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jenovahh · 4 years

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NSFW Comm 00 - OCxOC

With me opening commissions I’d figure I’d showcase one of my pieces I’ve written about my OC and a friend who wishes to remain anonymous’ OC (featuring the OC of another mutual friend). In terms of OCxOC work, here is what my writing looks like! NSFW - M/F, Heat Kink, Cunnilingus, Penetration ============================================================ A’yana had been acting...strangely...as of late.

Florentel had spent plenty of time around A’yana to know enough of her habits. They had seen enough of each other in the same circles enough to eventually form a bond of friendship. He had found A’yana charming in her own way, despite all the constant flirtation she had seen fit to lob at him. Eventually he returned it in kind, to where the two would often get dirty looks for their bawdy jokes, but it mattered little as it seemed to only strengthen their bond further. Though she was not incredibly expressive with her feelings, he could tell from her small gestures that she treasured his friendship greatly.

But bonds were always meant to be tested.

It was not uncommon for Florentel to stop by A’yana’s humble room within the home of her free company, taking naps together or simply enjoying each other’s presence. Florentel would often come to work on any crafts he had as A’yana would relax in her bed and draw or study, talking about any and everything to simply popping a roll into her miniature orchestrion and enjoying the music in silence.

It was on one of these visits, that Florentel had begun to notice the change.

While A’yana’s room had already fit her gentle personality, she was not one to fill it with an abundance of soft things. She preferred plants and other forms of life to fill her space, but upon entering he was surprised to find an increase in cushions and pillows.

“I just wanted something a bit soft around lately.” Was her answer when he questioned her about it. She had said it with so little hesitation, it never even crossed his mind to have the warning bell go off in his head.

“You smell really nice you know.” It was considered a high form of flattery (and in some circles, an expression of interest) to comment upon another Miqo’te’s scent. Florentel would be embarrassed to recall his face tinting pink as A’yana leaned into his neck, taking a deep breath, pressing her body onto him. It was not as if the two of them had never been physically close before, but coupled with her compliment, Florentel couldn’t help but feel a bit off guard.

“I mean really nice, Flor.” Her usual nickname for him is almost purred out so lowly it makes his tail frizz up and his ears press against his head. Her blue eyes betray nothing, her claws gently tugging at his shirt as she takes another deep breath. His nose catches her scent rolling off her chestnut skin, a muted sweetness he can’t quite place assaulting him. “Why the sudden uh...” he stammers, suddenly unable to look her in the eye.

“I know it’s a bit forward but,” Florentel practically freezes as she presses herself against him, letting him feel the weight of her body against his chest. “I thought you should know.” She grins, showing off perfectly pointed canines. Giving an insistent tug on his outer coat, she turns those doe eyes on him. “Can I keep your Ala Mhigan gown for awhile? Please?”

Florentel might’ve been able to deny her, were she not pressing against him so insistently. Friendly flirting was one thing, but it was another matter entirely to actually feel her body against his own. “Y-You know this is my favorite...” he grumbles, arms slowly coming to try and pry her off of him, to no avail.

“Just for a little while. I promise to give it back.” She begs, all but pressing her entire weight against him. Warning bells are sounding but Twelve above is Florentel having a hard time focusing.

“Okay, okay...” He sighs, slowly shrugging out of his beloved gown. He cracks a small smile at her look of joy as he hands it to her, her fingers greedily grasping the material while still making sure to not tear through it. She takes another whiff, sighing peacefully. “Thank you, Flor.”

“Its nothing...”

“It's definitely something.”

Florentel runs a hand through his hair as he watches his friend Nielle pour him a cup of tea. “Is it really?” He asks, watching as his friend pours their own cup.

“Well it's not like she was cold right?” Nielle asks, placing the teapot down gently. “And to my knowledge complimenting another’s scent is not just a casual remark in most Miqo’te circles.”

“You would be correct.” Florentel sighs, stirring his tea lazily. “She’s never done this before. She kept...pushing up against me to smell me,” Nielle perks up at that, flashing him a look.

“Do tell.” They prompt, a small smirk playing on their lips.

“Well she just kept...getting really close...and her room! It’s filled with so many plushies and pillows now! This is really out of character for her...” As lost as he feels, he feels even more so now as Nielle’s smirk grows even more pronounced. “What’s that look for?” He asks, and from Nielle’s grin, he can already tell he’s not going to like the answer.

