#mauljessix

[cabezadeperro]

47. Brainwashed/Tricked into becoming an Enemy, I would like some Kix feels, if possible. Jessix, oh, oh, oh, Maul/Kix? Or MaulJessix? (I am not picky, your words are pretty and make me feel things. In a not creepy way? I'm gonna stop talking now)

mauljessix because i am not a coward

Kix wakes up alone. He sits up on the bed and rubs at his face and his eyes. The cabin is dark and cold, and the door hangs open. He can hear the humming of the hyperengines, and when he places his bare feet on the cold durasteel floor he can feel it as well.

He looks at the chrono. He’s been asleep for two hours: his bones feel heavy and hollow, all at once. Kix yawns and hears his jaw click. His eyes hurt, and so does his head.

Kix touches the pillow: he can see the indents of Maul’s horns on the fabric, but it’s cold. He must have waited for him to fall asleep without--leaving. He frowns down at it in the dark.

It might be nothing. Maul is--Maul is unpredictable, mean and earnest and prideful and thoughtlessly devoted at turns. By now, Kix has learned to go with the flow, to a point. Sometimes it’s just better to let him sulk and brood and rage at the black in peace.

Kix sighs. He really is very tired. He stands up and crosses the cabin, doesn’t grab a shirt, and pads towards the cockpit.

Maul is sitting in the pilot’s chair, elbows on the arms of the seat, sharp chin over his clasped hands. He stares blindly at the blue and white lights of hypertravel. The lights are reflected on his black tattoos and make his yellow eyes seem almost silver. When Kix steps into the cockpit he tilts his head and keeps quiet; Kix frowns and watches him for a beat.

He doesn’t look tense, just--tired. Sad. He’s often sad, Maul, former Sith apprentice of Darth Sidious. He doesn’t quite seem to realise he is, but Kix has eyes and he has been spending quite a lot of time with Maul lately.

“Medic,” Maul rasps. “It is late. You should be in bed.”

Kix doesn’t come closer to him. He crosses his arms and leans against the open door to the cockpit.

“So should you,” he points out, voice calm. Maul scowls. Kix watches him: his profile is all sharp, sudden angles. He’s beautiful in the way a sharp knife or a Trandoshan rifle are beautiful.

He is very much Jesse’s type--but so is Kix.

Kix sighs and crosses the cockpit, places one careful hand on the back of Maul’s seat. Maul doesn’t move, but his eyes glance up at Kix, watchful. Kix tilts his head at him; Maul just waits, quiet and still and there, present and solid.

“I saw the lieutenant,” Maul says, voice low. Kix watches him.

“Oh?” he replies. He opens his mouth and closes it again without saying anything.

“He is alive. He is not well, but he is whole and alive and.” Maul’s mouth clicks. He leans back against the seat, rubs his chin with one hand. One of his horns touches Kix’s fingers, but he doesn’t move away.

Kix blinks. He turns back to the lights.

“Well. That’s--that’s something,” he says. He’s trying to sound optimistic. Light. There is nothing they can do about it right now, and Kix knows it.

He fails.

Maul’s horns bump against his hand again. Kix lets his fingers drop from the edge of the seat and caresses the smooth skin between them. Maul keeps very still and doesn’t look at him.

For a while, they just--miss him together. Jesse and his recklessness and his loud laugh and his sharp eyes.

Kix tugs at Maul’s horns.

“Please come back to bed,” he says. Maul exhales, annoyed, but when Kix leaves the cockpit he follows him back to their berth. To the berth he shared with Jesse before the Empire stole Jesse from him and he now shares with Kix.

The berth they will share with Jesse, soon, soon, when they find him. They will: Kix knows it’s just a matter of time. They will find him and they will steal him back.

Kix curls up on the narrow bed, lets Maul arrange the pillow and the other pillow and the blanket and his legs to his liking, and then pulls him closer and lets sleep take him.