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The Jedi Council went out of its way to avoid putting the 212th and the 331st together. Commander Cody had attended enough strategy meetings to know all the official reasons—culture clash, different styles of engagement, wildly different leadership styles. The usual slew of excuses that didn’t explain much of anything.
Everyone knew the actual reason, which was that General Maul Opress and General Obi-Wan Kenobi simply did not get along.
Unfortunately, mergers couldn’t always be avoided. Such was the way of war.
“Sir,” said Commander Cody. “Are you busy?”
General Kenobi looked up from his datapad, almost jumping at the interruption. It was uncommon that he could be taken off guard, which meant there was something on his mind.
“Ah, Cody,” Kenobi smiled—perhaps a touch too readily. “How can I help?”
“I brought what you asked for,” said Cody, handing Kenobi a small box. “It took some doing, but we were able to get one sent from the Jedi Temple before our next hyperspace jump.”
“Thank you, Cody,” said Kenobi, picking up his datapad again. It took him too long to realize he was holding it upside down. He righted it, looked up at Cody, and frowned. “Is there something else?”
Cody nodded. “Just a question, sir. If I may.”
“Is this about Maul?”
At least he wasn’t feigning ignorance. The temporary merger of the two battalions was on everybody’s mind, and Maul and the 331st had quite the reputation.
“No sir,” Cody said. “But your answer may involve the General.”
Kenobi affected an air of playful weariness. Cody imagined it was to cover up the very real weariness he felt about the whole thing.
“Go on, then.”
“Why are you using a training shield?” asked Cody.
Kenobi laughed, leaning back in his chair. “That is a question about Maul, Cody.”
“Not necessarily,” said Cody. “Training shields are for Jedi younglings, aren’t they?”
“Usually, yes,” said Kenobi. “It allows an inexperienced person to fight with a lightsaber without worrying that they’ll lose a limb. It’s an important precaution.”
Cody considered this. “Any reason you don’t use them when you’re fighting Ventress or Count Dooku, sir?”
Kenobi flashed another smile. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be sporting.”
“Sir.”
Kenobi opened the metal box and held it up. The shield device was small, little more than a bracelet with a round face. “It doesn’t have the best power source, I’m afraid,” he said. “It might deflect a blow or two in a short and restrained fight, but it isn’t going to do much good in a sustained battle.”
Kenobi took the shield out of the box and locked it around his left wrist.
“It’s been so long since we’ve had to fight other Force users that we just never developed the technology for sustained combat,” said Kenobi. “We didn’t believe we needed to.”
That was… understandable, if a little depressing. After so many generations of peace, the oversight made perfect sense.
“I see, sir,” said Cody. “But why now? You’re not a youngling.”
“Thank you for noticing,” said Kenobi. “Yes, I’m not a youngling. But Maul…”
There was a pause. A tired smile crossed Kenobi’s face, a warm and peaceful expression that Cody didn’t entirely recognize.
“Maul’s at his best when he fights without restraint,” said Kenobi, after a moment. “Does that make sense?”
“Well enough, sir.”
And yet Cody hesitated still. Kenobi looked up at him expectantly and waited.
“Just one more question, sir,” Cody said. “The men were wondering if we’re allowed to place bets.”
“Place bets?”
Cody smiled. “On who will win the match, sir. I’ve heard that General Opress is on a five win streak.”
“Cody, I hope that doesn’t mean you’ll be betting on him.”
Cody let his restrained smile become a real one. “Of course not, sir.”
“Yes, the men can place bets,” said Kenobi. “As long as the bet is in my favor, of course.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lockdown—Commander of the 331st—was in good spirits. There was a lot to do in the coming days. The mission ahead was looking to be a tough one.
The 501st battalion has been holding a siege on Umbara for nearly three months, General Opress had said. We’re being sent to break the stalemate.
