Darth Maul Steals a Kiss
by Perilous
perilous@sithly.com

Copyright and all that jazz. They've got 'em, I'm just borrowing. Piss off and sue someone who cares (besides, I'm broke!). Thanks to Siubhan for the Sith Academy inspiration and warehouse space to play in, and the others for filling it up with such neat stuff to look at.

Darth Maul, Sith apprentice, lowered his head and growled. Drawing his lips back from his teeth in a savage grin, he pushed himself into a flat-out sprint as he approached the corner of his block. He reached the top possible speed of his natural physical ability, the fastest he'd gone yet. He felt the soles of his black running shoes grip the pavement as his feet carried him along, his surroundings a mere blur of motion as he streaked by. The muscles in his legs felt oiled, warm, exquisitely powerful. He was hot shit. Even for a Sith Lord.

As he rocketed round the corner, he barely had time to acknowledge his twit neighbor mincing along toward him, directly in his path. The Padawan's face lit up with pleased expectation. He raised his hand in a wave as Maul desperately tried to veer off at the last possible second.

"Hi, nei..."

Maul smacked headlong into the Jedi with stunning force, sending them both flying in opposite directions. The shock of the impact rattled his bones. He landed on his ass, skidded backward several feet (erasing about a yard of skin from his back in the process and shuddering to think what that did to his tattoo), and then felt his head connect briskly with the pavement. His back horn gouged a small crater in the cement, sending sparks flying, and saved him from a nasty skull fracture. Stars shimmered before his eyes and small birds filled Maul's head with their singsong chatter, though that could also have been attributed to the small group of creatures passing by on his right. One of them stepped on his hand. He groaned and wondered if anyone had caught the number of the Toydarian merchant freighter that had just hit him.

He lay still for a moment, gradually getting used to the abrupt lack of motion, feeling like a transmission that had been humming along in fifth gear and which had without warning been thrown rudely into reverse, leaving a rather ugly mess on the highway as a result. He took mental stock of his person, wiggling various bits of himself and making sure none of his integral components had actually been detached by the impact. Then he gingerly raised his head and looked around. The Padawan was about ten feet away, spreadeagled on the sidewalk, and out cold from the looks of it. Inexplicably, there appeared to be a large assortment of exotic fruit scattered all around him. Maul scowled and rubbed the back of his head. His horn was chipped. He grimaced, fingering it.

He clambered ungracefully to his feet, still shaken, and made a cursory attempt at brushing off his black nylon running shorts and "Sith Lords Kick Ass" t-shirt, sleeveless and cut off at the bottom to reveal his ripped abs. Recognizing it as a lost cause, he ceased his labors and walked over to Kenobi. Maul's skin was shredded in a hundred spots from his impromptu encounter with the rough surface of the sidewalk. This did not improve his temper. Between My Apprentice and this irritating twit of a Jedi, he'd be lucky if his tattoo didn't end up looking like a galactic roadmap before they were through with him. He nudged the twit with the toe of his sneaker. No response. The Padawan was a TKO.

A spark of alarmed concern ignited in the Sith's stomach and he brutally doused it. He nudged Kenobi harder, stopping just short of putting the boot in, and this time was rewarded by the fluttering of delicate eyelids. Maul's stomach now went through a series of odd revolutions as the bright blue eyes of the Padawan connected with his own yellow ones. The twit's eyes were soft and unfocused, the expression in them hauntingly familiar but in a different setting than Maul was used to. The Sith wrestled unsuccessfully with his unruly libido for a few moments. Then he sighed and squatted next to his neighbor's delightfully prone, well-built, semi-conscious, and entirely vulnerable form. He rested his elbows on his knees and dangled his hands down between them as he regarded the Jedi twit with exasperation.

Maul idly toyed with the idea of ravishing him right there in the street, then wondered why he couldn't stop thinking of having passionate, unrestrained, screaming monkey sex with Kenobi every time the he saw the Jedi somewhere. His mind picked round the edges of that interesting subject for a moment, but thankfully was diverted just then by Obi-Wan himself.

"H...hi, neighbor," Obi-Wan whispered. "What happened?" His soft voice made Maul's horns tingle, which in turn made Maul angry.

"As usual, you got in my way. It seems to be your mission in life to make me miserable, you pathetic excuse for a lifeform, " Maul replied nastily. Obi-Wan made no reply. Maul's brows knit briefly.

"Are you all right?" he asked in spite of himself, trying not to sound (or feel) too concerned. Obi-Wan reached up and rubbed a hand distractedly across his forehead, as if expecting to find that a small family of weasels had taken residence there. He seemed totally disconnected. Maul sighed. He reached out and grasped Obi-Wan's wrist, making him lay his arm back down. Then Maul ran his fingers lightly over the back of the twit's head, trying not to enjoy himself. Bleeding a little, but at least nothing feels mushy, he thought. Then he grinned. At least not mushier than usual.

Maul snorted. He frisked the Padawan briskly, trying not to linger noticeably in any of the darker and more stimulating corners of his neighbor's anatomy, and finding nothing egregiously broken, misshapen, askew, or missing, asked the Padawan if he could stand. There was no reply. Obi-Wan had gone back to la-la land. Maybe he had a concussion or something, Maul speculated. One could only hope.

Clicking his tongue in irritation, the Sith reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan's arms, pulling him up and forward. A small crowd had gathered and he snarled at them as he heaved the Padawan's dead weight across his muscular shoulders. The onlookers obediently scattered in all directions. Then he started off down the block toward their apartment building, kicking fruit out of his way as he stalked off. He paused briefly to retrieve a particularly tasty-looking Mandalorian spiny bloodfruit that was roughly the size of his head, and munched on it as he walked, peeling the leathery skin back with his cleaner-than-usual teeth and spitting the small spines out as he went. Occasionally he had to dig spines out of his flesh with his fingers as he ate the enormous bloodfruit. His mouth began to go numb from the poison the spines carried.