“Oh nothing...that behavior is certainly strange.” They chuckle, making Florentel nearly growl in frustration. “I’m guessing you’re not going to enlighten me since clearly you know something?” He grounds out, running a hand through his hair.

“You would be correct.” Nielle answers, parroting his earlier reply. “I find it far more amusing to watch this play out. Let me know how it goes in a few days, won't you?”

A few days?

That phrase drifts through Florentel’s mind, making him pour over it for hours. As far as he knew, Nielle was not going anywhere that would keep him from seeing them for a few days...

Maybe he was overthinking things?

A good hunt would do the trick. He can already feel the crisp air of the Churning Mists clearing his mind, his hatchet heavy on his back as he looks for the elusive seventh heaven, in hopes of luring the hunt Gandarewa out of his hiding place.

With a practiced eye, he finds his usual spot, cursing as he sees a body already toiling away at it. Getting closer, he finds that head of purple hair unmistakable, A’yana’s blue eyes landing on him as he flies in closer. Before he can smile and wave in greeting, something else unmistakable hits him.

Her scent.

Carefully he lands, quickly sending his carbuncle away in a flash. “Flor!” She greets, all shiny teeth as he stands there, somewhat frozen in place. He watches as she takes one breath, her pupils dilating slightly as she moves toward him. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” Her voice is that low purr again, Florentel fighting for control as her scent seems so terribly thick in the area around the two of them. It’s a wonder she had even managed to make it out of her home in this state.

“Shouldn’t you be...A’yana, can’t you tell,” He finds himself taking steps backwards, trying to keep in mind that this is his friend. And while he certainly had no problem with intimate relations with friends that was to say, but a friend in heat is another thing entirely. “You’re not thinking straight! I should get you home,” He practically yelps as she tackles him to the ground.

How on earth did he get here?

A’yana is by no means aggressive, so to be tackled to the ground leaves Florentel in a daze. “A’yana, by the Twelve,” he grunts, using his strength to push her off of him. He lets out a slight yell as A’yana hangs tight, pulling him with her, leaving him hovering over her body. A’yana’s long legs come to wrap around his hips, pushing herself against him and Florentel hisses as she grinds herself along his length.

He had always suspected A’yana was a little minx, but hadn’t given enough thought to truly pursue anything sexual with her. She was his friend and the thought of her rejecting any advance of his had stayed his hand, even if he found himself occasionally a little curious.

“Flor.” His name on her lips threatens to undo him, her hips pressing so insistently to his own. He clenches his eyes shut, as if to block out that she’s there looking at him expectantly, shame washing through him at his inability to control himself. “Flor.” he hears again, biting hard on his lip as her arms slowly wind themselves into his hair, but they do not pull.

“Flor. Look at me.”

His eyes snap open, blue against blue. He gasps as he sees an iota of clarity in her eyes, a small smile on her dark lips. Her copper skin glistens in the sun, her amethyst tresses having fallen out of her face from their tumble. “It’s okay.” She murmurs, her hands slowly bringing his face down, their breath intermingling. He can see the need swimming in her eyes, that moment of clarity passing by in seconds as she presses his lips to hers, kissing him as fiercely as expected of her. She nips at his bottom lip, hungry, greedy, and he lets their tongues dance because he couldn’t find it in himself to deny her. The sigh she gives sends dormant instincts into what feels like overdrive, his hands finally latching onto her hips, claws pricking her skin.

His hands, rough and calloused, slide downwards to where her thighs are wrapped around his hips, grazing over the sliver of exposed skin before toying with the tops of her thigh high boots. Parting for a moment, he groans as A’yana continues to kiss and lap at his neck as he scans the area. It’s mostly devoid of any other creatures, and she’d blessedly picked a spot quite a ways from any Moogles or Dragons; he doesn’t think he could handle Hraesvaelgr catch him doing this.

As oddly shaped as the trees here are, they will provide suitable cover from any other stray adventurers that somehow make their way to this strange and mystical land. Gripping A’yana’s thighs, he manages to get himself to stand, her weight hanging off him as distracting as her attentions as he moves them closer to a nearby tree.

He all but falls to his knees with a well placed bite on his neck, her fangs just barely breaking skin. “Calm down,” he snarls, the sound turning into a moan as she gives kitten licks to the offended area. Her hands leave their place at his hair and drift down to his pants, carefully pulling them open just enough to get his cock free. A shudder rolls through him as her fingers wrap around him, her thumb smearing precum on the head. He’s frozen there for moments as she teases him, using his own wetness against him to slick his shaft, stroking with an unheard rhythm.

