Summary: Maul intends to train the reader, but is shocked to be pleasently surprised by how the combat enfolds.
Warning: Nothing? Softness? Maul getting treated well? (Shocking) A little heat.
A/N: This is from a story i've nearly finished now. I don't think anyone is interested in Kenobi/Maul/Prequels stuff anymore but here i am writing nontheless.
Reader/Oc is Darth Viscer, a Sith Lord who has helped Maul back on his feet and in exchange takes lessons from him since Sideous is to busy manipulating the Galaxy to care for his apprentice.
Maul sat, thinking deeply.
Thinking about when all of this had started.
How it had gotten this opressing, this intense.
He simply meant to train her.
He didn't meant for this.
When had he first begun to want her? To truly desire to call her his and his alone?
The memory surged forward with unrelenting clarity, a vivid reminder of the day she had made him feel utterly undone.
They had trained in hand-to-hand combat that day, as they often did. She was not particularly skilled in this area - it had always been one of her weaker points, and Maul approached it with a brutal honesty that left no room for indulgence. His strikes were precise, his movements calculated. He was relentless, expecting her to rise to meet him with the same unyielding tenacity. She had never won before, not once.
But that day was different.
She had arrived in her usual training attire, but as they stepped into the sparring circle, she did something subtle yet intentional. With a graceful movement, she removed the outer layer of her robes, revealing a more fitted underlayer that accentuated her form. It was practical, perhaps even necessary for ease of movement, but the way she did it, unhurried, deliberate …it made him falter for the briefest moment.
As the soft silken fabric glided off her body she looked only at the ground while his gaze was on the graceful lines of her form, on the interplay of light and shadow dancing over her skin.
Focus, he told himself, clenching his jaw as the delicate fabric slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. His gaze betrayed him, lingering where it shouldn’t.
He could feel the heat rising, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
He inhaled sharply, forcing his gaze upward, meeting her eyes for only a moment. She wasn’t even looking at him, her focus seemed fixed on the ground, oblivious to the chaos she stirred in him.
Or perhaps not. She had a way of knowing things, of seeing through him in ways no one else could.
This is nothing, he lied to himself as they moved to begin. Right now, She’s nothing more than an opponent.
A distraction. That’s all this is. A dangerous, maddening distraction.
He shook it off, dismissing the distraction as an aberration.
They began.
Her strikes were more fluid than usual, her movements sharper, and her gaze… It was her gaze that unsettled him. Those soft, knowing eyes met his with an intensity that wasn’t born of aggression but something far more disarming. She would lock onto him, her expression almost serene, and it threw him off balance in a way he couldn’t explain.
“You seem tense, my Lord.” she murmured as she dodged one of his attacks, her voice calm, almost teasing.
“Tense.” He nearly growled aloud at the word, his jaw tightening. Of course I’m tense. You’re the cause of it.
Her compliments landed like carefully aimed blows, throwing off his rhythm in ways no opponent ever had.
She’s distracting you. Focus on her movements, not her words. Stop letting her get in your head.
He growled in response, lunging again, only for her to sidestep with a fluidity that seemed more deliberate than instinctual.
“Your form is perfect,” she said, her voice lilting as if they were engaged in casual conversation rather than combat. “Always a pleasure to watch you…”
Her words dug into his focus, peeling it away piece by piece. He pressed on, determined to outmaneuver her, but she countered each of his moves with a grace that seemed almost effortless. Then she smiled. It wasn’t mocking or triumphant: it was soft, warm, and utterly devastating.
Each of his strikes was calculated, precise, yet somehow, she managed to slip away with the ease of smoke curling through fingers.
“You’re fast, today” Maul muttered, circling her like a predator.
“Why thank you, my Lord,” she teased, her voice honeyed with mock sweetness. “And you’re... determined, as ever.”
A glimmer of irritation crossed his face. “Determined to see you focus, Viscer.”
She ducked under a low swing, her steps light and graceful.
Maul growled low in his throat, thrusting forward with a series of rapid jabs. This time, she moved closer instead of retreating, forcing him to pivot sharply. Her smaller frame twisted under his arm, her eyes catching his with a mischievous spark.
She was not attacking at all.
Simply avoiding him.
“What did I tell you about fleeing all the time?”, he snarled angrily, leaving his tense position for but a second, “How do you expect to win against me if you don’t attack? Want me to fall over from exhaustion?”
She only smiled at this, not at all taking him all too seriously before that smile was quickly washed away. He threw a kick that would have damn well knocked her out had she not moved in the last possible second.
“Careful, Maul. You wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?” she purred, stepping just out of reach again, never breaking eye contact.
He stopped mid-motion, his breathing low and tense as he hissed at her. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, but isn’t that what I do best?” she cooed, her lips curling into a playful smirk.
