[sidious/maul: worship]
Feb. 12th, 2011 01:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ansketilTitle: Worship
Disclaimer: Darth Maul is the property of Darth Sidious. Lord Sidious is the property of George Lucas. I am a mere teller of Sith tales I do not own.
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
swficchallenge's "Love" challenge.
Word Count: 360
Characters: Darth Maul, Palpatine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Maul doesn't know much about love.
Author's Notes: A little bit of Sidious/Maul for a change.
Maul isn’t often permitted to enter these rooms. He’s restricted to the dark, utilitarian spaces in The Works. Assassin droids and workbenches, speeder-bikes and weaponry, that’s Maul’s domain. Nude durasteel walls – a functional environment for a functional individual.
His Master’s chambers are quite different, as Sidious is obliged to live as a Senator of the Republic, not a Sith Lord. It’s like walking into a suffocating pool of warm blood dressed up with soft furnishings and tasteful decorations. When he was younger, Maul complained the luxurious chairs were designed to eat him, and sat on the carpet instead.
This self-satisfied environment suits his Master perfectly. Delicate music is playing in another room. Maul doesn’t know anything about music except that Sidious likes it. It’s the same with the wine. He downs the glass in one swift gulp, while Lord Sidious savours his own beverage, watching Maul possessively with Senator Palpatine’s blue eyes. Pain means nothing as long as those eyes are on him, and they bring suffering as vast as the mind behind them; those cruel, sometime-golden fires which forged Maul into the finest of weapons.
His Master. His father. His god. And more recently… his lover. There were times, during his childhood, when Maul would have crawled naked over shattered crystals just to receive a single caress. But now he is a Sith Lord. Now he is worthy. It doesn’t matter that his Master is older now, physique no longer splendid, gone to seed with too little time and too many senatorial dinners. The apprentice enjoys that weakness and the scant occasions he’s allowed to exploit it.
Maul doesn’t know very much about love. It’s something he associates with holofilm advertisements. An epic love story. A tragic tale of lost love. Nor is he gifted with words like Lord Sidious. It’s a wholly unspoken thing, this sacred giving and taking. His skin is the same red as the sheets, the same shade as all his Master’s favourite possessions. Sidious loves it when Maul worships him with that scarlet flesh. Maul loves the luxurious, paternal smile which accompanies the apex of his Master’s pleasure.
It’s all he ever wanted.
Disclaimer: Darth Maul is the property of Darth Sidious. Lord Sidious is the property of George Lucas. I am a mere teller of Sith tales I do not own.
Prompt:
swficchallenge's "Love" challenge.Word Count: 360
Characters: Darth Maul, Palpatine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Maul doesn't know much about love.
Author's Notes: A little bit of Sidious/Maul for a change.
Maul isn’t often permitted to enter these rooms. He’s restricted to the dark, utilitarian spaces in The Works. Assassin droids and workbenches, speeder-bikes and weaponry, that’s Maul’s domain. Nude durasteel walls – a functional environment for a functional individual.
His Master’s chambers are quite different, as Sidious is obliged to live as a Senator of the Republic, not a Sith Lord. It’s like walking into a suffocating pool of warm blood dressed up with soft furnishings and tasteful decorations. When he was younger, Maul complained the luxurious chairs were designed to eat him, and sat on the carpet instead.
This self-satisfied environment suits his Master perfectly. Delicate music is playing in another room. Maul doesn’t know anything about music except that Sidious likes it. It’s the same with the wine. He downs the glass in one swift gulp, while Lord Sidious savours his own beverage, watching Maul possessively with Senator Palpatine’s blue eyes. Pain means nothing as long as those eyes are on him, and they bring suffering as vast as the mind behind them; those cruel, sometime-golden fires which forged Maul into the finest of weapons.
His Master. His father. His god. And more recently… his lover. There were times, during his childhood, when Maul would have crawled naked over shattered crystals just to receive a single caress. But now he is a Sith Lord. Now he is worthy. It doesn’t matter that his Master is older now, physique no longer splendid, gone to seed with too little time and too many senatorial dinners. The apprentice enjoys that weakness and the scant occasions he’s allowed to exploit it.
Maul doesn’t know very much about love. It’s something he associates with holofilm advertisements. An epic love story. A tragic tale of lost love. Nor is he gifted with words like Lord Sidious. It’s a wholly unspoken thing, this sacred giving and taking. His skin is the same red as the sheets, the same shade as all his Master’s favourite possessions. Sidious loves it when Maul worships him with that scarlet flesh. Maul loves the luxurious, paternal smile which accompanies the apex of his Master’s pleasure.
It’s all he ever wanted.