“You won’t hold back on me, will you Flor?” She teases, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. He’s helpless as she pushes him backwards, sending him practically sprawling as she climbs atop him. “Unless, you’d like for me to do everything myself...” Releasing his length, she stands above him, all legs and confidence as she quickly shimmies out of her shorts. The sight takes his breath away, seeing this more brazen side of A’yana. She’s never been afraid to speak her mind, but she always maintained a very demure air, matching that gentleness he had always associated with her.

But to have her standing above him, looking at him with those lust filled eyes, her sex glistening in the sun...

“Holy shit.” Florentel curses, lying still as she kicks her underthings to the side as well, not all shy about being entirely out in the open. He makes no moves of protest as she lowers herself on him, settling just over his exposed cock, teasing him with the heat of her sex. He’s enamored with the very sight of her, willing and wanting on top of him, giving him all of her focus. He doesn’t stop her as she crawls higher up his body until her arousal is right above his face, unable to ignore her potent scent when it’s so godsdamned close. His arms seem to move on their own as they reach to grab her thighs, pushing the boots down as best he can so he can grasp at her flesh. She needs no further instruction to lower herself on him, letting him get a taste of what she has to offer.

She’s as sweet as he had thought, her essence coating his tongue, her mewls music to his ears. Rational thought seems to be slipping away as her scent filled his senses, the instinct to please her in her time of need overriding everything else. He lets his tongue run over her slit, her needy moans spurring him on as she quivers atop him. Through his haze he can feel her lean back, reaching for his cock to take in her hand. He has no choice but to pause as a moan is pulled from him, his hips eagerly rising to meet her touch.

“Keep going,” she urges, wiggling her hips to get his attention back where it belongs. Pushing through the haze of pleasure he resumes his task, swirling his tongue around her clit. He can’t deny that he’s incredibly turned on from A’yana’s forwardness, how in the throes of passion she seems to be far more uninhibited. The thought makes him groan into her pussy, giving a suck on her clit that has his name falling from her lips in the most delicious way. His eyes fall closed as he surrenders to the feeling of her hand insistently tugging on his cock, his breath coming fast as his hips try so very hard to thrust into her hand. “I knew you’d be good at this Flor...” she hums, her voice breathless as she releases another loud moan. The fact that they are entirely in the open is now lost on him; he can’t think of anything else except for the satisfaction that awaits him.

Her cries increase as he finally figures out what she likes, her hand slowing its motion on his cock as her own pleasure takes over. He grips her thighs even tighter, his name falling from her lips even faster now, until her hand leaves his cock entirely and moves to grab his hair. “Oh, fuck,” she curses, panting with each lick of his tongue across her slit. He opens his eyes to see her head thrown back, mouth hanging open as she cries out into the open air.

He stops.

Her retribution is swift, her pupils narrowing into thin slits as they turn to him in pure frustration, her fangs bared as she opens her mouth to question him. He hardly gives her the time, carefully toppling them over to where she lays on her back, jarred from the sudden movement.

He wants to see.

He wants to see what she looks like coming undone. To see what the face of someone usually so quiet and reserved looks like as she absolutely gives herself over to pleasure. He’s loathe to deny himself any longer as well, the need to bury himself within her tearing him apart, to mark, to claim...

His control is but mere threads now, his hands parting her thighs so that he may settle between them. He’s suddenly far too hot, there’s not nearly enough skin against skin for his tastes. Shrugging out of his shirt, he tosses it carelessly to the side, basking in the sun warming his milky skin. His clawed hands reach for her shirt, impatiently pushing it upwards, pulling her brassiere down in one motion. Any foul words she had for him are forgotten as he takes her breasts in hand, feeling their weight, their softness. A’yana is back to mewling like a kitten, practically purring beneath his hands. He doesn’t think he’ll ever see her the same way again.

Sliding his hands downwards, he forces her boots down a little further, gripping her thighs in his hands as he pulls her closer still. He can hear himself panting, his body wound tight in anticipation as he finally takes himself in hand and slides against her opening. He moans long and low as the heat of her slicks his shaft, her juices coating him easily, letting him know how ready she is for him. “Flor,” she whines, reaching for his shoulders, pulling him down to her. “Inside,” she begs, arching her hips upward, fraying the fine threads of his control even further.