Soon his head was buzzing pleasantly. He wondered what the Jedi could have wanted with Mandalorian bloodfruit; they were fatal to humans. Maybe the twit didn't know. Maul wasn't going to be the one to clue him in. The only good Jedi was a dead Jedi. Not counting the ones who stripped you naked and tied you to their beds, his mind whispered to him. He snorted again.

Finishing his snack, he pitched the softball-sized nut neatly into the turbine of a passing speeder and sneered in amusement as the craft suddenly veered off and smacked into the side of a building, violently catapulting the screaming occupant against the wall with a satisfying crunch, leaving an colorful stain as he stuck moistly for a moment and then slid down to land in a crumpled heap on the ground. The obligatory crowd gathered again, standing around and waiting to see what would happen. Maul shifted Obi-Wan slightly across his shoulders, noticing that the Padawan's weight was already settling onto him more heavily.

Their building was near the other end of the street, nearly two miles further along. Repressing the urge to whine un-Sithfully and leave Obi-Wan there for the pushers and chipmunks, Maul clenched his teeth and kept walking. The buzz from the bloodfruit was already wearing off; he'd forgotten how quickly the effect faded if you only ate a single piece. As he went along, he kept himself entertained with possible scenarios as to how to take advantage of the situation should Obi-Wan still be unconscious when Maul finally reached their building. The Sith envisioned handcuffs and the eight-foot bullwhip he'd found at the back of the twit's closet, hidden under the banished Doc Martens. The one with the really big hand grip. His perverted grin was filthy enough to send small children skittering out of his way, shrieking. Thus occupied, he was home before he knew it.

Humming "Closer" by NIN under his breath and fairly bounding up the walkway to the elevators, he used the Jedi's head to hit the "up" button three or four times, and stood waiting impatiently for the lift to make its creaking, grinding way down from what appeared to be the very top floor. Maul idly wondered if the elevator was possessed of the Dark Side; it always seemed to be at the exact opposite position from where he was when he needed it. Especially when he really had to pee or when he and Obi-Wan were returning from a long night out at the Grey Side and were especially eager to make it back upstairs to the Padawan's decadent bedroom. On the latter occasions, after they finally gained the relative privacy of the obnoxious lift, it usually came to a mysterious stop between floors about halfway up for an indeterminate length of time before it finally started up again.

Thirty minutes later, the elevator's doors slid open. One stuck halfway. Maul shoved it aside (with the twit's shoulder) and pounded Kenobi's head against the button panel until "42" lit up. The elevator, unimpressed with this Sithly display of Padawan abuse, remained where it was.

Maul did it again.

Nothing.

He tried once more, more because it was fun banging the Jedi's head into the wall than because he actually expected the elevator to respond favorably.

He was right. It didn't.

He was going to do it yet again, remembered the possible concussion, and decided on a new course of action. Releasing his grip on Kenobi's arm, he made a hard fist and punched the panel. All the buttons lit up, the elevator gave a contented little hum and chirp, and then powered down completely. The Sith Lord stood there in the dark, wearing his Jedi stole, and his eyes glinted.

"Aauuuuuuuuuhghghghgh!!! You mock me with your mechanical ineptitude!"

Unceremoniously dumping the Jedi onto the floor of the elevator, Maul reached for his lightsaber and remembered that he was dressed for running. The one and only time he had tried to go running with his lightsaber attached to his flimsy nylon shorts had been a traumatizing, painful experience he still hadn't fully recovered from. Sidious had nearly laughed himself into a hernia and helpfully suggested suspenders to the embarrassed Sith as discovered his apprentice lying in front of his apartment building in a crumpled, fuming heap, knees bleeding, lightsaber broken in half, with his shorts around his ankles and a crowd of flushed, strapping Padawans applauding in overheated admiration.

Enraged further at the memory, he launched himself headfirst at the control panel and gouged it with his horns. There were a few small explosions, rafts of sparks flew, and the elevator was filled with the refreshing reek of fried electronics. He reared back, roaring in triumph; springs, wires, and the button for the 17th floor dangled from his horns. He let his rage flow through him until he remembered he now had 42 floors to climb with this big, heavy, pathetic twit draped across his shoulders.

"NoooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!"

***

Two hours later, Darth Maul Force-pushed Obi-Wan Kenobi's offensively pink front door open. It slammed into the opposite wall and the doorknob punched a hole in the plaster. Maul staggered through the doorway and across the living room, flung Obi-Wan down on his disgustingly beige sofa, and collapsed onto the floor, leaning up against the sofa and gasping. After some time he regained his breath and looked over his shoulder at the twit. Still unconscious. At this point, all Maul wanted was a shower, a box of cereal, and three days' unbroken sleep. He wearily got to his feet and went into the Jedi's kitchen, throwing open doors until he found the cereal boxes. That twit rearranges his damned cupboards more frequently than he changes his sequined g-strings, Maul grumbled to himself.

Since Maul often barged into his apartment at six in the morning looking for something to eat, Obi-Wan had gotten into the habit of keeping a stock of Maul's favorite cereal (currently Fruity Pebbles) and plenty of milk on hand. Maul grabbed the large unopened box of cereal he found and slammed the cabinet door shut. He headed toward the fridge, checked himself, headed toward the other fridge, stole Obi-Wan's milk, and was at his own apartment door getting his keys out when he suddenly remembered something.

