance, the other man slipping between his legs with a decisive nudge against the inside of his thighs that had him clutching at the man’s shoulders, nails digging in with fervent ferality.

“I’ve got you, darling,” Kenobi murmured, massaging his thighs where they curled around the man’s hips, leaning up just the slightest to press his lips against Maul’s in a kiss that was sweeter than the resolute heat with which Kenobi ground himself against Maul’s cock, “Tell me if you like something, hm?”

He scarcely found time to nod before Kenobi was dragging his hands over Maul’s chest again, scratching lightly in a way that made him pant into Kenobi’s mouth. His shirt was untucked in a ragged manner, as if Kenobi was having his own trouble controlling his coordination, mouth hot on his.

Despite the numerous distractions, Maul knew immediately when Kenobi succeeded, the cool air hitting his stomach and Kenobi’s hands feeling like a brand on his skin. He groaned, hitching his legs wider when calloused fingertips teased at the opening for his pants.

“My, aren’t you eager,” Kenobi teased, as if his own hands weren’t trembling in anticipation. Maul dug his fingers in harder in warning, but that served to only widen the man’s pupils – he dragged a hand down to one of Kenobi’s instead, tucking the man’s fingers under his waistband and against his erection. The uneven breath that edged into a moan proved Kenobi’s own ‘eagerness’, and he ground his hips down, forcing Kenobi’s hand to be trapped between them.

“What are you waiting for?” Maul asked, hissing into the man’s ear, “I can always take care of this myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” The other man spat impulsively, shoving his fingers further down. Kenobi’s nails scraped along the tip of his cock, calling Maul’s bluff immediately with a shocked moan, twisting his wrist so Maul was bucking against his palm instead of his cock, “And just for that, you’re coming when I tell you.”

Considering that Maul had been acting with only half an idea of how to progress when both of them were high off of a cheap drink, he was surprisingly alright with the bolt of heat that had him popping the button on his pants so the other man could act as he wished. He had a feeling Kenobi would be merciful on this front, anyway, given the wild look of arousal in his eyes.

“Then you better make me come good,” He said lowly, gripping Kenobi’s hair so the man’s head tilted, biting at the thundering pulse presented to him and relishing the way he sucked in a trembling moan, “If you’re going to make me wait for it.”

The goad worked, inciting Kenobi to pull the zipper down on his pants with haste, fumbling with his underpants as Maul mouthed at his throat with an iron grip on the man’s hair. Getting Kenobi’s hand on his cock was satisfying and he thrust into it languidly, pushing the sensation to the man with the tenuous, temporary connection in the Force between them, if only to feel the gratifying way the man tightened his grip.

He got the intense feeling that Kenobi was being drawn a little too much into his own head, stripping his cock with a determined pace that made him think the man was confusing which one, precisely, was getting off on this. Maul dragged his legs up, using the other’s impressively solid calves to give himself a boost on his way to wrap himself around the man’s hips, dislodging the firm hand around his cock and giving him room to grind more directly against Kenobi’s cock.

The glazed look on the other’s face was a temptation unto itself, and Maul felt himself drawn to the kiss-bruised lips once more, trying his own hand out on drawing a moan from the other with tongue and teeth. It worked, Kenobi straining against the hand in his hair, beard scraping against his chin as the hand that was against Maul’s cock pressed against his abdomen instead.

Kenobi’s hand was hot against his scar, and it seemed to draw some sense of coherency back to him, fingers pressing against the edges, as if he could gauge by touch alone how severe the old injury was. Maul inhaled carefully, knowing it shifted the skin beneath the man’s touch, and withdrew enough to shake his head, removing Kenobi’s hand from the wound he had dealt nigh-on a decade ago.

The pause lingered before them, tempering the burgeoning heat they had been using to fuel this spontaneous tryst.

“It’s healed,” Maul didn’t know what prompted him to say that, or whether the words pertained only to the physical, but they sat well on his tongue regardless. It seemed to soothe some concern of Kenobi’s because he nodded quietly, pressing his hand against the scar that drew itself across the breadth of his abdomen as if in absolution, drawing it up under Maul’s shirt to rest, splayed, over where both hearts beat.

The Force was doing something convoluted, his senses dulled to the particular nuances but knowing the particular flavour of Kenobi’s signature impressing itself against his skin in a more reliable heat than the concoction the man had unwittingly fed them both. He loosened his grip on the man’s hair, threading his fingers through the strands, watching as it relaxed the set of Kenobi’s shoulders.