Done with waiting, he pushes in the head, a low groan rising up from his throat alongside her moan, allowing his hips to continue to press forward. Ilm by ilm does he feed himself into her, his cock hypersensitive in response to her scent, until he’s fully sheathed inside. A’yana’s hands wrap around his shoulders to clutch him to her, her full lips pressing soft kisses against his neck as she adjusts to his girth. He slowly pulls out, the tug feeling mind-numblingly good, his arms weak from the shots of pleasure racing up his spine.

He continues slowly for a moment, pushing himself up enough so that he can look at where they’re joined, watch how readily she accepts him, how her essence coats his length. The eroticism of it all threatens to undo him, a low rumble rolling through his chest as he sets a slow pace. “You feel...really good A’yana,” he manages to get out, turning to face her once more as she stares back up at him, a hand coming to cover her mouth in a moment of embarrassment.

Shifting his weight he takes her wrist in hand to pull it from her face, holding it tightly as she tries to struggle against him. “I want to hear you, A’yana.” he implores, but still she shakes her head, trying to wrench her wrist from his grasp. “It’s embarrassing,” she whimpers, her voice an absolute wreck. Where did this sudden shyness come from, where was the woman who had seemed so determined to get what she wanted?

Her other hand tries to cover her face but he grabs that too, pausing his thrusts to pin them on either side of her head. Her brows furrow in anger at him at his use of force but that quickly fades as he begins to thrust again, choosing a faster pace. “Flor, please,” She begs, but he only shakes his head, locking eyes with her.

“I said I want to hear you.” His voice is ragged, his tongue swiping over his lips as he takes in all of her. Leaning down, he takes her ear between his teeth and nibbles, the resulting cry coming from her loud and desperate, her body seizing around him. Her body grips him tight and he’s just barely able to stop himself from falling off that edge with her, quickly leaning back and shifting to twine their hands together to watch as ecstasy overtakes her.

Her mouth hangs open, the heels of her feet digging into his lower back almost painfully. He can feel her claws have broken skin but just barely, already able to feel the twinge of her marks upon him. She keeps whimpering his name in a way that’s almost pleading, as if to save her from the bliss he had put her through. He can’t help but smile affectionately, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to her temple. “Was that so bad?” he teases, earning nothing but a light whimper of protest from the Miqo’te beneath him.

Her bottom lip pokes out in a pout, her hands sliding to run across his chest, feeling the muscle beneath her fingertips. She runs her thumbs across his nipples, earning a light grunt from him, a twitch from his cock. His hips seem to move of their own accord, pulling out before thrusting back inside. “Not satisfied yet?” he growls, moving his hands to grip at her hips, aiding him in bringing her down harder onto him. She’s whimpering with each thrust, until she finally lets loose her moans, arching her back as pleasure takes over.

“H-Harder,”

His ears perk up, unsure if he heard her speak. Meeting her eyes, she still has that shy look, as if ashamed of her request. “Fuck me harder please,” she asks, gripping tight to his arms. Smirking, he pauses his thrusts, enjoying her growling. Using his strength he untangles her legs from around his hips, hooking them on his arms and pressing closer against her. He can feel himself reach deeper, his next words soft as he utters them. “All right. Harder.”

He starts off slow, steadily picking up speed. Eventually he reaches a brutal pace, fucking deeply into her wet cave. She’s practically wailing now, his hands releasing her knees to plant themselves on the ground, putting all his force into his hips. The sound of skin against skin is absolutely lewd, sounding loud in his ears even though they are still out in the open. He can no longer hold his own moans back, joining her in their shared pleasure. His claws dig into the ground below, resisting the urge to claim, claim, claim, to mark, to breed--

A Tia he may be, but the urge is still there. His head is thrown back, teeth clenched as he pounds into A’yana’s needy core, his head swimming in pure bliss as he pushes himself closer and closer to orgasm. “A’yana,” he moans, not resisting when she pulls him down for a kiss. Their tongues dance together just as their bodies do, A’yana giving a playful bite to his lip that makes him fuck impossibly harder.

He’s so close, he can feel it. “A’yana,” he moans once more, hissing as her claws drag down his back. “Come in me,” A’yana pleads, weakening his will to deny her. Had she done anything to make sure she wouldn’t become with child? Should he stop?

Any say he had in the matter was taken from him as her hands found his tail and stroked at the base, making him come with a strangled shout. “Ah, fuck,” he growls, giving a last few thrusts as he can feel the knot begin to form. With shaky hands he reaches for her clit, rubbing in circles as his lips find hers again, kissing fiercely until she finally comes, crying out his name into the crisp air. She’s boneless against him, moaning quietly as his body follows its course, shooting his seed inside her. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, groaning as the knot shows no sign of going away anytime soon.

