Disclaimer - People and places discovered by George Lucas and Lucasfilm belong to them.  The story and concept belongs to the author - Dark Lady.

~~  'Twas The Night Before Christmas  ~~

and magick was in the air….

Eleven o’clock, late at night, the night before Christmas, Christmas Eve.  She was glad to be alone, it had been a hectic year, a year of celebrations, and changes in her life, so she would spend this year alone.  Her friends had protested, not natural, not normal, she should party, have fun…

Well, this was fun.  The tree was up, decorated with a million tiny coloured lights, flashing and sparkling in the way she liked.  No glittery thing, no bauble to distract from the purity of the coloured lights flashing in the window.

Turning off the main light the better to appreciate the tree, and pouring herself a large dry sherry (a fine Manzanilla), she relaxed into a comfortable armchair, drowned in the cushions, and thought about tomorrow.  She had plans.  A sumptuous breakfast of scrambled egg tossed with wild salmon smoked gently in the fumes from burning oak, accompanied by true Buck’s fizz, made with freshly squeezed orange juice, both sweet and tart in the mouth, and a smooth vintage champagne,

For lunch she would dine on tender smoked chicken, a light salad with Californian olives stuffed with garlic and lemon, and a dark bitter chocolate mousse from Italy.  For dinner?  There was a small but fine turkey, gently raised and nurtured on the finest corn.  There would be sweet potato, roast potato, bright green vegetables lightly steamed, bright yellow baby corn barely a finger long, succulent sweet onion, cranberry sauce with a hint of orange, rich sausage meat rolled in crisp thin-cut bacon, and a wonderful gravy to pour over it.  There was a mango sorbet for pudding, to be served with crispy thin sweet biscuits, and with any luck, she would not have to cook again for a week.

There were two fine wines also.  She remembered them, got up, put them in the fridge, returned to her chair, sipped again at the sherry, sighed in satisfaction at the moment and with the goodness of her life.  She thought also about the new dress she would wear in honour of the day, an expensive confection of heavy black silk shot with fine gold thread.  This dress was most beautiful.  It clung sensuously, flowed like water over her body, flattered her shape, and most of all, it felt wonderful next to her skin.

A knock at the door.  'Ignore it' she told herself, late carolers perhaps.

Another knock, impatient now, then a third.  The knock was loud and forceful, she felt the vibration from the assault her door was receiving and thought she had better open it.

She did.

Maul strode in, pulling off his hood, sweeping his pleated cloak from his broad shoulders.

“About time…” he muttered, grumbling at her.  She was too astonished to close the door.  He turned, smiled at her in a superior way, reached over her and closed it gently, then took her arm and led her to the chair, tossed the cloak onto the back of it.  He placed a small object wrapped in sparkly black paper on the table, sat, picked up the glass and sniffed the alcohol curiously.  “Some ritual substance?” he enquired, cocking his head and looking up at her, then took a sip, pulled a face.

“Not to my liking, something sweeter would be good.  What do you do for ritual on such a night?”

“Nothing.” She replied, wondering fleetingly how she would entertain this unexpected guest.

He grinned again.  “Nothing?  Even my Master is engaged in some ritual play at the court on Naboo, he plays a wise man of some sort.  They will not appreciate the dark irony of his words, or the subtlety of his actions, and so I must applaud it later.  Until then, I may do as I please.”

Making for the small kitchen she made fresh squeezed juice and brought it for him, picking up her sherry as she did so.   Maul ignored the glass in her outstretched hand and pulling at her waist with both hands, sat her on his knee.

“Perhaps we should make our own ritual…” he murmured, now taking the juice, sipping at it with one hand still firmly holding her waist, looking at the lights on the tree.  Light fascinated him, it always had.  The lights of Neguib, the glints of candlelight reflected from chiselled crystal glass, the flare of a supernova, all were beautiful in his eyes.  He especially liked the way the coloured lights flickered and reflected off her white skin, what little of it was visible at the moment.

Her brain had been in abeyance for a while, still was most likely, so perched as she was, she took another sip, thought hard.

“Not too difficult surely.  Wear the beautiful dress…” he pulled her closer until she was resting on his chest, curled up in his lap.  She could feel his alien heartbeat, making a rhythm of three beats to her human two.  He had a musk, a light and most pleasant male musk that was underlaid with a hint of some spice.  Her nostrils flared, liked it, she took a deep breath.

“How do you know about the dress?” she asked, as Maul slyly stroked the back of her neck and moved his clawed hand into her hair, wrapped his long fingers in it, greatly enjoyed the way it felt on his skin.

“A trick of the mind.  Would a woman such as you not have a dress for this occasion?”