It was hard not to feel invigorated. The 331st wasn’t the largest battalion—in fact, it was one of the smallest—but they were very good at siege breaking. Uncommonly good. After all, they were the berserkers, the assassins, the special operatives. They lacked the restraint and discipline that one might expect of another company. They took pride in it, too.
After all, clones mirrored their Jedi commanders.
It would be another three days before the operation would begin, and everyone was conserving their strength for the weeks ahead. And as exciting as Umbara might prove to be, no one was thinking about it tonight. Tonight, the generals were going to spar, and all the clones were welcome to spectate.
As far as Lockdown was concerned, there wasn’t a single sport more exciting than watching two Jedi fight. And Maul Opress seemed made for spectacle fighting. He roped just about every Jedi he could into at least one match when he came across them.
Lockdown dug through the supply crate until he found the small shield generator. He held it out to Maul. “When you sparred with General Fisto, you didn’t wear one.”
“You’re disappointed,” said Maul, clipping the shield to his wrist.
“Yes, sir.”
Maul gave a thin-lipped smile. “Shields are typically for younglings,” he hummed. “To prevent grievous bodily harm. Obviously a necessity for the young, the untrained.”
“You’re neither young nor untrained.” Lockdown crossed his arms. “Are you saying that you’d cause grievous bodily harm to General Kenobi if you could, sir?”
Maul smiled. “Let’s just say I like to keep things interesting.”
Lockdown beamed. “Yes, sir.”
General Kenobi was already waiting for him. He stood in the center of the hangar, smiling serenely as he spoke to Commander Cody. Cody’s expression was polite and restrained in precisely the same manner. Maul’s resentment of Kenobi spilled into resentment for the whole of the 212th.
Maul, Windu’s voice chastised him. Mind your emotions.
Master Windu was the voice of reason that Maul carried everywhere he went. It usually kept him out of trouble.
“Yes, master,” Maul muttered under his breath.
Maul walked to the center of the fresh white ring on the floor. He was pleased that the 331st had already vandalized Kenobi’s ship.
“Master Maul!” said Kenobi in greeting, refusing (as always) to use his last name. “I was almost worried you weren’t going to show.”
Kenobi’s smile was as warm as it always was, but there was a coyness in his eyes that Maul recognized—the glint that revealed that this was all a joke at his expense. Kenobi was perhaps the only person in the universe that could laugh without laughing, and yet never be misunderstood.
A ripple of anger pulsed down Maul’s spine. He exhaled sharply to expel it. “Kenobi.”
If Kenobi was going to disrespect his formal name, then Maul was happy to disrespect his title. And his men didn’t miss the snarl, either—they began to stomp their feet and rap their fists against their armor. The noise from the 331st filled the space, and Maul could see the 212th itching to join in. They remained standoffish, no doubt to please their general.
“Well,” said Kenobi. “Shall we get this over with, then? I had hoped that we could have an opportunity to speak before our next mission.”
“We can do both,” snapped Maul.
Maul had no intention of spending time with Kenobi when this was over.
They stood across from each other. Kenobi bowed low. Maul returned the bow with only the slight inclination of the head and a lowering of the shoulders. It was an insult, and his clones loved it. They stamped harder. They cheered. The 212th began to make noise too. They weren’t brave enough to shout insults at a Jedi, but they stamped back in disapproval and grunted wordless diatribes.
“Shields?” said Kenobi. If Kenobi had noticed Maul’s slight, he didn’t give any indication of it.
Coward, thought Maul. But he knew better than to say it aloud, and he willed himself to be calm. Master Windu’s voice reminded him: Channel your feelings into action, padawan. You will find peace in the movement, in the flow. Let your anger pass through you.
Maul activated his shield. The bluish ripple encased his body and vanished, leaving only the faintest tingle of energy against his skin to indicate its presence. The shields were designed to repel lightsabers, but nothing else. That meant he could still punch or kick Kenobi, which made the precaution marginally more tolerable.
