Title: Fighting Over Dessert 1/2
By: Iaga
Rated: NC17
Category: PWP, POV (Obi-Wan)
Summary: Obi-Wan and Maul celebrate being assigned their first
mission.
Archive: Any list I send this to may archive it, can also be
found on my site along with previous stories in the series.
http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/theglobe
Disclaimers: Lucas is Da Man, I'm just having a little non-profit
fun.
Notes: This is set in the "Knight Moves" AU; Obi-Wan/Maul
pairing. I had a couple of requests for a pwp, and an appropriate
plot bunny appeared, so here it is. *G* The events of this story
take place a short time after "Trial By Fire." This is an
angst-free story (for once).

* * *

Finally, it happened.

The Council has given Maul and me permission to accept missions
as a team, and we'll leave on our first one in three days. Sure,
they're starting us off easy--just a routine diplomatic thing.
I've been on so many of those with Qui-Gon I could sleep-walk
through it, but I assume they're going slowly and cautiously
because of Maul.

Still, it's progress, and definitely a cause for celebration. We
rounded up some of our friends, shed the Jedi robes for the night
in favor of civvies and went out of the Temple for dinner. There
ended up being seven of us gathered around a long table, and Maul
took a place at the far end, choosing to stay slightly apart, the
better to sit quietly and watch as he usually does. He can carry
on a conversation when he wants to, but he tends to take on the
role of observer rather than participant in large groups. Unlike
me, who loves getting in the middle of things, he prefers
one-on-one or small group discussions.

I sat along one side of the table, in the middle where I could
see and hear everything going on; it kept me apart from Maul, but
neither of us care to be joined at the hip anyway. He doesn't
take it as a personal insult if I'm not near him at every given
opportunity, and neither do I. I was having a great time anyway,
pleased with the prospect of going on a mission for the first
time in over two years and enjoying the company I was in.

My only concern was that Maul might get tired of being around so
many people or grow bored. While we were all settling in after
the dessert course, ready to sit back and enjoy the after-dinner
contentment, I glanced over at him, trying to catch his
attention. He looked at me immediately as if sensing my gaze had
been turned on him, and our eyes met and held.

/You've been quiet for the last few minutes,/ I spoke to him
along the bond we shared.

It hadn't been a conscious decision for us to bond; the Force had
done it for us early on, forging it while we meditated together.
It had begun as a simple Master-Padawan bond, but since then,
it's grown into something more. Something deeper. I don't think
either of us have probed it too much yet, though. Even though I
couldn't imagine my life without him in it, the thought that we
might unconsciously be forming a life bond is still a little
overwhelming, especially since the whole thing has been taken out
of our hands from the beginning. I would've liked to have had
*some* say in the matter!

/Are you bored?/ I asked, and he gave an almost imperceptible
shake of his head, the barest hint of a smile tilting his lips
upward. /What are you thinking about, then?/

The next thing I knew, my mind was flooded with images of myself
moaning and writhing as he took me; I could see myself flushed,
nearly screaming with need, felt the pleasure almost as intensely
as if he were touching me physically, not just mentally, and
through it all, the low pulse of one word being chanted: "Mine."

I was suddenly, ragingly erect.

Pleasant after-dinner conversation was forgotten; all I wanted
was to grab him and drag him back to the Temple, back to our
quarters where I could make all those images become reality,
except I wanted *him* to be the one going out of his mind with
desire as I claimed him.

On the surface, it seems like our roles in the relationship are
pretty clear. Maul's the quiet, introspective one. He's always
calm, always soft-spoken, and he's also very meticulous. I guess
years of living with no possessions other than the bare
essentials have left him incapable of looking at clutter without
his fingers itching to put it away somewhere. Too bad for him I'm
a collector!

Meanwhile, I'm the outspoken one, the energetic one; he says I
never stop laughing and smiling, and I say he doesn't do either
nearly enough. You'd think just looking at us that I'd be the
leader, and he the follower. Right?

Wrong.

He's quiet, yes, but there's nothing passive about him. If he
ever *does* act passive, I know there's something wrong! Calm and
peaceful to be around, yes, he is, but get him in a fight or a
bed, and that calm quickly gives way to a fierce intensity that
can still leave me breathless. There's still something of the
predator about him, but that's definitely not a complaint.