The sherry was finished, and Maul tossed back the rest of the juice.  “Perhaps we will fly now…” he offered, “My ship is at your disposal, Madame, as is the pilot.” He stood her gently, got up, and playing the romantic, made a small but gallant bow with a wonderful smile.

She inclined her head a little and smiled back.  “Then I am pleased to accept, but I must dress for the occasion.”  And as she showered, worried about her hair, thought about using a discreet perfume but desisted, and dressed in the beautiful dress, Maul examined the contents of her sitting room. 

He teased the cat, looked at her books, unprogrammed the video recorder, and installed strange devices on her computer.  This latter was a primitive model he considered, very underpowered with only two gigabytes of memory and with a very strange operating system indeed, very uncooperative.  He preferred the use of voice control himself, it gave him the opportunity to hiss at it in displeasure, vent his not-inconsiderable anger on it occasionally.

“Where are we going?” she asked from the doorway, wondering whether her coat was needed.

Maul looked at her from beneath hooded eyes.  “In that dress?  All the way I should think!”

Her eyes widened and he thought she registered a tiny trace of alarm, or was it anticipation?  “…to Iridonia.” He added smoothly, picking up his cloak and draping it solicitously around her shoulders, gently guiding her towards the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Even in his thick field tunic Maul shivered and thought longingly about the dry warmth of his homeworld and the humid freshness of Naboo as they hurried to the Infiltrator.  Accustomed to the chill of winter nights as she was, she wound his cloak more tightly about her, feeling the frost chill the threads in her dress, and make goosebumps up and down her flesh.

And she wore nothing under the dress - nothing between her and the dress, and only the silken dress between her and her escort.  A flimsy barrier to his amorous advances should he be so inclined.  Hoping he would be so inclined but putting this thought behind her she strode on, while the escort made a tiny growl of pleasure to himself at the thought of what they might do together, if she was in the mood for affectionate pursuits.  He hoped she was, the signs were promising, and he was most happy to play the flirting gallant to get his way.  Always testing himself, he did not read her mind, or find her thoughts on the matter.  Rather he would use his instincts, test his responses.

“Which direction?” she asked, opening her arms and gesturing at the star-filled sky.  ‘Christmas in Britain is not usually so cold and clear’ she thought, hurriedly wrapping the cloak about her again.

He stopped, picked her up and whirled her around a time or two.  She felt like a feather in his arms.

“Through the asteroid jungle, past the Pleides and left at Orion.” Came the answer. On seeing her bemused expression - “Over there.” Pointing and laughing when he set her down.

Putting his arm around her, hoping to steal a little warmth, Maul pulled her on until they reached the Infiltrator, cloaked and hidden from prying eyes in the nearby park.  He clicked the remote, lowered the loading ramp, and quickly raised it again once they were inside, then hurried to the control deck.  Once there, he unwrapped her, put the cloak around himself, and sat in the pilot’s chair.  Before she had time to protest at this treatment, he pulled her onto his lap, wrapped them both together, and held her close, buried his head in her shoulder.

She delighted at the feel of his strength, the hard muscle beneath her.  The feeling of cold fled while he shivered and warmed his hands on her skin.

Outside the dress.

Absent-mindedly his fingers moved over the fabric, stroking at her waist and hip.  The strokes became rhythmic, hypnotic.  She saw his eyes start to glaze, and he started, jumped a little, gave her a curious look as he started the engines.  She wondered about safety harness.

“No need.  Inertialess drive, then hyperdrive.” he murmured, watching the monitor.  The status display flickered, the blue symbols constantly changing as the ship leapt into the sky, responding as his quick hands moved fluidly over the controls.

Monitoring the flight, watching always, he nevertheless relaxed a little, one arm was around her and his hand moved upward a fraction, lay just under her breast.  The weight of it fell onto his warm hand and he looked at her, smiled while he looked back at the display.

“Show me the ship?” She asked, wanting to prolong the pleasure of this unexpected courtship, not trusting herself to make a show of resistance as part of the ritual.

“When we are past this jungle, this useless conglomeration of rock and rubble.” He said, now using the manual over-ride to weave the powerful ship between the mountain-sized boulders hurtling toward them and around them.  He does this for fun, to heighten his awareness and sharpen his reflexes.  There is no need, the ship is more than capable, but he likes the danger, enjoys the thrust of fear as it tries to stab his soul and he conquers it.  He always conquers it.

She watched what he did, suddenly knew why he did it, found that she was almost as excited as he.  Saw with fascination the speed of his reflexes and his sure control, wondered how long it would take to die in vacuum if he misjudged.

He gave her a quick appraising stare.  Almost fearless this one, to calmly consider a death where her lungs would explode and her blood boil.  The exhilaration pleases him, there is a harmony and balance in what he does, even a rhythm in the apparent random movement of stones like these.