Maul and Kenobi squared across from one another. There was no official start to the fight. It would only begin when one of them broke the peace and attacked.
It was always Maul, of course. Today was no different. He lunged forward, purple blades erupting from his dual-bladed saber with a hum. Kenobi’s blue saber met purple in a flash, yielding to Maul’s blow rather than deflecting it. Kenobi always fought like that, letting his saber hang in the air while he maneuvered his body into a safer position behind it. It gave the illusion of slowness, but really, it was control. And Maul, who favored a more aggressive, rapid style of attack, could never quite match it.
Maul understood his own limitations, but he hadn’t quite learned how to stop himself from putting himself in a position to fail. Kenobi’s style was a perfect counter to his own, he knew that. He’d always known that. He could not win through stamina (Kenobi’s passivity in the fight expended far less energy) and he could not win through speed (Maul’s speed could only ever degrade in a long fight, where Kenobi’s defensiveness would remain consistent). If he won, it would only be because Kenobi made a mistake.
That was not a reflection of skill. Maul had won these matches before, and it did not please him overmuch. It felt rather hollow.
As if reading his thoughts, Kenobi asked: “May I ask, why do you always insist on doing this?”
Maul lunged again, and his blades carried the momentum forward into the next series of blows. Kenobi continuously withdrew, putting more and more space between them. He let Maul tire himself out by rushing forward again and again, only to be deflected and evaded. Maul already felt the burn in his shoulders and thighs.
“Because I haven’t beaten you!” Maul snarled.
The clones were making a ruckus, so there was no chance that their words would be overheard. The noise of shouting, the rise and fall of excitement and disappointment, was a pleasant enough way to mask the conversation.
Kenobi always did like to talk.
“You’ve won plenty of times, Maul,” said Kenobi, although the serene amusement in his eyes didn’t change. “Do you think one more will make it feel real somehow?”
The glow of the sabers scattered hazy light across Kenobi’s face—reds and violets and blues. His eyes caught the light; they glowed brilliantly in the darkness. And as Maul leapt forward, he found himself distracted by the dancer-like airiness of Kenobi’s body. It was something that was unique to him, and unnecessary. Kenobi danced through his movements because he liked to show off.
Maul threw his hand outwards and pushed Kenobi with the Force. For a moment, Kenobi did lose his balance—but he caught himself quickly, hopping back on one foot, his hand thrown back to tip himself to his proper center of gravity.
Kenobi laughed.
“You’ll have to do better than that!” Kenobi called, loud enough for the clones. The 212th crowed their approval.
Maul spun his dual blades in response, and the 331st shouted and cheered. It was an excuse to catch his breath for a moment. His hearts were pounding, and his skin was dotted with sweat. He leapt forward, blade swinging downwards. This time, Kenobi caught the blade with his own and pushed back. The change was so unexpected that Maul was thrown off balance, forcing him to roll to the left.
His frustration was beginning to boil. If Master Windu saw him like this… Well. He wouldn’t be impressed, and he’d certainly be happy enough to tell Maul his true thoughts on the matter. You’re less in control of yourself than our younglings, Maul.
This time, Maul didn’t have to divert himself—he was ready for Kenobi to meet his blow, to hold his ground. Their blades sparked and turned red at the place where they met.
“If you think it’s pointless, why do you agree to this?” asked Maul. “Why fight me if I can’t win?”
“Did I say you couldn’t win?”
Kenobi retreated, and Maul gave chase. The 331st sensed his growing lack of restraint, relished in it. Maul didn’t. For any Jedi, the slip was embarrassing.
“Do you find it so hard to believe I enjoy it?” asked Kenobi.
Maul snarled, “Because you always win!”
And only a moment later, it was over. As Maul lunged forward to land a blow on the neck, Kenobi only had to extend his arm to catch Maul in the stomach with his blade. The shield rippled and buzzed at the contact, although Maul knew Kenobi had enough control that even with the shield in place, he didn’t put forward enough force to ever hurt Maul.