Still, I'm not exactly the model of passivity myself. The good
thing is, we seem to have struck a balance. For the most part,
anyway. There are times when I want to take charge during our
love-making--to take *him*--and he allows it. In turn, I allow
him to be in control when he wants to be. We give and take
according to our moods. And then there are times that both of us
want to be the aggressor, and neither of us want to give in to
the other.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Even though I wanted to leave right then, I waited. I leaned back
in my chair and pretended to pay more attention to the
conversation flowing around me than I really was. Meanwhile, the
majority of my attention was focused on my lover, hoping my
delaying tactic was making him squirm with frustration and
growing need. He'd never show it, of course, but I'd reap the
benefits of it once we were alone.

If he felt as impatient as I did, no one would've ever guessed.
He sat back, rested his elbows on his chair-arms and laced his
fingers together, tapping them against his chin as he listened to
our friends chat. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, darker blue
than his eyes--the first time I'd seen him in anything other than
either Sith or Jedi robes since that night he faced the clone of
himself. In the low light of the restaurant, his lean, angular
face illuminated by a flickering candle placed on the table for
atmosphere, he appeared dark and enigmatic, his expression giving
away nothing of his thoughts.

Only I knew what they were.

He caught me peeking at him, and his slight smile turned feral;
he knew I wanted to leave, to be alone with him, but I was
determined to draw out the anticipation and reduce him to a
quivering mass of need--all for me. My answering smile was
wolfish. I placed my forefinger against the cleft in my chin,
rubbing it back and forth slowly, and I saw the flare of passion
in his eyes. For some reason, he's always been drawn to that
dimple; he kisses it, touches it and laves it with his tongue
whenever he can, so I knew watching me fondle it would heighten
his desire.

Of course, I should've known that I'm not the only one who's
aware of his lover's weaknesses and willing to exploit them.

As I watched out of the corner of my eye, Maul raised his hand to
his mouth and began stroking his bottom lip, moving his long,
graceful fingers across it, tantalizing me, knowing how much I
love nibbling on that full, delicious lip. I wanted to taste it
right then, to draw it into my mouth and release it slowly. Then
he made my agony a hundred times worse by letting his tongue peek
out just enough to wet it, making the skin glisten in the golden
glow of the nearby candle.

I clamped my lips together, trying to repress a moan at the
sight; my erection had subsided a little, but now it was stirring
to life once more, and I was glad I was sitting down and that my
lap was hidden by a table. Unfortunately, our friends seemed to
be in no hurry; everyone was still laughing and talking,
lingering over tea and the remains of their dessert. I couldn't
be rude and just leave them all there just so I could go home and
ravish Maul, especially since we'd invited them in the first
place. So I had to sit there and think cold thoughts, pretending
to be interested in whatever they were saying when in fact my
mind was racing to come up with a way of making Maul just as
anxious as I was.

If I'd been sitting next to him, I would have touched him,
perhaps stroked his thigh not *quite* high enough or found a way
to brush kisses against his ear--one of his more sensitive spots.
But there were three people and a length of table between us, so
my options were limited unless I used the Force to touch him,
which I didn't want to do quite yet. There was something
delightfully wicked about teasing each other visually without
using anything but our own knowledge of each other to heighten
each other's arousal.

Ever since being Knighted, I've let my hair grow, and it's long
now, just past my shoulders. I'm not authorized to wear a
Master's knot, but I often wear it pulled back in a ponytail as I
did when I was a Padawan. But Maul prefers it down so he can
stroke it. Even though he was brought up practically an ascetic,
by nature, he's very sensual, and now he takes pleasure in little
things--just running his fingers through my hair. All his life,
he's had next to nothing. In comparison, an inconsequential
indulgance like that must seem like sheerest luxury.

Tonight, I was wearing it tied back, but as I looked steadily at
Jossen, giving every appearance of paying close attention to him,
I slowly reached up and pulled out the tie, shaking my head so
that my hair fell loose, and then I raked my fingers through it
as if finger-combing it into order. Glancing side-long at Maul, I
saw his throat convulse once, and then he sat back in his chair,
withdrawing to the safety of shadows.

For the rest of the night, he did nothing, but I wasn't so stupid
as to assume that meant I'd won. I knew from experience with his
tenacity that it only meant he was working out a strategy for
retaliation which he'd enact in his own time. Finally, after what
seemed like an eternity, Bant reluctantly pushed back her chair.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice laden with regret. "I've enjoyed
this so much, but I've got to get back to the Temple."

She needed to immerse in water, in other words. I was so
relieved, I could've kissed her. The rest of our companions took
that as their cue as well, and everyone began standing up and
preparing to return home. Maul waited until the table had cleared
before moving to stand beside me; I wondered what he had in
mind--and then I found out.

