Sith Academy: Nocturnal Admissions
by Rose
WindRose07@aol.com

Disclaimers: George Lucas owns 'em, I just borrowed them for a bit of fun. This is for entertainment purposes only. No harm, no foul, no money changed hands.

Author's Note: While not a direct sequel, this will make a lot more sense if you have read Siubhan's "Life Lessons at the Sith Academy" parts VI and VIII.

Special thanks to Siubhan for encouraging me to finish this piece as well as coming up with the title; and to Iggy Pop, The Damned, Alien Sex Fiend and the Violent Femmes for music to write by.

Darth Maul sat in the 24 hour laundromat, reading the latest issue of Urban Primitives magazine while listening to Ministry on his headphones. It had been a stroke of luck finding this place. OK, so it had rats and the winos tended to use the tiny restroom as a public bath--it smelled even worse than his bathroom at home, and that was saying something--but there were no screaming children, no fighting over machines and, best of all, no Jedi. It was 3:30 in the morning, he had the whole place all to himself. Well, except for the bum passed out on top of the folding table.

The door to the laundromat opened with a creak and a bang. Maul glanced up, curious to see what new, pathetic life-form had stumbled inside; he was keeping a running tally of the wino-to-prostitute ratio in his head to pass the time. But this figure, while a little on the rumpled side, wore Birkenstocks on his recently pedicured feet, clean grey sweat pants and held a cheery yellow laundry basket in his arms. On the front of his sand-colored t-shirt were the words JEDI ACADEMY PHYS ED DEPARTMENT. Maul didn't even need to see the spiky blond hair or the dweeby little rattail to know it was his neighbor, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Oh, gee, hi there, Maul," said the twit.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. I couldn't sleep and decided to do something productive instead of just staring at the walls."

Well, that certainly figured. Trust a Jedi to take perfectly good downtime and turn it into a meaningful project.

Maul surreptitiously watched over the top of his magazine as Obi-Wan carefully sorted his dirty clothes, dividing them into different piles according to color, fabric and wash temperature before loading each pile into individual machines. The padawan then pulled out a dizzying array of laundry soaps, fabric and water softeners, adding these to each load with the precision of a chemist mixing nitroglycerin.

He started to make a nasty comment about comfort-loving Jedi, then glanced guiltily down at the small box of scent- and dye-free Bounce fabric softener hidden in the bottom of his black plastic laundry basket and fell silent. Sidious would not approve of such luxuries. Then again, Sidious did not have to know. It was his duty as a Sith to undermine his master's control so that one day, Maul would be ready to rise up and slay him. And when he did, his robes would be static-free.

When he looked up again, Obi-Wan was walking slowly towards him, an oddly determined look on his face. It made Maul feel more than a little uncomfortable and he buried his nose back inside his magazine, hoping the padawan would take the hint and not bother him.

"Maul, can I talk to you?"

Life hates me, he thought. "No."

"It will only take a second."

"I'm reading."

"Please?"

Maul glanced up again and that one, brief look was his undoing. Obi-Wan watched him with wide-eyed earnestness, pale cheeks slightly flushed and his lower lip caught neatly between his teeth. It was very similar to the anticipatory look the padawan got right before he--no. No, he was not going to think about that. It wasn't good for his mental health.

"Make it quick," he growled.

Obi-Wan smiled shyly. "Well, seeing how we've kinda been, um, intimate a couple of times now, I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime."

"Go out," Maul repeated.

"Yes."

"With you."

"Yes. I mean, we always seem to wind up together, anyway. What could it hurt?"

What could it hurt? A lot of things. Starting with Obi-Wan's slender, fragile neck, which Maul was going to wring with both his hands. The very idea that he, a Sith Warrior, would ever go out on a date with a Jedi! It was absolute and utter abomination, the mere thought enough to make his stomach tighten with loathing.

He opened his mouth to say no, to flay the impudent Jedi scum alive with his words.

"Sure," he heard himself say.

What the--?

Obi-Wan grinned. "Great! How about dinner at my place tomorrow? Around seven? I'm a really good cook."

Never! his mind screamed. I will see you dead first, I will see us both dead!

"OK," he said.

