Archive of Our Own

It begins, on a day like any other.

You rise with the sun, stepping out into the cool morning air. The forest greets you like a familiar friend, the air licking against your skin as your feet skin into the lichen covered ground. It’s peaceful and quiet, the kind of comfort you find in being alone in your very own sanctuary. The only sound is the sweet music of birds, who flit back and forth between the surrounding trees. 

You hum along with them, basket cutting through the mist as your arms swing loosely at your side. You take your time, as you bask in the wonders before you. Condensation clings to every surface, catching alight where the sun breaks through the trees. It had been your favourite sight, ever since you were a child. Even now, it still filled you with the same childlike awe. It was like the forest was alive and winking just for you, as you watched the lights flicker in and out. 

Eventually, the trees begin to thin out until they open out into a clearing. You scan the forest bed for anything edible. You completed the same task every morning, never taking more than you needed. Your eyes are focused on the neat folds of a poisonous mushroom, when you finally catch sight of something hidden amongst the foliage. 

You almost think you’re seeing things, until you see a strip of bright red. Every instinct is screaming danger at the unfamiliar sight but you tamp down the instinctual terror and creep forward slowly. It takes shape, the closer you get, until the outline of a person becomes visible. 

They're half buried under the dirt and thicket, and for a moment you fear you've found their remains, but then you see the subtle rise and fall of their chest. 

A Zabrak male. 

You had never seen one in person before, but you recognised them from your alien anatomy books. Even half hidden under the dirt, he has the most vibrant skin you've ever seen, and a crown of yellow horns. 

You let the heavy fog settle in your lungs for a moment, as you steel yourself for what's ahead. Before you can overthink it, you discard your basket and kneel to uncover him. Your hands and arms are quickly coated in dirt, as you dig him out from under the shrubs. His own hands are caked in mud too, when you finally unearth them.

It almost looked like he had tried to crawl into the embrace of the earth. You shake the image from your head, as you assess him for damage. 

As far as you can make out, he appears no worse for wear, though he's damp and covered in mud as if the ground itself had just given birth to him. 

He's worryingly light, as you ease him into a sitting position. His horns dig into your shoulder, where his head lolls lifelessly into the cradle of your neck. You're trying to figure out your next move, when your fingertips brush against metal. After a moment's hesitation, you grasp his leg more firmly and you're surprised by the hardness you feel there.

It explains why he's suddenly so much heavier as you try to heave him up from the ground and stagger slightly under the weight, forced to plant your knees more firmly on the ground. Carefully, you slid him up over your shoulders, wrapping your hands around the back of his knees and circling his wrist just as you had been taught all those years ago.

It's a struggle at first but once you've fully extended, the weight distributes and he isn't as heavy anymore.

The sun has finally crested over the treetops, by the time you make it back to your cabin. It was an arduous journey, as you stumbled up the path, like you had consumed one too many shots of spotchka, giggling quietly the entire time. You probably made quite the sight, lugging a body through the woods and laughing away to yourself. 

You were never more glad, when you finally caught sight of your home. You could almost be forgiven for missing it, with how it blended into its surroundings. The roof sloped into the ground on either side of the house, and was overgrown with moss and wildflowers. The walls were a beige colour, made from compacted mud and plaster, and the only splash of colour was your faded red wooden door. You always promised to give it a fresh coat of paint but got distracted by other tasks or fancies that caught your attention first. 

Your Loth-cat perks up from where she's lazing in the sun, her head tilting inquisitively as she takes in your new companion. After a moment's hesitation, she circles around your ankles in greeting.

"Hello Puca, thanks for looking after the house while I was gone", you say, huffing slightly as you stop to catch your breath on the threshold of your home. You have to turn sideways to fit through the door, freezing in place as your unconscious friends horns scrap against the door frame. When he doesn't instantly spring to life, you release the breath you're holding and bring him the rest of the way into your home. 