Leaving his keys in the lock and putting his groceries down on the floor, he went back and leaned over Obi-Wan's prone form. Still out cold. Good. Sticking a hand into the Jedi's trouser pockets while savagely hissing to himself to keep his mind on business, Maul rooted around until he came up with the twit's wallet.

Relieving Obi-Wan of his American Express card and ready cash, Maul was replacing the wallet (and taking his time about it) when Obi-Wan shifted suddenly and threw an arm around Maul's shoulders without awakening. Maul, taken completely by surprise, his hand stuck in the twit's pocket, became unbalanced and fell, landing on his knees, almost nose-to-nose with the Jedi. He was held captive by the Padawan's eyes as they blinked half-open and smiled into his own. Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Maul's neck, pulling his head down, and fastened his sleep-warmed mouth onto Maul's in a deeply intimate kiss.

A massive chill washed through him and Maul involuntarily closed his eyes and tightened his grip on what was no longer Obi-Wan's wallet. Obi-Wan made a soft sound, running his fingers across Maul's horns, causing a series of extremely interesting sensations to flare up across Maul's entire nervous system. Then, as the pressure of his mouth eased up and the kiss faded, Obi-Wan's hand trailed across the back of Maul's neck, over his shoulder, and down the front of his body until finally his arm rested across his own stomach. Obi-Wan's teeth caught gently at Maul's lower lip, tugging briefly as he finally broke away, sighed contentedly, and became still once more, his unconsciousness softening into a deep sleep.

Maul extricated his hand from the now considerably constricted confines of the Jedi's trouser pocket and sat back on his heels, the blood pounding in his head. His shorts felt impossibly tight. He put his other hand to his chest as if to still his racing heart and ran his tongue slowly across his lower lip, still feeling the impression of the Padawan's teeth there. He noticed that he was shaking a little and forced himself to stop. He knelt motionless for several moments, watching Obi-Wan sleep and trying not to think of anything at all. Trying most especially not to think about the fact that he seemed to be on his knees feeling like this an awful lot lately, and was beginning to like it.

Suddenly, he had an idea.

He cast a stealthy glance over his shoulder at the Habitrail against the wall. Fluffi-Wan was meditating in his Zen garden, and Cuddles was fast asleep, curled up in the middle of a nest of hamster treats. Maul had prepared a large batch just the night before and bestowed them upon the wretched little vermin at the bidding of My Apprentice. She had taken note of Maul's attempts to provoke a gourmet-induced coronary thrombosis in his Master, and decided that a fat hamster was a slow hamster, and therefore an eminently catchable and slayable hamster. She whammied Maul into sitting up half the night baking, and then made him break into Obi-Wan's apartment to plant the goodies. Cuddles was snoring quietly to himself, stuffed to the brim, his cheeks like twin moons.

By Rose. Click to see larger image.

Maul looked back at Obi-Wan and chewed on his lower lip, obviously wrestling with something. Indecision was an expression that sat very oddly on the tattooed face of the Sith Lord. We really aren't all that dissimilar, Maul suddenly realized. At least Obi-Wan's deep, dark background proved that. His temper tantrums certainly had occasion to give Maul a run for his money. Maybe that was part of the insoluble attraction he felt toward the twit. Part of his mind refused to accept that attraction but Maul shook his head, as if refuting someone. The voice subsided crabbily, waiting for a hole. If it weren't for the Jedi aspect of the whole situation, maybe this wouldn't be such a problem. Even if he was a boy. After all, you can't help who you are...can you? Maul didn't think so. He didn't see that it any of that claptrap mattered much at all anyway, now that he really thought about it.

Do we pick and choose? Or are we just in the right place at the right time? he wondered. He found he didn't care. He was here, now.

As if he had come to a decision and finally worked up the resolve to carry it through, he took a deep breath, drew himself up, leaned over and, closing his eyes, kissed Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Sith threw his whole being into it, gathering the Jedi to himself and pulling him up close against his patterned, muscular chest. Obi-Wan moaned and reciprocated fully, as Maul knew he would, bringing his fantastically talented hands up and around the Sith's waist, drawing him closer still and running strong fingers up Maul's spine and then down both sides of his body, under his skimpy t-shirt.

Unaware he was making any sound, Maul moaned softly as well, lost in the flood. The kiss deepened, became something sentient, alive. Maul was reveling in it, astonished by it, admitting to himself that he was loving every second of it, and he didn't care how un-Sithly it was that Obi- Wan was not only a boy, but a Jedi boy to boot. Even something as small as stealing a single kiss caused a tidal wave of emotion to wash over and bewilder him.

Just sex, his mind whispered, but Maul pushed the voice away again, rejecting it completely without even thinking about it. It went without a murmur. It knew when it was beaten.

He tried to think about the implications of it all and found that it was too much to deal with. He cleared his mind of everything but Obi-Wan and held him closer than ever. He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly and pressed his lips more firmly against the Jedi's, teasing his mouth open, savoring the Padawan's breath, gliding his tongue over the slick, even teeth, tasting him. The Sith shuddered with sensation.

Who knew when there would be another opportunity like this? The twit pretty much out of it, he himself dead sober, and that fat little psychotic jealous bastard of a hamster fast asleep and out of the way for once. It was perfect. Nobody would see him, nobody would know. Finally, this one time, he would find out what it was like to kiss Obi-Wan Kenobi willingly, enthusiastically, passionately, deeply, soulfully. And he would do it without altering his consciousness in any way, or feeling compelled to rationalize the fact that he actually enjoyed their encounters more and more every time. Without making excuses. He wouldn't have to make an embarrassed, hasty retreat when he was done, his tongue tripping over words he didn't know how to say and would rather die than utter anyway. His head was spinning. If he had tried standing at that moment, he would have wound up on his ass.

