Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gaberwool suit jacket slides off Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and he is almost tempted to let it fall and puddle on the floor of their apartment. Almost.

But almost is not enough. Instead, he carries it folded over his arm and to their bedroom, hanging the coat in their shared closet. A droid will sonic-clean it later, ensuring it’s ready for the next gathering. After a night spent hanging off of Maul’s arm, charming criminals and collecting intel for the Rebellion and the syndicates, exhaustion settles over him like a well-worn robe. Briefly, he considers the merits of turning around and collapsing into bed.

Yet thoughts of rest flee his mind when he spots the gift box by his pillow.

The box is wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper with a black ribbon tied around it. As if there could be any denying the only person who would give him this. 

As if anyone else would dare to leave a gift for him in their private quarters.

The ribbon is undone with a simple pull, the wrapping paper unfolded and neatly set aside. Inside the box, cushioned in velvet, is a recreation of a cock and scrotum. To put it more colloquially, a dildo. A sex toy.

Well… that is not what he was expecting. Although if pressed, Obi-Wan could not say for sure what he had expected. Gifts are not Maul’s forte, though Obi-Wan’s not materialistic enough to feel their lack. 

(Besides, with the funds he grants Obi-Wan access to, an occasional gift would seem almost redundant. Maul, he has gathered, is not interested in the credits needed to live a life of luxury. Maul is only interested in the credits needed to have a life of power.

Obi-Wan tries not to think too hard about where the money comes from. What sufferings it springs from. He spends as little as possible on himself, instead diverting what he can toward the Rebellion’s causes.)

Surprise leeches out of Obi-Wan enough for his eyes to truly take in the toy. The bright red base with facsimile balls flares outward, ensuring the toy won’t penetrate too deep and become lost in his body; definitely not an event he would want to explain to a med droid.

Wrinkles, ridges, and bumps line the shaft, which is dyed a deep crimson and patterned with black markings. He runs a tentative finger over it, feeling the realistic texture that only high-quality synthskin could provide. The surface grows warmer as his finger traces it, silent servos reacting to his touch.

The tip, he notes, is a smooth, deep purple. Instead of a round crown, it tapers to a point. The design is not unlike a barbed stinger, though its feel is more malleable.

This toy had undoubtedly not come cheap, nor could it have been a mere impulse buy. A great deal of thought clearly went into its design, recreating something that had been lost.

Metallic footsteps break him out of his reverie, as if he summoned Maul with the turn of his thoughts. Not impossible, Obi-Wan realizes, if he was lax enough with his mental shields. He double-checks they’re still tightly in place before he turns to address Maul.

“Dear,” he says, the endearment still tasting fresh and new as it falls from his lips. He picks the dildo up, weighing its heft and giving it a twirl. “Is this your way of asking permission for something?”

Mild derision colors Maul’s voice. “Is it not obvious?”

“I would rather not make assumptions about what you may or may not be asking.” Maul’s eyes narrow, his frustration evident, but Obi-Wan stands firm. He crosses his arms, the facsimile cock still in his hand. If they cannot communicate their intentions before they begin, then what Maul wants is a non-option.

Obi-Wan cannot hold back a sigh when Maul’s look does not relent.  “I’m not doing this to embarrass, torment, or deny you. I just want to avoid any misunderstandings.” He uncrosses his arms. “I’m quite willing to work with you and your desires, so please do not hesitate to tell me what it is you want.”

The furrows of Maul’s brow smooth themselves out. “Then to make it absolutely clear, yes. I would like to fuck you with that.” His voice does not falter, though there is a rough edge to his request that comes from more than just the casual vulgarity. It feels like an admittance of something significant.

“Very well, I am not opposed to that.” Obi-Wan shifts, suddenly and awkwardly aware he’s been gesticulating with a sex toy. He tucks it back in its box and returns the box to their bed. “Were you thinking of that happening tonight? Right now?”

“Would you be amenable to that?”

Obi-Wan carefully takes stock of himself before answering. He is tired, but it’s an exhaustion rooted more in his mind than in his body. Perhaps it will do him some good to get out of his head and ground himself in the moment.

The bright smile he gives Maul is a touch more real than the one he wore at dinner, teetering between something compelled and completely natural. “I’m sure whatever you have planned will be an excellent way to unwind after a trying evening.”

Maul’s smirk is all teeth. “Then continue stripping.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes even as his lips climb further upward. Maul often seizes control during their escapades, bringing to life his vision of how he wants the evening to play out. Unsurprising for a man so used to power in his day-to-day existence, he supposes. 

Especially one with Maul’s… limitations. Denied the chance to be a more traditionally active participant—

(denied by him, Obi-Wan never forgets that he is the reason Maul is like this)

—what better way for Maul to play with him than by directing the situation to his liking?

And Obi-Wan is not opposed to following instructions in bed. So goes their strange form of reciprocity; mindless pleasure in exchange for satisfying Maul’s fantasies of control. 

He’s negotiated worse exchanges.

Obi-Wan’s hands move up to his collar and begin unbuttoning his shirt, aware of how Maul’s focus has narrowed to him.

Despite their usual voluminous robes, the Jedi didn’t share the nudity taboo of other cultures. Though composed of crude matter, the body was natural, and pride and comfort in one’s appearance was to be encouraged as long as it did not develop into vanity. Few of them flaunted themselves past their Padawan years, but their naked state was nothing to be ashamed of. 

A view they especially adhered to during the war, where sharing close quarters meant that privacy was often scarce. Many times on a mission he had stripped in front of the clones or his fellow Jedi to change or clean off, and often they were too busy doing the same to think anything of his actions.

Yes, Obi-Wan’s eyes had not dwelled on their forms, nor had their eyes traced his body when he dressed and undressed. Completely unlike how Maul’s eyes follow him now, re-learning his skin. It’s a caress without touch, his gaze claiming what’s bared before him. Under that gaze, Obi-Wan’s movements slow and create an unintentional striptease.

The scraping sound of a durasteel chair dragging itself across the room halts his musings. The chair stops by Maul at his mental command and he settles himself in one easy movement.

Of course Maul would take the opportunity to secure himself a throne from which he could survey his domain. Obi-Wan barely manages to repress a snort, but his amusement is not quite enough to draw him out of his thoughts as he continues undressing.

He’s never really had time to dwell on his body during their previous couplings. Though nothing in Maul’s eyes suggests disapproval or disappointment, Obi-Wan is conscious of himself, of his body. And that drives him toward self-consciousness. 

A flush creeps over his flesh as he removes the shirt, exposing his full chest. He averts his gaze from Maul’s, still unused to being the center of such raw, intense focus.

Maul notices his awkwardness.

“So shy,” he murmurs, puzzlement and pleasure intermingling. “Has no one watched you like this?”

Obi-Wan folds up his shirt, unwilling to just carelessly cast it to the side. “No, I can’t say I’ve met anyone who matches your fervent gaze.” 

“There are no others like me.” Though smug on the surface, there’s an undercurrent of sorrow. Obi-Wan has heard of the Dathomiri’s final stand and ultimate fate, how the few survivors were later rounded up and enslaved by the Empire. A preview of what would later happen not only to the Jedi but to other worlds such as Bardotta.

But there are no condolences he can offer Maul that will not ring as empty pity to the man’s ears. Even if Obi-Wan is in the unique, unenviable position of understanding what it is to lose your world and culture.

Instead, he falls back upon the tactic of diverting to lighter matters as he puts away his refolded shirt, pretending he didn’t catch something deeper in Maul’s tone. “And well, hmm… let’s just say that people aren’t exactly lining up to court a mad hermit in the wastes.”

Maul continues as if he had not said anything, brushing off Ben’s words. “Yet I find it hard to believe that the great knight Obi-Wan Kenobi was without his admirers.  Even when caught up in war, the galaxy couldn’t seem to stop rhapsodizing about you.”

His former name from Maul’s lips no longer inspires an immediate feeling of panic, though there are moments when the Zabrak gets far too close to the truth for comfort.

It’s not the first time he’s been overshadowed by a specter from the past and unexpectedly asked by Maul to resume an old part. He may wake up in the man’s arms to a passionate morning kiss, but come evening he’s playacting a tortured prisoner brought before his captor. 

He’s unsure if Maul lacks sufficient consideration and respect for ‘Ben’ to consistently give him proper warning before dropping him into a scene, or if he truly does forget who he is supposedly with. Still, it's a desire of Maul's he is willing to work with.

“That was a long time ago,” Obi-Wan says, honesty sneaking through his voice. “And besides, reputations like that are all too often overstated.” He hadn’t had time for anything more than casual flirting or the occasional mission-driven seduction back then, busy fighting a war as he was. 

A disbelieving snort. Obi-Wan decides to change the subject before he goes too far justifying his inclination to not sleep around, breaking Maul’s ‘illusion.’

His hands purposefully pause at his pant’s waistline. “Shouldn’t you start removing your clothes as well?” He cocks his head to the side, assuming a mock-thoughtful tilt. “Or do I get a chance to watch you once I’m done?”

“Neither,” Maul answers calmly. “I will not be stripping for you.”

So Maul will remain clothed in his tailored suit, the picture of elegant composure, while Obi-Wan is entirely naked. Vulnerable. The contrast is obviously deliberate, Maul passing down a power statement as if issuing a decree.

Curiosity and an unfamiliar thrill overcome his sense of exasperation, followed by a spark of playful defiance. He will ultimately comply with Maul’s wishes, but there’s no need to make it too easy. Maul will likely enjoy the chance to put him, or rather General Kenobi, in his place.

“I suppose I should thank you, then,” he teases smoothly. “My skin would only look wan with the reveal of your lustrous hide.”

“You’re stalling,” is all Maul says. Yet his eyes shine a touch brighter at his words.

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” With one swift motion, Obi-Wan removes his pants and undergarments, slipping them off. He tries for more grace than just letting them fall to his ankles. He doesn’t quite succeed, though he moves to flow out of his discarded pants instead of merely step over them.

He’s about to reach for his clothes and pick them up, when Maul’s voice stops him. “Leave them.”

Ahh, another power statement. It’s an affront to the neat freak in him, but he’s certain he’ll forget about them soon enough. There’s no harm in obeying Maul’s… well, he can’t call it a request, but command seems a bit much. He steps away from the clothes, resisting the urge to raise his arms in exaggerated surrender.

Maul’s eyes gleam, clearly pleased with his obedience. “Now fetch the lube.”

A directive he’s more than ready to follow. Obi-Wan walks to retrieve the well-used bottle of lube from its usual drawer, the feel of Maul’s gaze warming his back. He holds back another snort as he bends over, well aware he’s giving Maul a good view of his ass before he straightens up.

He turns to brandish the lube, but does not move from the spot. Let Maul be the one to make the next move.

Golden eyes drink him in, and Maul proves eager to delve back into his constructed fantasy. “You appeared in so many holos back then. Were you so eager to be worshipped as a master Jedi by the simpering public?”

No, because I have never desired worship. Nor would I trust anything so fickle as public opinion, he does not say.