Inside of your home, it's a mishmash of furniture and colour. Every surface is covered in flowers, and books, and other things you picked up from the forest around you. You supposed you could probably be called a hoarder but you had a use for everything you brought back home, or if you didn't have one, you would eventually find one. 

With that thought, you slowly lower your unconscious friend onto your bed, the only uncovered surface, silently lamenting for your previously clean bed clothes. 

Stepping back, you survey him with your hands upon your hips. Puca jumps up onto a nearby counter, tilting her head at the scene. Since you had found her all those years ago, sopping wet on your doorstep and mewling pitifully, she has taken to mimicking your every move as best as she could. She even used to try to follow you out into the woods each morning, but clearly she didn't like whatever she saw out there, so it was the only place she didn't go with you. 

Turning your attention back to the man in front of you, you considered what to do next. He doesn't look injured, but you would have to check him thoroughly just to be sure. He was surprisingly warm to the touch, considering where you had found him. He was also in dire need of a change of clothes and a bath, and was likely in need of a good meal, though you didn't know how long he had been out there. Not long, or you would have noticed him on your daily excursions. 

"What do you think, Puca?".

The Loth-cat trilled in reply, as you ran an absent-minded hand over her head. Truly, the main concern was whether or not he would wake up. You didn't have the capability of looking after him properly, not if he was really hurt, outside of a small supply of Bacta batches you had saved for an emergency. And to make matters worse, you were days out from the nearest settlement and your speeder had broken down weeks ago. 

"Well, there's no point fretting over what might happen, is there girl", you say, wrinkling your nose at her as you scratched behind her ears. She makes a delighted purr in response, staring at you mournfully as you finally step away. 

Tying your hair back and rolling up your shelves, you set to work. 

Your movements are clinical, as you work on removing his clothes and searching for injuries. You're almost distracted by the patterns you uncover, black and red lines standing out against each other in sharp relief. You hesitate at the edge of his pants, taking a moment to consider how he might react if he woke up. It's the remembrance of metal that makes that decision for you. You were no mechanic, but you had a feeling the damp would do no good for him. 

It's stupid to be so surprised by the sight of metal legs, especially when you're expecting it. It almost looks like he's wearing a pair of metal boots, until you see the clearly defined joints. You shudder as you take in the place on his upper thighs where the skin fuses together with metal, as you wonder what could have caused such a clean cut, about how he could have ended up with such an injury. 

Promising yourself to ask later, you take the cloth from the bucket of water you brought over earlier and wring out the moisture. The water quickly turns brown, as you clean up as much of the dirt as you can.

Once you're satisfied with the results, you ease the dirtied sheet from underneath him, throwing it in a nearby hamper as you go to find him something to wear. You pick your loosest clothes, throwing a speculative glance over your shoulder as you compare the size. It seemed you might be in luck, as he was on the lighter side, and would probably be close to yourself in height. 

It was tricky maneuvering his dead weight, but eventually you were able to get him covered up. Half the battle done, you stepped back to survey your work. Now that he was clean, you couldn't see anything noteworthy. No bruising or bleeding, and the skin around his horns seemed fine, so hopefully he wasn't concussed. Casting a look around the room for something to cover him with, your eyes alighted on the handmade quilt you had thrown over the back of the couch. 

Once you were satisfied he wouldn't freeze, you set about preparing him something to eat, consulting your anatomy books to see what kind of diet he might prefer. You settle on a little bit of everything, nudging Puca away as she springs up onto the counter and tries to steal morsels from the different bowls and dishes. 

"You'll get your turn in a minute girl, you would swear I never feed you". 

You cover the dishes when you're done, and set aside some food and water for Puca as well. With nothing else to do, you sit down at your writing desk. It's the oldest piece of furniture in your home, and conspicuous in it's design. In the past, it probably would have stuck out, too grand in an otherwise humble home, but the years had taken their toll on it. The varnish was faded, and worn through in parts, and the surface was covered in gouges and scratches, the ghostly remnants of countless experiments and sleepless nights. 

It had been your parents. 

