Scotland Depraved
or, another Plaid Punk Production (TM) from Rose.
windrose07@aol.com

One thing about the Scots (and Scots wannabes); they sure as hell knew how to party. Trouble was, Maul wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. On his way back to the hotel, he'd already passed three drunken pipers and a kilted man (also drunk) dragging a life-sized model sheep behind him on rollers while explaining to anyone who'd listen just why Scotsmen wore kilts (answer: because sheep can hear a zipper at 500 yards). And it wasn't even eight o'clock yet.

No wonder Obi-Wan is nuts, Maul decided as he watched some poor girl (sober, but wishing she was drunk) in a phone booth try to make a call while yet another kilted young man serenaded her with an a capella rendition of "The Queen of Argyll". Between Sidious and the Scots he never had a chance, weirdness is in his genes.

His room was no sanctuary. Sidious was attending a dinner with the leaders of Clan MacGregor, but he most certainly wouldn't be alone when he finally returned. Maul intended to be gone, dead drunk (sensing a theme here?) or both before that happened.

Then he heard the piping.

No bagpipes this time, just a penny whistle playing a sweet, sad air. Maul's head cocked to one side as he listened. Unlike the annoying folksies who plagued the grounds, this musician was actually quite talented. And close by from the sound of it.

Very close. Right outside the balcony close.

Maul began to get suspicious.

He slid open his own balcony door and stepped out. To his utter lack of surprise, there was Obi-Wan, sitting on the railing that separated his balcony from Maul's with penny whistle raised to his lips.

Maul leaned on the rail next to him. "That's a really depressing song you're playing."

Obi-Wan lowered the whistle. "It should be. It's 'Lament For Limerick'."

"Isn't Limerick in Ireland?"

"Yeah, but it's still Celtic so who gives a shit."

He had a point. "I didn't know you played anything."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "It's been a while, wasn't sure I could still do it. I wanted to buy a Celtic harp but this was a helluva lot cheaper. Besides, I don't really feel like looking like Kevin Spacey in the movie Seven until I develop new calluses."

Maul had to agree that would suck mightily. "Your offer of Glenfiddich still open?"

Kenobi studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Hop on over."

Maul climbed over the railing while Obi-Wan fetched the bottle and two glasses. The padawan's hand shook as he poured the drinks. Maul took the bottle from him. "We don't need glasses."

Obi-Wan gave him another long look. Maul squirmed uncomfortably under the stare. "What?"

"Just this," Obi-Wan said, leaned over and kissed him.

It was breathless fierce in its intensity and altogether too brief. Maul blinked several times to clear his suddenly lust-addled head, set the whiskey bottle down on the deck and took Obi-Wan's face between his hands. "You sure you're up to this?" he asked, studying the padawan's tired, bruised eyes.

"I'm sure."

And he was, Maul could sense it in him, along with desire and almost desperate need. Nodding, he leaned in to tease the soft lips apart with his tongue, tasting the padawan deeply. Obi-Wan moaned and arched into him and Maul let one hand slide down to cup the padawan's ass, pulling him closer still.

Two steps, a half-turn to the left and he had Obi-Wan against the railing, rocking into him, the rough scrape of wool pressing against his erection at once arousing and maddening. Low, rumbling growls vibrated deep in his throat and he shoved the padawan's thin cotton shirt up until it bunched beneath his armpits, tonguing the small, hard nipples ruthlessly until Obi-Wan cried out, long fingers cradling Maul's head and weaving between his horns...

...pushing him down until he was up close and personal with Kenobi's tartan-covered crotch. Maul grinned and rubbed his cheek against the hardness he felt there. That a hint?

...pleasepleaseplease...

His growl dropped an octave, moved into his chest and transformed into a purr as he ducked his head beneath the kilt, hands curving along the padawan's thighs, pushing them apart. He heard the wooden railing creak as Obi-Wan grabbed it for support, could almost see the graceful arch of Kenobi's spine as he leaned back, eyes closed and mouth open in a wordless shout as Maul finally took him in.

There was no mistaking that sound, everyone within earshot would know what they were doing but Maul just couldn't bring himself to care, not with Obi-Wan thick and hot in his mouth, writhing against each stroke of his tongue. Long, animal wail as Kenobi came, loud enough to drown out the bagpipes and probably rattled windows three counties over.

Maul continued to suck until Kenobi was utterly spent then let the softened cock slip from his lips and rose to his feet. Obi-Wan all but tumbled into his arms and Maul held the trembling body close, feeling inordinately pleased with himself and not giving a damn how un-Sithly a pose they made together.