Life loves me, he thought, deliriously drawing Obi-Wan's tongue into his mouth and sucking the soft, pink tip. The tingling in his horns sent chills of ecstasy through his entire body. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity flashing by in a split second, the kiss ended and Maul gently lowered Obi-Wan back down onto the couch, running his fingers across the soft, pink lips almost tenderly. His fathomless eyes held an expression they'd never worn as they caressed the Padawan's sleeping, flushed face. Then Maul rested his forehead against Obi-Wan's chest for a moment, his eyes closed. That was great, he thought. Then, unbidden: Why can't I just let it be like that all the time? What's the big fucking deal?

Suddenly, Maul was exhausted. His bed whispered his name. Cereal could wait. Everything could wait. Sighing regretfully, he tugged lightly on the Padawan's ridiculous braid and slowly got to his feet, resisting the urge to nudge the twit over and spoon up behind him on the wide sofa. He leaned down and picked up the American Express card and cash from the floor where he'd dropped them and headed across the living room toward the front door, casting a last glance over his shoulder at the sleeping Padawan. Then he shifted his gaze forward, and froze solid in the middle of the Jedi's neutral-toned and tastefully understated apartment. His stomach turned into a small lump of cold metal and plummeted sickeningly somewhere down around his balls, which shriveled alarmingly and tried to crawl up into his body.

Sithly robes shimmering, Darth Sidious stood in the doorway of Obi-Wan Kenobi's apartment. From the smell of ozone in the immediate vicinity, he had been standing there for some time.

Time enough.

Small bolts of purple lightning played around the edges of his robe and darted between his fingertips. His teeth glowed and his eyes were blazing.

"A tender display, my young apprentice. Most touching," he said mildly.

Maul's skin crawled and he swallowed in apprehension. He was definitely in for it this time.

"I..."

Sidious held up one immaculately manicured finger. Maul's mouth snapped shut like a mousetrap. Sidious smiled pleasantly at his mortified apprentice, stepping aside, waving an inviting hand towards Maul's own front door. Maul hastily opened the door, snatched up Obi-Wan's milk and cereal, and stood aside, waiting respectfully for his Master to precede him. Sidious took his apprentice firmly by the ear and flung him bodily into the apartment, scattering keys, groceries, American Express card, and cash haphazardly across the room. Maul landed ass-over-teakettle on his squalid sofa, which promptly broke under the assault. Sidious followed calmly. As the door began to swing closed, a crackling flash of brilliant bluish-purple light flooded the hallway, followed by a loud yelp that crescendoed into an agonized howl. The door snicked shut behind them, the sound of the latch drowned out entirely by another blood-curdling scream of pain.

***

Some time later, Obi-Wan Kenobi drifted into consciousness. The screaming he heard in his dreams continued, and he raised his head, wondering if he were still asleep. Pain darted across his temples, and the back of his head felt tender and sore. No, he was awake. But where was that screaming coming from?

He swung his legs to the floor and sat up slowly. His head spun briefly but settled down quickly. He felt stiff and flexed his muscles, stretching, trying to remember what had happened. He'd had some interesting dreams, that was for sure. He glanced warmly at the wall he shared with his fierce neighbor. He'd been on his way to a new class, "The Erotic Art of Fruit Salads," and then...he woke up back at his own apartment. The screaming was coming from next door, he realized suddenly, and his eyebrows shot up in astonishment. What is going on over there? he wondered.

Obi-Wan cocked his head toward their common wall, listened a moment, and began to stride quickly across the room, right hand extended. His lightsaber flew into his grasp as he went to his front door, which was for some reason standing open. He glanced around his apartment quickly, using the Force to sense any possible intruders, before turning his attention back to Maul's place. He took a step forward.

The screaming stopped abruptly, as though someone had flipped a switch. Obi-Wan heard a heavy thud. A voice spoke briefly. Then Maul's door opened and Senator Palpatine stepped out, the very picture of self-possessed refinement, resplendent in iridescent robes festooned along the hem with white cat hair. Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up even further, and he stepped back uncertainly, feeling foolish for being caught loitering around his neighbor's front door with his lightsaber in his hand. So to speak. He hid the weapon behind his back.

"Oh, hello, Father...errr, is everything all right in there? I thought I heard...a noise," he said lamely, not wanting to pry.

Palpatine smirked inwardly at this idiot spawn of his loins. If you only knew, he thought deliciously. "Oh yes, absolutely, everything is fine, my dear boy," he said aloud. "Maul has simply undergone one of his...age rites. Yes, it happens every ten years for his species, whatever it is. Very painful. I always sit through them with him, to prevent him from gouging out his own intestines. Everything is all right now," he assured the Jedi with a fond look. At least until the next time, he added mentally, his smile broadening into a look of paternal affection.

Obi-Wan smiled cheerfully, surreptitiously using the Force to stow his lightsaber behind a nearby end-table. A thoughtful expression played across his fair features. "Well, maybe I should go over and see if he needs any assistance," Obi-Wan mused aloud.

Palpatine nearly cackled in delight but instead issued a warmly indulgent chuckle. "By all means. I should think that he is in dire need of a good...friend. He does look rather used up. Go right in," Palpatine offered generously, holding Maul's door open, and Obi-Wan brightened. As Palpatine made his way to the stairs and floated serenely down, he heard his son's chirping voice and the resultant roar of outrage from his apprentice. Palpatine finally released his cackle as the howls of his apprentice's rage drifted down the stairs after him, flooding his delighted ears.