He reached out and put his hand on the back of my neck.

That was all, but that was enough.

He slipped his fingers beneath my hair and beneath my collar so
he could caress the warm skin he found with his thumb. Just a
slow, steady, rhythmic stroking. He kept his hand there as we
walked out of the restaurant, as we waited for a skycab, as we
bid farewell and good night to our friends.

All that time with just that maddeningly slow, stroking thumb.

As far as I was concerned, we couldn't get back home quickly
enough. And when we did, I had plans for my wicked, tempting
lover.

Also, I'm sorry this part took so long to post. I *meant* to
finish and post it over the weekend, but between Easter stuff and
computer problems (I lost an entire draft of this part. Note to
Iaga: save, and save often, and back-up on disk), it didn't
happen. :-( And of course the first, forever-lost draft was
beautiful and perfect and I couldn't remember the beautiful and
perfect details of how I'd written it, so the second draft sucks
seaweed. Anyone else have that happen? You just *know* your first
draft was infinitely superior despite the fact that you can't
remember hardly a word of it?

* * *

As soon as the door of our quarters closed behind us, I reached
out to grab Maul and yank him to me. Maul had other ideas.
Pivoting with lightning-quickness on his heel, he snaked out one
hand and tangled it in my hair, twining it around his fingers; he
wasn't hurting me, but if I tried to pull away, I'd feel it. His
other arm was suddenly around my waist, and he walked me
backwards until my back hit the wall.

Pressing his lithe body along the length of mine, he pinned me
against the wall and kissed me, claiming me with his lips and
tongue. If I hadn't been so determined to take the lead myself, I
would have relaxed and enjoyed his thorough exploration of my
mouth. I love it when he kisses me like that, leaving nothing
untouched or untasted, especially when the kiss is infused with
the heat that one was. Pushing my legs apart with his knee, he
began rocking his hips against mine in a steady rhythm, giving me
a preview of what he intended.

But instead of catching the rhythm and moving with him, I grasped
his shoulders and pushed, putting space between us and making
*him* walk backwards--this time to our bedroom. For a moment, he
went along, and I thought he'd acquiesced to letting me be the
aggressor this time.

I should've known better.

We'd only gone a few steps before he dug in his heels, and I
might as well have been trying to move a mountain. A feral
intensity lit his dark blue eyes as he captured my gaze and held
it; the battle of wills was on. He growled low in his throat, his
lip lifting in a snarl. That look in battle means someone is
going to die. That look in the bedroom--or in that case, the
common area--means I'm about to be pounced on, sometimes
literally, and I braced, readying myself for his next move.

It wasn't long in coming. He began circling me, pacing and
growling like an angry predator, and I found myself instinctively
falling into a defensive crouch. I knew he wouldn't deliberately
hurt me--this was about winning the upper hand, not pain--but I
had no intention of losing.

Suddenly he tackled me, grabbing me around the waist and sending
us both tumbling to the floor. He twisted so that I wouldn't take
the brunt of his weight as we landed, and that small
consideration gave me the opening I needed to roll us over until
he was trapped beneath me.

Panting with exertion and frustrated desire, I stretched out
full-length on top of him, grasping his wrists and holding them,
thinking I had finally bested him and he'd have to give up
now--until he scissored his legs around mine, threw his weight
against me and flipped me onto my back.

I stared up at him, drinking in the sight of smoldering passion
in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks and neck, the stubborn set
of his jaw. In that moment, I realized the battle could go on all
night; we were too well-matched, and this would only end in a
stalemate unless one of us gave in.

But *I* didn't want to be the one to give.

An eternal moment spun out between us as we gazed at each other;
I could feel his desire and determination along our bond, and I
answered it with my own, letting him know not to expect an easy
victory. The steel twined around the core of his being met and
clashed with the tempestuous intensity dancing in mine... and I
began to realize how these fundamental differences weave us into
a complementary whole. I am fire to his ice. He is earth to my
air. We balance one another, our strengths supporting the
weaknesses of the other.

If we struggle against one another, we weaken ourselves. If we
work together, we are unconquerable.

Our bond was completely open, and so my thoughts flowed to him
almost as soon as I thought them; I could see the moment of
illumination in his eyes, and in that moment, our battle became a
dance.

Moving as one, we rolled onto our sides, facing each other, and
our lips met again with all the heat and intensity as before, but
this time channeled differently. Instead of struggling to best
one another, we used our mutually strong wills to bring pleasure.