“And the only way you would know how many I appeared in is by watching them yourself,” he teases, the mischievous tone coming easier as he slips back into his part. “Purely to get a better read on your opponent, I’m sure,” he says, his tone almost painfully sincere.

“You seemed so anxious to let the Republic use your flesh and power as they pleased,” Maul is quick to fire back, sounding cool and unflustered by Obi-Wan’s dig. “Why should I not aspire to the same, to supplant them as your master?”

“Oh, but I believe I would prove too much for you to handle.” His lips try for a smile, a confident one edged with defiance. The result feels more like a grimace, a mask covering the ever-lingering hurt at how the Jedi had been thought of as the Republic’s attack hounds in the end. Like acting a half-remembered part, what he grasps for is both familiar and foreign.

Against his will, his mind ponders how much of his life has been spent immersed in a string of parts. All the world's a stage, he said to Mace once while discussing the Senate and deceptive politicians. He had mostly been teasing him about his theatrical background, but even then the words had an uncomfortable ring of truth, enmeshed in politics as they were.

General, teacher, warrior, spy… None of those parts were quite cast aside when he was done, but instead lingered and layered over one another. In his lonelier moments, Obi-Wan has wondered what someone would find if they peeled back all the layers. If they would find anything at all.

Obi-Wan glances back at the toy on the bed. “Should I grab the box as well?” he asks, eager to change the subject. If he pays them no mind, his old hurts will soon return to their uneasy rest.

“No, leave it be for now.”

“Very well.” He slinks toward Maul, the curve of his smile gaining a sultry edge, before stopping a stride’s length away.

"Well, Maul.” The deep bow he gives is a farce, its mockery a commitment to resistance instead of a true submission. “Now that you have me at your oh-so-questionable mercy, where would you like me?”

A thoughtful hum emerges from Maul, slipping through his parted lips. “That is the question. There are so many possibilities.”

“Don’t spend too long pondering them,” Obi-Wan teases. “I might start to get cold over here, all by myself.”

A wicked smirk. “Clearly, the first thing I would have to do is temper your tongue. Kissing you is the obvious solution, but it’s just that — obvious and predictable.”

“But still so pleasurable,” Obi-Wan retorts, drawing the last word out with a purr.

“It would be mere foreplay to all that I would do to you.” A sigh follows Maul’s words, his eyes taking on a distant cast. “How I’ve thought about all the ways I would have you, after our battles.”

“Yes, I know.” Obi-Wan’s thoughtful hum is a pitch-perfect mimicry of Maul’s. “Beating me black and blue, breaking me at your feet. Asking me what I would do to live.”

Maul’s gaze returns to the present. “But I never told you what would happen next.” His eyes rove over Obi-Wan’s body, taking in his unmarked skin. “What you would do next.”

“I assumed the answer you would be looking for, the only one you would accept, is ‘anything and everything.’”

“As a start, yes.” Those golden eyes stay fixed on him, their heat stripping him as surely as Tatooine was stripped by its twin suns. “But eventually, we would have to get more specific.”

The weight of those eyes upon him tell Obi-Wan his nudity is not enough. Maul will peel away more and more until he holds the core of Obi-Wan’s being in his hands.

“I could tie up your broken body and cast you aside until you’re desperate for my attention.” Maul’s voice drops, sinking into the dark mire of his thoughts. “Have you suck my fingers, let you lave them with your tongue until they were coated with saliva and ready to defile you.” 

A throaty chuckle as Maul’s eyes fall closed to better picture his fantasy. “Not that you would receive them so easily. No, I would first reduce you to little more than quivering, mewling pleas to fill you up. Torment your helpless body with touch until you confess the truth of how much you need me.” 

Maul’s eyes slide open and snap back to Obi-Wan. “When I finally take you, it would almost seem redundant. A simple confirmation of an established truth.”

Goosebumps rise along Obi-Wan’s neck. He’s been stretched open before by spit-slicked fingers; the feel is usually rougher than he likes at first, but eventually it settles into a pleasurable burn. And a part of him does enjoy how desired a partner’s impatience makes him feel. How urgently they need to be inside him and feel his flesh surrounding them.

Of course, those partners were far more willing to let him direct the pace, slowing down at his request despite their own eagerness. Maul will do so if prompted, but it’s clear he prefers to be in charge with no complaints.

Another hum escapes Maul. "However, even the sweetness of that thought turns sour when I ponder its unbalanced nature. Why should I trouble myself with pleasuring you, allowing you to so passively benefit from my generosity, when our roles should be reversed?” 

Maul’s tone almost sounds amused as he continues, though Obi-Wan catches the undercurrent of familiar anger. “You’ve deprived us of the obvious means, but that inconvenience —”

The word is hissed like it’s something foul he needs to expel.

“— would not free you from your duty.” There’s a nasty edge to his smirk now. “Not when I could make you kneel vulnerable and exposed on the floor before me, and tell you to polish my feet with your mouth."

Now that was... an image. Obi-Wan's mouth is dry as he replies, "That sounds unhygienic for the both of us. You are aware how much I run my mouth, can you truly trust what comes out of it?" He runs his eyes up and down Maul's mechanical thighs, playing at idle intent. "Perhaps you would be amenable to me kissing my way up your legs instead?"

A wicked gleam settles in Maul's eyes at the vision Obi-Wan spins. Undoubtedly the satisfaction of having his enemy prostrated before him, kissing and worshipping the prosthetics he inadvertently inflicted on Maul, is settling inside him even now.

“Perhaps that is something we could explore another time. For now...” He pats his thighs. “Come sit here.”

Obi-Wan crosses over to the chair, the bottle of well-used lube in his hand. How can he do anything else, with that gaze drawing him in and compelling him to come closer? Again he thinks of Tatooine, forever caught in a burning orbit around twin stars.

“Not the bed tonight, then?”

“No.”

Despite Obi-Wan’s lingering awkwardness, his legs glide effortlessly over Maul's hips. The fabric will not let him do otherwise, its smooth and slippery feel guiding his thighs into Maul’s lap. The suit is not soft enough to cushion the feel of metal, but it keeps the chill from penetrating through Obi-Wan’s skin.

He holds the bottle of lube out to Maul, but Maul ignores it. “I would like to kiss you, first.”

A wry smile crosses Obi-Wan’s face at Maul’s request. At least he’s taken that desire of Obi-Wan’s to his hearts. “Very well.” 

The kiss, thankfully, lacks the teeth that would have Maul living up to his name. Still, the sudden press of lips against his is almost crushing. As his eyes slide shut, Obi-Wan half expects to be forced backward and pressed against a wall, impossible as that is in their position.

The kiss is emotional without a wealth of affection or sentiment, though traces of each flavor its feel. Maul’s fingers glide over his skin in a fleeting caress, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Obi-Wan’s close enough to feel the vibrations from a rumble deep in Maul’s chest, the sound not unlike a satisfied purr. 

Above all else, the kiss expresses the desire to dominate him. Hands move toward Obi-Wan’s back, fingers digging into heated muscles. Obi-Wan’s mouth yields to a heated swipe of Maul’s tongue, which is then quick to pin his own tongue down. 

Is this Maul’s idea of ‘tempering his tongue’? Obi-Wan’s not opposed to his methods, if so. A low moan escapes him, its sound promptly swallowed by Maul’s mouth, before he settles into the kiss, well-practiced in meeting a lack of control with a measure of serenity and grace. Only the self was ever in your complete control; everything else is a matter of managing circumstances.

Emboldened by his partner’s submission, Maul’s tongue turns toward sampling the rest of his mouth. His grip tightens on Obi-Wan instead of relaxing, leaving his quarry no room for escape. Obi-Wan can almost hear the taunt Maul would make, if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

“Now that I have you, do you think I’ll ever let you go?”

Even as Maul breaks the kiss and his grip slackens, his hands remain on Obi-Wan. His gaze possesses an unshakeable assurance as Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter open. Obi-Wan catches himself gripping Maul’s hip with one hand for a needed sense of balance. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he quickly sucks in air to regain his breath, words failing him for the moment.

A short, satisfied chuckle leaves Maul. “Only I can silence the Negotiator like this.”

There’s a breathless rasp to his voice as he finally manages to speak. “If you want me to be quiet, dear, all you have to do is ask.” 

He waves the bottle again, drawing Maul’s attention back to it. His fingers held onto it, even as he lost himself in their kiss. “But I suspect that would be rather boring for you.”

“Yes,” Maul agrees slowly. It’s not reluctance that colors his tone, but a revelation of some kind. “Yes, it would be.” 

He grabs the bottle from Obi-Wan. Within seconds, Maul’s fingers glisten with the lube, catching the station’s artificial lighting. Obi-Wan takes the bottle back, freeing tattooed hands to push apart his asscheeks. Fingers knead his flesh and teasingly circle his rim before breaching him.

Maul’s touch is still not much more gentle than he had been that first time. Yet Obi-Wan catches a measure of learned care, an attentive efficiency that’s grown from their increased familiarity with each other. His body relaxes around Maul’s touch now, instead of debating ‘flight or freeze’ during the initial penetration.

Ego may temper Maul as much as any affection he’s developed. He wants to be wanted, and that means accommodating his partner’s desires. There’s certainly a prideful shine to his eyes at Obi-Wan’s pleased hum, and his smirk only sharpens when Obi-Wan’s hand tightens on Maul’s hip.

One, two, and finally three fingers. Stretching him open, his sphincter limber enough from previous encounters for the prep to go smoothly and quickly. 

Maul continues beyond the needed prep, his fingers pushing and twisting into Obi-Wan’s body. A feeling not unlike liquid fire begins to pool in Obi-Wan’s core, building already to a climax.

“Yes, more,” he breathes.

“I thought the Jedi were above greed.” The automatic look he shoots Maul is quickly undone by a press of fingers that sends Obi-Wan rocking back against them. A piercing cry slips past his lips, and he has to push down a moan as Maul pulls back and lets the rising heat trickle down into nothing.

All too soon, Maul’s fingers slip out of him, and his other hand stretches out in a silent summons. Obi-Wan cranes his neck and watches as the toy levitates out of its box, rushing over to Maul’s waiting hand.

“Convenient,” he mutters, wondering if Maul had him leave it behind precisely to show off like this. There’s something… endearing in that, if so. 

Obi-Wan looks over the toy again, taking in its length and girth, the curve to its shaft and tip. He holds out the bottle of lube to Maul. Maul raises an eye ridge at him, silently questioning his caution.

“You want to lube the toy, too,” he says, uncaring if telling Maul to use enough ruined the fantasy.

“It is not a toy,” Maul scornfully retorts.

No, he supposes to Maul this is something more than just a toy.

“Then make sure your dick is properly greased up, please,” he says, abandoning the playfulness of “Obi-Wan” for a more serious tone. It’s a voice he often used to scold Anakin. “It looks a bit more intimidating than the usual fingers.”

Perhaps it’s not that much thicker than a set of fingers  — Maul chose realism over an empty brag. But the cock is certainly longer than Maul’s fingers, ready to drive into his body deeper than Maul could reach. Besides, there is no such thing as too much lubricant.