Here, they had crafted their work, a legacy that could be counted in journals and unbounded pages that were yellowed with age. They had dedicated their life to cataloguing the forest and bringing it's story to life upon parchment. It was a torch that you had gladly picked up, after they passed away. It filled you with the same purpose, and brought you closer to them even in their afterlife. It almost made it all worth it.

With one last glance at your sleeping guest, you got back to work. 

When he finally wakes up, it's not slowly or quietly. Instead he erupts into wakefulness, like a man breaching the surface of water after being deprived of air for too long. You startle from your seat at your desk, jerking back to awareness as you hear his panicked gasps. 

You hover on the edge of his periphery, watching as he pushes himself up on limbs that tremble under the strain. He looks weak and frightened, and then his bloodshot eyes land on you and the breath is punched from your lungs. There's a startling intensity there, and a hatred that is so swift and sudden that you freeze under its malicious intent. 

"I'm not going to hurt you", you say, softly, "I found you unconscious in the forest, so I brought you back to my cabin to recover". 

The flame in his yellow eyes burns out as quickly as it lit, and he takes a wheezing breath that has you worried you might have missed an internal injury, but the sound doesn't escape him a second time. Instead, he merely looks at you, as his breath evens out. 

No words are exchanged, as his eyes scorch over you like a brand. You almost imagine something brushing against your mind, ancient and unknowable, probing the truth of your words. Even that feeling is nothing to distract you from his gaze. 

After another tense moment, he seems to relax, lowering himself back down to bed with a muffled groan. You almost think he's fallen asleep again, when he suddenly speaks. 

"What's your name?".

You give it to him easily, as you wait in return for a name that never comes. 

Deciding the best way forward is to treat him like one of the cantankerous old ladies from the nearby village, with reverence and some selective hearing, you gather the food you had prepared, along with a mug of water. Casting a dubious glance at the wooden dining table, you decide against moving him before you have to.

Cautiously, you project your intent, making as much noise as possible as you draw near to him. He peers up at you through narrowed eyes, though he makes no effort to move away, as you deposit your offerings on the bedside table. After a moment's hesitation, you perch on the edge of the bed, legs tensed in case you need to spring away. 

To your surprise, he merely continues to look at you curiously, eyes darting between your face and the side table.

"I didn't know what you might want, so I grabbed a little of everything", you explain, "and you're probably very thirsty". 

"Do you mind if I help you sit up?".

"I don't need your help", he rasps back, voice piercing through the film for the first time. 

You can't help but note that he makes no move to try himself, and so you set your jaw stubbornly and reach for him. He flinches when you touch him first, and you both jerk back as you raise your hands in supplication. You don't speak as you reach for him again, keeping your touch as gentle as possible, as you help him slowly sit up against the headboard. You refrain from fluffing the pillows, but only just, hiding a wry smile at the thought of his reaction to such a gesture.

He takes the mug of water with trembling hands and you help him steady it without comment, making sure not to let your gaze drift. When it's drained, you ease it away from his surprisingly ironclad grip. 

"You can have more in a moment", you promise, "but first you should eat". 

Carefully, you arrange each plate across the bed. You don't try to feed him, instead you leave everything within reach and go to refill his mug. You do it out of courtesy, allowing him a moment to collect himself and survey what you had brought. When you return, he's finished sniffing the food suspiciously, and is using the spoon you had left to feed himself some of the meat. You perch yourself back onto the edge of the bed, keeping watch over him as he struggles. Once or twice, the spoon jerks in his grip, and the food falls to the bed. You make no complaint, as you pluck it from the sheets and throw it onto one of the spare plates. 

Instead you simply wait, and hand him the mug again once he's finished. He cradles it almost protectively against his chest, as he finally turns his sullen gaze on you. You can see him gathering himself before he speaks, and prepare yourself for the barrage. 

"What do you get from this?". 

You're puzzled by the question, but make an effort not to show it. "Get from this?".

