Chapter Text
“I'll be gone for a few days, master. Do you need anything before I go?” Obi-Wan asks.
Qui-Gon turns away from the plants he's pruning, blinking owlishly. “Where are you going?”
“To see a friend of mine,” he answers, “but they were hoping for an escort of sorts on a little trip they're taking, so I'll be away for a few days with them.”
His master smiles, holding up a purple leaved cutting. “That's kind of you Obi-Wan. Does your friend like plants?”
He laughs, “Oh yes, an avid gardener, I'm afraid. I gave them one of your nubian ringlets, and last I saw it was taking over a wall, inch by inch.”
Qui-Gon grins, setting his clippers and the trimming down. “A gardener you say? Are you going to introduce me?”
Obi-Wan snorts, imagining that meeting. “I would, if he wasn't, ah... terribly shy. I'll ask if he'd mind a visit, but I wouldn't get your hopes up master.”
Qui-Gon nods, wandering towards another section of plants. “Oh well, wait just a moment before you go. I have a heuchera that would like a new home.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head fondly, “Sending a bribe?”
The other man turns around, a small, autumn-leaved plant in hand. He makes an innocent face, offering it out. “A bribe? Why Obi-Wan, we're jedi. We would never do such a thing.”
Says the man that taught him how to bribe, double deal, cheat at cards, and misdirect in conversation.
He keeps a straight face by a small margin of success, and accepts the vivid hued tribute in it's ceramic pot. “Of course, master.”
Qui-Gon pats him on the shoulder, and turns back to his plants. “Tell your friend I said hello.”
“I will,” he says, resettling the satchel on his shoulder and heading for the door.
The weight of the bag, with the supplies for a multi-day trip down into the forbidden levels of Coruscant, hangs heavy on his arm. It pulls on his neck, exacerbating the faint headache that lingers in his head, despite a good night's sleep and a healthy breakfast.
He goes from home to the temple gates, to a randomly selected elevator, from elevator to tram, from tram to a second elevator, and on, and on. Obi-Wan journeys across Coruscant and down into the levels with an eye for using a different, circuitous path… now that he knows just how dangerous a trail to Maul could be.
When at last he steps through the scrap metal gate on level 1212, it feels… indescribable. The energy of the place, the strange stone house tucked away amid the metal buildings…
Obi-Wan sighs happily and wanders up the too-long path.
The seer is in his pagoda, smoking something in a pipe that smells of cloves, while incense burns with a rich, woodsy scent. He knocks on the wooden doorframe, calling Maul's attention upward from a scattering of tarot cards.
“You're early,” the man says, but gestures him forward.
He steps in, setting his bag to the side as he moves toward the visitor's side of the table. “Am I? I suppose I could go see your lovely neighbors if-”
He cuts off when the fortune teller’s force energy rises up like a deep sea creature, bullying him to the other side of the table before he can sit down. Obi-Wan laughs as he lands on his ass in the cushions, more concerned with balancing the plant in his hands than himself.
"Maul!"
He isn't even settled when the man sets his pipe down and drags him in, eyes glowing like coals as their lips crash together.
“Mnh!” Obi-Wan complains, but it melts away in favor of something more drawn out when the zabrak kisses like he's been starved for it.
The plant is moved from his lap, and he is crawled onto, straddled, and borne down into the cushions in a dizzying rush.
That feathery connection rises up between them, soft and easy, barely present. Maul steals his way inside of Obi-Wan's mouth with his tongue, lapping ever so slowly at the topography therein.
The jedi lays hands on the broad chest that weighs him down, fingers tangling in the bead strings that encircle the seer's throat.
When he's hard enough to tent his pants and nearly horny enough to beg, the fortune teller finally pulls back. Maul looks at him, expression placid like he hadn't done a blasted thing at all just now. “Hnn.”
Obi-Wan laughs, running his fingers up the black-stained sides of the seer's neck, rubbing his thumbs over those tattooed cheeks. “Hello to you too. Miss me?”
“Perhaps.”
“I missed you too,” the jedi responds smugly.