Kenobi had a particular sort of beauty, he observed, the minute flickers of the man’s face changing according to the way Maul’s fingers changed pressure and direction. He still seemed faintly occupied with memories of Naboo, but then again Maul supposed it was a heavy subject for the other man, too. Maul found himself internally cursing Sidious again, for the far-reaching consequences of the Sith’s actions.

He sighed, leaning into the hand against his hearts, pressing his own free hand against Kenobi’s chest, fingers brushing against the zipper of the lightly-armored leather that Kenobi – or whatever mission that brought him to this particular planet – had deemed fit to wear. The feather-light sweep of his fingers against the bare flesh of the man’s neck seemed to rouse him, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand.

Maul let his hand drift up and down the man’s neck, pressing lightly against the forming bruise his mouth had left. It made Kenobi shudder, hand against his own chest slipping down in his distraction from whatever roiling thoughts were going through his mind.

With the focus back on him, instead of the past, Maul licked his lips, watching in satisfaction as the man’s eyes tracked the movement. He tilted his head toward Kenobi’s, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the other man’s lips, tasting the moan and the way Kenobi softened into his advances.

Letting his mouth rest against the other’s, he murmured, “Are you going to do anything with that cock of yours?”

He punctuated the question with a roll of his hips, thighs tightening around Kenobi. This sharpened the man’s breath, and the clearly-outlined goal convinced him to yank himself fully back to the present, hands slipping down to cup Maul’s ass and drag their cocks closer together.

Maul let his head thump against the wall, letting Kenobi grind against him with intention. The heat dialed backed up, a ten-fingered brand that laid him open for the taking, and frankly Maul was content to let Kenobi figure out what their next move would be. It juxtaposed too neatly to Naboo, and he banished the thought by cupping Kenobi’s head for a rough kiss, revelling in the way Kenobi met the challenge immediately, tongue curling around his own in a mimic of the way a couple of the man’s fingers maneuvered their way between his ass.

“Ah, ah,” Maul gasped, Kenobi’s fingers inexorable as they circled his rim, the callouses borne of swordsmanship tugging on the delicate skin and making his legs shake at the sensation.

The slight pressure as they coaxed him open enough for Kenobi to mimic the sensation of thrusting had his eyes rolling back, the breaths pulled sharply out of him and nearly muffled by the keen bruises being bitten into his neck. He tightened his grip on the other man’s hair, pressing him closer.

This earned him a broad lick up the side of his neck, over the layered bites Kenobi had busied himself creating. It made his neck throb in tune with the syncopation of his hearts, a counterpoint to the rhythm Kenobi was building up between the fingers in his ass and the cock he was rolling against his own.

He felt like his mind was melting, a little, moans being drawn from him as he clutched at Kenobi. The man was speaking, but it took a moment to filter into his brain, the words an elided muddle that had him initially focus on the rough brogue they were being delivered in.

“Maul? Maul,” Kenobi was saying, lips at his ear and most certainly not helping with his comprehension of the man’s hails, “Do you have any lube?”

“Uh,” Was his particularly intelligent response, too concerned with attempting to drive Kenobi’s fingers deeper into himself, obliquely frustrated with how they always stayed just out of reach, not satisfying the burn of the slow stretch, “Uh- I bought- today-”

“Did you have plans for today?” Kenobi teased, looking intensely curious as to the answer.

“For my knives,” He bit out, irritated, grasping Kenobi’s arm and attempting to making him stay in place so he could fuck himself on those strong, thin fingers.

He was briefly indulged, Kenobi spearing him with a deep thrust that choked off his breathing entirely, before pausing almost delicately against the flushed skin of his rim. There was a rustle, Kenobi looking to the ground instead of to him – and why that irritated him was a question for a more coherent time – and one of the plastic bags that had fallen to the ground earlier flew into Kenobi’s free hand.

The casual use of the Force, so contrary to the Jedi’s reverence of it, was appealing, and Maul squirmed against Kenobi’s cock in incentive to move more quickly. Whether it worked or not, he couldn’t tell from the way the man smoothly removed the complimentary bottle of oil one of the vendors had given him, cap unscrewing ostensibly by itself.