"Yes, what do you gain from helping me?", he asks, though there is no real bite in his word, he merely sounds resigned, "if you had been smart, you would have left me to die".

"Because it was the right thing to do", you replied, simply. 

"Besides", you say, as you begin to gather the plates, "you were ruining the view in my favourite meadow". 

You try to decide what to do next, as you wash the dishes. You purposely don't look at your nameless guest, chewing on the skin of your lower lips as your eyes drift to the open window. The sun has risen fully now, and the ground outside is bathed in warm light. There's a soft breeze in the air, that rustles the nearby trees and reaches in through the open window. You let the tension out in one breath, eyes falling closed as the cool water runs down your wrists. 

You've almost accomplished peace, when you hear a hair raising growl. A curse leaves your lips as your elbow jerks against the sink, twisting around to see what caused the commotion. The sight that greets you is almost comical. 

The Zabrak is still where you left him against the headboard, and his lips are curled back in an intimidating snarl that would be frightening if it was aimed at you. Except it isn't, instead his neck is strained forward so he can look at the ground. You have to peer over the counter slightly, to get the full picture, as you watch Puca's spine curve in response to the noise. You can feel the pride worming its way into your chest, as you watch her hiss fiercely back, miles away from the sodden kitten you had first taken in. 

"I would prefer you didn't threaten my Loth-cat", you called, trying to keep the amusement from your voice. You probably don't do a good job, judging by the nasty look he shoots you. You're relieved to see him no longer snarling, though he still eyes Puca suspiciously. Clearly not caring a lick for his scrutiny, she jumps up onto the end of the bed and curls up into a ball in her usual nap spot. 

You catch the almost scandalized look that crosses his face, obviously not used to be assessed as a threat and found lacking. This time when you bite your lip, it's to smother a smile. 

"I have some work to do", you say, pointing back to the abandoned desk, "but would you like some tea if I'm making some?". 

The look he levels you is enough of an answer, as you set about making tea for one. 

Finally, an almost comfortable silence settles over the inhabitants of the cabin, the only sound is the whistle of the kettle and the soft snoring of Puca.

The sun has set, and a sea of candles provide the only illumination in a room otherwise blanketed in darkness. Your hand keeps cramping sporadically, and your skin is smudged with ink. You've fallen into an almost trance like state, as you transcribe notes and diagrams from an older journal. That’s probably why you don't notice your guest awakening, until he calls your name softly. 

His eyes are almost luminous in the dark, bright as the full moon as they peer at you expectantly. You set your pen down with a sigh, wincing as you straighten your back and it creaks in protest. You rise on weary legs and make your way over, grasping a candle to chart your course. You smile as you realize Puca had maintained her place and the two had been coexisting together in a silent peace. 

"How are you feeling now?", you ask quietly, setting the candle down onto the nightstand. You don't want to disturb him, but you're almost frightened of being plunged into the dark with him. You don't think he would try to hurt you, not truly, but you knew how dangerous a wounded animal could be, and you were sure he was in a similar state. 

"Maul". 

You flounder with the word as it's offered to you, trying to make sense of it when he speaks again.

"My name".

His voice is surprisingly soft, like silk gliding against skin. The kind of voice that can lull you in, you wonder how many people had fallen under its spell. 

"Well met, Maul". 

You watch him pluck restlessly at the bedspread, his hands surprisingly agile but also thin. You could tell he had once been more imposing, but it seemed time weighed heavily on him, if the defeated slump of his shoulders and the sharp angles of his face were anything to go by. 

"What are you doing?", he rasps finally, and it takes you a moment to realise what he means, as his eyes flit questioningly over to your desk. 

"A study on the botany and wildlife that make their home in this forest, it's my life's work". 

"Why?".

Why indeed, you think but he speaks again before you can reply. "Let me guess, because it's the right thing to do".

"Well now you're just making fun of me", you reply, though you're pleased by the mirth you see buried in his eyes, a glimpse at what he might be like, once returned to his full glory. 