Our tongues met and mated; he stroked the roof of my mouth, and I
captured his tongue to suck lightly and taste it, coaxing out a
soft moan--and then he drew in my tongue and worked such magic on
it that my answering moan was significantly louder than his had
been. He threaded his fingers into my hair, holding my head in
place as he made love to my mouth, and I slid my hands down to
the small of his back, pulling him closer so I could feel every
inch of him pressed against me.

We fit perfectly, and I love feeling that finely-honed,
steel-muscled body in the circle of my arms; all that strength,
and I hold it. It's still something of a marvel when I realize he
trusts me enough to relax in my embrace. He lets me see him at
his most vulnerable--at the height of passion and in the depths
of sleep--and doesn't think twice about it.

I draped my leg over his hip, curving it around him to pull him
even closer, and he slid his thigh between my legs; this time, we
began moving together, rocking slowly as one kiss flowed into
another, as we fed off each other's desire, sending it back and
forth along our bond, letting it heighten our arousal to a single
white-hot flame burning between us.

He moaned low in his throat, and I pressed eager, open-mouthed
kisses against his neck, feeling the vibration against my lips;
my rational mind was shutting down, and all I could hear over the
pounding of my own blood was a chanted litany in my mind:
/...want you... need you... love you.../ But I wasn't sure who it
was coming from: me or him or maybe both of us.

Our hands tore at clothes, not bothering to fumble with
fastenings, but simply yanking the offending garments out of
confinement and out of the way as much as possible. I cried out
when he latched onto my nipple, teasing and suckling, and I
mirrored his actions with my fingers, satisfied by the soft hiss
that escaped him at my touch.

The tempo our bodies had set increased, our hips bucking and
pounding against each other, and I felt myself growing closer to
release; we writhed furiously together, hands roaming, seeking,
finding, our mouths meeting again and again in hot, hungry kisses
as we poured passion and desire and encouragement into our bond.
I wanted him to come like this, to be able to *make* him come
like this, without even touching him intimately, and in return I
heard his silent urging for me to let go, he wanted to see and
feel me shatter, and I could feel the tension coiling tighter and
tighter, almost breaking... almost snapping...

And then it hit me, a searing explosion of pleasure that set off
white light behind my eyes, and I cried out his name, thrusting
convulsively as my entire body shook with release. At the same
moment, I felt him surge against me, felt his fingers tighten
their grip, felt the saturation of pleasure in his mind as he
lost himself in sensation.

Spent but bonelessly happy, I collapsed, barely having the energy
to keep my arms around him; the floor wasn't the most comfortable
place to bask in the afterglow of such an incredible experience,
but there was no chance of me being able to get up and move to
the bedroom. Even if I could have crawled in there, hauling
myself onto the bed would have been too great an effort. Instead,
I buried my face against Maul's neck, breathing in the warm,
familiar scent of his skin, and focused on calming my breathing.

Somehow, I sensed that the connection between us had just been
deepened even more, and that our bond had grown even stronger.
Once that might have frightened me a little, but now... I've
accepted that our bond is the will of the Force. I had always
thought I would choose the person I wanted to knit my soul to,
but that choice was made for me... probably because I was being
too stubborn to see what was before my own eyes at the time.
Given a choice, I would've seen Maul dead or at least banished
forever. I wouldn't have chosen him to share my life with.

But what did I know? Nothing, obviously. The Force knew how well
we complete each other even if I did not at first. In so many
ways, we balance each other, complement each other. We fit. My
soul slid into place next to his, and there it will stay.

He wrapped his arms around me and rubbed his cheek against the
top of my head; we were both sighing with contentment, but
neither of us had the energy to speak until some moments later.

"I believe we have learned a lesson," he murmured at last, a note
of amusement lacing his voice.

I lifted my head just enough so that I could look at him. "What,
that it's better for us to work with each other rather than
against each other?"

"Yes."

"If it gets results like this--definitely."

We lay there in silence for a few minutes longer, and then I
began to laugh, which of course got me on the receiving end of
one of his "what now?" looks.

"And just think!" I said, grinning at him. "We're still dressed!"

Maul considered this solemnly for a moment, and then a slow,
small but decidedly wicked smile curved his lips.

"This is true," he replied, sliding one hand slowly down until he
was cradling me in his palm, and I gasped, the first flashes of
new arousal set off within me at his touch. "Now that the main
course has been served and enjoyed, I believe we can linger over
dessert."

Which we did. And the lingering was sweet indeed.


-end-