"Fantastic," said Obi-Wan. "Wow. I can't even begin to tell you how happy you've made me."

The padawan reached out and gave Maul a big hug before dashing off to check on his wash. Maul sat in his chair, too numb with shock to do anything more than stare blankly at the far wall. Happy. He'd made the Jedi happy.

Sidious was going to kill him. Slowly.

And beneath the folding table, in a dark and shadowy corner, My Apprentice purred with evil contentment. Everything was going exactly as she had foreseen.

***

Even in his dreams, he could not escape the horror. No matter how fast he ran, how well he hid, Kenobi's bright, chirpy voice always found him. It echoed in his mind like cheerful thunder, cloying and persistent, blending with a truly surreal image of himself and the young padawan sweating and writhing on stage at the Gray Side of the Force while Iggy Pop wailed over the sound system.

Maul woke with a start. It took his sleep-addled brain a moment to sort out the fact that the voice haunting his dreams was actually the twit leaving a message on his answering machine. Something about Qui-Gon and dry cleaning, Maul wasn't really awake enough to make sense of it, but it did bring home the point that, much as he might wish otherwise, the previous evening's conversation had not been a dream.

It was well past two in the afternoon but Maul just couldn't convince himself that getting out of bed really was a necessity. Getting up meant acknowledging the fact that he had actually agreed to have dinner with Obi-Wan Kenobi. No, far better to just lie here with the covers pulled up over his head and whimper. Granted, whimpering did not truly befit a Sith Lord, but at this point, he didn't give a rat's ass.

That brought home sunny point number two: he was almost painfully aroused. Could it be that somewhere in his deepest, darkest subconscious he actually wanted to have sex with the twit again?

And again, and again and--

No! No. It was simply not possible. Think about blood, he told himself. Think about violence. Think about Darth Lara Croft in a g-string and a smile. Think about anything besides the way those tight, black leather pants hugged Kenobi's ass when he bent over...

"Ah, fuck!" he shouted, flinging his pillow across the room

At the same moment, Sidious appeared in the bedroom doorway. He dodged the pillow easily, one elegantly combed eyebrow rising in amusement. "If you are attempting to slay me," he said dryly, "might I suggest using something with a bit more heft to it?"

Maul hung his head, mortified. "Forgive me, my master."

"What's to forgive? You are a Sith, you must revel in your anger!"

Sidious leaned casually against the doorjamb with an openly predatory gleam in his eyes, and Maul suddenly remembered his state of undress and current physical condition. Once again thankful for the facial tattoos that concealed his furious blushing, he grabbed the remaining pillow and placed it firmly over his lap.

Sidious sighed. "You know, for a Sith, you can be such a prude."

Maul ignored the comment. "What is your bidding, my master?" With any luck, Sidious would come up with some maniacally evil scheme requiring Maul's presence. It would be the perfect excuse to get out of dinner with Kenobi without arousing the Jedi's suspicion; So sorry, Obi-Wan, duty calls. You know how it is.

"To be honest, I thought I'd give you the day off."

Life really hates me, he thought. "You came all the way down here to tell me that in person?"

"Actually, I sensed a strange disturbance in the Force," said Sidious. "It appeared to center around you, my apprentice."

"Around--me?"

"Yessss. Powerful emanations of lust and desire, mixed with the blackest despair I have ever had the fortune to taste..." For a moment Sidious closed his eyes, savoring the memory. When he opened them again, it was to stare at Maul with the intensity of a laser targeting beam. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?"

Maul did his best to look innocent, a rather difficult task for a Sith even under the best of circumstances. "Um, no?"

Just then, Maul's Apprentice bounded into the room. She trotted casually past Sidious, brushing against his shins just long enough to leave a coating of grey and white fur on his black silk trousers before leaping onto the bedside table. Yawning, she climbed on top of the answering machine and curled into a neat little ball. As she settled down to nap, her hind paw hit the playback button. Instantly, the bright, cheerful voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi filled the room.

"Hi, Maul, it's me, Obi-Wan. Um, I'm afraid I'm going to have to push back our dinner date from seven o'clock to eight, I hope that's OK with you. I forgot I'm supposed to pick up Qui-Gon's dry cleaning and drop it by his place on my way home. I don't know why he can't just get it himself, it's miles out of my way but, well, you know what it's like being an apprentice. Oh, gee, I'm babbling. Sorry. It's just, I can't wait to see you tonight. Really. So, um, I guess I'll see you at eight. Bye!"