Kenobi removing his hand was distinctly less appealing, even if was for his benefit. The man eyed him, eyes a liquid darkness that beheld only a thin rim of his customary fey silver, voice a smooth order, “If you do not want me to turn you around, I would suggest doing something about those trousers of yours.”

It took a complicated half second to figure out which idea was the one tumbling another moan out of his throat, but in the end the idea of not watching those eyes on him was the less savory one, and so down the they went – not nearly low enough to satisfy him, but at the moment it seemed more important to tug Kenobi forward and undo the man’s own pants. Revealing that furiously erect cock to the sound of Kenobi’s pants proved him correct, his mouth watering at the sight.

A hand, the one which wasn’t slick and already inching towards breaching him once more, pressed him back against the wall. He was swiftly tugged back to where he was, legs cinched tight around Kenobi and infinitely more hungrily now that he could feel the pulse of Kenobi’s heart against his own cock.

“Shh, shh,” Kenobi hushed him, as if his own heart wasn’t racing in anticipation. The circling of his fingers was smoother though no less intoxicating, dipping periodically into him with an irregular rhythm that had Maul arching against him, “I have you, shh, let me open you for my cock, let me ruin you properly.”

He almost laughed, for it felt deeply like he was already ruined, every point of attention directed to the push and pull of Kenobi’s fingers stretching him open with an unrelenting resolution. Instead he clutched at the man’s forearm with desperation, fingers digging in and gasping as he feels the muscle shift underneath him – the strength of Kenobi’s arm, effortlessly holding him against the gritty duracrete wall as those fingers curled inside him with silky intention.

It had him spiraling closer to orgasm than Maul could have predicted, inhibited only by Kenobi’s hand wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, his other hand dancing away to smooth fingers over the outside of his rim whenever he trembled too violently. Every nerve felt electrified, making him twitch and rub himself against the man’s cock when he couldn’t get the friction he wanted from his hand.

A low chuckle met his attempts to solve this problem for himself, “Didn’t I say you would only come when I told you?”

He whined, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he struggled to form a retort. Kenobi squeezed the hand on his cock, not quite forbiddingly but also not indulgently. The bite levered at the curve of his shoulder was laved with a hot tongue, forcing words from his mouth at last, “Please. Please, please just-”

“Just?”

“Fuck me,” Maul gasped, nails digging into the man’s skin from where he was bracing himself, “Put your cock in me, please-”

“Darling,” The Jedi crooned, smiling against his jaw at the crackling, broken sound pulled from Maul’s lungs with each pump of his hand, “I have you. I have you.”

He almost sobbed at the way Kenobi neatly slid another finger into him, the deep thrusts too slow to satisfy the burning in his gut, leaving him boneless at the fleeting feeling of fullness nearly eclipsed by the ache his absence left him with every time the man’s hand withdrew from the clutch of his body.

Time wobbled, Kenobi effortlessly stoking their lust until both of them were panting against each other, and something about the way Maul begged in sporadic bursts must have convinced the man to give him a taste of what he wanted. The fingers, so slick and agile in him, pressed deep, massaging against his prostate with a stringent insistence, practically throwing him into an orgasm.

He couldn’t tell how long Kenobi stayed with him, wringing his orgasm from him until his vision speckled with the pleasure wrecking his concentration to draw in deep enough breaths. The other man was murmuring nonsense to him, voice pitched into a comforting steadiness with which to claw himself back into full consciousness.

Maul sucked in a deep breath, hips jerking reflexively at the sensation of Kenobi’s fingers staying precisely just outside the range of his prostate, a gentle touch that kept him from keening at emptiness. It made the other man groan, breaking off his absent words and reverberating in Maul’s chest as he became intimately aware of the come dribbling over Kenobi’s hand and the man’s own cock throbbing against his oversensitive one.

“You- you didn’t-” He muttered, unable to quite string together a solid question. Unclenching the hand that dug into Kenobi’s back, fingers feeling stiff from the way they had locked into place, he grasped the man’s cock, gasping when Kenobi jerked and the fingers in him scraped over his prostate.

It took a second to recover from that, feeling from horns to toes entirely too sensitive, but he didn’t let the hand retract, grinding down on it when Maul thought he would try to distance himself. His vision blurred a little at the edges, and he leaned his forehead against Kenobi’s, catching his breath so he could speak.