“Afraid I’ll split you open, Kenobi? That I’ll leave you aching and feeling me inside of you for days?” There’s a pleased growl to Maul’s words, clear enjoyment at the mental image.

Obi-Wan adds some bite of his own to his next words. “If you make my colon bleed through an act of carelessness, it will be a long while before I trust you enough to touch me down there again.” A squirt of bacta would fix the damage, but that really wasn’t the point here.

Maul’s lips thin but he nods, accepting the boundary. Obi-Wan watches as he squirts a decent amount into his palm and slicks up the toy with swift, precise movements. He does not linger and prolong the process as he did inside Obi-Wan.

Once Maul’s sufficiently coated the toy, the lube bottle flies away. Obi-Wan hears it clink as it settles on a table behind him. Then a slight stretch as the cock presses against him, teasingly rocking into his ass with a flick of Maul’s wrist. His back arches to meet the movement, but to no avail; the cock stills at his interest, spreading his ass cheeks without going any further.

Obi-Wan meets Maul’s expectant gaze. “If you want my permission, you still have it. Though I do appreciate you checking in again with me.”

“No, that’s not quite it,” Maul says. “Beg me.”

“W-what?” he sputters inelegantly.

“Beg me for my cock. Beg me to fuck you.”

A classic Sith desire. It is not enough for Obi-Wan to submit, no, he must be complicit. Corrupted, not merely overwhelmed.

His tone is somber, one reserved for imparting the deepest of life lessons or the most solemn of disappointments. “Oh Maul, lord of the shadows and the lawless.” A calculated lift of his brows, his eyes wide and beseeching. “Please bestow upon me the gift of your magnificent cock.”

Maul’s expression is at war with itself, a glare and a hint of a grin vying for dominance. Obi-Wan has no such compunctions and allows a smile to spread across his face. Maul wanted the experience of fucking General Kenobi. The cutting remarks are simply part of the package.

“Surely you can imagine what proper begging sounds like,” the Zabrak drawls.

“I can’t, actually. I told you before that I would never bargain for anything from the likes of you.” He lets the lust in his eyes speak for itself.

The grin is winning out as a hand snakes into his hair and pulls, almost enough to hurt. He meets Maul’s burning, bloodshot gaze. “Then pretend it is not yourself that you are begging for.”

Though it is surely not what Maul means, surely it’s just part of the scene he’s setting where he overpowers and seduces his nemesis, his mind flashes to the Lars, to Luke. Dependent on the syndicates’ questionable sense of charity. With that as inspiration, he tries again.

“Please,” he begins. “Please fuck me.” His mind grasps for more, the words tasting unsatisfying. “Take me and use me as you will.” He begins to feel like an underwritten heroine in a tawdry holonovel.

Still, his improvisation seems enough to entice Maul, whose eyes remain fixed on his. When Obi-Wan opens his mouth to continue — with what he’s unsure — a small gasp leaves him instead as the cock breaches his entrance. The tension that had built up from Maul’s implicit threat, a tension he hadn’t even noticed, flees his body.

Maul’s hand abandons its hold on his hair to run down his face in a possessive caress. “Better, though there’s room for improvement. We’ll have to clear some time in our schedules for practice.”

Was Maul seriously proposing to fuck him more often so he could learn to beg correctly? Obi-Wan has to hold back a laugh. Tempting to point out how that leaves him with more reason to underperform, not less.

Even with the prep, the way the cock stretches him is disorienting, a burn that’s not quite painful yet more than mildly discomforting. The warmth from the cock eases its way, its servos maintaining a temperature ever so slightly hotter than a human’s. Obi-Wan’s body relaxes and accepts the intrusion as the heat penetrates deeper.

It was more of everything, the discomfort dissolving into a filling sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Although the tapered tip was something new, used to as he was with species that had broader crowns. It teased and tantalized, adding a welcome hint of subtlety to the stretch.

Yet even as his body’s resistance fades, Maul does not increase his pace.

“Maul,” he breathes with more than a hint of frustration. “Could you perhaps go faster?”

“You told me to take care.” Maul goes teasingly, agonizingly slow with the cock, his movements no more than a simple flick of his wrist. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my delicate Jedi.”

“Well, surely you must understand why an outsider might believe otherwise.” A mocking quirk of lips and familiar sassy overtones, recalling the battlefields they had faced each other on. “And since when was I your Jedi?”

Maul pauses his thrusts and looks at him with wild eyes that have just an edge of coherence, a glimmer of understanding that wills Obi-Wan to accept this obvious fact. It takes a moment for the words to finally leave Maul.

“Since you looked me in the eye and lied, claiming to have forgotten me. I, who was the entire reason you were even made a Jedi Knight, after I lost everything to you. You rose with my fall, and you dared to deem that as insignificant.”

I had to know if it was you and not just another Zabrak, bent toward vengeance against the Jedi for whatever reason, he did not answer. Baiting you was the quickest solution. Then again, perhaps it had been ridiculous to think that the galaxy had room for two such hateful Zabraks.

“You sealed your fate that day. One way or another, you were going to be mine,” Despite his words, Maul’s voice is nothing less than a loving croon. “Not only would you never forget me, I would give you little reason to think of anyone but me.”

The smirk that stretches across Maul’s face is a crack in his composure, revealing the appeased madness underneath. “Now look at you, a Jedi General eager to spread your legs for a former Sith.” His fingers flutter around his stretched entrance, a contact all the more teasing for its gentleness. “Isn’t this far more pleasurable than anything else I could do to you?”

“Yes, Maul, I must thank you for your consideration,” he drawls. The thrusts resume with that sarcastic admission, the cock’s movements finally gaining speed. 

As he feels its frictionless glide, Obi-Wan can’t help but wonder how accurate the toy is to what Maul originally had. With the initial stretching out of the way, the cock feels as if it had been sized perfectly for his body. 

It could have been. Maul’s probing touches throughout their previous encounters might have been more than just effective teases. His fingers could have measured his inner walls by touch alone, gauged the distance by feel.

The alternative is that the recreated cock is 100 percent true to what Maul once had, meaning in his natural state he would have slid into Obi-Wan’s body perfectly. Obi-Wan is not sure what to do with that thought.

His own cock bobs back and forth as his body gives under Maul’s thrusts, rising to attention and growing harder. He’s close enough he can feel the warmth of Maul’s body through the suit, and his hips rock into that heat. 

“Don’t even think of touching yourself,” Maul tells him. Or orders him, really. “You’re coming from my cock, or you’re not coming at all.”

“Oh, is that so?” Obi-Wan says, a hint breathlessly. It isn’t the witty, winning retort he would have liked it to be.

“Yes,” he answers matter of factly. “Right now, it’s just as much mine as you are.” He pushes Obi-Wan slightly away, preventing him from grinding his hips into Maul for some delicious friction.

Obi-Wan’s hands abandon their hold on Maul’s hips, traveling upward to grip his horns instead. He spreads his legs wider and his back arches to better meet the cock’s thrusts, a cry escaping his lips as it pushes deeper.

Instead of touching his erection, now dribbling cum, Maul’s free hand strokes Obi-Wan’s cheek. Though the feel is gentle, the sarcastic grin he gives Obi-Wan is not.

“Look at you,” his voice drops into a scathing coo, a too-thin velvet blanket over a bed of knives. “Your body falling apart, your cock dripping after a few simple motions.” The proprietary hand continues caressing him.

“Lie to yourself, lie to the Jedi, lie to the galaxy. Your body betrays you. You want me.” Maul’s breath is harsh and hot against his neck. “You’re an eager little slut for me.”

Obi-Wan’s had that word directed his way more than once. His usual response was along the lines of a simple, “You wish.” Afterall, it was never more than a mere word from people who did not know him, people willing to jump to ugly assumptions.

The unexpected vulgarity from Maul, though, brings a flush to his face that’s not as shameful as it could be. The word was not a censure but an expression of Maul’s own desire. Hide it though Maul would, this encounter must be unraveling him as well for him to resort to such language.

Maul descends upon his chest, breaking free of Obi-Wan’s hold as he does so. Now it’s an attack on two fronts, the cock still maintaining a measured pace even as Maul laps at his hardened nipples. 

Maul breaks away briefly to continue speaking. “How you must have suffered, not being able to give into your desires then.” There is no sympathy in his voice, only mockery and cold satisfaction. 

One last swipe of his tongue, then Maul moves back with a smug smile. “My poor, repressed Jedi, enslaved to the expectations of others.” 

As opposed to the expectations you would have of me, Obi-Wan does not say. Truthfully, he has nothing to add. Nothing that he expects Maul to listen to and believe, anyway. His lack of a response doesn’t deter Maul, who continues monologuing as if he’s giving a soliloquy to an expectant audience.

“How the galaxy would have watched, if we had given in to our natural inclinations then. If I had pushed you down and taken you on one of our battlefields.” Maul’s lips run over Obi-Wan’s exposed shoulders, nipping his way up his neck. His free hand pulls Obi-Wan’s head closer, fingers twining into his hair while the thrusts continue.

“Can you imagine it, Kenobi?” A sharp sting as Maul bites hard enough to bruise. “Reporting to your precious council with traces of our coupling running down your legs?”

He held back a retort about the reports he did make, disheveled and covered in all manner of bodily fluids, though never of a sexual variety. War was not conducive to neatness and appearances.

“I’m surprised you would let me leave your arms so soon,” he manages instead between pants. He debates calling Maul out as a cuddler, but tries for more diplomatic language. “You do so enjoy holding me after our exertions. Or would I be expected to dive right back into your embrace after shamelessly displaying myself?”

Maul’s clearly pleased with the idea, his eyes gleaming even as he demurs. “No, I would let you go, knowing you would never be free of me. Not in the way you would wish to be.”

Well, I suppose that’s proven true. The thought carries only the slightest hint of hysteria.

“So we would continue on like that.” Maul’s free hand abandons his hair to skim down his back, his gaze wild yet sly. “And someday, after our many battles, you would realize that I know you better than anyone else.”

Not so well that you could recognize me in front of you, Obi-Wan thinks without any satisfaction. Truly, who from his old life would have recognized him in the aging hermit of Tatooine? There are but a handful of people still alive who could say they knew Obi-Wan Kenobi, and none of them have seen him in years. 

Maul’s claim of knowing him best is far closer to the truth than it has ever been before. 

“That knowledge would twist you up inside, leaving you without a moment’s peace.” Maul’s voice draws him back to the present, as does the feel of a hand trailing back up his side. “Eventually, you would seek me out and stay with me to settle your very being.” Fingers come to rest on Obi-Wan’s rocking hips. “Then, I would own you.”

“I’ve had others try to exert ownership over me,” he says honestly. “It didn’t end well for them.”

Maul’s eyes widen in genuine bewilderment, his thrusts slowing to a stop. “What effort would I have to exert, Kenobi, when you would choose to submit to me?”

Without the cock pumping into him, it’s easier for Obi-Wan to find the breath to say what he wants. “Do you truly think I would allow you to just passively keep me? One and done, then I’m yours forever?” He long suspected this as Maul’s first attempt at a long-term sexual relationship, that Maul did not know how true intimacy cultivated contentment while rejecting complacency.