Maul did his best to sink down through the bed and into the floor. This had to be the single most humiliating moment of his entire life. "Master, I can explain--."

Sidious merely smiled. "No need, my young apprentice. Your performance onstage with Kenobi at the Gray Side of the Force last week was most illuminating."

Maul blushed so hard he was convinced his tattoos started to glow. "I was drunk," he muttered.

"Now, now, Maul, no need to look so glum. Kenobi is a handsome enough young man and the two of you made such a fetching couple. Everyone at the club agreed."

A small whimper escaped Maul's lips.

"Did I mention I bought the videotape from the club owner? I'm thinking of sending it to Fox for their 'Too Hot For T.V.' collection."

"DIE!!!!" Maul howled, flinging the closest thing to hand at his master's head.

Unfortunately, it was the pillow covering his lap.

Once again, Sidious dodged the plush missile with ease. "Yes!" he cried. "That's it! Show me your raw, naked, muscular and incredibly well-endowed rage!"

Maul made a hasty grab for the covers, pulling the black cotton sheet all the way up to his chin. "I hope you get run over by a church bus full of little old ladies," he grumbled.

Sidious chuckled. "On that note, I shall leave you to get ready for your date. And Maul?"

"What."

"Don't forget to bring flowers."

***

The couple in the apartment upstairs had been screaming at each other for well over an hour. Normally, Maul would have simply kicked back on the sofa and soaked up the hostile energy, but not this time. No, tonight he had other things to occupy his mind, such as answering the age-old dilemma of a closet full of clean clothes and nothing to wear.

His first thought had been to simply pick the nastiest, smelliest dirty clothes he owned in the hopes that Obi-Wan would take one whiff and slam the door right in his face. Problem was, for once in his life he had no dirty clothes because he had just done laundry. Which, when he thought about it, was how this whole mess had gotten started in the first place. Note to self, he thought as he pulled on his clean, soft and static-free Sith Lords Kick Ass t-shirt. Never do laundry again.

OK, shirt, socks, black silk boxers... that solved part of the problem. But which pants? The leather? No, every time he wore them, he and Kenobi wound up in the sack together. Better not take any chances. Hm. What about his jeans? Yes, those would do quite nicely, except the last time he'd seen them, they had been on "Coruscant's Most Wanted" top-ten list. That left his uniform trousers and while he had to admit they made his ass look really good, they didn't quite match the t-shirt. Besides, he had no desire to put on the whole Sith Lord get-up just for a date with his stupid neighbor.

That left the leather, unless he wanted to eat dinner in his boxers. And speaking of boxers, where had all of his gone to? The silk ones were much too sexy and decadent to waste on the twit, yet all his ratty cotton ones had somehow disappeared from the laundry basket. Maul suspected Sidious had something to do with it.

The idea of Sidious alone with a stack of Maul's underwear hit him with the force of a cement block and he rushed into the bathroom in an effort not to get sick. Shuddering, Maul splashed cold water on his face until both the image and the nausea faded. As he was patting his horns dry, his furry apprentice leaped onto the counter with a strange object in her mouth. She dropped it by the sink with a clunk. Curious, Maul picked it up.

It was a brand-new toothbrush.

"No," he said. "Absolutely not."

The kitty stared.

He stared back.

She raised one paw and hissed.

Maul blinked.

"Damn," he muttered, and reached for the toothpaste.

***

It was now almost eight o'clock. Maul stood in front of Kenobi's apartment and rang the bell. He had a stomachache, his gums were sore and the inside of his mouth tasted like blood and spearmint. At this rate, he was going to throttle the twit as soon as he opened the front door.

The upstairs couple had taken their argument out onto the balcony. Maul ignored the details of the fight, focusing instead on the strength of the woman's anger, letting it soak into him. It felt good.

"Oh yeah?" she yelled. "Well this is what I think of your stupid apology!"

An object came flying through the air, aiming right for his head. Maul's Sith reflexes kicked in and he caught it without thinking. It was a bouquet of daisies.