***

"You!" Maul shouted. "You...you...you JEDI SCUM! Out! Begone! This is all your fault, you and your ki...argh! Go away before you get me killed!" Maul savagely bit off his sentence, almost severing his own tongue in the process. Clearly he was not himself at the moment and wished to avoid all contact with the Jedi for the rest of his miserable, roasted, Sith existence. At least until he rose up and slew his Master, which at this rate would be in approximately 300 years.

Obi-Wan ducked as a gamepad from Maul's beloved PlayStation came flying through the air at him, followed closely by three empty beer bottles in rapid succession. Then Maul was out of ammo, which, as he was also out of impetus, turned out to be just as well. The Padawan's eyes widened as he took in the sorry sight of his neighbor's physical condition. Maul resembled a ragged scrap pile tossed carelessly on a smoldering, blistered sofa. His sneakers were sending up delicate tendrils of smoke, his "Sith Lords Kick Ass" t-shirt was reduced to ashes that were blurred and smeared across his patterned skin. His nylon shorts were fused to his legs in some places and missing in others.

As Maul lay wretchedly on his decimated sofa, Obi-Wan had time to note (with some disappointment) that the black cotton spandex briefs the Sith chose to wear when he ran seemed to be holding up nicely for some reason. Maul heaved himself into a sitting position and managed to peel the remains of his melted Nikes off his blistered feet. His teeth felt boiled, his eyes felt baked and shrunken. The tips of several horns were blackened and he had charred, crispy patches of skin all over his body to add to the shredded patches from earlier. He groaned loudly and miserably and splayed himself across the back of his decimated couch. The fabric was hot. Maul groaned again. He felt like puking, but he was afraid all that would come up were cooked, steaming chunks of his own internal organs.

Obi-Wan's sense of duty finally kicked in and he hurried across the room. "Oh, how awful for you!" he gushed, sitting down next to the splayed-out Sith Lord and clasping his hands in his lap. His voice simply oozed with sympathy.

"All Jedi must die," Maul stated wearily. "Go away or when I come back to life I will be forced to mutilate you."

"Gee, this must be terrible to endure every ten years. Do you have any idea what your life span is? I wonder how many more times you'll have to go through this? It seems awfully uncomfortable, poor Maul," Obi-Wan said.

Maul looked at him as if finally noticing that there was, indeed, a family of weasels living on the Padawan's forehead. "What are you talking about?" he said edgily. He was in no mood for Jedi nonsense. Obi-Wan patted his shoulder in understanding. Maul winced. Obi-Wan cooed softly and the patting turned into a gentle half-caress that brought Maul's mind back to the reason Sidious had very nearly killed him in the first place, and for a fleeting moment, an overwhelming tide of self-pity and longing washed over him. One stupid kiss, and this is what he got for it. One little (wonderful, delightful, loin-tightening, heart-stopping) meaningless kiss, and he gets his ass kicked. It wasn't fair, he whined to himself. It was all his Master's fault, anyway. If Sidious hadn't forced Maul to go to the Grey Side of the Force that first time, none of this entire Obi-Wan Kenobi gibberish would ever have happened. Maul brooded sulkily. Just a stupid kiss, he muttered to himself.

Then he realized what he was doing and cut the legs out from under that line of thought, dismissing it as entirely too un-Sithly. He was appalled with himself. The twit was a Jedi. Sith do not kiss Jedi. If they can possibly help it. The Handbook riffled its approval from deep in the shadows of Maul's living room. Such thoughts deserved the punishment he had received. And more was soon to come, Sidious had assured him of that. His punishment wasn't finished by a long shot.

Life hates me, Maul thought, and scowled. He looked at the Jedi twit with loathing. Obi-Wan didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, my da told me all about your ten-year age rites. He suggested I could come by and...help you relax," he said suggestively, coyly looking at Maul through his lashes and running his finger lightly down Maul's chest. Maul barely restrained the urge to snap the finger off, jam it into his upturned little nose, and heave him off the balcony.

Sidious must die, he thought to himself, and slapped the twit's hand away.

"Ouch!" cried Obi-Wan, cradling his wounded finger to his chest and pouting.

"Unhand me!" Maul snarled. "The last thing I want from you is help. This is all your fault to begin with!"

Obi-Wan reared back in surprise.

"Mine?! How can it possibly be mine?"

"If you hadn't been in my way, I'd never have been in your apartment in the first place," he yelled. "You and your ridiculous fruit! What's the deal with all that fruit, anyway?" he added, and rubbed his face with his hands. His skin smelled cooked. His stomach growled. Then he got nauseous because it squicked him that he was making himself hungry. He smelled like a Gungan barbecue. He involuntarily envisioned chowing down on his own arm and sat there with his hands over his face, fighting the urge to hurl his last twelve meals up all over the twit, fling him to the floor, rip his clothes off, and fuck him until they were both comatose. He spread his fingers and glared balefully through them at the Jedi with eyes even more bloodshot than usual.

Obi-Wan looked carefully at Maul for a moment, wondering whether the weasels were perhaps contagious. Then he suddenly realized what Maul was talking about and involuntarily reached around to the back of his own head, feeling the abrasion there, and everything came back to him.

"Oh! Yeah, we sure did run into each other, in a manner of speaking. Did you carry me all the way back home?" Obi-Wan inquired. When the Sith nodded, Obi-Wan gave him a smile that made Maul's heretofore emasculated naughty bits sit up pertly and have a look around. The Sith felt his tight briefs grow tighter. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Maul, you're the best!" Kenobi leaned forward to embrace the Sith and Maul, baring his teeth, held up his hands defensively to ward him off, too weak to do any more. Obi-Wan stopped short, remembering the sad state his neighbor was in, and settled a lily-white hand on Maul's red and black thigh instead. Maul growled threateningly but otherwise didn't move. Obi-Wan ignored him.

