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dathomirdumpsterfire · 3 months

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Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

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~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 19 ~

Never has he faced such a challenge as this, but, as a sith of his caliber, Maul could do nothing else besides rise to the occasion. As with any test of skill or resolve, this new challenge was merely a hurdle to be overcome. Failure was not an option.

That he was fighting the ocean and sky itself bore little significance in the matter.

He would fight. He would endure.

Heaving through his gills for more air, and dizzy from strain, the dragonfish sith swims deeper into the seas off the coast of Theed. Between his webbed, widespread fingers is a bubble of air, and inside that bubble of air is a loaf of bread.

Most of Maul's spoils from this latest venture to the surface were gathered in the appropriated cloth bag streaming behind him, hung from his shoulder.

The tea leaves he was able to find double sealed within a tin. Lemons too, contained in only their rind. The honey, in a rippled orb that had partially bent in on itself under the pressure, remained viable. There was a discarded tea pot in his… collections that would serve for production.

Maul even, even, had a block of butter tucked away in the bag, though the surface was bound to be extra salted by the time he made it, so to speak. He had everything necessary to keep his promise, and, nearly everything in place to secure the possibility of a repeat.

The loaf situation, however, was proving to be extremely vexing.

He swims slow, jaw clenched, and fights his way forward while holding steady the ball of low pressure air around bread sample number seven. Surrounding that orb, he holds a dome of force that keeps back the physical presence of the sea.

Darth Maul would bring ‘bread not drowned in salt water’ back to his caves. Not a dough ball, not a wet mess, and absolutely not nothing.

He would.

He does.

The sith lord has a trickle of blood running from his nose, but he makes it to his home and into the air pockets therein with one breadloaf, unwatered, and still relatively fluffed.

“...what in the blazes happened to you?” his prisoner mutters from the bed, hazy eyed and buried under sail cloth.

Maul licks the blood away from his upper lip, and carefully brings his hard won token over with him. He curls himself downward at the edge of the bed, still fixated on the object held suspended between his hands.

“Does-” he starts, struggling to speak and hold it at the same time, “flat bread count as bread?”

Slightly glassy blue eyes stare at him, then look at the floating carbohydrates, then squint a bit at him… it takes the sickened jedi a solid minute to put together what was happening.

Kenobi groans into the arm under his cheek. “Are you using the force to keep plain white bread from collapsing into a bloody pita due to atmospheric pressure, because you want another kiss? Is that what's happening here?”

Maul growls, forcing out, “answer. the. question.”

“You're bleeding,” the witless man comments.

“Jedi.”

With a beleaguered sigh, Kenobi capitulates. “Flatbread will do, good grief. Please stop.”

Carefully, Maul releases his hold on the density of molecules between his fingers, holding in a moan of relief. Perhaps he'd pushed himself a bit much, all things considered. He had not done such a technical working in the force since… before.

Maul lets the energy fall away from the rapidly condensing loaf, leaving it to settle while he instead focuses on reclaiming air and ignoring the tinnitus echoing around his skull. He slouches, forearms on the side of the bed to hold him up.

A hand lands on his head, cupping the side of it. The sith looks up to assess the threat, he has to, and stretches himself outward in the force…

...but the touch is light, and it's intention lighter still. The dragonfish sith can feel Kenobi’s exasperation and… and these other things he has no name for.

Fingers stroke the skin between his horns, and he droops.

The contrast between the strenuous effort to get here, and the warm greeting that welcomed him back… the dichotomy makes the welcome all the better.

Maul sloughs off the shoulder bag and pushes himself upward and closer until he's on the bed too. Though the sith is not sure he likes the squish of the mattress, he very much likes the pliant, sleep-warm jedi in the bed. All other factors could be disregarded.

“...bother,” Kenobi mumbles.

“I intend to, yes,” Maul agrees, lifting the sail cloth out of the way until he can get close enough to spoon the other man against his front.

The jedi doesn't even quibble about it.

Perhaps there is some merit to letting Kenobi get himself sick by being foolish, if this compliant lethargy was the result.

“You're cold,” the man complains.

“Then warm me up,” Maul suggests, smirking as he wipes stray blood off his face with the back of a wrist.

His prisoner makes an aggravated noise, “must you crowd me like this?”

Maul answers that question by running his hand down the front of the body he is curled around, finding that which he'd like to have, and cupping it.

Kenobi swallows with a click.

The dragonfish sith presses no further, settling in to rest right where he is for a while. Maul is… very tired from getting that bread down here.

Yes, he will take a moment to rest his eyes, indulge in… this.

Then, he will… get up and make…

the tea…

as promised…

He falls asleep without meaning to.