Kenobi was always so cautious.
So precise.
So much better.
The 212th erupted. And Maul was pleased that the 331st had enough sportsmanship to cheer for Kenobi as well, even if it was far less enthusiastic. The 331st did not need to share in all his failings, and besides—they were grateful for the spectacle more than the outcome. As they should be.
When credits were exchanged and the excitement tapered off into a pleasant buzz of conversation, Maul commanded Lockdown to get everyone out of the hangar. Maul needed to speak with Kenobi alone. Kenobi seemed to have ordered Commander Cody to do the same—the 212th and the 331st emptied the hangar together.
Maul took a breath. “Kenobi—”
“You don’t need to apologize,” said Kenobi. “You always do. It doesn’t seem to stop us.”
Maul felt a flash of anger, as sharp and quick as a burn. “Yes, I do,” he growled. “It was… undignified of me. To be so competitive.”
It’s not the Jedi way, he almost added. But sometimes, Maul didn’t feel particularly Jedi. Perhaps it was because he had been a touch too old when he’d been taken—liberated—from Dathomir. There were too many memories, too much darkness, too much fear. The Jedi had underestimated how far back a zabrak’s memories could go.
Savage and Feral had fared better in the Jedi Order, but they had been little more than infants. He resented their ignorance.
“I should have controlled myself,” said Maul, swallowing back his pride with difficulty.
Kenobi didn’t reply. He stood in the quiet darkness of the hangar, his arms crossed, expression thoughtful.
“I shouldn’t push you like that,” said Kenobi. “...It’s on purpose, you know. A bad habit from when we were children.”
Humility from Kenobi was satisfying, but… was Maul still so easy to manipulate? Was he as foolish as he had been as a child?
“On purpose,” said Maul. “Why?”
There was a quizzical look in Kenobi’s eyes, a half-smile that was just a touch disbelieving. “You’re still wondering? Now?”
There was no answer to give that seemed right. Maul narrowed his eyes. His prior apology was starting to feel premature.
“Just answer the question,” he demanded.
For a moment, it didn’t seem like Kenobi intended to do that. He just continued to look at Maul, still smiling, still exhausted. The silence stretched into awkwardness.
“Would you like to go again?” said Kenobi. “As amusing as the audience may be, I—”
“Yes.”
Maul would never turn down a fight. Not from Kenobi.
Kenobi blinked, chuckled, shook his head. He turned to face Maul again, lowering himself into a cordial bow. When he straightened and activated his saber, Maul frowned.
“Aren’t you going to activate your shield?” asked Maul.
Kenobi shook his head. “I trust you.”
Maul balked. He had always mocked Kenobi’s reliance on them, but now he wondered if they didn’t allow for a degree of recklessness on Maul’s part.
But it was also what Kenobi said: I trust you.
It put Maul on edge. There was some purpose to this, then. Without the distraction of the clones, without spectators… The silence and emptiness of the hangar suddenly felt as wide as a desert, a mute darkness vanishing into a far horizon.
Maul activated his sabers.
…And just as quickly deactivated them.
“Kenobi,” Maul said, attaching the hilt to his belt again. “I don’t like tests of character.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Master Windu did this sort of thing all the time,” said Maul, with a touch of resigned annoyance. “Seeing how far I would be willing to push my boundaries, if given the chance. Seeing if my temper or pride would get the better of me.”
Maul wasn’t doing a good job of sounding like he was neither angry nor proud: his voice was a growl.
“Did he?” asked Kenobi.
“The answer was almost always to refuse to engage with the test at all,” said Maul. “Like I said: I don’t like them. And I can see them from a mile away now.”
Kenobi deactivated his saber and sighed. “That rather defeats the purpose of the test.”
“You don’t have half of Windu’s subtlety,” said Maul. “Tell me what this is about. Did the council put you up to this?”