“As if fighting you every day of our lives wouldn’t be the sweetest prize. To assert my control over you like this.” The cock’s next thrust almost sends him buckling forward, and Obi-Wan’s hands quickly reclaim their grip on Maul’s horns for stability. A moan escapes him as his pleasure climbs higher.

Even with his arms in the way, Maul’s persistent smirk is all too visible. “Aggravating though my condition can be, it has its advantages. My mind remains clear while I watch yours succumb to me.”

Obi-Wan can’t resist turning that line of thinking around, speaking between pants. “Are you saying that if you were free to fuck me, you would be guaranteed to lose control?”

The hand on his hip tightens its grip, but Maul’s voice remains smooth. “Perhaps. That does not mean you would gain control.”

“No, it does not,” he agrees. “I suppose I would have no choice then but to ride out your passion.” He pauses, then adds for good measure, “To give in to you.”

“Yes,” the word escapes Maul with a hint of a pleased hiss, and the cock speeds up in response, driving into him harder. 

The building heat begins to reach its crescendo, the cock coring him open without hollowing him out. His leg muscles clench up, and even his toes are curling in anticipation. His grip tightens on Maul’s horns.

“This is where you were always meant to be,” For all his claims of maintaining distance and control, the words escape Maul in a breathless pant. “Falling apart in my arms.”

Fall he does, tipping over an internal ledge as he comes. Maul’s name escapes his mouth, accompanied by a breathy, little “Ah!” Clenched muscles relax, leaving him feeling limp as he spends himself.

Lips seize his in another kiss as Obi-Wan rides out his orgasm, swallowing down any further cries. His ears catch a faint whine from Maul as he presses into the kiss. Obi-Wan’s hands release Maul’s horns, sliding downward to cradle the Zabrak’s face. When Maul moves away to break the kiss, Obi-Wan’s arms drop to wind around his shoulders. Not only does it support his still shaky body, but it keeps Maul within easy reach.

He slumps forward as he feels himself come down, and his eyes fall upon the front of Maul’s suit. His face flushes when he sees how he’s painted the formerly black fabric a sticky white.

Obi-Wan feels the cock stir inside him as Maul pulls it out. His loosened muscles easily give up the toy, though there’s a noticeable emptiness left behind as it slips out of him with a squelch. He’s vaguely aware of a thump as Maul casts aside the cock, his interest in it lost now that it’s fulfilled its part.

An awkwardness taints his afterglow, well aware as Obi-Wan is that he’s made a spectacle of himself reaching orgasm, while Maul can do no such thing. It’s not the first time he’s been uncomfortably conscious of the divide.

He would press himself closer and, well, snuggle if it wasn’t for the cum trickling down Maul’s suit, pooling onto his hips and thighs. Obi-Wan does not know if the fabric is salvageable, though he suspects not.

Maul does not seem to care about the mess, his tone smug despite the dirtied outfit. “Such a shameless lack of control. What would the Jedi make of you?”

“I suppose they would congratulate me on my stamina, and compliment me on the patience it takes to deal with you,” he retorts levelly. He could almost pretend that he doesn’t feel a familiar pang at the mention of his lost comrades.

A throaty sound escapes Maul that might be a stifled laugh or a repressed growl of displeasure. Knowing Maul, it could even be both. 

“Whatever condemnations or accolades you might deserve, one fact remains.” A finger trails through the slick cum now staining his thighs. “You’ve ruined my suit. However do you propose to make this up to me?”

“If you don’t want your clothes ruined, perhaps you should take them off before having sex,” Obi-Wan does not say, tempting though it is.

“I’m certain you’re about to tell me how I can go about making my reparations,” he says instead. He might be raining kisses up Maul’s legs sooner than he expected. 

“Still, whatever price I have to pay is well worth the gains.” Obi-Wan affects a sigh. “I only regret how impossible it is to feel you lose control, spending yourself inside me.”

He looks directly into Maul’s eyes as he continues. Whoever Maul is seeing now — Obi-Wan, Ben, or a strange amalgamation — has his full attention. 

“That, reduced as we are to playacting, I can only imagine how it would feel to have hot cum flowing inside me, marking me up as yours.” His voice drops lower, into a rumbling purr. “As I’ve just done to you.”

He’s not entirely sure where these words are coming from. Perhaps it’s a lingering aftereffect from reinhabiting the role of General Kenobi.

He watches Maul’s throat work through a swallow, the expanse of skin just peeking over his collar, though his voice remains unaffected. “There is the potential for further modifications.”

Obi-wan beams at him. “I look forward to them.”

Chapter Text

Synthetic cum was, perhaps not surprisingly, a booming and versatile market. After all, they were hardly the only two people in the galaxy working with limitations and wishing for a more conventional sexual experience.

People could also choose to spice up their sex lives with the unconventional. Some potential liquids smelled of flowers or other fragrances, while others mimicked the taste and texture of popular foods. A few specialties had practical side effects, delivering absorbable nutrients or cleaning out harmful bacteria. Quick-dry, self-evaporating cum was a particular favorite, eliminating any need for cleanup.

Maul wanted realism, not poetry or convenience. A manufactured musk and a faint taste of salt. A consistency somewhere between runny and creamy, with a hint of a chalky texture. When exposed to air, the liquid would cool and dry like the genuine article, leaving a crusty residue on Obi-Wan’s skin.

With a few simple twists, the cock would unfold and reveal several slots for fluid-filled cartridges. Servos would warm the solution prior to ejaculation.

So the liquid is hot, but not burning, as it paints sticky ropes across Obi-Wan’s inner walls, timed to coincide with his own panting orgasm. Sensors pick up on Obi-Wan’s vibrations, allowing him the experience of “finishing” with a partner.

A wrecked moan escapes Obi-Wan’s mouth, not loud enough to cover the squelching sound as Maul pulls the cock out of his body. He lays his head back on their bed, closing his eyes and savoring the shivers still coursing through him, the coolness of his own cum as it slowly dries on his chest. He breathes deeply, knowing he could easily fall into a meditative trance like this.

Maul caresses his cheek, and Obi-Wan leans into it. The Zabrak’s voice comes out smooth, distanced as he is from their coupling. “You’re beautiful in your ruin, Kenobi. What’s even more enrapturing is watching you seek it.”

Obi-Wan’s hand reaches up and curls around Maul’s wrist. He opens his eyes to meet Maul’s gaze as he guides the man’s palm to his lips, pressing a kiss into it.

“And how many people, when they see a painting or sculpture or another masterpiece, think to call the artist beautiful?” His thumb rubs circles over the pulse point in Maul’s wrist, catching the steady four-part beat. “Yet, it would not exist without their talented hands.”

He hears the slightest hitch in Maul’s breathing. He can’t undo the man with carnal acts, but compliments, kisses, and caresses usually work quite well as reciprocation.

He brings the tips of Maul’s fingers to his mouth, feeling them trace the outline of his grin.

“Pretty words won’t undo the mess you’ve made,” Maul says, quick to regain control. “But that silvery, silken tongue of yours can still be put to good use.”

Holding the still sticky cock by its base, Maul lifts it so it hovers over Obi-Wan’s lips. A slightly sweet musk hits his nostrils.

“Lick it clean.”

Obi-Wan moves to sit up, taking the tapered tip into his mouth. His hand takes the cock from Maul, gripping the shaft as he shifts into a kneeling position. His entrance is still dripping wet, droplets of cum hitting the backs of his feet.

The cock feels real in his mouth — warm, firm but not unyielding. The skin covering is silky soft on his tongue. His hand pushes it in deeper, his jaw widening to accommodate its girth.

It would be easiest to simply rotate the cock, but he doubts that would play into the show Maul clearly wants. 

He swirls his tongue around instead, relying on suction to pick up any stray cum he misses. The cock quivers as he licks it, the machinery reacting to his movements.

He swallows down the leftover semen, but keeps sucking. The toy lacked the refractory period typical of most humanoids, and he feels it grow more rigid as servos silently whirr underneath its skin. Teeth graze the cock, bumping over manufactured veins and wrinkles, and the toy gives a little spasm.

“So responsive,” he coos, garbled though it is by the obstruction in his mouth.

His eyes fall closed again, making it easier to focus on sensations and open himself up to the Force. He does not have to look to feel the burning weight of Maul’s gaze upon him, the man’s presence bright like a banked inferno.

Time to stoke some fires. He hollows his cheeks and pushes the cock inward until the faux scrotum touches his lips. He does not have much firsthand experience with this; consequently, his throat spasms as his gag reflex tries to kick in. But that calm, near-meditative mindset still lingers and he draws upon it, waiting for his muscles to settle and relax.

The tapered tip tickles the back of his throat. Swallowing eases the sensation, and he feels the cock grow even firmer as he inadvertently sucks on it to do so.

Maul’s presence is deceptively still, like a predator poised to pounce, taking a quiet heartbeat to run through the calculations needed to stick their landing. Then Obi-Wan feels him move closer, the air superheated from a growing fire.

A familiar hand snakes its way into his hair, tangling in strands as it pets him. Maul’s other hand takes the base back from him, Obi-Wan’s hands falling away as Maul fucks his mouth.

“Yes, good,” he murmurs, as if he can actually feel the sensations Obi-Wan is drawing out of the toy.

The tips of his fingers return to stroking Obi-Wan’s cheek, drawing a muffled moan out of Obi-Wan. He feels so warm , not just his face but his entire body.

He brings his hands to Maul’s chest, feeling the even rise and fall and the hard, unyielding muscles. His eyes remain closed as his fingers remember the familiar paths laid out by Maul’s tattoos, following the map he’s built in his mind. 

Tracing downward, his hands reach Maul’s abdominal muscles. Fingers splay flatly over the muscles’ planes, moving with every ripple and contraction. He could almost convince himself he’s sucking Maul’s actual cock, if he ignores their positioning and focuses solely on sensations.

“Eager for this, aren’t you? To take in all of me,” Maul continues lowly. “You were made for this, made for me.”

He gives a small hum, knowing Maul will take it as an agreement. His mouth is presently too occupied to argue what a reductive statement that is.

“I can almost imagine how it would feel to have your lips wrapped around me.” Maul’s voice drops to a hush, and Obi-Wan slows his ministrations to better listen. “Pushing into your yielding warmth while that dexterous, brazen tongue services me…” A sigh escapes him. “How I would watch your eyes glaze over as you get lost in pleasing me.”

The caresses stop, freeing feverish hands to cup Obi-Wan’s face.   “Open your eyes for me.” Maul’s tone is trapped somewhere between coaxing and commanding.

Obi-Wan allows his eyes to flutter open, meeting Maul’s unblinking golden stare. Can Maul tell how clear his mind feels from his gaze alone? Or does it appear as glazed as Maul wishes? He tips his head back a fraction, purposely exposing more of his throat. Willfully releasing another moan.

He feels the warning surge of intent in the Force before Maul’s hands move, seizing his shoulders. Obi-Wan follows the push down, allowing Maul to pin him to the bed. As his head jolts against the mattress, his jaw works to keep the cock from choking him. Part of it pops out of his mouth with a wet sound, and there’s a small path of drool from his mouth to his chin, giving his beard a hint of shine.