When next Maul opens his eyes, he's on his side, curled around the dwindling heat where his jedi should be.

The sith lifts his head looking for the missing presence. He doesn't have to look far. Kenobi has stolen back his clothing, and sits on the edge of the bed, fully dressed except boots. The dented pot Maul had thought to utilize sits over on the magma rock, balanced atop it and giving off a trace of steam.

A crunch sound comes from the other man.

The dragonfish sith perks up curiously, and drags himself over on his arms. He discovers that Kenobi has over-warmed bread like he over-cooks meat, and slathered it with butter. There he sits, looking off into the distance, nibbling his food and sipping on a cup of tea. Maul settles back down beside him.

“You are recovered?” he asks, feeling like perhaps he has not quite done so after fighting the seas.

“Well enough,” Kenobi replies, cuddling with the somewhat damaged but still functional teacup from the stacks.

Maul hums with self satisfaction. “Tea with honey and lemon, as promised. Bread not soaked in sea water, as agreed.”

“Not quite,” the jedi says with a soft laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks over, “limes are not the same thing as lemons.”

The sith makes a face. “The fruit is… wrong?”

Grrrrrr.

“The fruit is wrong,” Kenobi confirms, leaning over to kiss his brow, wiping the wrinkle from it.

Maul blinks, thoroughly confused.

…why is he being rewarded for failure?

“I will find these lemons on my next trip…” Maul stalls out for a moment, then overcomes his pride to ask, “...what is the difference? How are they identified?”

The jedi sighs, finishing off his toast and washing it down with the last of his tea. Then, Maul watches him set the cup down in favor of turning to face him.

“Maul… thank you, for the tea. It was hearting to have, even without the lemon.”

The dragonfish sith squints at the other man, suspicious. Something was… off.

“Yesss,” he agrees slowly.

“Now, we need to discuss- That is to say...” Kenobi sighs, “I really don't know how to approach this, so I suppose I shall just… out with it. You've been strangely accommodating thus far, despite- well.”

Maul rises up onto his palms from where he had settled down, suspicious and listening.

Watery blue eyes meet his, coming closer… closer… Kenobi's hand cups his jaw, so gentle it only raises his hackles more.

“I need a break from the pressure down here, please… if I give you my communication device, and swear to return here of my own volition, just as I relinquished my lightsaber, will you take me to the surface for a while? An afternoon perhaps?”

Maul hisses. Up? The jedi wants to go UP?

Does Kenobi think he is a fool?

“You will run,” the sith accuses, bearing his teeth.

Kenobi shakes his head. “I will not.”

“You will!” he shouts, “do not LIE TO ME!”

“I’ll not try to escape. Not even if master Yoda shows up with my padawan and the best ship in the fleet,” the jedi swears.

Maul snarls, and opens his mouth to begin berating Kenobi, but the man short circuits his rising anger by kissing him. Once, twice, these lingering taste tests that scatter his thoughts, and oh, it is warm and good… but…

The other man chases Maul as he tries to pull away, tries to hold onto his fury. Thrice he is kissed, and again, and on, until the dragonfish sith is on his back once more, the jedi leaned over him, a hand on either side of his head. Down they sink, until he can't see or focus on anything besides Kenobi Kenobi Kenobi…

The jedi tastes of tea and honey. Maul winds claws into beige and brown robes, torn between shoving him off and dragging him in. He gets dizzy quickly, being the focus of so much horrible affection. He… perhaps… makes a noise unbefitting a lord of the sith. Kenobi only gives an encouraging hum in return. Time wanders off, until Maul isn't sure what they were talking about anymore.

Of course, the jedi proceeds to ruin it by reminding him.

“Please, Darth Maul,” the man whispers to him, the cold tip of his nose dragging against Maul's cheek, “Take me up for a little while. I want fresh air and sun. I need a respite from the constant pressure.” Another kiss. “Please.” Another. “I won't leave.”

The sith wraps his arms around the jedi, and drags the man down underneath him. He is not shaking. He is not.

“I will not let you,” he snarls messily into Kenobi’s face. “You are my prisoner! This is my revenge!”

The jedi lays beneath him, compliant and unspeaking, just staring upward with a patient gaze.

He wants to say no, it is a risk, why should he take it? He wants to say yes, he knows it will earn more favor. He wants to claw this wrenched jedi to pieces. He wants to sink inside him and never leave.

“You… you will never leave,” is what finally tears itself from his throat.

“I will not run off if you take me to the surface,” Kenobi agrees mildly.

Maul hisses, and adds, “You will not try to send a message of any kind. You will not see or speak to anyone else. You will not hide from me, or- or-... you will not flee.”