"Well, no wonder I feel like someone beat me up. That was some collision," Obi-Wan said cheerily, patting Maul's leg gently. "Poor Maulie. First having to carry me all the way home and then having to endure that awful age-rite business..."

"The lift is out of order," Maul grumped, fishing for sympathy. "And don't fucking call me that."

Obi-Wan's energetic eyebrows ascended as he regarded the charred Sith sitting next to him.

"You mean...you carried me up all those flights of stairs, too?" Maul, too bruised and pounded to realize the danger of what he was doing, nodded yes. Ominously, Obi-Wan's lower lip began to tremble. Then Maul caught sight of the brimming blue eyes and snarled viciously.

"Don't start with the waterworks. I've had all I can stand today." He simply didn't trust his reactions and didn't want to take any chances. He pushed the Jedi's hand off his thigh and looked at him menacingly.

Obi-Wan visibly restrained himself, sniveling, and daubed delicately at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. Then he rested his hand lightly on Maul's forearm in a manner entirely too proprietary for Maul's peace of mind. Maul scowled at him. The Padawan just couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself.

And aren't I the lucky one? thought Maul unconsciously, and then halfheartedly shoved the thought away. It went, but slowly. Maul could feel it loitering just out of sight, smoking unfiltered cigarettes and laughing nastily to itself.

"You just wait here a moment. I'll go get some things and come back in a jiffy to fix you all up and put you to bed," he told Maul, who tried without much success to squelch the flare of anticipation the last part of the Jedi's remarks roused in him. He felt his control slipping and helplessly wondered why.

"Fine. Just stop touching me," Maul grated, and Obi-Wan laughed as he ran back to his own place to get the necessary supplies.

***

As he waited for the twit to return, Maul wondered what the hell was wrong with him for not insisting that the Jedi leave immediately and never return. He dismissed as irrelevant the fact that if the Padawan didn't actually agree to leave, Maul was currently in no physical condition to force the issue. The Sith Handbook rose up in its corner and flapped its pages at him in consternation. Maul reached over, peeled off a three-month old slice of pizza that was stuck to the underside of one of the cushions, and flung it at the Handbook, which caught it deftly between its pages and retreated back into the shadows. Squealing cries of terror arose from the budding civilization that occupied the rock-hard slice of pizza as the Handbook mashed the new populace into oblivion.

Attracted by the sound, My Apprentice emerged from her hiding place to have a look at her Master. She had taken a single glance at Sidious's face and promptly retired into the deepest corner of Maul's bedroom closet. There she had remained, hiding under a pile of old socks as the Sith Master, without a word, pounded the living shit out of his hapless apprentice, sending countless bolts of energy into Maul, who writhed in shrieking torment in the living room.

She wondered what he had done to deserve it. She also wondered who would feed her if Maul was destroyed, and then decided that, if necessary, she could survive long enough on his remains until she had the opportunity to whammy someone else...preferably that Jedi boy with the good hands next door...into taking her home with them. After a while of listening to her Master's not entirely unpleasant screams, the depths of Sidious's rage became clear as the attack continued without pause. She reflected that if indeed Sidious had finally decided to punch Maul's ticket at last, at least she wouldn't have to eat him raw. She wondered what Maul would taste like and purred to herself. She wasn't the only one.

Now she glided into the living room, shedding set to the highest volume, and jumped up on the coffee table, sitting between Maul's feet. His legs were splayed on the table. His head was thrown back. His arms were spread across the top of the sofa, palms up. Pain, weariness, and abject despondency came off him in waves. My Apprentice stared at him fixedly, soaking it up. Finally Maul raised his head to glare at her.

"I caught that bit about eating me, you know," he snarled. "I won't soon forget this transgression, My Apprentice." The cat gave a mental shrug and began to lick her butt with energy.

I'm not the crispy critter sitting there looking like a well-done TV dinner, horn boy, she replied saucily, and Maul kicked at her. She slashed her claws across his shins, adding her own contribution to the renovations already in evidence. He grunted and threw his head back again, ignoring her. She tried to whammy him into getting her something to eat, but he just grunted again and continued to ignore her. She went into the kitchen and began kicking shit out of her litter box. Maul didn't care.

Instead, he pondered the possibility that Sidious actually wanted to torment him with the twit's presence as an extension of his punishment, knowing Maul was apparently unable to resist the twit's charms. Maul realized that he had only escaped death this time because it was a sheer impossibility to find good apprentices these days (and also because, unbeknownst to Maul, Sidious was simply unable to permanently do away with someone as skilled as Maul who also happened to have an ass worth six times its weight in votes, especially for a kiss which had been, after all, quite titillating to watch. Even if it had been altogether too loving for any decent Sith Lord).

Maul found himself speculating on just why he seemed so willing to risk rousing the wrath of his Master for a roll in the hay with the Padawan twit. Was it just sex? He was weighing the necessity of actually trying to face the reasoning behind this suicidal phenomenon when the twit returned, carrying a huge metal basin heaped with clean white washcloths and large glass bottles. A folding table was tucked under his arm.

Just as well, Maul thought, eyeing the supplies with some trepidation. He didn't really want to go there anyway. He wasn't ready to do too much research yet into the murky depths of this inexplicable fancy he held for his neighbor. Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the living room, laden with the tools of his trade.

***

"We should probably settle you in the bedroom before I start," Obi-Wan suggested perkily. "You'll be much more comfy there and I'll be able to work on you more efficiently."