Pulling himself from her hold, he sits up, staring at the sky. The sun had moved a bit more than he had thought... “A’yana.” he breathes, giving her a slight nudge. “A’yana.” He repeats, raising an eyebrow as a smile breaks out on her face.

“Thank you, Flor.” She sighs, finally opening her crystal blue eyes to meet his own. She seems entirely too pleased, the look of satisfaction doing nothing but bolstering his ego. “I’m sorry for being so careless.” She laughs, as if he is not buried inside her, filling her with his cum. Her smile is warm and welcoming, easing his doubts.

“So you really had no...” he drifts off, chuckling as she suddenly averts her eyes.

“No. It had snuck up on me...” She grumbles, finally looking at him again. “I’m sorry for putting you in such a position.” Shaking his head he offers her a small smile. “It’s all right. I can’t deny I had been a little curious...” he murmurs, eyes drifting across her form. She looks thoroughly debauched, not the neat, unassuming friend he knew.

“If that’s the case...” she whispers, face tinting red slightly. “Would you mind sticking around for the next few days?” she asks, her hands covering her face.

“Don’t get all shy on me now A’yana.” he growls playfully, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. “I’m no Nunh, but I think I’m up to the challenge.” He purrs, watching as her eyes fill with lust. “I’m always willing to help a friend in need-” his sentence is cut off by A’yana yanking him down for a kiss, wrapping her legs around his hips as his seed spills out of her. “A’yana we’re a mess,” he groans, even as he feels himself responding to her attentions. He’s hoping he can at least have some time to let others know that he’ll be busy for a few days...but that thought is pushed from his mind as A’yana grabs his attention, running her tongue across his skin. With a moan, he gives in, even as the sun falls lower and lower on the horizon.

---

A’yana is fast asleep in her bed, surrounded by her recent surplus of plushies. He’d given her his shirt to keep her asleep, finally able to wrench himself free of her demands after several hours. It wasn’t his first time dealing with a Miqo’te in heat, but it certainly didn’t make the demands on his body any easier, no matter how good it felt. And it was only the first day after he had managed to calm her enough to get her home...

Closing the door gently behind him he strolls through the mansion to step outside for some fresh air, basking in the sun’s warm glow. The chiming of the nearby mooglebox grabs his attention, running through his head at who could’ve possibly sent him a letter.

Opening it, he quickly tears through the letter inside, immediately groaning at the handwriting he recognized.

Dear Florentel,

If you’re reading this, I presume you’re quite busy keeping A’yana happy. I’ve made sure to let anyone important know that you’re otherwise occupied for a few days. You two have fun!

Love,

Nielle

Dragging his hand down his face he crumples the paper up. He supposes he should thank them...

But for now, it seems best to recharge. A’yana at least has excellent taste in plushies, and he’s been told he cuddles well. Stepping back inside, he smiles at her still sleeping form, climbing into bed beside her. It’s a bit crowded, but he doesn’t mind the closeness as he allows his eyes to fall closed and sleep to claim him.

#my writings #FFXIV #ff14 #Smut #Final Fantasy XIV

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sl-walker · 6 years

Note

How about that moment in GoT: Alderaan when Obi-Wan gets comfortable enough (or distracted enough) to flirt back at Maul?

Later, Obi-Wan would reflect that the champagne must have been at fault.

According to Breha, Maul used to dress extravagantly for parties all of the time, first on the Estate of House Organa and then in the palace as a member of the royal family; apparently, he once had a small cadre of fans who sought invites just to see what he was wearing.

When Breha showed him some of the holos, Obi-Wan could definitely see why. Instead of the blue and silver he wore to most formal events these days, sedate and stately, Maul would unabashedly make use of his own coloration and build to wear clothing that seemed tailored to draw every eye in the room and then keep that attention until he no longer wanted it. None of it was scandalous (except perhaps the time he was wearing little more than a sheer scarf and some foliage, of all things!), but it was–

Well, undeniably playing to his sex appeal. Clothes cut to frame his strong shoulders and lean waist, ample use of black and red and gold and sometimes deep blue or even a dark green or violet. Bold colors and bold use of the colors, though no matter how elaborate the dress, it was all tailored to highlight the zabrak’s natural good looks. Combined with the painted horns and the eye-liner and sometimes other makeup, and with the studs in his ears, and Obi-Wan could see why people would try hard to get invited to parties just to get an eyeful.