A scattering of applause caught his attention and Maul glanced over Obi-Wan's shoulder to see a fairly large crowd gathered on the field below. He waved and they cheered, saluting him with upraised beers, lighters and the occasional claymore. A few held up scorecards and he recognized several of the judges from the Highland Dance competition.

High marks all around, it would seem. I am hot shit, he thought smugly, and wondered if the judges would include Regimental Saber Swallowing in next year's games. He could only hope.

Kenobi snickered.

Maul pushed him back enough to see his face. Pale and tired still, but his blue eyes looked sane... well, saner, anyway. Maul privately suspected this was as well-wrapped as Kenobi ever got.

"What's the next event?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Under Tartan Caber Tossing," Maul announced, picked him up and settled him back on the railing.

He reached for the front of Obi-Wan's shirt with the intention of ripping it off. Kenobi stopped him with a light touch on the wrist. Grinning, the padawan teased each button free, slipped the shirt off with a slow, sultry roll of his shoulders, held it out in midair behind him... and let go.

Below them, the crowd went wild.

Maul grinned and swooped in for a kiss. This more than made up for their last public, er, performance. Obi-Wan caught the thought and giggled into his mouth. Something tells me we're not going to get arrested this time. Maul snickered. Oh, you think?

Definitely.

Maul's hands found their way beneath the padawan's kilt again, fingers slipping between his thighs, seeking the entrance to his body. Obi-Wan sighed deeply, leaned back on the railing and let his knees fall open. "Lube," he reminded.

"But--."

"Lube," Obi-Wan said firmly.

Maul grumbled and looked around for something to use. On a nearby patio table was the remains of Obi-Wan's half-eaten dinner. Maul reached over and snaked a handful of individually wrapped butter patties off a plate.

Obi-Wan nodded. "That'll work."

Maul unwrapped one of the patties. Stared at it for a moment, looked back up at Kenobi and grinned. "Turn around," he said.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow but did as he was asked, bending at the waist and bracing himself against the railing with his arms. Maul used a small glimmer of Force to flip the padawan's kilt up, exposing the sleek curve of his ass. Niiiiice, he thought, took the pat of butter and began smearing it on the tender skin of Obi-Wan's perineum.

Obi-Wan gave a little mewling whimper. Higher, he thought hazily at Maul. Aim higher.

Shaddup, I know what I'm doing.

And he did. He greased Kenobi's ass like a baking dish, fingertips circling and circling around the padawan's anus but never quite touching, not yet. Slow, torturous rhythm, like Kenobi had done to him with his tongue that last time. Teasing. Drawing it out.

Maul gleefully watched Obi-Wan writhe beneath his touch, wondering why he had ever thought lube was un-Sithly. Nothing that provoked this kind of uninhibited moaning and thrashing could possibly be un-Sithly. And just when he was sure Obi-Wan couldn't take anymore, he shoved two slick fingers deep inside him.

The padawan loved it, his whole body undulating with wanton need. ...nowpleasemaulnowneedyouwantyou...

Now!

Maul withdrew his fingers, used the last of the butter to grease his cock then flipped up his own kilt and sank within.

Tight heat gripped him and he shuddered, moaning. Oh, this was great, this was bliss, this was as close to heaven as he was ever going to get. Kenobi just felt so damned good, blood-hot velvet within the clench of a fist.

Perfect.

He fell back, away from the railing and onto his knees, pulling Kenobi after. Their bodies parted momentarily in the tumble and he snarled, reached for the padawan and dragged him back, impaling him once more in one fluid stroke. Obi-Wan's head snapped back, lips moving with a sound that was half-moan, half-sob as he arched and strained, riding the motion of Maul's thrusts within him. Maul wanted it to last, knew it couldn't and let the pleasure crest, dragging him up to the edge and then over. He heard voices crying out, mingled song of passion ringing in the night air but which was his and which was Obi-Wan's he couldn't be sure.

And in the end, it didn't really matter.

They lay puddled in a sweaty, sticky heap on the cold floor of the deck. Maul felt the rapid pounding of his heart begin to slow and levered himself up on one arm to look at his lover's flushed face. Obi-Wan lay insensible, a sweet, sated smile curving his lips and Maul felt another smug rush of pride. I did that, he thought triumphantly and kissed the sweaty brow.

He gathered the padawan's limp form up and slung him over one shoulder, intending to carry him back inside and put them both to bed. Before he left, he spared a glance to the field below where the crowd had turned into an impromptu party. He spotted the girl from the phone booth waving what looked like a beige flag over her head, realized it was Obi-Wan's discarded shirt and cracked up.

Life loves me, he thought and headed inside.

END

(9/23/99)

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