“Hnn,” Maul merely responds, avoiding the rest of the conversation by delving his nose into that spot behind Obi-Wan's ear.
The jedi's smile turns soft as he wraps his arms around the other man, holding him close and sighing expansively. He's really quite comfortable here, despite the extra difficulty breathing due to the several hundred pounds of muscle lounging on him.
One of Maul's hands finds it's way into his hair, nails scratching softly on his scalp, threads running smooth between fingers. “What is the plant for?”
“Mnnnnnnn,” he offers in response to the pleasant touch. “Master Qui-Gon sent it for you. I told him I was going to be gone a few days to visit my friend who gardens, and he sent it as a bribe.”
“A bribe?” the seer asks in confusion.
“Mnhm. He wants to see your garden.”
“No.”
Obi-Wan chuckles, turning to press a kiss to the shell of his ear. “That's what I told him you'd say, but, I'm quite certain he's just happy to know there are other gardeners. It's out of fashion on the surface right now.
Maul chuffs dismissively. “To be so removed from nature is to lose one's connection to the living force.”
“Oh no,” he mourns sarcastically, “I really can never let you two meet. I wouldn't be able to get away from the philosophical discussions about the living force anywhere I go.”
“All is well then. I have no desire to know a jedi master,” the seer says with a hint of disdain.
“You do realize that I am going to be a master at some point, yes? Are you going to abandon me when I earn my rank?” Obi-Wan gripes with a pout.
“... no.”
Oh, how… how… unexpectedly… reassuring that one word is.
Obi-Wan draws Maul's face to his, turning him so that he can show his appreciation for the loyalty with teeth and tongue. The other man accepts and returns the effort, one hand coming up to lightly grip at his throat.
The grip tightens just a little, and Obi-Wan makes a noise that, perhaps to some, doesn't match the act.
Maul draws back to look at him, squinting.
It makes the jedi blush like a strawberry, if the heat in his cheeks is anything to go by. “What? Don't look at me like that. I'm a man of many tastes.”
“So you are,” Maul murmurs, a blunt claw stroking the skin of his neck. “So am I,” the man adds, dipping down to catch his mouth.
The fortune teller steals his breath in little increments, in more ways than one, until he's all but rutting up against him.
He goes under, a playful hand on his neck and feathers burying his senses. Obi-Wan gets lost in sensation, coming, at some point, but he couldn't tell you the specifics. Hips grind against his, and teeth claim his pulse point, and he moans in welcome at all of it. Reality melts away in favor of a delirious need to give all of himself to the seer.
Bliss. Such bliss.
Obi-Wan comes back around to the seer nuzzling him, lazy and affectionate about it.
“Stars above and stones below,” he whispers. “You're good to me.”
“Mnh,” Maul agrees, sounding mellow enough to sleep as he drips energy back into Obi-Wan.
They lay like this, useless and quiet, trading trickles of energy until a voice breaks the still air.
“Hello? Mister Fortune Teller Sir?” calls a sweet, effeminate lilt from outside the pagoda.
Maul growls.
Obi-Wan starts snickering, lethargically rolling them aside and pushing both zabrak and feathers away. He sits up at the table, straightening his tunics. “Come in!”
Mister Fortune Teller makes a face like he'd just bitten into a lemon.
By the time the twi'lek peeks into the enclosed space, cautiously stepping inside, Obi-Wan is sitting prim and proper. All evidence of his current state of mild, lingering arousal is hidden under the table. Maul sits beside him, barely mastering his ferocious glower.
The woman looks between them, uncertain.
Obi-Wan elbows the unspeaking seer while giving the visitor an effortlessly polite smile. “Have a seat, my dear, go on. What’ve you come looking for?”
“Well, I, um. I'm trying to get a job?” she starts, fidgeting with her green lekku after taking a seat across the low table.
Obi-Wan nods very seriously, toning down his mirth. Or, more accurately, hiding it. “A job? How enterprising of you! What kind of job?”
The twi'lek clears her throat and looks away. “Uhm. A mechanic. I'm pretty good, but there's a lot of competition for the spot… and it'll pay really, really well! I've got an interview for it next week and I'm…”
Beside him, the seer leans forward, setting his elbows on the table, linking his fingers under his chin.