Obi-Wan had only seen him dress in a similar fashion twice since moving here, though, and even then, it was not quite to those levels. And aside the tango with the Corellian, Maul didn’t seem to seek out any notice.

“I asked him to dress for me both times,” Breha said, mouth bowing a little in something readily recognizable as sorrow. “It’s– been a long time since he’s done so of his own accord.”

Obi-Wan had been here for many months now, long enough to know some of the trials this family had been through. And enough to recognize that so many of these little losses they suffered were all related to one another.

It surprised him that he could feel his own pang of sorrow over something as innocuous as someone else’s mode of dress, of all things. But then again, everything about Maul was unlikely and Obi-Wan had made some tentative peace awhile ago that he might never solve that mystery in full.

(Oh, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to. Oh, he was in so much trouble.)

House Organa had drawn him in, gracefully and kindly, and it still boggled the Jedi often that he had allowed it. It started with little gestures of inclusion, but eventually the process had gained a momentum of its own, and the walls fell slowly but steadily. Absent his one early mistake – as awful as that was – where he had gotten caught mid-comm to Master Windu, seeking information about Maul, he had been steadily brought into their trust.

(He never, ever wanted to see that wounded, betrayed look aimed at him again; Obi-Wan couldn’t have felt worse about it if he had dropkicked a felinx kit, after setting it on fire for good measure. Maul was angry with him after, rightfully, but not anywhere as much as he was hurt by it, and Obi-Wan discovered swiftly that he would rather jump in front of a sniper’s bolt himself if it would prevent him from doing that again.)

But thanks to his own willingness to earn back the trust he had damaged and the way that had served as a wake-up call that he had better relearn how to interact with other living beings in more normal ways than as a drifting, desperate and heartsick wanderer without any tact, he had been forgiven and life continued. He developed a fairly deep friendship with Bail and Breha, and a solid one with Mazi, and a– considerably more complicated relationship with Maul, though one Obi-Wan treasured.

As such, though, he no longer had to try to understand things from hints and context and could ask outright about them, and so he asked Bail.

He could tell that it was a painful enough subject, by the way Bail’s gaze slid away and how his jaw knotted, even as he forced a mirthless, tight smile. “He– wasn’t ever dressing for the audience, Obi-Wan. I mean, he definitely had their attention, but he was dressing for me, and later for Bre, too. He knew I liked to look, and I think he knew I liked to feel smug about the fact that it was always my arms he’d come back to, and so he started dressing like that. And we all sort of– stopped everything. After– after Bre lost the first baby. I think that was just the period of mourning, though.”

It was still incredibly hard for any of the members of House Organa to talk about the two miscarriages. Breha would hesitate and then do so matter-of-factly, when the topic came up, which was her way of facing it; Bail had learned to only after many therapy sessions, and even now, it was clear that it was a struggle for him to put words to his loss and grief.

And Maul never spoke of it, though there had been times Obi-Wan was sure he was thinking of it, if his expression and the occasional bleed of emotions through his shielding was any indicator.

“It was the second that– broke things. I mean, you know a lot of that, but–” Bail’s shoulders jerked in a painful-looking shrug. “I got it into my head that if I just found the right combination of actions, I could fix things. I could give them back what they lost, somehow. Except, I was– I was so busy trying to twist things back to right and true, that I missed out on the fact that all they wanted, all they really needed, was me. Not me– not me strong or unhurt or whatever, not me fixing things. Just me there, to share this loss with. Bre’s pretty resilient, I think everyone would have ended up shattered if she weren’t. Maul, though–”

There was a beat, and Bail closed his eyes. “You know, he was a ghost when he came to Alderaan. He didn’t speak for months, no one even knew what his voice sounded like. The best I could ever get out of him was eye-contact, and even that was pretty rare. He’d just eat what was put in front of him, wear what was handed to him, and he’d pace the grounds of the Estate all night long, sometimes, and other times he’d just sit in his room until someone came to get him like– like it never even crossed his mind that the door was open, he could walk through it whenever he wanted. He always seemed to be waiting for the next awful thing to happen to him. He was really quiet even after he did start engaging, too, it wasn’t until he was about eighteen that he started interacting with people anything like normally. Everyone thought he was really shy. I’d rescue him from well-meaning conversationalists regularly.”

It was hard to imagine Maul in that state, though there was the undeniable ring of truth in Bail’s words, if only because even hurt as he was (and seemed to still be) over more recent events, he had still been gracious to Obi-Wan and anyone else who approached him.