Not this time you won't, thought Maul grouchily. Nonetheless he stood up and wearily trudged into his bedroom, little grunts and groans of discomfort escaping from him with every creaking thud of his sore, benumbed feet. His fingers and toes buzzed with the after-effects of Sidious's attack; he had pins and needles, as though tourniquets had been tied to his wrists and ankles and left for hours and then suddenly cut away so that the blood rushed back into the starved appendages, shrieking as it came. The Padawan followed noiselessly behind him. Maul limped over to switch on the lamp and fire up the CD player as Obi-Wan stopped in the doorway and looked around in surprise.

It's been a while since he's been in here, Maul realized with a pang of...something or other. A slow heat bloomed at the very pit of his stomach and uncurled lazily, spreading throughout his limbs. This time, he made no effort to squelch it. He was simply too worn out and confused to bother. He was dismayed to discover that he had the butterflies. Again. Why did he always feel so vulnerable around this twit?! Out of nowhere, the words Obi-Wan had said to him one night at the Grey Side came back to him. "It's like courting a virgin..."

Suddenly he was very conscious of his state of undress. He wanted to bury himself under his covers and never come out again.

Fighting off an insane craving for at least a gallon of Ben and Jerry's Pistachio Pistachio ice cream, Maul wondered how true that virgin thing was. Then he wondered why it was true. If it was true. Which of course it couldn't be. Could it? He gritted his teeth and hit the spin button on the CD player. Music filled the room. London Calling, The Clash. Good. Nice and neutral and still nasty enough for rock and roll. Maul turned the volume down for a change and made his way slowly to his bed, sitting on the edge, watching Obi-Wan with an expression that was impossible to read.

The room was actually clean. The bed was made, black duvet smoothed neatly over the black cotton sheets. The black carpet was vacuumed, the black furniture dusted and gleaming, the black shelves organized. Laundry was piled out of sight in the closet (which had a cat flap at the bottom of the door), and the scent of sandalwood hung enticingly in the air. The black curtains shut out any light from outside (conveniently hiding the filth-encrusted windows), and three bulbs in the silver lamp on the small table near the compact stereo...one red, one blue, and one black light...cast a Sithly glow over the room. A runner of tiny, star-like red lights ran around the perimeter of the room, just under the ceiling.

Even the ripped, stained Darth Lara Croft poster over the bed had been replaced with a fresh one. Resplendent in her infinitesimal black leather babydoll battle pajamas and g-string, she gazed out over the room, a blaster in one hand, a baby rattle shaped like a mace in the other. It had spikes on it. A large pink bow was tied to the handle. "Jedi Tomb Raider XIVCCMLXXXICIIVIIVXX: Xenophobes on Parade," was emblazoned across the bottom of the poster in screaming red letters.

Maul glanced around his bedroom, understanding the Padawan's unspoken surprise, offering no explanation. One of the recurring symptoms of his bout with PMS was an incomprehensible penchant for clean bed linen. This led, over time, to the unquenchable desire to sleep in a clean room, which in turn led to a desire for the bedroom to smell good. To his surprise, he found that under these circumstances, he actually slept better and was able to remain asleep during all but the most Olympian of his neighbor's sexual escapades. At least the ones that excluded him.

As a result, he had fallen to cleaning his bedroom on a weekly basis, throwing the empty pizza boxes and beer bottles out into the living room, discovering he was particularly partial to sandalwood incense, and more or less regularly washing his linens. Now it was habit. It was pleasant to sleep on clean sheets. And besides, sandalwood was a very Sithly fragrance. Plus, Mary Sue was more inclined to accept his invitations for some escapades of their own when his room was clean and smelled good. And he'd begun to finally notice lately that although Sidious urged his apprentice to live in squalor, Sidious himself rarely (if ever) allowed his own home to go a single day without his staff of well-stacked (and well-hung) droids cleaning the place from top to bottom. Maul had begun to suspect that there was something Sithly in a clean, odor-free domicile but he just couldn't figure out what it was yet. Until he did, he would sit back and observe. From his clean and stink-free bedroom. Right now, though, he wondered why he was trying to justify having a clean bedroom all of a sudden. He made himself stop.

At any rate, he wasn't about to explain all this to the Jedi.

Obi-Wan sniffed the air with appreciation and complimented Maul on his taste in incense. Maul nodded and watched him as he set up the little folding table by the bedside and stacked the washcloths and bottles on it.

"You'll have to take your clothes off, you know," Obi-Wan said matter-of-factly. Maul scowled at him, grateful that his tattoos hid the violent flush he felt as the blood rushed to his face.

"Not a chance. Forget the whole thing. I'd rather have gangrene."

Obi-Wan sighed. "All right, you can leave your briefs on, if you want. Just get rid of the shorts, they're ruined anyway. It's not like I haven't seen you naked before. Really, Maul, you can be such a prude!"

Maul aimed a kick at the Padawan's shapely ass, but missed as Obi-Wan took the silver basin into the kitchen. He returned shortly with a supply of piping hot water. Maul, who had seized the opportunity to change rapidly out of the revealing, tight-fitting, entirely too risky briefs into a loose pair of extremely elderly H. R. Pufinstuf boxers (the last clean pair he owned), inspected the steaming basin warily. He picked a piece of melted nylon out of his thigh, wincing, and dunked his finger in the water as Obi-Wan placed the basin on the small table. He drew his finger back hastily, hissing.

"If you don't mind, I've already had enough parboiling for one day. Don't you just have a band-aid or something? What is it with you Jedi and overdoing things?"

Obi-Wan laughed at him and poured some contents from several of the bottles into the hot water. A sweet, clean smell arose that at once made Maul's pain fade and made his eyelids heavy. He could barely find the strength to sit up. He tried to rebel at the thought of smelling like flowers after the Jedi was through with him, and found that he just didn't have it in him. He supposed it was better than smelling like roast Gungan. His stomach grumbled again.