For a moment, he couldn’t look away from her. The way she moved, the way her eyes burned with a sharpness that rivaled his own and her mind, oh, her mind….
He caught himself lacking quickly, his response a sharp swing, faster and more deliberate this time, aimed to disarm her entirely. She blocked it, but he was too strong for her, the impact forced her back a step. For the first time, she stumbled slightly, her composure slipping - but only for a heartbeat.
When she looked back up at him she was not terrified but smiling brightly, teasing him once more.
“Getting hot, my Lord?” she asked innocently, tilting her head as though she were oblivious to her own effect.
His jaw clenched. “You’re stalling.”
“And you’re distracted.”
She darted forward unexpectedly, her kick aimed low to catch him off guard. He parried easily, but the suddenness of her attack forced him to shift his stance. She rushed around him again, her soft laughter filling the space as she avoided his next strike.
“Enough talking, enough evading!” Maul snapped, lunging toward her.
She pivoted, her free hand brushing his arm as she twisted away. “But you love me talking-”, she purred.
His grip faltered for a fraction of a second - just long enough for her to slip past him and circle behind. He spun, ready to lunge for her, but she was already at his side again, her hand running along his rips as if in a caress instead of a heated fight.
“You’re too stiff,” she commented, standing again with an infuriatingly soft smile. “You need to loosen up.”
That was it. Maul surged forward with a growl, finally catching her off guard. He pushed her back step by step, driving her toward the far wall. Her footwork faltered slightly, her back brushing the cold durasteel behind her.
“I’m done playing,” he hissed, closing the distance, his tone sharp with frustration.
“I didn’t realize we’d started playing,” she quipped, her voice breathless yet teasing, a wicked glint in her eye.
Stop listening to her.The thought was sharp, commanding, but it barely held. Her voice, soft, teasing, laced with that maddening calm, wrapped around him, tugging at his resolve. She’s toying with me, he thought, his frustration mounting as she slipped past another of his strikes, her movements more like a dance than an act of defense.
His focus slipped further, his precision faltering as her graceful dodges kept him chasing. She’s not stronger than me. She’s not faster than me. And yet…The truth clawed at him as her warmth unraveled him piece by piece. She doesn’t need to overpower me. She’s disarming me with... her…her…
He lunged again, determined to regain control, but there it was, the slight tilt of her head, the curve of her lips, the way her eyes seemed to see through him. Force help me.
Maul’s patience snapped. He rushed forward, his movements sharp and deliberate, aiming to catch her off-guard. She sidestepped him smoothly, her lithe frame just slipping out of his reach. He pivoted instantly, his hand swiping toward her, but she ducked low, her hair sweeping the floor as she twisted away. When she rose, her stance was loose and deceptively relaxed, her soft, mocking gaze fixed on him.
Infuriating.
The word slammed through his mind as his strikes met only air, her movements as fluid as a stream slipping past boulders. Her movements were maddeningly precise.
Her voice cut through his spiraling focus, calm and teasing: “You’ll have to try harder than that if you want me.”
Want you? The phrase hit him like a blow. You arrogant... Yet even as the thought began, his focus wavered. Because somewhere, deep within, another voice whispered something far more dangerous.
...Do I?
His jaw clenched, and he surged forward again, this time closing the distance between them faster than she anticipated.
She feigned left, then ducked low, sweeping her leg toward his to knock him off balance.
It almost worked. Maul stumbled slightly, but he recovered faster than she anticipated. Before she could retreat, his arms were around her, and their combined momentum sent them tumbling to the ground.
He landed above her, pinning her down with an iron grip. One of his hands wrapped around her wrist, pressing it to the floor beside her head, while his other hand braced against her shoulder. His weight held her firmly in place, and his breathing came fast and heavy just as hers, her lips parted, her chest moving quickly beneath him.
I’ve got her. The thought came sharply, like a blade finding its mark. His heart pounded in his chest, blood thrumming with adrenaline.
Her chest rose and fell beneath him, her breath mingling with his in the silence that followed. The power he felt from the sheer weight of the moment was intoxicating. He had the upper hand now, and he should have relished it, but something gnawed at him.
Why? - Why doesn't it feel like a victory?
He looked down at her, her eyes steady and challenging, lips slightly parted with the rapid rhythm of her breath. Her body, though pinned beneath his, held no resistance. In fact, she seemed almost... content. Her defiant expression made his stomach tighten in ways he didn’t understand.
Then she spoke again, and her voice was a whisper, a tease, soft as a caress but cutting through him all the same. “You’ve got me.”
He should bellow a resounding “Yes” - Yet all he could think of was how close she was, how her body was pressed so perfectly beneath his, how her breath, soft and warm against his skin, seemed to hold something far more potent than victory. He could feel the heat between them. He could sense her strength, even in her apparent submission.
As he leaned in, prepared to declare his victory, she spoke again, her voice a whisper that sent a shiver through him.