“He didn’t start getting genuinely social in any recognizable sense of the word until he and I were together, not long after he turned twenty, and I don’t doubt it was mostly because he wanted to keep up with me, and then he figured out that I liked looking at him. And that was when he started dressing up; the first time he did it, I ended up looking like an idiot, I spilled my wine, I left the table early, the whole spectacle, and then he came sauntering into my bedroom – really, our bedroom – and teased me about it. And it just became kind of a thing after that. He’d go all-out, I’d lust after him– so would half our guests or more, too – and he’d have fun with it. Just– mischief. He’d go out there and have all these people who wanted him, and he’d eye me from wherever he was in the room sometimes and I’d have to try to choke down a laugh because he was beautiful like that, that kind of playful. I never doubted for a second that it was pretty much for my benefit. And after he and Bre stepped across the line from being friends to being lovers, he’d dress up to get her attention, too.”

Bail paused there, resting his face in his hands for a long moment; his breath was a little short and ragged before he finally said, “I think after– this, he stopped feeling like he was worth looking at. I think in the worst parts, he just kind of accepted that he wasn’t worth loving anymore, too; he tried so hard, to just–” His breath went more jagged. “–to protect us and love us anyway, and I didn’t even really see how alone he had been those months, and it took him almost dying in my arms for me to get it, and–”

It was a rare thing, when Obi-Wan felt the urge to reach out to someone else, let alone so much as this. But the sight and sound of Bail Organa falling apart was more than enough to provoke it.

He wrapped his arms around the man, and rested a bearded cheek against Bail’s hair, and ached for all of them.

Queen Breha didn’t quite have the same socialite appetites that Queen Mazi had; she still hosted regular events, just not quite as regular. Still, Obi-Wan had gone to plenty of them now anyway; he even had his own formal-wear these days, though it was certainly more subdued. Typically, he wore a long belted tunic and trousers, his only real concession to finery the very lovely boots that Breha had commissioned for him.

“They’re good dancing boots,” she said, when he tried them on, red-faced and touched and still trying to get used to being something of a kept Jedi.

They took a little breaking in, but once he got used to them, he occasionally danced with the queen during parties; Maul was still her regular dance partner, and sometimes Bail for slower numbers, but neither of her gentlemen seemed to mind Obi-Wan taking a round or two.

He would heartily deny that it was his prior questions and the heartaching answers that had him blushingly ask the royal tailor to perhaps come up with something a little fancier to wear. (The fact that the tailor’s face lit up as if he had been given a fine gift didn’t help Obi-Wan’s complexion any.)

That was how he found himself standing in front of a mirror, wondering who the nobleman staring back at him was. He still looked himself, but– so very different, too. It was nearly enough to make him strip and hide the clothes in the closet, just because they were such a far cry from the simple tunics and robes of a Jedi.

Done in varying shades of soft, warm-toned blue to cool-violet, like the sky in twilight, and with rose-gold accents, the doublet was in a similar style that used to flatter Maul when he would dress that way; the delicate winding flowers and vines that wove over it in thin, almost transparent shimmering thread were only visible from certain angles, giving them an almost ethereal appearance. His dark violet leggings vanished into his dark brown boots, and the belt under the doublet was matched to those, with a hook he could clip his lightsaber on. Over his shoulder was the half-cape that was the typical accessory for most Alderaanian males in a party setting, a likewise dark violet and edged with the same rose gold.

Combined with his neatly trimmed beard and nearly trimmed hair, and he looked almost as if he had been born on this world into such fineness, some lost son returning to it.

He wavered back and forth on going dressed like this to the small gala; one moment wanting to write the whole idea off, and the next determining that he was going to go regardless of his nerves. He didn’t finally manage to summon the nerve entirely until after it had already started, though.

He slipped in through the door, and flushed some at the double-take by the page who opened the door, and hugged the wall until he managed to get three flutes of champagne off of a waiter, all three of which he knocked back in succession. The waiter didn’t even leave; he just stood there, eyebrow raised, as Obi-Wan set the emptied flutes back on the tray.

Once he was gone, Obi-Wan bounced on his toes once, blowing out a breath, and then walked with steady self-assurance (however real or not it was) towards where the royals were seated in their usual spot.

It was Breha who spotted him first; her eyebrows shot up and she leaned back some in her seat, eying him over. As if that wasn’t enough to make him blush, Bail’s attention soon followed and then he had both rulers of an entire world looking at him appreciatively. And there was no denying that it was appreciative. Obi-Wan hoped his red face didn’t take too much away from the effect.