You make a promise to yourself, there and then, to do whatever it takes to get him there. 

"You may sleep beside me", he says, suddenly, voice taking a haughty tone, like he's offering you a boon. 

"That's awfully kind of you", you reply. Truthfully, you expected him to not want you so close. You eye the space beside him for a moment before kicking off your shoes. The bed is big enough for the two of you to sleep without getting into each other's space. Puca snores away quietly, as if to illustrate your point. You throw off your house coat, as you pad across the wooden floor to extinguish the host of glimmering candles. The room is quickly cloaked in darkness, bar the last candle you had left beside Maul. 

You follow it's light, as you make your way over, carefully crawling in beside him. Your body feels heavy with exhaustion and you quickly succumb to the comforting embrace of sleep, unaware of the crescent moon eyes watching you drift away into your dreams. 

In the end, he makes for surprisingly good company. 

For the first few days, he goes no further than the couch. He makes quick work on his metal legs with the battered tool kit that you provide him. He only works when you leave each morning, the tools carefully repacked each time you return.

Otherwise, he entertains himself with the few non-scientific books you have, and even dips into those once he's polished off the first. He's a quick study, and regularly breaks the silence to ask insightful questions. Mostly, your only job is to feed him. You can tell he prefers meat but makes do with whatever you give him with very little complaint. You know you should go out hunting, but you don't want to leave him alone. Not because you don't trust him, but because you worry you'll return to find him gone. 

You want to make sure he's fully recovered before he leaves, or at least that's what you tell yourself whenever the thought arises. 

Really, the most interesting thing that happened were the interactions between Maul and Puca. The first time she brushed between his ankles, he had jumped a mile in the air, or at least, he did the Maul equivalent reaction, which meant he was outwardly startled by the touch. You had both watched Puca weave away under the table leg, tail swaying behind her as she disappeared. You with mirth and him with barely contained irritation. 

After that, she became even more brazen. You had watched from your perch at your desk, as she jumped up onto the couch beside him, and climbed over him as if he was merely another pillow that was in her way. With bated breath, you had watched him freeze. He hadn't moved even a hair, as Puca needled the couch cushion beside him before curling up, pressed closely along the length of his thigh. 

His hand raised, as if to move her away, before falling to rest uselessly on his own leg. You watched him carefully pick back up his book, moving with exaggerated care as to not disturb his new friend. Something warm unfurled in your chest, as you wished for the cam you usually used to take recordings of specimens you came across while out in the forest. You settled for drawing a little sketch in the margin of your notes. 

After a few more days, he was strong enough to join you outside. You had been watching the forest wake up, enjoying a cup of tea on the bench you kept by your door, when he suddenly stepped out into the sunlight. You made room for him automatically, watching as he flinched at the bright assault. 

Not a word had been shared between you, as you sat side by side and listened to the world come alive and the sun stretch it's arm, casting its rays across both of your faces. 

You remembered that now, as you stated into the darkness of the night, and watched him get swallowed up into the unknown. He had been agitated all morning, snapping at you where he was usually patient. You had put it down to cabin fever but you certainly hadn't expected him to erupt, roaming around the narrow space like a restless beast as he hurled accusations and insults at you and the world at large. 

You had faced his anger with as much calm as you could, letting his angry torrent wash over you without rising to meet it. This seemed to enrage him further, and with one last curse, he had stormed from the cabin. 

You almost made to go after him, until Puca curled around your ankles, extending up to butt her head against your hand. 

"What a mess this is, huh girl?". 

She mewed in agreement, lapping her tongue over the back of your hand in a way you had come to associate with comfort. With one last glance out into the dark, you resigned yourself back to your desk. You had prepared yourself for this, and still somehow, it stung.

Still, you left the door open, just in case. 

You're awakened the next morning, by a loud thump of something hitting the wooden floor beside you. You jerk awake from the pillow of your arms, parchment unpeeling from your skin as you register the noise. 