“Well I'm terrible at interviews,” the woman admits.
“Tsk, yes I understand, terrible things, aren't they?” he says, thinking of the last time the jedi council had called him before their august members to try and explain what had gone wrong on a mission… while Qui-Gon was still asleep in the halls of healing.
Yes, interviews were terrible things. Best avoided.
The visitor nods miserably. “I was hoping for advice on what I should do? Say? And the baker down the street told me about this place…” She shrugs. “I figured it was worth a try.”
Obi-Wan smiles, reaching over to pat Maul's shoulder. “Not to worry, my friend here is a deft touch at reading the strings of fate.”
He turns toward the seer, finding those bright yellow eyes fixed on him instead of the client.
“Well, Mister Fortune Teller? Can you help the lady?” he asks cheerfully.
“Hnn,” Maul replies, gaze sliding over toward the twi'lek as he begins removing his gloves, one finger at a time. “There is a price to be paid. You were warned?”
The woman nods, a little wary, but reaches out to put her hands in the fortune teller's offered grip.
Being on the outside looking in was a strange experience. Obi-Wan can feel the feathers rise, and, flatteringly, he can feel them strain towards him… but Maul corrals the threads, forward and down. The vitality of the woman flares when the connection takes hold, like a panicking creature trying to escape a trap.
She must be quite nervous.
In contrast, the woman's expression goes lax and soft, her eyes unfocused. "Oh..."
Obi-Wan feels, though he cannot see , the twi'lek’s life force trailing away from her into Maul. There's a movement in the force then, complex and vast, but very minute in the grand scheme of things. The tiniest fluctuation.
It only takes perhaps ten minutes or so for the reading to end.
‘Hmmm,’ he thinks curiously. ‘I don't think it's ever been that quick for any of my requests.’
The seer releases her hands, drawing away to his side of the table. “The barabel that is going to interview you will appear fierce. They are not. Speak to them softly, show no fear of their face or voice, and you will be chosen.”
The twi'lek blinks at them, seeming a little dazed. “Speak to them… softly?”
“Yes,” the fortune teller confirms. “Now go, and do not forget about your last errand of the day.”
“Oh!” she says, perking up as the feathers fade. “Thank you for reminding me! Wait… how did you-” she pauses to yawn, “-know that… oh. Wow. You're like, the real deal? Wow, I just. Okay thank you!”
Obi-Wan finds her excited prattling charming, but even more entertaining is the flat expression Maul watches her with. To anyone else, the crimson zabrak in the dark cowl might seem menacing, indecipherable…
…but he can practically feel the man wishing the woman would just hurry up and leave .
The twi'lek gets to her feet, a little bit unsteady, but beaming. “Ooh… I'm going to go home and take a nap. Um. Thank you so much. Are there… credits? Should I pay you?”
“Mno,” Maul tells her drolly.
“Well okay, that's great, um.” She waves, and wanders for the opening back out into the green.
When the visitor is far enough away Obi-Wan turns to the seer with a grin. “Well that was interesting.”
Maul’s head tilts up, an imperious look on his face as he seems to inspect Obi-Wan for a moment. “That went much faster than usual. Perhaps I will keep you on.”
“Oh? Making me your secretary are we?” he teases.
“Mnh, I may just. They usually take another half hour to circle around to the point,” the man replies with a faint air of amusement.
“I wonder why?” Obi-Wan says thoughtfully.
“Perhaps it is because I cannot be bothered to maneuver them into flatly stating their desires, rather than behaving like children that need to be led around by the hand.”
Obi-Wan snorts, reaching for the tea pot, which lies empty and waiting on one of the shelves. “So what you're saying is my real talent here is asking good questions?”
“... no,” the seer replies, “you are atrocious at asking good questions, but, you are… amicable.”
He hums, poking around in the box of tea leaf options. “Everyone is amicable compared to you when you're in a mood, darling.”
Maul leans in, sweetly, like he's about to kiss… and instead bites him on the chin.
“Ow, hey!"