Maul’s face bends close to his, hot breath hitting his cheeks. Lips brush against the side of Obi-Wan’s mouth before moving downward to nibble love bites into his neck.

Obi-Wan continues sucking and licking the cock, though he can no longer take all of it now in this new position. His legs wind around Maul’s hips, locking them together. The cool metal offsets the heat in his body without soothing it.

The show he’s putting on is, apparently, not to be missed. Maul stops marking him up and watches him, his head hovering near Obi-Wan’s heart. His voice is breathless when he speaks, the tone teetering over an unseen edge. “The only drawback to having you kneeling before me is how difficult it would be for me to taste you.”

Maul moves away to look down at him, his gaze hooded and pupils dilated. A tattooed hand drifts down Obi-Wan’s chest, past remnants of his cum to where his cock has taken a renewed interest in the proceedings. “I could always have you after, it’s not as if I can’t be patient.”

That could be debated, though Obi-Wan is hardly in a position to do so.

“Once I had spent myself in your mouth, you would be free to speak. And I would make you beg for my touch. Delaying gratification until the pleas dripping off your tongue were soft and sweet.”

The edges of Obi-Wan’s lips quirk upward, unable to fully smile while stretched around the cock. Doubtful that Maul would be as hands-off as he‘s suggesting. Obi-Wan has noticed the constant and consistent little touches from him, how they soothed some ache for contact and affection.

Though upon further reflection, he could see Maul touching everywhere but his cock, perhaps even avoiding the area around his thighs entirely… running clever hands over his hair, his neck, his back, a hot mouth nibbling and kissing its way down... 

Maul’s voice cut into his thoughts without bringing him back to reality. “Then, I would take you.” Obi-Wan has to blink and remind himself that Maul is neither reading nor directing his thoughts, seamless though the interruption feels.

“You might think of it as a reward, but it wouldn’t be.” Maul’s hand twists around his cock, which has already acquired a new coating of precum. “Your performance would be irrelevant.” 

Maul’s fingers soak up the precum to smoothly glide along his shaft. “I would have you if you choked and coughed too much to bring me off just as easily as I would have if you were obedient and pliant.” 

The hand closes loosely around him, slowing down its movements. “I would have you if you teased me and kept me on edge for hours, or if you were efficient and brought me to climax within minutes.”

Then Maul’s hand squeezes , his fingers firm but not harsh, and Obi-Wan’s hip buck instinctively into the touch. He draws in what breath he can around the cock in his mouth, unable to fully gasp.

“I would have you, always and forever, simply and solely because you are mine .”

With a last swipe of Obi-Wan’s tongue, the cock in his mouth gives a final spasm and releases its pseudo seed. Something hot flares in the Force, hotter than the cum in his mouth he’s quick to swallow. It crashes over him like a wave, a yawning undertow eager to drag him under.

The cock is ripped out of his mouth, hard enough to clack against his teeth and send his head rebounding against the bed. He has little time to recover because Maul’s lips are quick to slip in and claim his mouth. A rough tongue pushes against Obi-Wan’s lips; he yields and allows it to harshly invade his mouth. It shoots past his teeth and drags itself against the roof of his mouth, as if trying to trace the path the toy took.

Following a hunch, he sucks lightly on Maul’s tongue and uses his own tongue to lightly trace its underside. A moan escapes Maul, who curls a hand back around Obi-Wan’s cock, while the other winds its way into Obi-Wan’s hair, tugging and petting at him.

With Maul’s talented fingers working his cock it’s not long before Obi-Wan is coming again. His mouth forms into an “O” around Maul’s tongue as cum splatters his chest, possibly Maul’s too. Still, it’s not until after he’s spent himself that Maul finally releases his mouth.

He swallows a breath as his immediate surroundings return to his awareness. Glancing to the side, he sees the discarded cock lying next to their bodies, sticky with new cum. 

He looks at Maul, who’s still holding himself over his body, and raises a facetious eyebrow. “Do you want me to clean it again?” The taunt has a hoarse edge to it, raw as his throat feels from being fucked; his words dry from equal measures of wit and thirst.

Maul’s body almost flows off of him, the movement liquid and graceful. “The once was enough.”

Obi-Wan’s other eyebrow rises at Maul’s dismissive tone. “Were you jealous of me giving so much attention to a toy?” he asks saucily as he sits up.

Maul idly wipes his hand on the sheet, ridding his skin of any lingering cum. “How ridiculous, why would I be?”

The answer to that question is too obvious to bear saying. Obi-Wan’s eyes fall to the prosthetics, remembering the feel of cool metal on his warm skin.

“I’m sorry,” he doesn’t say.

Instead, his hands reach up to cup Maul’s face as he kisses him again, hoping he’ll draw out more pleased sounds. He succeeds in coaxing out a few more rumbles and moans, and even a singular throaty whine. Tattooed hands skim over his back muscles and settle into an embrace, leaving Obi-Wan smiling as he leans deeper into the kiss.

Those arms relax but do not release Obi-Wan as their lips break apart. "I assume you don't mind tasting yourself on me," he teases.

Obi-Wan catches a flash of Maul’s tongue as it thoughtfully runs over the front of his teeth. "Not much to taste."

“It's quite realistic then. You would be surprised at how often cum tastes of nothing in particular.”

Maul’s eyes narrow, and he feels that hot, possessive feeling surrounding him again. It doesn’t crash over him like a wave but laps at him like a steadily rising pool. Still ready to drown him and drag him under, but with far more gentleness.

"Or so I've heard. I have limited practical experience." He grins then. "If you want more of a taste, maybe we can try one of the novelty flavors next time."

He laughs as Maul’s face crinkles with disgust. “I’m not shooting chocolate cum,” he growls. 

Obi-Wan laughs harder, his head bent over as his sides shake. He misses the way golden eyes halfheartedly glare at him, before they catch the delighted quirk of lips on Obi-Wan’s face. Misses how irritated offense fades into something softer.

Laughter consumes Obi-Wan long enough for his spendings to grow cool and uncomfortably slick on his chest. When he can speak again without dissolving into chuckles, he says, “Well, if I’m not on cleaning duty for the toy, then I should go wash myself off.” 

He moves out of Maul’s hold and manages a graceful slide off the bed, despite the aches that are beginning to make themselves known. “I’ll send for a droid to change our bedding as well. Civilized people don’t sleep on cum-crusted sheets.”

Walking to the refresher, he calls back one last time, “You’re welcome to join me, if you wish.” 

There’s a brief second of silence, then he hears metallic footsteps follow him.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan resists the urge to drink a shot of whiskey for courage, calling instead upon the Force for strength. His skin feels awkward, too exposed and stretched tight. He’s never done anything like this before.

Yes, he’s grown more comfortable initiating things with Maul, has become adept at navigating their pleasure and negotiating its spontaneity (Maul, in turn, has grown more accepting of letting him dictate terms and direct their intimacy). Still, like so much of everything Obi-Wan has done recently, this is new. Almost overwhelmingly so.

An old aphorism from the creche resurfaces in his mind. “Become what you might be, only when you let go of who you are.” Yes, there is nothing wrong with trying new things, expanding his horizons. These are unorthodox circumstances, but the words of wisdom should hold true.

The cock has disappeared with little fanfare from their recent bouts of intimacy. They’ve fallen back on Maul stretching and stroking him open, and he can’t say he misses the toy when a clever twist of fingers sends him rocking into Maul’s touch. 

The Zabrak’s movements have graduated from ruthless yet effective to languid and teasing, testing how long he can keep Obi-Wan balanced on the precarious edge between build-up and release. Holding back instead of pressing forward, until Obi-Wan has to beg him to push into his body. Quite the unusual trial of endurance, though the point isn’t to outlast Maul.

It’s to break in a manner that’s satisfying for him to witness.

“Tell me how much you need me, first.” Fingers glide over his inner walls, familiar enough with the path to bypass any spots that will leave him tingling and shaking. “Then you have my permission to come.”

Hints of frustration creep into Obi-Wan’s tone as he rolls his eyes. “What I apparently need is inordinate amounts of patience.” Still, his arms wind tighter around Maul’s shoulders.

“Hardly. I’m the patient one here, guiding you down to your pleasure, drawing out the sensation for a deeper climax.” The words break off as Maul runs his tongue over Obi-Wan’s neck at a sedate pace, apparently savoring his taste. “And what do I ask in return? Only a few simple words.”

It isn’t much, but it’s also everything; Maul is not one to pursue trifles. But then, it’s not as if Obi-Wan can return the favor and undo him carnally. If Maul wants some sweet talk, Obi-Wan supposes he can oblige.

Still, he has to draw in a breath to brace himself. Rarely does speaking make the former Negotiator feel nervous… but then, it’s rare for him to be called upon to speak his feelings plainly, instead of hiding behind flowery, diplomatic words. For him to speak as himself and not as a part he’s playing for someone else. 

At this moment, what Maul calls him doesn’t matter. Though he answers to an assumed name, the words that leave his mouth have an unpracticed honesty.

“I need you inside me,” he whispers. “Please,” he adds with a sharp intake of breath as Maul pushes into him, sending a gratifying current up his spine.

His cheeks flush from the touch, an intimate confession of something too deep and dark to analyze right now. He buries his head against Maul’s shoulder, hiding his face while taking in another’s warmth.

“I want to come around you,” he murmurs against Maul’s skin. It feels inadequate, but what more is there to say? He’s cracked himself open, allowing a peek at hollow insides. All that remains is to wait and see if he will be found wanting.

The next few heartbeats pass in silence, Maul weighing his words. Then, fingers close in and press against that wonderful, familiar bunch of nerves. Obi-Wan’s back arches like he’s been electrified, though from experience he can say this feels far better.

Lips brush against his ear before whispering, “Now was that so difficult?”

Yes. And no. It’s too complicated to explain, and he’s rapidly moving beyond his capacity to give a detailed response. So Obi-Wan lets the question pass unanswered and unchallenged as fingers continue to stroke him inside and out.

Maul’s other hand cards through his hair, twisting strands around his fingers. The hair has grown beyond the trimmed style Obi-Wan kept on Tatooine. Consequently, Maul spends more time playing with it when they’re alone, running his fingers through to its ends. 

Obi-Wan’s body gives one last jolt as he comes, his head automatically rising even without the hand’s subtle yet insistent tugging. He knows what’s coming, his lips already parted. He presses forward into the inescapable, irresistible kiss, temporarily giving himself up to Maul.

No, the crux of the issue isn’t that he misses the toy. If he spares any thought for it when they begin, Maul’s lips and hands inevitably drive anything but his immediate desires from his mind. It’s after the afterglow, when his higher thinking is restored and complex observations are easier to make, that he wonders.

“Were you jealous of me giving so much attention to a toy?”

What is it like to watch the object of your obsession, affection, and attention find satisfaction in something all too separate from you?

“Tell me how much you need me.”

Things could continue fine as they were, but it wasn’t in Obi-Wan’s nature to leave something like this alone.