Just then, the door to Obi-Wan's apartment opened.

"Oh, you brought flowers!" cried the padawan, snatching the bouquet out of his hand before Maul could so much as utter a word. "I always knew you were a romantic at heart."

Life hates me, thought Maul.

***

Maul had never really gotten a good look at Obi-Wan's apartment before. On those few occasions he had actually been inside the place, he'd either been drunk off his ass or leaving in such a hurry that he had not bothered to notice the details.

The basic layout was identical to his own, but there all similarity ended. It was clean, for one thing, the walls still crisp and white, the beige carpeting spotless and recently vacuumed. Obi-Wan seemed to favor simple, functional furniture in muted earth-tones and soft lighting, giving the place an aura of peaceful serenity. Maul hated it immediately.

Obi-Wan came out of the kitchen with the daisies in a vase of water which he placed on the credenza by the front door. "Would you like something to drink?"

Hell yes! Booze was the only way he would get through this evening with his sanity intact. "Whiskey."

"Oh, I'm afraid I don't keep any hard liquor around," said Obi-Wan. "How about a glass of wine?"

Maul's nose wrinkled in distaste. Wine was for pussies. "Got any beer?"

"Sure!" said Obi-Wan, and bounced back into the kitchen.

"It wouldn't happen to be Pete's Wicked Ale?" he called hopefully.

Obi-Wan's laugh floated through the room. "Good grief, no! That stuff's for wimps."

Maul felt his temperature spike up a notch. "Oh yeah? So what do you Jedi-types drink?" Obi-Wan returned carrying a pair of tall black cans. "Well, I can't speak for the others," he said, handing Maul a can, "but I like Guinness."

The padawan popped the tab to his beer and slammed half the contents in one, long draught. Not to be outdone, Maul followed suit.

He very nearly spat it out again. "This shit tastes like roofing tar!"

"There's always wine..."

"No thanks."

Obi-Wan polished off the rest of his beer. "I've got to finish doing some stuff in the kitchen. Why don't you put on some music and make yourself comfy in the living room?"

Maul didn't know what to expect from Obi-Wan's c.d. collection. He'd always assumed the little twerp listened to nothing but Top 40 drivel, but after that incident at the Gray Side of the Force, he wasn't so sure anymore.

There was a book of c.d.'s lying on the coffee table. Maul picked it up and started flipping through. Shit. This was even worse than he imagined. Tons of mindless new age crap and, by all that was unholy, John Tesh.

He shuddered in violent loathing. "Your taste in music is even worse than your beer!"

Obi-Wan poked his head around the corner. "That's Qui-Gon's," he said, rolling his eyes. "My stuff is on a shelf in the entertainment center."

The first few disks he picked up were indeed that stupid boy-band crap. They were also covered in dust and still had the original security tape down one side. Maul had a sneaking suspicion they were gifts from Qui-Gon. Tossing them unceremoniously out the open window, he grabbed another; "Nude and Rude: The Best of Iggy Pop." He put it back quickly. Nope, not going there, not tonight. Cocteau Twins? Nah, too mellow. Dead Can Dance? Better, but still too atmospheric.

What he needed was something rough. Something angry. Something that was definitely not conducive to romance.

Closing his eyes, he reached out and picked another c.d. at random, letting the Dark Side guide his actions.

He wound up with Alien Sex Fiend's "Acid Bath."

"This works," he said, put the disk in the c.d. player, hit random and cranked the volume way up.

As the sound of "E.S.T. (Trip To The Moon)" filled the small apartment, Obi-Wan called out, "Hey, good choice! ASF is my absolute favorite band. Well, next to Iggy and the Stooges, of course."

I can't win, thought Maul.

He was seriously contemplating throwing himself out the window when something bounced against his foot. Looking down, he saw what appeared to be a clear plastic ball with something soft, brown and fuzzy inside. A hamster, to be precise, in one of those little mobile rodent balls that gave the vermin full roam of the house.

Smiling, he picked it up. "How would Mr. Fluffy like to take a trip to the moon?" he said in a mock-friendly voice, glanced over his shoulder to make sure Obi-Wan wasn't looking, then drop-kicked the ball across the room. It hit the wall with a resounding crack.