Kenobi absently tugged at the shield on his wrist. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a warm expression. If anything, Kenobi seemed… nervous.
“The council didn’t put me up to this,” he sighed. “Call it personal curiosity.”
Maul’s jaw tightened. “Curiosity.”
Kenobi had the decency to meet his gaze.
“There’s always been a flavor of irony, I suppose, to our rivalry… At least on my part.” Kenobi fiddled with his lightsaber hilt for a moment. Maul had never seen him so distracted. “And I wanted to see how sincere your anger really is.”
Maul stared at him. “And your way of testing this was to put yourself at risk?”
“Perhaps I would worry more if I’d lost the fight,” said Kenobi.
Maul stepped forward, half a breath away from a shout.
He stopped short. It was Kenobi that closed the final distance between them, but not in violence. His warm hands took Maul’s. The touch was so unexpected that for a long moment, Maul barely processed that he was being touched at all. His instinctive growl and withdrawal was enough for Kenobi to let go, though, and he did so with visible embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” said Kenobi. “I know you don’t like being touched. I shouldn’t—”
But Maul understood. He understood completely. The truth was a flash of a blinding light; it cut through him like a burst of anger—but it wasn’t anger.
Maul moved forward, and Kenobi didn’t dance away like he did when they sparred. He let him into his space, he let Maul grab him, let Maul press their foreheads together—a zabrak gesture, the subconscious impulse to touch horns. Kenobi had no horns, but he must have understood the intent. He reached up to touch Maul’s horn with his fingertips.
This can’t happen, thought Maul.
That was true, but Kenobi neither pushed him away nor rebuked Maul. He was smiling.
“Why now?” asked Maul. His voice was a growl, a hiss, an accusation. “Why tell me now, when this can’t happen?”
Kenobi, impossibly, managed a smile. “A few reasons,” said Kenobi. “The war, obviously. The thought that I might die and you’d think you were the only one who felt this way… and it bothered me to think you would die hating me. But I suppose you’ll always hate me a little, won’t you?”
“Yes,” said Maul, without hesitation.
Kenobi chuckled. “It’s strange. I find that somehow reassuring.”
Maul scowled. “You said a few reasons.”
“Well… Our shields.” Kenobi tipped his head. “You were always the one who suggested that we continue to wear them when we sparred, even as we outgrew them.”
Despite what Maul might tell Lockdown and the other clones, yes—he was always the one who insisted on the use of shields. “So?”
“So I began to wonder…” Kenobi paused, hesitated. “If there wasn’t another reason for it, other than letting you vent your frustrations.”
Maul said nothing. He knew what Kenobi was going to say.
“You wanted to avoid hurting me,” said Kenobi. There was an unusual hesitancy in his voice; it bordered on bashful. “Perhaps that’s why I don’t need an apology, Maul. You’ve gone out of your way to protect me. It’s flattering, really.”
It’s because I don’t trust myself, thought Maul. Those words remained unspoken.
“What I do—the way I tease you, the way I agitate you—it’s obviously on purpose,” said Kenobi. “You’re not the only one who feels resentful.”
So the great Obi-Wan Kenobi was capable of resentment and cruelty. Maul expected to feel victorious in a cold, petty sort of way. Instead, he felt disappointed.
“Why?” he asked.
“When I thought you hated me,” said Kenobi, “it was painful. And so I responded in kind.”
So much for the shield, then, thought Maul.
“After the war—” Kenobi started, and then stopped just as quickly. He seemed stricken with sudden awareness, as if he’d just understood that they were still holding each other, a breath away from a kiss. He turned his face away, smiling. “Well, it’s just a thought, really…”
“After the war,” said Maul. “What? Stop being coy.”
Kenobi sighed—weary, so weary. He was dropping his guard, something that he never did. Maul wasn’t prepared for it, and he didn’t know how to handle it. Every instinct told him to pull away, to push him away. But Maul stayed still.