“Yes, you have my word, on all of that, barring accidentally seeing someone else. I can't really control that, you know.”

People? If he saw another person? A lone, lost jedi... they would try to take him, wouldn't they? To save him.

Maul shakes his head, “no… no. You don't need to go, you don't need sun, you are-”

The jedi starts kissing him again, more softness in one go than he's gotten in his entire life, all the while whispering his arguments between them. Somewhere between fingers petting endless circles into his back where skin meets scales, and a pale neck bared willingly to his mouth, Maul loses the fight in a way that felt very similar to winning.

He takes Kenobi to the surface.

Maul does this, despite no small list of reservations, by sharing the air from his lungs and rising slowly through the sea to prevent diver's sickness.

When they surface, it is just after dawn. Maul deposits the jedi on the shore of an island that has all of five coconut trees, a few bushes, some reeds, a smattering of grass, and one large rock. Nothing else.

The dragonfish sith retreats, and begins to make slow, watchful laps of the island with only his eyes above the water line. There's nothing on the horizon in any direction, but surely the jedi can sense the energy that is all the organic life over on the continent where Theed lies. It will make no difference. At the first sign of ship or search, Maul has every intention of snapping up his prisoner and returning to the caves. Should a ship come by air, he will see it. The sky is mostly clear, with only a few scattered clouds, and few have the cloaking capacity of his own vessel.

The sith infiltrator is still his… even if he cannot remember how to fly it.

More importantly! Should a threat begin to approach on the water, he will-

Kenobi is shirtless.

Maul blinks, pulled out of his thoughts as he double takes. The morning sun is shining down on the jedi as he sits on the beach, eating a coconut and sun bathing in nothing but pants. In the bright light, he can make out these faint marks… freckles. They're called freckles, he remembers.

Kenobi is all thin waist and muscular shoulders, peach tones in the sunshine, covered in freckles, with all that soft, coppery hair...

The dragonfish sith continues lapping the little island, now primarily watching it's sole occupant.

After a while, Kenobi finishes his fruit, and starts running through saber forms. He goes slow, steady, posture relaxing as he moves about under the sun. Then, the jedi stretches out, bending and twisting, flipping and cartwheeling. After that, the he begins…

…picking reeds? Reeds. For what reason?

Maul slows, getting closer to the shore.

Yes, the jedi is gathering plants, selectively thinning but not killing any of the mother plants. Most he considers then keeps. Others are tossed away.

“What are you doing?” he eventually must ask.

Kenobi replies without stopping. “I'm going to make a basket, I think. If I can remember how. It's been a bit since I handmade something like this -since I was a child in the creche, actually- but I believe I remember the jist of it.

Maul scoffs, beaching himself to get closer. He takes a furtive look around, but seeing nothing of note, the sith rises up on his long black tail fin and sways closer.

“Why are you wasting time making a basket of all things?”

“Hmmm,” Kenobi replies, lifting a flimsier sample plant and then discarding it. “For the fun of it, I suppose? It's been a… trying week. I deserve a bit of pleasant time wasting.”

Maul crosses his arms, watching the idiot jedi gather an ever larger bundle of flexible greens. “This is what jedi crechelings waste their time on? Weaving? No wonder your order is so pathetic.”

Kenobi scoffs. “Didn't you do craft projects when you were younger? Make things to show your friends? Your master?”

The sith imagines making a basket and then presenting it to Sidious. His face scrunches up. “My master would have thrown me into the walls and then electrocuted me for wasting my time and his with baskets.”

The jedi stops his gathering to turn and look at him, his expression twisting with... something pained. Adjacent to pain.

Maul snorts in amusement. What a delightful face! “What need has a lord, of the skill to weave grass into a container?” he asks with a sneer.

“It's… not about need, ” the man offers, frowning.

“Hmph. My time was better spent learning how to survive the elements, to persevere through hunger and thirst…” The sith grins as a thought occurs to him, and he leans closer to taunt the other man. “...the self same things I do not expect of a soft jedi like you.”

Kenobi huffs, turning away. “I've known each of those, but because I chose to face them as a… older child. Mostly older. Jedi as whole learn what it is to do without… but not as a youngling.”

“Soft,” Maul accuses with that smug amusement still pulling on him.

“I rather think you like soft things,” Kenobi drawls, “you remark as such on my hair nearly every time you touch it.”

The dragonfish sith’s brows furrow. Does he have a predilection for soft things? Maul is still musing on this when the jedi finishes collecting his reeds, and finds a spot in the grass under the shade to sit down.

“Maul?” the other man calls, “... do you want to learn how to make a basket?”

to be continued next week...

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