"What the hell is that stuff?" he mumbled.

"Lie down," Obi-Wan responded. Maul complacently obeyed him, stretching out on his back and closing his eyes. Obi-Wan began sponging down Maul's skin with the soft washcloths, frequently changing them as they became soiled with blood and dirt. The Jedi worked slowly and with care and patience. Maul wandered blissfully in and out of sleep. Some time later, as the Padawan rose to replace the solution in the basin, he told Maul to roll over. Maul did.

His back was much worse, and Obi-Wan was gentle as he cleansed Maul's wounds. Maul lay boneless in a state of half-delirium and half-delight as the soothing, heated washcloths made their way from the top of his head (he was very glad he was on his stomach when the Padawan tended to his horns) to the soles of his feet and every conceivable point between the two, H.R. Pufinstuf notwithstanding. He sighed rapturously, barely repressing an appalling urge to wriggle with delight, as the Jedi's skilled hands first applied a soothing, good-smelling ointment to his body and then rubbed it into his patterned skin. It stung a little, adding to the provocative sensation. As he massaged Maul's body from stem to stern, the Padawan paused over the worst wounds, healing them.

Sith Lords should receive foot massages three times daily, he thought incoherently as the Padawan sat on the end of the bed, Maul's feet in his lap, expertly manipulating the Sith's toes. The Handbook flapped worriedly to itself in the next room.

The Jedi rolled Maul back over, applying the ointment to Maul's chest and legs, deftly working it in. Kenobi's expression was warm and his touch held just a hint of intimacy, yet it was obvious the Jedi was concentrating mainly on the job he was doing and attending to it without any ulterior motives. Maul opened his eyes and watched the Padawan for a moment, grudgingly admitting that the twit was skilled in the Jedi arts. He sure gave one hell of a rub down, anyway.

Obi-Wan leaned across him and settled his fingers over the last wound on Maul's right shoulder. Maul could smell him, a subtle, musky scent that emanated from the Padawan's skin and penetrated the fog in Maul's head like a beacon. He closed his eyes again and clenched his fists, breathing deeply. The pain in his shoulder diminished and he felt Obi-Wan's strong hands go back to massaging him.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. Just...fuck it, he thought. Abruptly, Maul couldn't stand it anymore. Something in his brain snapped and he brought his hands up to Obi-Wan's shoulder blades and pulled the Jedi down on top of him.

The feel of the rough cloth of the Jedi's simple wrap tunic sent shivers through him as it rubbed against Maul's exotic, newly cleaned, almost hypersensitive skin. He could feel the muscles sliding smoothly beneath the Padawan's skin his came down on either side of the horned head to support his weight as he hung over the Sith. Maul, his intense, sun-colored eyes gazing into the puzzled cerulean of the Padawan's, slid his hands down the front of the tunic, tugging deftly at the sash wrapped around the Jedi's waist.

He dropped it on the floor next to the bed and parted the folds of the tunic, running his hands across Obi-Wan's warm, sleek stomach and on downward. The Jedi's eyes dilated as one tattooed hand slipped into the waistband of the uniform trousers he was wearing, seeking and fondling as it explored. The other hand was busy undoing the drawstring that held them up. Maul's wayfaring fingers were purposeful, yet unhurried as they wrapped around the Jedi's tumescence, stroking rhythmically. Obi-Wan nuzzled his neck, nipping the skin with tiny, sharp bites. All the muscles in Maul's body contracted simultaneously in dizzy, quivering reaction. He squeezed his fist tighter and picked up the pace of his stroke.

It was the Padawan's turn now to shiver, and he caressed Maul's horns with his lips and fingers, shifting his weight and raising up a little as Maul finally slid the trousers down over his hips and then removed his own boxer shorts. They mingled with the Jedi's clothes in a companionable heap. The Sith opened Obi-Wan's tunic fully so that it covered both of them and ran his free hand sensuously along the Jedi's back, applying his lips to the hollow at the base of the Jedi's throat, pressing him closer still, sighing as the soft, pale skin slid against his own exotic hide. Obi-Wan stretched his full length on top of Maul and looked down into his eyes again. Maul spread his legs a little wider to accommodate the Jedi's body. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak but Maul shook his head and laughed a little, though he couldn't say exactly why. Then he reached up with both hands, giving a salacious smile at the Jedi's murmured protest as Maul finally ceased fondling him, and ran his decorated fingers through the Jedi's short sandy hair.

Whatever the reasons were, he'd find them out. Eventually. For right now, it was enough that he knew he had to search. Obi-Wan watched him, wondering what the hell was going on. Maul's hands had never been so...inquisitive before, so erotic. Abruptly, everything about Maul's attitude seemed to have shifted a quarter-turn towards something entirely other than what was usual. He didn't know what to make of it. This was even better than when he unintentionally dosed Maul with E at the warehouse rave a while back. He wondered briefly if Maul had broken into his apartment and stolen the stash Qui-Gon kept in the medicine cabinet. Given his neighbor's tendencies, it was certainly a possibility.

"By the way, you do know that Mandalorian spiny bloodfruit is fatal to humans, don't you?" Maul said suddenly. The Jedi nodded, completely bewildered now and beginning to wonder if Maul had parts on order, or if professional help was required, or what. Maul's smile grew wider, became downright lascivious, and he drew the Jedi's head down, lifting his own to meet it halfway.

"Just checking. You know, Obi-Wan..." he said to the astonished Padawan as their lips met at last, "I do believe that some things are simply worth frying for."

END

(8/13/99)

Email the author