“Maybe I want something pleasant to think about, even if it’s only a thought,” Kenobi said. “I know that sounds rather childish.”
“What thought?” asked Maul stiffly.
“The Jedi who fought this war—all of us—are going to have to take time away from the duties of the Order. To heal. The council has already discussed this eventuality at length.”
“Master Windu wouldn’t agree,” said Maul.
“No, of course not,” Kenobi chuckled. “He doesn’t agree, in fact. And maybe he isn’t wrong. But the council still has to account for the fact that many of us are run down—spiritually, physically, emotionally. Many of us won’t be able to move forward after the fighting’s done. We’re as vulnerable to darkness more than we’ve ever been.”
Maul couldn’t possibly imagine being a pleasant thing to think about. Yet Kenobi’s nose brushed against his own and his hand moved to cup the back of Maul’s neck, and it all felt very sincere. He found it increasingly difficult to think. He was so unused to being touched that every brush of Kenobi’s hand was like an electric shock.
When Kenobi cupped the side of his face, he was helpless to do anything other than greedily press his cheek into the touch. It felt like Kenobi was reaching inside him, beneath his skin, muscle, bone—to his very spirit.
“And?” said Maul.
“And I had an intriguing epiphany,” said Kenobi.
Maul exhaled sharply through his nose; annoyed. “And?”
“Well….” Kenobi hedged for a moment, chewing briefly on his lower lip. There was guilt there… or shyness? That was strange on Kenobi. “I’ve done more than enough work for the Jedi Order to last me several lifetimes. Assuming this war ever ends… I’m not entirely certain I’m going to return after my sabbatical. I doubt anyone would fault me for that, either. Not even you.”
Kenobi paused to press a kiss to Maul’s lips, so brief that Maul didn’t have a chance to respond one way or another. It was delivered with such casualness, as if it were normal for them, as if Kenobi had already kissed him a thousand times and in a thousand different ways.
“I have dreams about a desert, a place where I can go after the war,” Kenobi continued; calm, collected. “And I think… Well. Maybe they’re just dreams. Maybe they don’t mean anything, except that I am in dire need of some time off. But it doesn’t feel that way.”
Maul’s lips were still tingling. He blinked, flustered, pulled back to look Kenobi in the eyes.
“You want me to go with you,” said Maul—an accusation, a challenge.
“Yes,” Kenobi replied without hesitation. Then his voice softened. “But only if you’d like.”
The offer floored him. He felt Kenobi was genuine, could sense no deceit in the Force. But there was still something… off, about this encounter. Something Kenobi was hiding. Then it hit him. Obvious.
Maul narrowed his eyes. “You did this,” he said. “You put our battalions together.”
A playful smile crossed Kenobi’s face. “I may have requested missions that put us on a parallel path, yes,” he said. “But only if I believed they were actually strategically sound, mind! I’m not a complete fool. Really, was I supposed to tell you any of this over a subspace communication? That doesn’t feel particularly romantic.”
Despite everything, Maul managed to feel angry again. “You would have had less capacity to manipulate me long-distance,” he snapped. “So I suppose, yes, that would have been preferable!”
Kenobi lifted his eyebrows. “You grabbed me, Maul.”
“I—”
“If you’d like to stop, you’re more than welcome to.” Kenobi smiled. “But you won’t.”
Kenobi was right. Maul couldn’t fathom putting distance between them now. He was exhausted—yes spiritually, physically, emotionally. Death and loss seemed to have permeated every part of his life. The little bit of solace he had in the Force had become more and more elusive, and the darkness preyed upon him. Kenobi’s warm body felt suddenly like a lifeline.
“Besides,” said Kenobi, eyes glinting with amusement, “I recently learned something rather intriguing about Dathomirian culture.”
This did not bode well. Maul wondered if it was Savage or Feral who had told Kenobi. It was equally likely to have been either of them.
“And what is that?” asked Maul, eyes narrow, neck tense.