“Are you sure you’ve won, my Lord?”
Her tone carried an implication that made his grip falter. In that instant, she twisted her body, slipping from his grasp like water through his fingers. Before he could react, she was on top of him, straddling his waist, her hands braced against his chest to pin him down.
What is this?
The thought came without warning, as his body froze beneath her. His instincts screamed to move, to fight, to flip her off him and assert control.
He could have - he’d even begun to shift, his muscles coiling instinctively to push her off. But midway through the motion, he froze.
Her hands weren’t holding him down, not really; they rested so lightly against his chest that he barely felt their weight. It wasn’t force that pinned him - it was her.
The softness in her expression, the way her lips parted ever so slightly, and her eyes... they weren’t triumphant, but something else entirely. She looked as though she was gazing at a lover.
His chest tightened. His thoughts scattered. His heartbeat drummed loudly in his ears as her soft gaze seemed to reach into the very core of him, unraveling everything he thought he knew about strength, about control, about power.
Fight her, he thought, almost desperately. I’m supposed to win, to dominate, to prove...
Her lips parted ever so slightly, a small, unspoken invitation, and that was all it took to leave him breathless. He was undone, and she didn’t even have to try.
She leaned forward slightly, her hair falling over her shoulder in a cascade that framed her face. Her expression was calm, her breathing steady, as if she hadn’t just turned his world upside down.
She was close enough to taste.
Close enough for him to nearly lose himself.
“Yield,” she said softly, her amber eyes pinning him beneath her.
The word hit him like a shockwave, reverberating in his chest, rattling his bones. His first instinct was to deny it, to fight against it.
He had been trained to never yield, to never submit.
He had lived for power, for domination, for the feeling of victory that burned in his blood. But now, as she sat atop him, her hands so soft on his chest, her gaze so steady, so unflinching... he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Why am I not resisting?
His mind screamed, the remnants of his pride clawing at him. He could break free - he should. But the thought of doing so felt... wrong. All Wrong.
Why would he ever give up closeness like this willingly?
He stared at her, every nerve in his body alight and frozen at the same time. Her voice, her presence, it was intoxicating.
His twin hearts thundered against his ribs, and he swore she could feel it through the light pressure of her hands against his chest. He could smell the faint trace of something sweet in her hair, see the sharp intelligence glittering in her amber eyes, and feel the warmth of her so close.
For a man like Maul, power was everything.
And yet, in this moment, none of that mattered. Not the training, not the endless hunger for revenge. Nothing mattered except her.
The way her eyes bore into him, holding him in place more effectively than any chain could. The way her soft smile radiated confidence and fulfillment in stradling him, entirely unafraid of him. She wasn’t gloating or mocking. She was simply there, undeniably present, as though the galaxy itself had been reduced to this single moment.
Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he pushing her off, taking back control, proving his strength?
He could.
He should.
But he didn’t.
His lips parted, and he heard his own voice, low and unsteady, speaking words he never thought he’d say.
The words tasted foreign, almost bitter, and yet, as they left his mouth, a strange calm settled over him. He wasn’t defeated.
No, this wasn’t defeat.
This was...it was...Desire?
Her smile widened as he'd noticed his mental shield were down. There was a glimmer of triumph dancing in her eyes, but it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t smug.
It was warm, almost affectionate, and it sent another shiver through him.
He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, as she lingered there, gazing down at him as though she’d always known he’d say it. And maybe, deep down, he had always known, too.
Then, so very slowly, she moved. Her hand, soft and light as a whisper, trailed down his jaw, her fingertips brushing the side of his face. The touch was gentle, tender, far too tender for someone like her.
Her thumb swept across his cheekbone, and he closed his eyes involuntarily at the contact.
Her skin felt cool against his Zabrak heat, it was soothing, everything he didn’t deserve and yet craved.
Her gaze softened as she watched him, and the air between them shifted, becoming charged with something more than just physical proximity.
There was no smugness in her. Only contentment. Only... affection. The kind that didn’t need words to be understood. She had won, not with force, not with power, but with a quiet grace that left him utterly undone.
It was in that moment that he realized just how much he adored her. She wielded her influence not like a blade but like a caress, and it was devastatingly effective.
And with that realization came a surge of fear.
She was his savior, the one who had pulled him from the depths of madness. She was his student, the one he had sworn to shape into something formidable. But now, as he looked up at her, he felt something else entirely.
It was a feeling he hadn’t known in years, perhaps not ever, and it terrified him. Desire meant vulnerability, and vulnerability was a weakness he could ill afford. Yet here she was, straddling him and he couldn’t bring himself to care about the danger she represented.
That day, he understood something about her and about himself.
Firstly, that she had made him endlessly weak without landing a single blow.
Secondly, that he was utterly powerless to stop her.
And thridly, that he had never wanted something as badly as he wanted her.
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