Obi-Wan ran out of the kitchen. "What was that?" Spying the broken pieces of plastic on the floor, he instantly dropped to his knees. "Mr. Fluffy!"

"Something wrong?" Maul asked innocently.

"Yes, my hamster's gotten loose. Oh, you have to help me find him!"

He'd been aiming for dead, but missing would do in a pinch. Unless, of course, he found the hamster before Obi-Wan; after all, a Sith never left a job half done. "Where do you want me to look?"

"Try under the sofa."

Maul got down on one knee and gave the area cursory glance. There, huddled against one wooden leg, was a small, shivering ball of fur. "Come here, you miserable vermin," he muttered, and reached out.

Mr. Fluffy wasn't having any of it. Between being subjected to extended bouts of John Tesh music and repeated attacks by murderous felines, he was a hamster on the edge, a ticking time-bomb of rodent rage. As Maul's hand loomed closer and closer, something stirred inside Mr. Fluffy, something deep and terrible and beyond his control.

It was rage. It was power. It was the Dark Side.

Mr. Fluffy leapt.

Tiny, needle-sharp teeth buried themselves into the tip of Maul's forefinger. He howled in pain and gave a quick snap of his wrist, dislodging the homicidal hamster from his flesh and sending him flying across the living room for the second time that night. With the power of the Dark Side as his ally, Mr. Fluffy executed an impressive midair spin, bounced off of Obi-Wan's head and launched himself at Maul again.

"Mr. Fluffy, nooooOOOOOOooooo!"

The sound of Obi-Wan's despairing cry seemed to bring the possessed creature back to his senses. Mr. Fluffy aborted the attack, dropping to the floor with a thud where he sat in dazed confusion until the padawan scooped him up and carried him gently back to his cage.

Maul cradled his wounded finger against his chest. Right. Enough was enough. He was going to go back to his apartment, change into his bathrobe, sit on the sofa and play Jedi Roadkill III until this whole incident faded away to nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

The twit came back into the room just as he was heading for the door. "Oh, Maul, I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"Whatever. I'm just going to go back to my place and forget this ever happened. I suggest you do the same."

He expected an argument, but Obi-Wan merely nodded. "Before you go, will you at least let me see to your finger?"

"It's nothing."

"You're bleeding."

"I'm fine."

"Nonsense," said Obi-Wan. "I'm a Jedi, it's my duty to heal you. Especially since it was my pet that caused the injury in the first place."

"I don't need your help," Maul argued, but the twit wasn't listening.

Obi-Wan took Maul's hand in his own, slowly uncurling the damaged finger so he could look at it closer. "This isn't so bad," he said softly, and blew a warm puff of air against the tiny puncture wound. "Better?"

Maul's mouth suddenly went very dry. "Um--."

"No? How about this?"

The padawan raised the finger to his lips. He wasn't--. Oh, fuck, he was. Maul shut his eyes tight as Obi-Wan's tongue touched his skin, gently lapping at the torn flesh, cleansing away the blood with warm, wet strokes. "Shit. Ohhhh, shit."

"Still in pain? I guess this calls for drastic measures," Obi-Wan said, and took the whole finger deep into his mouth.

As he began to suck, something in Maul's brain went snap.

***

Maul woke the next morning with someone's face buried in the back of his neck.

Shit. He'd slept with Obi-Wan Kenobi again. And this time he'd been sober.

He almost got out of bed and left on the sheer principle of the thing. Pride made him stop. No, he simply could not slink out the door while the twit was still asleep this time, it was just too humiliating.

Fine. He'd have to think of something else. After all, he was a Sith Lord and what did Sith Lords do best?

Revenge.

Maul looked down at the sleeping face of his prey and began to smile.

***

My Apprentice poked her head out from under the dresser at the unmistakable sound of Iggy Pop being played at maximum volume in the apartment next door. Later, she heard the creak of bedsprings followed by the loud, rhythmic thumping of a headboard hitting the wall. Purring hard enough to make her whole body shake, she went back to her task of shredding all of Maul's clean cotton boxers into little tiny pieces.

Life was good.

END

(6/22/99)

Email the author