Kenobi nuzzled in closer to Maul. He tugged on one of Maul’s horns in a playful sort of way. “Displays of violence and aggression are all part of a zabrak’s mating ritual, are they not?”
Maul’s eyes narrowed. He huffed out a sharp breath, heat flooding his face.
“Not always,” Maul said reluctantly.
“But sometimes,” said Kenobi.
Maul frowned. “...Was that what you were trying to test? My aggression?”
“I only wanted to know if the violence was for show or not,” said Kenobi. “Or maybe I thought I’d be able to tell if you were actually flirting, with a little more opportunity for observation.”
Maul kissed Kenobi on the mouth, hard. Telling from the way Kenobi melted into the contact, he didn’t seem to mind the bruising nip of Maul’s teeth.
Maul hadn’t quite realized how deep the pain went until it was finally soothed.
You will find peace in the movement, in the flow.
And Maul did find peace. He felt as though he’d been lifted by a current, buoyed upon the light of the Force. The feelings would pass, as all feelings did… but only once they were allowed to follow the current. And finally, he felt free of his anger for Kenobi. No. Free of his anger for Obi-Wan.
Maul broke the kiss to ask: “That desert you speak of…”
“Yes, you’re in those dreams,” said Obi-Wan. “Not always. But usually.”
Maul nodded. For a moment, he didn’t trust his own voice, nor his words. There were so many thoughts, so many fears, and it took effort to let them pass through him without attaching, metastasizing.
In the dreams where he was absent, why was he gone? Did he choose another path? Did he fall to the darkness that always, always, always gnawed at the edges of his mind?
The fear passed. Maul breathed and decided that if there were dreams he was there, then it was a path he could choose. Kenobi must have understood, because his expression was soft—an expression alien to Maul and yet completely comprehensible.
“If I’m already there, in your dreams… then you already know my answer,” said Maul.
Obi-Wan smiled. “I’d really prefer to hear it from you.”
Maul huffed, turned his face away for a moment. Hope and joy were so unnecessarily complicated!
“...Yes,” he said finally.
A sly grin crossed Obi-Wan’s lips. Maul’s eyes narrowed, hands tightening on Obi-Wan’s robes. “What—”
Obi-Wan suddenly lifted him into a hard, hungry kiss. The noise Maul made was wholly undignified—either a snarl or a gasp, and quickly lost to a moan. Obi-Wan was a fair few inches taller than Maul was, and it wasn’t difficult for him to lift Maul entirely off his feet. He was… stronger than he looked.
It was humiliating, at first—then exciting.
“Keno—”
Another kiss quieted his protest. Obi-Wan’s hands readjusted to Maul’s thighs, holding them against his hips. Maul’s knees pressed hard to Obi-Wan’s sides. It was not a dignified position, thighs spread, vulnerable, yearning. But Maul didn’t fight it. Obi-Wan’s scent—heady, wanting—soothed Maul into a state of calm compliance.
He closed his eyes, inhaled softly, let his horns brush against Obi-Wan’s forehead. The kisses went from fierce to gentle, lazy and languid as both Maul and Obi-Wan felt reassured of their promise. They didn’t need to fight for it now - that was over with.
Obi-Wan hummed softly against his mouth. “We should—”
“Mmh.”
The hour was late. Even so, there was a greater than zero chance of being walked in on. The hangar bay wasn’t the place for this.
When Maul settled back onto his feet, he was unsteady, loose-limbed and warm. Obi-Wan’s hand lingered on his neck, unwilling to break contact, keeping Maul both centered and yearning. But after a moment, he did pull away. Maul opened his eyes, blinking as if rising from a dream.
“I think it’s about time we do away with these, don’t you think?” said Obi-Wan, unclasping the shield attached to his wrist.
Maul looked down at his own generator. The silver band was warm against his wrist, reassuring—but yes, unnecessary.
Maul took off his own shield and threw it aside.