He finds the cock back in its original velvet-lined box, shoved in a shadowy corner of their wall closet. Not fully hidden or completely tossed out, because that would be too close to a confession of something vulnerable; yet still deliberately placed out of sight, in hopes of disappearing from his thoughts.

A plan comes to him in trickles and waves, and it is not the solution of a Jedi. The proper way to address this would be to invite Maul to meditate with him; to urge quiet introspection and aid Maul in confronting himself. Guide him away from his fixations and toward tranquility.

Or, because that may be too Jedi-like for Maul’s tastes, Obi-Wan could sit him down for an attempt at an honest talk, promoting a better understanding of each other. Though, trying to coax words out of a reluctant Maul could be an exercise in frustration and futility.

Neither of these options is the path he’s taking. Has he strayed too far, if these were not his first thoughts?

Yet there’s a rightness to his actions he can’t explain, and that sense of rightness comes not only from the Force but from deep within him. Can he ask Maul for vulnerability without demonstrating a willingness to be vulnerable first?

The pseudo cock is in his hands now, though it’s not the current subject of Obi-Wan’s focus. His eyes are on the chronometer, counting down to when he should hear Maul’s distinctive tread echo through their quarters.

Traces of lubricant linger on his fingers from stretching himself open. His touch felt clumsy and unpracticed, his body all too willing to recall the skill and finesse Maul’s touch possessed, but his sphincter feels properly loosened now.

More lubricant now as he coats the cock, adding a few more dollops than necessary for good measure. He lies back on their bed and takes a deep breath. Then slowly, carefully he guides the toy to his entrance. Another heartbeat, another breath, and he pushes it inside himself.

He moves slowly to adjust to the full feeling, concentrating to keep his muscles from clenching down on the toy. Limbs begin to feel weightless as a warm, heady haze creeps over him. His own cock twitches, interested but not yet engaged.

It’s not so much pleasure that builds as expectation. His body readies itself for more, familiar with this build-up and anticipating the payoff. The discomfort is minimal, his anal muscles readied through routine and repetition.

He resists the selfish, fleeting urge to let his eyes fall closed and savor the sensations. This isn’t for himself.

He’s angled on the bed so he can watch the doorway, and he’s not so lost in sensation that he can’t hear the mechanical swish of the entry door. Maul is home, a conclusion validated by the slight thump of careful yet heavy footsteps. His stealth abilities must have been remarkable once; his body still possessed a natural soft-footedness.

Silence, Maul likely waiting for his normal greeting. Then the muted thud of approaching footsteps, coming to investigate. Judging by the silence between each step, Maul is moving with deliberate, careful slowness. Is he expecting a trap of some kind? Perhaps this is an ambush of sorts, though he hopes Maul will come to enjoy it.

He increases the cock’s pace just before he sees Maul’s form fill their bedroom door. “Welcome home,” he breathes as he drives it in deep, a frisson of pleasure rippling through him.

Various emotions travel across Maul’s face, too quickly for Obi-Wan to identify. Then a mask of stoicism settles into place, caging any troublesome feelings. Maul’s voice is similarly cool and controlled when he speaks. 

“I appreciate the view, but it does not excuse you from starting without me.” He steps inside their bedroom, his posture stiff and his stride wary. Braced for an attack, refusing to take his gaze off of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan cranes his neck to follow Maul’s movements. “What if I said I needed you so much that I couldn’t wait for you?” He infuses his voice with bright, teasing notes. The hand not on the cock’s base skims over his stomach, drawing closer to his upper chest.

“I would say you are very good at finding things to flatter my ego with. And all too often, people only flatter me in an attempt to save themselves from my wrath.” Despite the threatened cruelty in his words, Maul’s eyes follow his hand’s path. Obi-Wan lazily circles a finger around one of his nipples, then draws it toward the neck and collarbone area — Maul’s favorite spot when it comes to marking him up.

“What a pity, then.” Obi-Wan slides his wandering hand back down, resettling it upon his abdomen. “I must find more pretty things to say to you, so you don’t automatically associate compliments with anger.” 

He slows the cock’s pace to a crawl, crafting stimulation without satiation. Priming his body as he coos for Maul, “Shall I spend hours of every day reciting poetry, comparing you to nature’s wonders?”

“I’d rather put your mouth to a different use.” Maul has almost circled out of his sight, but Obi-Wan does not have to fully see him to catch the haughty sneer that’s an obvious mask for something.

“Darling, you say that, but I doubt you’ve experienced someone properly wooing you.” His hand is unhurried, drawing out the pump of the cock into a frictionless glide. Filling and stretching him, teasing without satisfying him. His head falls back as he finally closes his eyes, his mind sinking into the warmth enveloping his body.

“I’m not convinced that you do realize how much you need me.” Obi-Wan eyes flutter back open, unable to ignore the echoes of a familiar anger there, even if it’s but a weak candle next to the blazing inferno that was Maul’s obsession with him during the Clone Wars. Maul may not be backlit by flames and standing upon a towering heap of destruction, but there’s an old refusal to be forgotten and set aside. Tossed out like he’s nothing more than trash.

“Just chasing base, craven sensations, things anyone could give you,” Maul continues. Obi-Wan strains his neck to fully see him, ignoring how it pulls at his muscles. Wild eyes meet his, and neither of them can look away. “Where would you be without me? Just another desert rat, rotting on Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan pauses in his ministrations. The harshness of Maul’s words and voice can’t hide a simple truth — he wouldn’t be so on guard if there was nothing vulnerable to protect.

He’s saying “You need me,” but what Obi-Wan hears is “I need you.”

It’s a lonely feeling, like a cliff’s edge eroding away into an abyss, to need someone and wonder if they need you.

Obi-Wan exhales deeply, all too aware of his own internal erosion. “I do need you.” He feels lighter for saying it, as if he is throwing a weight off his shoulders. “You make me feel less empty. And no, I don’t just refer to this,” he adds, with a demonstrative jab of the toy and a buck of his hips, seeing a retort beginning to form on Maul’s lips. 

“I need you to smooth over all the holes you’ve carved out of me.” His hand releases the cock’s base for now, his eyes captured and enraptured by Maul’s. “The chasms left by others’ absences. The places where time and tragedy have worn me down.” Pleasure thrums throughout him, lowering his guard. It’s the work of a moment to split himself open and offer up the core of his being to Maul.

“I was alone before you,” he says. “Now I’m not. Now I have you… and you have me.” He adds, indulging Maul’s possessive streak. 

He reaches a hand out to Maul, palm up, in a silent invitation. Maul’s gaze shifts from hunted and wild to confused and hesitant, whatever words he might have answered with dying on his tongue, and the moment stretches out before he finally moves. He approaches with measured steps, and though he sits on the bed by Obi-Wan, he doesn’t take his hand.

Obi-Wan lets his hand fall back to his body. His cock has risen to attention, a drop of precum flowing from its head, but he doesn’t touch it. It's not for him to touch right now. Instead, he idly trails fingertips over his inner thigh, searching for more to say now that Maul seems inclined to listen.

“You said once I was seeking my ruin with you, but that’s not how I see it. No, you’re my…”

‘Salvation’ was too heavy a word and not entirely true. Maul would not appreciate anything that rang of false flattery.

“Restoration,” he finally settled on. “I’ve been broken inside for a long time, but with you, I’ve started to feel… whole, once more. I only want to do the same for you.”

Maul’s eyes, Obi-Wan notes, have resumed tracking his hand’s movements, watching his fingers creep down his thigh, resting upon his balls. He still shows no signs of speaking or adding onto what Obi-Wan’s said, so he continues.

“This toy, because that’s all this is to me, a toy, isn’t enough for me. Only you are.” He gently squeezes, and his hips reflexively buck. “Only you,” he repeats.

“When I come on this toy, it’s because I am thinking of you — remembering how it feels to be stretched and opened, accompanied by the sound of your beautiful voice.”

Obi-Wan holds out his other hand. This time, Maul takes it. Obi-Wan lowers it to his stomach, asking without words for Maul to touch him. Maul’s hand retraces the wandering paths Obi-Wan outlined, the fingertips a few degrees hotter than Obi-Wan’s. 

“Yes,” slips out of Obi-Wan like a sigh, and he catches a quirk of lips that lifts his heart and gives him the courage to continue.

“Darling...” His other hand shifts away from his scrotum, reclaiming the toy’s flared base. “I do know how little credence you give flattering words, and rightly so. So I planned this because I wanted to show you --” A gasp escapes as he thrusts the toy just right, an undertow of heat ready to consume him. “How much I think of you.”

He looks into Maul’s thawing golden eyes, notes the faintest tinge of a violet blush dusting crimson cheeks. Yes, he does quite enjoy hearing “pretty things” when they ring of truth, not sycophancy.

Maul’s questing hand distracts from that observation by closing around his untouched erection, and Obi-Wan can’t keep himself from arching into his grip.

His next words are almost swallowed by a breathless cry. “Oh, darling, you make me feel so full .”

The hand releases his cock and moves away from his body entirely. Before Obi-Wan can plead for its return, arms wrap around him, lifting him up and pulling him close. He ends up in Maul’s lap, with his knees on either side of Maul’s thighs. 

And at last, Maul resumes speaking.

“Oh, Kenobi, how this unforgiving world has hollowed you out.” What he hears in Maul’s voice isn’t quite sympathy. There’s too much smug pleasure there, with sparks of feral delight glinting in his eyes. Still, he brings Obi-Wan closer, willing to give needed comfort.

“So aching and wrecked… where would you be without me?” he repeats, but with far more satisfaction. 

“I believe you said I would be eking out a meager living on Tatooine.” Straddling Maul like this, the artificial height advantage from his prosthetics is negated, their eyes level with the other’s. Maul’s usual black robes feel rough against the undersides of his thighs, the fabric’s weaver concerned more with durability than sheer sleekness.

“And such a waste that would be, for a treasure as precious as you.” Lips curl into a smirk. “Far better for you to be here, with me. Entitled to the rank, privilege, and power you deserve.”

“I don’t need all that.” Obi-Wan wills his eyes to project his sincerity. “Just you.” His fingers tangle themselves in the ties of Maul’s black robes. “May I undress you?”

The reply is almost immediate. “Yes.”

The simple yet stylish robes Maul wears unfasten with a few swift movements, and slide off of him just as easily. The black fabric fans out behind them and flows over the bed’s side, falling forgotten to the floor. Another time, Obi-Wan might have drawn the act out, teasing Maul with slow touches. Tonight, a hand is already tracing the familiar tattoos, absorbing the warmth from Maul’s skin. 

Maul’s arms, Obi-Wan notes, still have yet to unwind from around him. He gently takes one of the hands on his sides and guides it to the small of his back, close to the cock that now hangs half in and half out of him. 

“Take over for me, will you?” Another roll of his hips, his momentum drawing the toy deeper inside him. “I want to feel you .”

He hears Maul’s breath catch. Feels the hand travel down, how it pauses in gliding over his ass cheeks for a quick squeeze. Then it skates over his puckered entrance, playfully dancing around the cock’s base.

An exasperated huff escapes Obi-Wan. “Maul, please.”