Kenobi beat him to it, pressing a kiss to his mouth that was more a lazy slide of slick lips against his own, voice barely above a whisper that still set Maul’s skin to prickling, “Would you let me?”

The question was accompanied by an equally uncertain press of the Force, Kenobi’s mind wrapping loosely around his own. Hazy memories of his own pleading only moments earlier made his face heat, and he occupied himself with tasting Kenobi’s mouth again, the plush lips relaxing against his own as he drew the man into a deeper kiss.

It was an intoxicating notion all by itself, spending his time memorizing the mouth on his, but he gave an experimental roll of his hips anyway. The fingers curled loosely at the edge of his rim complied, an exploratory slide inside him that felt languid for how thoroughly they had drawn an orgasm from him. Maul’s breath hitched, imagining what it would be like to feel Kenobi’s cock in him.

He decided that he liked the idea, and breathed out a “Yes.”

The shiver his answer created in Kenobi was alluring, as if the mere assent was arousing to the man. Maul thought it was a rather good image, and distantly resolved to play with that idea at a later date – the idea of another, new time was its own brand of arousing, and he wound the thought around the tendril of Kenobi’s mind that had lingered around his own mind, feeling a thrill at how it incited a deep groan.

As if to sweeten the pot, Maul rocked on the man’s fingers, renewing his spent erection. “Please,” He asked, laying the word directly past Kenobi’s pursed lips, tongue curling around the other’s and tasting the shiver he created, “I want to feel you.”

He shuddered as the fingers finally, finally withdrew, and didn’t have any time to bemoan the aching loss before Kenobi shuffled him into position, seating him firmly on the man’s cock in one smooth movement. Maul groaned along with him, feeling hollowed out at the firm thrusts so soon after he himself had been wrung dry.

Kenobi clutched his hips close, chasing his own orgasm with a determination that had his cock rising as if in sympathy. He moaned, unable to meet the thrusts with the bruising grip pinning him in place against the wall, the thin sheen of sweat drawing every clipped undulation of the man's hips into greater detail wherever their skin brushed.

“Harder, please,” He begged, mind spiraling from the way Kenobi kept brushing his prostate in accidental fervor. The man grunted, adjusting his hands to force Maul lower onto his cock, rolling onto the balls of his feet to push himself deeper into him. Maul had the faint impression of Kenobi’s athletic build from the way the man folded his legs up against his chest, lithe body pounding him toward a second orgasm.

There was no room to grab his own cock, and he cried out at the rough friction of Kenobi’s shirt against it, sticky with sweat and stray bits of his own come. His breath caught in his throat at the steady, harsh rhythm of Kenobi fucking into the clutch of his ass, feeling raw from the nails digging into the flesh of his hips and the scrape of the wall against bare skin.

It drove him into another spiral, this second orgasm feeling all the more potent with how Kenobi had dug his head into his collar, feeling like no bit of exposed skin had escaped the man’s purview. Someone was speaking, and over the roil of his frantically-beating hearts, Maul realized it was Kenobi, spurts of compliments pouring from the man’s lips.

“Good, good,” Kenobi panted, contorting Maul’s body more for a better angle, “So good for me, so beautiful.”

He whined at the words, curling his arms around the man’s shoulders and feeling satisfyingly helpless at the way his legs had been splayed open, propped over the man’s arms to keep him open. It seemed nearly impossible to come so soon after the first, but his cock twitched with an impending orgasm, something that must have registered to Kenobi by the way he jerked his hips with bruising force to chase his own end.

The next moments were eclipsed by a white cast over Maul’s vision, a floating sensation as he came again to the sound of Kenobi’s praise, straining against the feeling of warmth flooding his system. It felt briefly like dying, though deeply unlike his own near-misses in the past, and faintly Maul thought it would have been rather alright to die by Kenobi’s hand this way, this time.

Maul vaguely registered hands pulling his clothing to rights, head pounding with the combination of their drinks’ effects, two orgasms in a row, and whatever the hell the Force was doing to double up on the former. He mumbled something indistinct to the questioning tone made in his direction, leaning into the warm body and sighing at the lip-shaped pressure on his cheek.

Kenobi was a distinct shape against his own mind, soft and safe, and Maul decided that it was… nice. Perhaps the Jedi would decide to stick around, he thought, pressing back against the vague question the man sent.

He would rather like to get to know him better.