Flattered though he was – and he definitely was – it wasn’t their reaction he was after.

It was the absolutely bemused, amused, curious look Maul gave him that he wanted. The baffled little grin, lopsided and (Obi-Wan kicked himself mentally) adorable.

With some champagne warming his belly – it was only the champagne, he’d deny anything else – Obi-Wan wound his way over there, only peripherally aware that everyone he passed close by fell quiet to watch him. When he got there, he gave the royal couple the customary bow, then offered his own grin, which he knew was sheepish. “Queen Breha, Prince Bail. Could I borrow Lord Maul for a dance?”

“Oh, by all means, Master Jedi,” Breha answered, her jazz-singer voice just the right mix between humored and sultry. “If he agrees, of course.”

“I’ll admit to being curious enough to see how this goes,” Maul said, rising to his feet with the ridiculous amount of grace he seemed to have been born with. He looked Obi-Wan up and down, brows up. “My compliments to your tailor, Master Jedi.”

“He’s your tailor, too.” Just because he didn’t want to go half-measures, he offered his hand palm-up, as he’d seen others do, and grinned back when Maul huffed a laugh at him before giving his hand over. Contrast to Obi-Wan’s flashy ensemble, he was just in House Organa’s calm colors, all solids and silver trim; somehow, Obi-Wan still felt a little outshone, and not in any bad way.

He forwent the knuckle-brushing kiss he wanted to give – no sense laying it on too thick, too fast, though honestly he probably already was doing so – but he definitely didn’t let go of Maul’s hand even when they made it out onto the dance floor, only shifted his grip on it.

All the while, Maul just looked that same good-natured bemused, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what the game was, but was entertained enough by it to follow along and see how it went. Obi-Wan had no doubt that Breha had signaled the band for the piece that followed, which would work with one of the relatively few dances Obi-Wan knew and which also happened to be rather– close.

It was only when he got his hand on the small of Maul’s back and drew him in close that he thought perhaps Maul was starting to get the tenor of this. It was definitely, emphatically the champagne and not the doe-eyed look he gave Obi-Wan that had Obi-Wan’s belly heat yet further.

“What’s gotten into you?” Maul asked, after a moment of apparently regaining his composure, though he never missed a step and didn’t seem offended by it so much as confused.

Obi-Wan firmly clamped down on the extremely wrong and uncouth quip that wanted to leap out of his mouth at that question, swallowing down hard and making an effort to keep his voice light. “Oh. Well, I was undeniably jealous that Faygan got to dance with you, and I hadn’t yet. I figured I should take the opportunity to remedy that.”

Maul drew his head to the side and gave Obi-Wan a skeptical look, though it was tempered by his continued amusement. “Jealousy’s not a very Jedi-like trait.”

“Hence why I had to remedy it. Clearly,” Obi-Wan teased back, glad the steps were simple enough that he was able to– well, flirt, and not step on Maul’s toes in the process.

Maul gave a considered hum, then asked, “And the tailoring?”

That was a little harder to answer blithely, though Obi-Wan didn’t want to make it too heavy, either. “It’s rather hard to outshine you, you know. Nor do I have any desire to,” he said, close enough that he was practically murmuring it right into Maul’s ear, close enough he had to be careful not to get a temple horn dug into his cheekbone. “But I figured the least I could do is put forth the effort you deserve.”

He didn’t imagine the shiver he got back at that. Nor the way Maul’s arm twitched around his shoulder.

Nor the vague, rough edge on the zabrak’s usually smooth voice. “Just for a dance?”

“I hope not the only one.” Whatever trouble he was in, Obi-Wan meant that; he projected as much warmth and reassurance as he could, firmly shoving all thoughts of complications out of his mind for the moment. “Maybe you can teach me the harder ones that you and Queen Breha dance.”

Maul’s answer was long in coming, and around the very edges of his shielding, there were hints of nervousness and less identifiable things bleeding over, but there was a tentative return of the warmth, too. “Maybe,” he finally agreed, and said nothing more.

But when the dance ended, he rested his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder for a moment beyond it, before drawing away to go back to the others.

The weight of it there followed Obi-Wan for the rest of the night.

#shadowmaat #kenobi #breha #bail #maul #game of thrones: alderaan #ANGST #AND DANCING #AND FLUFF #AND OBI-WAN BEING DEAD SEXY #AND EVEN SOMETIMES SMOOTH

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