“Patience,” Maul rasps, and Obi-Wan has to hold back a smile as he oh-so-rhetorically ponders why his lover’s throat may have suddenly gone dry. 

“I have a sensual, alluring creature begging for my attention. One who’s warm, willing, and writhing for me.” He kisses Obi-Wan’s cheek for the briefest of seconds — only just long enough for a trace of warmth to linger when he pulls away. The mirthful curl of his lips suggests he deliberately avoided the mouth. “I want to feel him, too.”

“Very well.” He wraps his arms over Maul’s shoulder, his nails grazing lightly over the intricately tattooed back. He kisses Maul on the cheek as well, keeping it to nothing more than a teasing, dry press of lips.

Maul’s fingers skim further down, following the curve of his ass and around Obi-Wan’s thighs. His hand dips down to cup Obi-Wan’s balls. His thumb caresses the connecting seam, causing Obi-Wan’s hips to buck minutely.

After a few more playful swipes, the hand moves teasingly toward his standing cock. His fingers brush past it, drawing lightly over Obi-Wan’s abdomen and tracing over his hips. Obi-Wan’s back muscles flex as Maul passes over them, drifting upward.

Another “Please,” escapes Obi-Wan’s lips, softer than the last. The hand pauses, then drops back down, once more sliding over his ass cheeks and reaching the cock’s flared base.

Fingers probe his entrance, feeling the lingering slick from the lubricant. “Prepared yourself well?”

Obi-Wan nods. “I made sure I could take whatever you wanted to give me.”

“Good.” That’s all Maul says before he drives the cock back inside Obi-Wan, hitting his sweet spot with perfect accuracy.

“Yes,” he whispers, clutching at Maul. “Yes, just like that.” He nuzzles into Maul’s neck like a tooka, his breath dissolving into warm pants against the man’s skin. 

Maul’s free hand comes up and redirects his chin, finally pulling him in for a kiss. The toy’s pace inside him slows and then stops, not that Obi-Wan cares. This right now is more important.

The kiss mixes raw hunger with practiced grace; they know the other well enough to avoid the crashing teeth and split lips of past kisses that succumbed to harsh eagerness. Obi-Wan feels as if he faces the onset of a rainstorm, caught in a life-giving but uncompromising phenomenon. And all he can do is hold on.

When they break apart, the color in Obi-Wan’s face deepens under the intensity of Maul’s stare. Smug pleasure overtakes golden eyes as they catalog his growing flush.

The feel of those eyes drinking him in isn’t enough. “Please, Maul, talk me through it.” His hands fall against Maul’s hips, feeling the seam between man and machine. Part of him wishes he could feel them rolling and bucking with every thrust inside of him. “I was quite serious about how much I love the sound of your voice.”

“Were you? I recall you saying more than just that. Perhaps you were not as serious about that part.”

“I was,” he says weakly.

“Truly? Because I may need some convincing now.”

“You’re a cruel man,” Obi-Wan breathes. The answering grin is like a silent, evil cackle.

Maul slows the cock’s thrusts, brushing over his gland just firmly enough to build an empty ache. Only the occasional lazy burst of pleasure ripples through his body now.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and rides that slow wave, letting it carry him higher to where words become easier.

“I love feeling you inside me,” he starts. “The stretch, the heat, the curl of your fingers, how you learned my body and made it a second skin…”

“Ben…” His name is almost eclipsed by a wrecked moan, but he can still make out how Maul cradles that single syllable like it’s liquid fire.

“I love the way you call for me, like my name rhymes with something incandescent. And how you look at me like you never want to see anything or anyone else.”

The thrusts come harder now, rewarding him, and Obi-Wan’s thankful for his judgment when it came to the added lube. His arms tense as the pressure inside him builds, clasping Maul tighter.

“Speak. Please.” With a hint of wryness, Obi-Wan adds, “I fear I’m being pushed beyond my speech capabilities.”

More thrusts. Maul’s voice is hushed when it comes. “I enjoy watching you surrender and shatter for me. The power I get from being the only one who’s capable of giving you what you need. How you let go of everything and free yourself to be claimed by me.”

Obi-Wan is too caught up in sensation to feel any embarrassment or shame at the moan that escapes him. 

A hand runs down his face. “Does that please you, Ben? It’s true, you give in to me so beautifully. Such a needful creature you are. Spreading your legs for me, eager to be fucked. Such a change it is from who you are outside these rooms.”

Obi-Wan feels another unwilling but not unwanted flush steal across his face, his body betraying him. The blood pounding in his ears isn’t quite enough to drown out a soft, “You’re perfect for me.” Then Maul visibly straightens, burying any hint he betrayed of vulnerability.

Still, the hand remains on his face, cradling his cheek.

“A pity I cannot give you the full attention you seem to crave,” Maul continues. “Busy as I am with my other duties.” Obi-Wan has to bite back a laugh. Difficult to believe that he is the attention-hungry one here. 

“Maybe one morning I’ll take you like this, and leave this… toy inside you. Stretching you, filling you. And it will stay there as you dress and prepare to go about your day; keep you perpetually on edge as you perform your duties. Inevitably, your thoughts will turn back to me , and what only I can give you.”

The reality of what Maul is suggesting is something Obi-Wan has never wanted. Would never want. To take something so private and make it so obscenely public feels barbarous. Uncivilized .

But here, in this moment, Obi-Wan succumbs to the fantasy of it all. Of how good it would feel to be taken and fucked like that. How Maul’s knowing eyes would helplessly follow him, even as he would keep his distance and tease away at Obi-Wan’s sensibilities.

“Imagine how arousal would mount within you.” The increased flush across his face comes from imagining a different kind of mounting. Maul’s sudden smirk suggests it was not an accidental choice of words. 

“Your skin would grow sensitized to the slightest draft, imagining it as my touch.” Maul leans closer, his heated breath hitting Obi-Wan’s ears as his voice drops to a whisper. “You’re quite the actor, so I trust you wouldn’t let a hint of any of this show.”

“Oh no, never,” Obi-Wan agrees, voice caught in a breathless trap. “Wouldn’t want anyone else to think they were the reason I lost my composure.” He manages a weak laugh. “It might inspire some dangerous desires in them, after all.”

Maul’s answering nip at his neck is hard, a nonverbal warning not to push him. Then he moves back, continuing as if Obi-Wan had not spoken.

“And even as your skin would flush and you begin to ache for friction instead of mere fullness, you would leave it alone.” Maul’s hand leaves his face and drifts down his front. “Letting yourself feel me.”

“Yes,” he agrees softly, the mental image sharpened by his body’s current stretching.

“You would not touch yourself, no matter the temptation.” Maul moves over his stomach, his hand grazing through the thatch of hair beneath it. “You would do nothing until you were here, in our rooms, waiting to give yourself back over to me.” Fingers curl gently around the base of his cock and begin to stroke. “To melt in my hands.”

A tongue briefly laves Obi-Wan’s neck, further empowering the fantasy. “Do you think it would take much more than a few simple touches? Surely your body would not hold out long, not after such sweet torture.” Maul’s hand strays from his shaft, moving to trace his inner thighs. “How fast do you think I would bring you to climax?”

Obi-Wan blinks. “I-I don’t--” Know , he tries to say, but finds it difficult to think of anything past this moment.

An old admonition flashes, unprompted, into his mind. “Keep your concentration on the here and now, where it belongs. Be mindful of the Living Force.”

There’s a knowing gleam in Maul’s eyes. “How close are you now?”

“Very,” he answers honestly. 

Maul gives a mock-disapproving ‘tsk’ that’s completely undone by his projected smugness. “Such a desperate, needful thing you are, my Ben.” His hands move away, leaving both cocks unattended, and mindless protests drop from Obi-Wan’s lips.

“Please, no, don’t. I’m so close --”

“Hush,” Maul says, pressing a finger to Obi-Wan’s lips, and he obediently quiets. “I’m not depriving you of anything.” The finger taps his lips in admonition. “Merely giving you exactly what it is you deserve.” The finger moves away, leaving him bereft of touch. “Now lie back.”

He does so carefully, not wanting the toy to move in an awkward way that will shift the pleasure into pain. He could simply remove it, but he does not quite wish to do so yet. Nor has Maul asked him to.

“Good,” Maul says, satisfaction oozing from him at his lover’s obedience. Obi-Wan sends him a wobbly smile in reply, teetering on an edge inside and out. Still, his focus remains sharp enough to catch a flash of manic delight in golden eyes, before it’s quickly restrained.

A hand skims down his chest, settling with a slight squeeze on his thigh. The other hand teases along his groin, avoiding his balls and cock, gliding instead over the soft skin surrounding them. He watches, waiting for Maul to give up the game and grasp his erection.

Instead, the hand moves away, settling on his other thigh. Then Maul leans forward, and—

Swallows him.

His breath is no more than an escaping hiss of steam as wet heat engulfs him. His hips buck of their own violation, seeking more suction, clamoring for release. Maul’s hands mercilessly push them down into the bed, stilling their movements. The leg muscles tense, but do not fight him. 

Obi-Wan subconsciously bites his lip at the feel of a rough tongue swiping at his crown, the slight push from Maul’s forehorn digging into his abdomen. The pressure within him reaches its apex, winding ever tighter inside him. Muscles around the toy clench, needing to hold onto something warm and firm.

Maul’s hands grip his thighs harder, and he hears the command as if it had been spoken. Come for me .

His body gleefully surrenders. Obi-Wan resists the urge to close his eyes as he comes, instead casting his gaze downward. 

He can’t help but let out a small whimper at the sight that greets him. Maul’s lips remain locked around him, drinking him down. Golden eyes have fallen shut, devoting his full attention to savoring Obi-Wan.

Feeling his muscles shudder and clench as he spends himself, the toy releases a load of its own. Warm and sticky, it provides a delicious counterpoint to Maul’s suction as the man takes every drop he has to give.

His spasms eventually stop, and his ears catch a wet “plop” sound as Maul releases him. Obi-Wan pushes himself up on his elbows, not quite trusting his legs at the moment. He exhales, centering himself. In his post-orgasmic haze, he thinks of infernos reforging melted liquids.

“How do I taste?” he asks, impressed at how steady his voice sounds.

“Like sweetness, delicacy, and light,” Maul answers seriously, not even the slightest hint of a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. Yet his tone is so serious it’s difficult to take it as anything but a jest.

Still, Obi-Wan blushes at his words. And here he thought it impossible for his face to grow any warmer. “I’m no more susceptible to empty flattery than you are,” he says, trying for sternness. From what he hears of his voice, he fails miserably.

Maul laughs , sharp teeth flashing. “Then sweet, at the very least. That should hardly surprise you.”

He shrugs, an awkward motion given his arms are holding up his upper body. “I have little notion of how I taste.”

“Oh, is that so?” The pitch of Maul’s voice drops, a warning and an expression of intent. Then his face is looming over Obi-Wan’s, a dizzyingly small distance between their lips. “Would you care to rectify that?”

His mouth is dry, too dry for anything more than a croak. Obi-Wan nods instead, freeing Maul to claim him with a kiss. He feels the part of lips against his and mirrors the movement subconsciously. 