You're greeted by an unexpected sight. Maul, and what appears to be a rucksack stained with blood. You look between the two, uncomprehendingly. It's only when Puca goes to nose at the bag that you spring into action, scooping her up from the ground and into your restless arms.

"You came back", you say, holding the squirming Loth-cat in your arms, almost like a shield. You can feel the swell of hope, as you take in his sullen and familiar countenance. He scrapes the toe of your burrowed boot against the ground, in a way that can only be described as bashful. Your eyes fall to rucksack again, as you realise what it is, an offering, the kind Puca used to leave on your doorstep once she got strong enough to go outside by herself and something strayed close enough to the house. 

You skin the animal together, and that night you eat around the fire pit you construct outside. He takes the lead on cooking, and you relax onto your back under the stars as you listen to him rustle around. It's more of an apology than you had ever expected, and besides, you can practically feel the guilt radiating off him. 

Once you’re finished eating, he joins you on the ground, glancing at you for approval before he lowers himself onto his back beside you. 

He listens silently, as you point out the different constellations above you. He doesn’t correct you, when you begin to make them up, each one more ridiculous than the last. A quick glance from the corner of your eyes sees him unsuccessfully trying to contain a smirk. You mark it down as another victory, when you get a huff of laughter from him. 

As the laughter quiets down, you fall into a familiar silence. You try to memorize the sight above you, as the fire begins to die down and grey smoke wisps into your vision. A chill sets in the air, as the warmth of the fire fades away and the last embers flicker from existence. You open your mouth to suggest you move inside, when something more solid blocks your view. 

He levers himself silently above you, just shy of touching but keeping himself aloft on his elbow. You don’t know if you’re imagining the glow of his yellow eyes, as he peers down at you. Oddly, you don’t feel intimidated or even worried, as you settle yourself more comfortably on the arms crossed behind your head. 

“You’re not scared?”. 

“Of what?”.

He doesn’t answer straight away, as he uses his other hand to trace down the bridge of your nose, his thumb brushing over the warm swell of your cheek. You arch against his fingertips, pressing into his hesitant touch. 

He falters at first, but seems almost mesmerized by your response, as he continues his slow mapping of your features. You can’t help but think of every piece of research you ever undertook, as he catalogues your face with the same eager reverence. If anything, his eyes seem to glow brighter than before.

“You should be scared of me”, he whispers.

He jolts back before you can even begin to decipher the meaning of his warning, brushing the dirt off his knees as he stands up. He towers over you for a moment, before offering a hand that you gladly accept. 

You don’t question his words, too frightened to consider the consequences of what he might mean, as you peer into his yellow eyes. You focus on the warmth of his hand under yours, and the way his thumb trails across your skin as he pulls away reluctantly. He might try to warn you with his words, but you can’t help but judge him for his actions. 

And with you, he had a history that didn’t lie. 

Weeks pass, and he grows stronger and stronger. Neither of you speaks about what comes next.

The first time he joins you on your morning walk, you worry that perfect equilibrium you had achieved together might be tipped. Instead, he’s a silent and welcome companion. His footsteps are almost completely silent, as he stalks ahead of you, never completely disappearing from your sight. He returns like a wraith each time, materializing beside you at random intervals to check on your progress. 

He makes for an amusing image, clutching your small basket, which is overflowing with flowers. 

Puca waits eagerly for you both to return each day. She had taken a particular liking to Maul, perhaps because he snuck her food under the table when he thought you weren't looking or maybe it was the heat that always radiated from him. Often you woke up during the night, kicking off the sheets as the warmth between you both became too much. You couldn’t help but notice the smugness that overtook his face, whenever she chose his lap over yours, which was becoming more often than not. 

Whenever you retreated to your desk, he busied himself with different tasks around the house. You had protested at first, when he took your door down and replaced it with thicker wood. You had given up, when he installed the makeshift barricade. You didn’t know what siege he was expecting, being the only two people for miles, but it seemed to make him happy and so you allowed it with little complaint. 

