a lil WIP for you all since i haven’t been very active these last few days n y’all deserve some maul/reader content to keep you fed.
You settle quickly into the booth housing the two Zabrak brothers with a tender smile — the dark lipstick painting your mouth makes the expression look more enticing than it’s meant to be. Maul wonders, half-heartedly, if it’s the alcohol making these thoughts more readily accessible or if it was a week’s worth of pretending he didn’t want to drag you away from the day’s proceedings for a kiss or two.
The need to touch you crescendos in his chest makes Maul’s lip curl in distaste. He was going soft.
“Sorry I’m so late,” you mumble, catching both of their eyes, “Little Jada has been a wreck —“
“Over that Clan Fipo boy?” Savage sighs, brotherly and annoyed, “I told her not to worry herself over petty little romances…”
“She’s young,” you croon, swatting at Savage over Maul, “But, she’ll be fine. She will get over him in due time.”
The offer comes quietly from the Zabrak in the middle of yourself and Savage — half serious and half amused, slipping out as the Mandalore pulls his whiskey to his mouth and takes a slow sip. His gilded eyes are rooted to the table.
Your jaw falls open a bit as you laugh.
“… Is he drunk?” you whisper, eyes turning to the handsome Sith beside you, “Are you…?”
Maul is fast to deliver a punch the top of Savage’s thigh; and the Zabrak howls a bit in pain as he laughs, peppering the deep sound with a shake — Savage reasons the reaction was worth it, since it kick-starts a bought of pouting from you.
“Wallowing?” you frown, “Because I was late?”
“Savage, I will rip every horn from your head and —“
Your suddenly pushing Maul’s hand down and eyeing the drink in his hands with a curious gaze. You mutter thoughtfully, “Whiskey? You do not like whiskey.”
“Yes, well,” Maul breathes, words pointed with an almost comical sense of bitterness, “I’ve had quite a week, so if you would let me wallow in peace…”
You smile, arm propped up on the back of the booth and bent knees encroaching on his personal space. “Am I allowed to wallow alongside you, Maul?”
Maul’s gaze softens. The Zabrak then sighs, and for the sake of the public theater their in, resists the urge to dash a kiss to your cheek. His words are a mere grumble. “… I suppose, yes, I’d like that very much.”