Though Maul’s lips press urgently against his, his tongue remains unusually passive, making it easy for Obi-Wan’s to slip inside. He doesn’t taste anything more than the slightest tinge of salt, but he dutifully probes for more, swirling his tongue about and running over Maul’s teeth, cheeks, and the roof of his mouth.

When they break apart, Obi-Wan thoughtfully runs his tongue over his lips. “Unfortunately, I’m not convinced that any sweetness I taste isn’t yours.” 

Maul’s lips twist into a grimace at any association with the word “sweet.” Obi-Wan is merciful and resists the urge to smile or add further comments. 

He instead shifts his elbows, falling back onto the bed. “You could try kissing me again. Perhaps another go will persuade me.”

“Your wit can’t hide your need from me,” Maul admonishes, a hint of a growl in his voice that’s undercut by a quirk to his lips. The almost-smile persists when he leans down again, obliging Obi-Wan’s suggestion.

The kiss still lacks any taste, possessing only heat that sears him like a brand. Maul does not break the kiss so much as he progresses it. He rains more kisses down Obi-Wan’s face and neck, nipping and lapping at skin as he goes.

Obi-Wan currently has no energy left to make a spectacle of himself, no more breath remaining for anything more than soft sighs and a few whimpers. Arms pin his shoulders down and metal legs settle at his sides, holding him in place. Fervent kisses against his neck and collarbone soon turn languid, lips ghosting across heated skin.

“You’ll never have enough of me, will you.” Though the words suggest a question, Maul’s tone implies otherwise. It’s whispered with the certainty of a fanatic.

His body isn’t quite ready to go again, his cock still soft and hypersensitive. But he rocks his hips into Maul as an answer, enjoying the interplay of warm skin and cool metal. The toy is still inside him, brushing against overstimulated nerves with the movement. His lips fall open, and a wrecked cry escapes him.

“Shhh, don’t strain yourself.” Maul’s smile settles somewhere between subdued and sharp. “It would disappoint me to see you take so little care of yourself.”

“Sorry,” he manages. Words, silvery or otherwise, have become slippery, escaping his grasp. The care he would normally have about that is fading as well. He moves his hips upward again, slower this time, and now there’s only pleasure in the movement.

He feels something wet and warm coiling through him, tightening around his core. He rocks his hips again, relishing the slap of his skin against metal.

The sigh that escapes Maul plays at aggravation, a facade undone by the notes of pleasure in his voice. “If you’re set on being so shameless…” 

The arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders heave up his body, loose and pliant enough now that it unquestioningly follows Maul. The Zabrak sits up, his metallic knees bent to better prop up Obi-Wan, who’s once more straddling his hips.

Obi-Wan’s arms reclaim Maul’s shoulders as a supportive perch, and his hips resume rocking back and forth. Maul’s hands settle on his snapping hips, neither restraining him nor setting a different pace. They merely hold him, yielding to his rhythm. 

The metal is ungiving but Obi-Wan can imagine how it would feel to rut against skin and another cock. It’s a fantasy he’s only half focused on, though, because his eyes are riveted on Maul’s face. He sees himself reflected back in dilating pupils — wild-eyed, sweating, the hair on the back of his head sticking up.

Perhaps that look between them is enough to glean intention, or perhaps Maul picks up the path of his surface thoughts. “Would you bring me off like this you could?” He feels fingers digging into asscheeks, hard enough to leave reddening marks. “Soft, spent, yet so eager for me that you’re writhing against me?”

“Yes,” he whispers. He can’t of course, and they both know it. But his mind supplies the scene and its sensations. How he would steadily grind against hips and muscle, how a tapered and tattooed cock would rise to attention. How his hand would slip down to tend to it, or how he would slide off Maul’s lap, falling to his knees and wrapping his lips around it.

Maul’s pupils are even wider now, eclipsing golden irises to better take him in. A bright, feral gleam only highlights how dark his gaze is; the shadow cast by the excitement Obi-Wan feels. 

A feverish hand cups Obi-Wan’s face. “Perhaps I was overly hasty when I said you brought me sanity and clarity. Like this… you only drive me toward madness.”

We’ll both happily reside there. The words don’t become more than a passing thought, Obi-Wan’s throat too cracked and dry from unspoken cries. The pleasure is climbing dizzyingly higher, building up to be more shattering than his last orgasm.

“Kiss me again,” he hears, the words emerging as if from a mist. “I want your mouth on me.”

A hushed groan escapes Obi-Wan as he moves to acquiesce. Maul kisses him like he’s starving, like nothing else can compare to the taste of him. Obi-Wan closes his eyes and lets go, pouring himself into the kiss as if he can satiate an ache that developed long before ever they met. 

Hands squeeze his hips, harsh enough for a distant part of Obi-Wan’s brain to note that he will undoubtedly have quite the collection of bruises there later. There’s a twitch of his cock, but no more. His body is still too spent even as he gives himself over to the kiss.

He’s still light-headed when they break the kiss, blinking as if he can bring the world back into focus. 

“Not so feisty like this, are you?” Maul’s hands have loosened their grip but remain on his hips, so close to more sensitive areas yet disregarding them completely. But Obi-Wan’s not doing this in hope of more intimate touches. He’s doing this because… because…

Because Maul is looking at him like the world begins and ends with him.

“With all the fight gone out of you now, you’re just mine .” That last word is more than just a claim, ringing out like a commandment.

“Yours,” Obi-Wan parrots, but not unthinkingly. He does so knowing it will excite Maul, bring him closer than he might otherwise come.

Golden eyes watch him, quietly taking him all in. Obi-Wan hips snap more sharply, following a half-formed thought about giving Maul a show. The toy digs deeper, drawing a sharp cry out of him.

Maul’s gaze turns hooded, his eyes narrowing. “Upon further thought, I’m not sure I like the idea of you wandering these halls in a haze of lust.” A hand releases his hips, gliding to his still oversensitive cock. A finger lazily traces circles over the tip. “Even if your silent cries are only entreaties for me to fill you up, to remind you who you belong to.”

Obi-Wan lets loose a whimper. The pleasure pooling within him drops deeper as Maul closes his eyes and leans forward slightly. “Perhaps I should lock you away in these rooms instead,” he rasps, the tattooed hand abandoning its teasing motions to cup his cheek. “The thought of anyone else seeing you display yourself like this…”

The touch on his face is gentle, with a thumb idly caressing him. It only underscores the menace behind Maul’s words. And there’s danger from more than one quarter; as Maul bends his head to take in all of Obi-Wan, one of his horns comes close enough to gore out Obi-Wan’s throat if the man makes a sudden, sharp movement.

Obi-Wan only tilts his head to expose more of his neck, drawing back from the horn in the process.

When Maul pulls his head up again, one of Obi-Wan’s hands rises from Maul’s shoulders to follow the horn’s retreat. He skims over the surface of its tip, finding it sharp enough to cut if he pushes down with even the slightest of pressure. He trails back to the other horns, admiring the hard smoothness.

The hand still gripping his hip becomes a vice. “What I wouldn’t give now to feel you break around me,” Maul confesses quietly, withdrawing his other hand from Obi-Wan’s face.

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan says again, a whisper now. He’s not sure if Maul hears him. The Zabrak acts as if he hasn’t. His finger delicately trails down Obi-Wan’s front, his eyes fixed upon its path, attuned to the minuscule vibrations that accompany every breath Obi-Wan takes.

“You truly would take all I have to give you, like this. Wouldn’t you?” This time the question is clear and demands a spoken answer.

Though sentences are currently difficult to form, Obi-Wan exerts the effort needed. “Yes, I... ” The toy continues to plow into him, following the snap of his hips and leveling any last remnants of resistance into rubble. The pleasure loosens his tongue as much as it does his body. “I want everything.”

He’s in no state to remember lectures on attachment and greed’s shadow. Shame and guilt will come later — for now, there is only an aching need as the world shrinks to him and Maul.

Nearly undone, he pushes himself into Maul’s hand, his words a quiet plea for things he could not begin to name. “I want it.”

He reaches out to Maul in the Force, beyond any thought on why that might not be a good idea. The answering adoration consumes him, the feeling hotter and more fulfilling than anything he could wring out of that toy inside him. It flows like magma, restructuring everything in its wake. 

Lustful greed and possessiveness follow like shadows, overlapping and blurring into a singular darkness, soothing and blinding him. Something softer and more enduring than mere passion trails last, a rush of cool water that calms the fire’s effects.

Maul leans closer. “Then take your pleasure, Ben,” he purrs into his ear. “It’s there, waiting for you to seize it.”

He’s coming again, his release dragged from deep out of him. But it’s too soon and not enough, no more than spurts and dribbles of liquid. His cock still hangs flaccid and the sensations feel numbed, less of a burning pleasure and more like a muscle relaxant. Even the cry that escapes his lips is muted. 

No, more . There must be more . 

He falls back into himself, reaching deeper. His insides turn watery and something inside him shatters . 

His true release cascades from him, though the warm sensation against his skin barely registers. For one unforgettable moment he feels luminous, flying free of his crude matter. Like a star emerging into being.

Then his body is quick to slump forward, exhaustion draining him. Hands leave his hips to cradle his back, hot breath teasing along his shoulders and the side of his face.

Now it’s Maul nuzzling him like an affectionate tooka, face buried in his neck. Slowly, carefully, so his horns do not so much as scratch him. One of his hands must travel downward without Obi-Wan’s notice, because suddenly the toy is slipping from his body. But there’s no accompanying rush of emptiness, he’s overflowing and buoyant, orgasmic heat still carrying him even as it begins fading away.

Obi-Wan’s gaze is unseeing before his eyes slip closed, suddenly too heavy to keep open. He mindlessly mimics Maul’s movements, burrowing into the man’s shoulders as his arms wind around a toned back, feeling muscles flex underneath his touch. 

“I wish there was something I could do for you,” he murmurs against heated skin, his stolen breath not yet returned for anything louder.

“You do everything for me.” Maul’s voice is similarly hushed, loud enough to hear but too quiet for Obi-Wan to understand and unravel all the tangled things that creep through it. His expression might provide important clues, but Obi-Wan’s eyelids are heavy and refuse to budge.

A hand strokes his hair, a kiss touches his temple. Scents drift back to him, a mix of musk and sweat that smells like the two of them. A soft cloth presses against him, wiping away his spilled cum. His mind does not ponder where it came from, how Maul must have summoned it to his hand. He catches a chuckle as he arches into the cloth, only trying to make the clean-up easier even as he mimics his earlier gyrations.

Once he’s cleaned, the cloth disappears. His body moves with Maul’s as he lies back, his head pillowed on the man’s chest. The steady staccato of his hearts’ isn’t enough to distract Obi-Wan from the faint click of metal legs stretching out. 

Fingers leisurely comb through his hair, arms still locked around him. “Perfect,” he hears Maul repeat. “You’re perfect for me.”

A glow of pride brightens Obi-Wan’s haze without driving it away. 

He’s unsure how much time passes before he sinks into sleep; it could be seconds or a small eternity. Caresses follow him down, guiding him into the warm cocoon of his dreams.