He even fixed your speeder, muttering under his breath the entire time. He seemed genuinely offended by your lack of maintenance, and spent several evening meals lecturing you on the dangers of not being prepared. You didn’t have the heart to tell him this was how you had always lived, before he came along.

Of course, if he had decided to occupy himself with home improvements, you had decided to test his slowly evolving boundaries. You had noticed the way his interactions with Puca changed, each day getting braver and braver, until one day he knew every spot that Puca loved to get scratched. He seemed to approach it like another job, amongst the other tasks he took upon himself, like providing food and checking the perimeter each night.

With that knowledge in mind, you slowly introduced touch into your shared routine. 

It begins with small things, a brush of your hands together when he asks for something, and a gentle hand on his back when you squeeze past each other in the narrow kitchen. 

He comes to expect your touch and even seems to wait for it. Whether it be the steadying hand you place on his shoulder as you lower yourself onto the kitchen bench beside him or the arm you loop through his whenever it becomes time to return home. 

Your touch seems to imbue him with a new kind of confidence, as he slowly begins to return the favour. It's small at first, almost unnoticeable if it had been anyone besides Maul, but for you it's a revelation. It's the way he leans his side against you when you clean the dishes together and the way he stretches a hand across the bed towards you, closing the gulf to graze his fingertips against you each night. 

You're the happiest you've ever been, you realize, as you watch him one morning. He's standing in the kitchen, doing the same thing he always does, as he tinkers with your caf maker. It hasn't worked in years, and you don't even drink caf, but apparently for Maul it was a prerequisite for life. He's muttering to himself, as he often does when he's working on something. It should probably annoy you, but you can't help but find it endearing it. This time he's explaining his problems to Puca, who sits on the counter beside him. Her eyes are wide and focused, and you can almost convince yourself that she understands him. 

You feel yourself moving before you can overthink it, as you slowly approach him. He doesn't freeze up, not anymore, but he casts a casual glance at you over his shoulder. He always seemed to know where you were, like a sixth sense. You give him a weak smile, as nervousness wracks through your body. His eyes flicker over you, as he sets down his tools and turns to face you fully. He seems to realize something is different, as he leans back against the counter, giving you his full attention. 

"I want to try something", you whisper, drawing closer slowly.

You give him time to push away, as you step in front of him and raise your hands to cup his face. His skin is almost feverish under your trembling hands, as his eyes dart over your face. You can feel him exhale as you draw closer, your own eyes falling shut as you brush your lips together for the first time. 

The touch only lasts as long as a wings spread, and you can only imagine the feeling is like falling. 

The breath rushes back into your lungs, as you slowly pull away, peering at him from under half open lids. His own eyes are wide, as his hand rises up to brush against his lips, as if feeling your phantom touch. You give him time, hands resting lightly against his cheeks, as you watch his mind race through a hundred questions. You can't help but wonder, if you had stolen his first kiss. 

The thought gives you pause, your hands faltering as you go to pull away. An apology is on the edge of your lips, but it's quickly swallowed up by the press Maul's lips against your own. You're overcome by the passion, as he pulls you forward to fall against his chest. It likes being consumed by a fire as his hands grip your face, a parody of your own gentle touch. You can only cling to him, and weather the storm of his emotions, like a candle wick that strayed too close to a flame. Your hands map every inch of skin they can reach, almost frantic in their eagerness.

When he finally pulls away for breath, it's like breaching the eye of a storm, the only sound is the blood rushing in your ears and the frenzied sound of your breathing as you try to fill your lungs again. 

"I think that's a pretty conclusive experiment", you say, a smile breaking across your face, even as your lips still tingle from his touch. You don't know if you're just imagining the change in his eyes, the soft glow like honey glaze.

"I don't know", he replies dryly, "I think we might need to conduct another one just to be sure". 

He muffles the laughter that escapes you with a kiss, one that you gladly accept as you worm your fingers around the base of his horns. 

You were wrong before, this is the happiest you've ever been.