Title: Analyzing A Good Thing
Author: Carmarthen (lacorneille@earthlink.net)
Fandom/Pairing: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace; Obi-Wan/Darth Maul
Disclaimer: They belong to Lucasfilm, not me. I am a wicked girl who's just having a bit of fun with no official sanction whatsoever.
Rating: PG-13 for language and implied sex.
Spoilers: None that I'm aware of; set pre-TPM.
Summary: Obi-Wan is discontented, Maul is mocking, and they almost, but not quite, manage to communicate.
Warnings: Implied slash, meaning men boinking other men.
Archive: Only my personal site (http://thewritegirls.populli.net/carmarthen), unless She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named decides to make a collection of the responses, in which case she can have it.
Notes: She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named made the challenge ("Fuck me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope...") and I answered it, again, this time more seriously. This snippet assumes an illicit affair between Maul and Obi-Wan pre-TPM and is now trying to take over my brain. Also, you have no idea how hard it is for me to separate canon Maul from Sith Academy Maul. I mean, sheesh.
Which canon? Movie-canon only, although some of my theories about spice are colored by one of the Boba Fett stories (possibly The Last Man Standing from Tales of the Bounty Hunters).

Analyzing A Good Thing

"Why are you always so silent?" Obi-Wan asked once, after a round of frenzied, furtive sex in a seedy Coruscant motel room.

His companion opened one lazy yellow eye and glared. He had the pinpoint pupils of a spice addict, but Obi-Wan knew that whatever the man had done in the past, he wasn't a spicer now. "What," he growled, "you expect me to fall at your feet, whining like a Jedi?" He sat up, sneering. "Fuck me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope?"

"No," Obi-Wan said, reaching out to stroke the man's jagged horns in a placating gesture. "It's just -- you know who I am -- a Jedi padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You know I risk being thrown out of the Temple for this." Obi-Wan's gesture encompassed the dingy room, the sweat- and semen-stained sheets, the tattoed, horned near-human in the bed with him. "I do it anyway. But I know nothing about you. I don't even know your name."

"This is why Jedi are weak," the man said. "You always analyze a good thing to death."

"I can't help it."

The man sighed. "Very well. I will give you this: I have said more to you in the last hour than I say to everyone else in a month."

Obi-Wan was silent.

The man rolled over and cupped Obi-Wan's face in one strong hand, fixing him with his uncanny yellow gaze. Then he leaned in and kissed Obi-Wan, very gently, drew back, and whispered, "Well, then. Fuck me, Obi-Wan Kenobi? You're my only hope."

Only a hint of a smirk betrayed him.


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