Through the ‘jungle’ and so round the ship.  He gave her a classic guided tour, sweetly opening doors, calling lifts with grand and playful gestures, sweeping her through the cargo-bay, demonstrating the dark-eye probe droids, letting her play with the remote control.  She lifted the hem of the dress and stepped daintily over boxes as she enquired about the genius of Raith Seinar who designed the ship, ‘how does hyperdrive work’, and ‘how far is it from Naboo to Coruscant’.

She wondered whether the ship was his.  “No,” he said.  “Everything I have, everything I am, belongs to my Master.”

So many questions he thought, as she kept him occupied until they reached Iridonia, gave him sidelong glances and pretty looks.  This amused him.  She was funny, rather witty, she smiled at him, was not afraid.

On the way to Iridonia, he flew them past a comet approaching the sun of Iolenthe, he swept her through the Lights of Neguib at Cinthara, and watched the coloured lights play on her skin, and last of all, he showed her the rings of Saturn.  “Shall we dance on the rings?” he asked her, skimming the Infiltrator over the horizontal plane of the rings, then along the outer edge of them.  She watched the dust motes flare in the rear screen, as the heat from the engine burned them, and saw the outermost rocks race under the nose of the ship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now to Iridonia.” Where they landed on a mountainside.  The ship landed gently, barely a bump, a tiny cessation of the engines rather.  It was late afternoon, the weather warm, such a contrast to the sharp and bitter cold she had left behind.

When they left the ship he had looked at her soft shoes, judged them fit for the short walk they had in front of them.  But he would carry her if they were not.

He held her hand, led the way, took her along a narrow path and round a corner.

“This is my homeworld.” He said softly, gesturing at what lay before them.  "Is she not beautiful?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He looked at the vista of mountain peaks, the setting sun giving a golden glow to the far snows as it gave a glow to her white skin.  He looked at the blue lake beneath them, a sparkling deep blue-green like her eyes, and a ribbon of river threading its way down the valley.  The banks of the river were a soft green, and there was the scent of a flower faint on the breeze.  There was the coughing sound of a predatory Na’kha bear going to its lair, and the faint song of a bird, high above them.

She waited, while he stared at the mountains, opened his arms and inhaled deeply of the air, fresh and pure, heady like the finest of wines, opening his mouth a little as he did so.   He closed his eyes and murmured something in his own tongue, it sounded like a prayer to her ears, it held a longing, a lonely wanting sound that nothing could fulfil.  Then he threw back his head and screamed, sending a shock wave of sound reverberating around the rocks, echoing over the valley.  When the sound had all but disappeared, he whirled round to face her, grinning, his mood suddenly changed back to the suitor, the romantic courtier.  “I am a prince here, this is my kingdom.  Come with me.”  He bowed and took her hand, kissed it, led her further down the narrow path, helping her over stones and sharp rocks, round another tight corner…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mountain ledge is narrow, but sheltered and out of the cool wind, warmed by the late afternoon sun.  The path to it winds away around the corner.  There is a long drop below them, many hundreds, perhaps thousands, of metres to the valley floor where the river threads its way to the lake, far below.  The view is wonderful as the sun sets on the snows, colouring them red and gold, as deep blue shadows creep across the rock, become deeper and turn to almost-black.

He turns his gold and red eyes to her, she thinks of sunset, she thinks of sunrise.  She thinks of wildness, freedom, illusion.  He reaches for her, pulls her to him.  She thinks of power, strength, the fine control he has.

He lays her on his thick cloak - this is a mountainside and there is no soft vegetation to cushion them.  He lays himself down beside her, touches her cheek, kisses her softly as her hand steals around his neck and starts to push his tunic off his shoulders.  With one hand he loosens his belt, removes it, undoes the closures of the tunic, undoes the ties to the rest of his garments, removes his boots, kissing her face all the while.

She pulls the stole off his shoulders, and tugs the tunic open more, draws in her breath in delight at the patterns she sees, kisses the smooth hairless chest, broad and powerful.  Wondering why he leaves her clothed, she strokes his soft skin, his back, his shoulders, arms, chest – everywhere she can reach.  She pushes his breeches down and he wriggles gracefully out of them.  Until naked, he pulls the dress off her shoulder, reveals a breast which he cups and kisses.  Her pale skin reflects the last of the sunlight, soft red and gold lie warm in his hand.

Then he moves his hand to her skirts.

His fingers brush the black fabric of the dress; it is soft, silky, moves fluidly under his fingers, whispers against his hand, caresses his skin. Curious, he rubs two layers of it together between his fingers, feels it slide smoothly piece over piece.

Liking the feel of it, touching it and moving it over her body – it heightens his sensation of her somehow.  He rubs it over her legs, slides his hands over her limbs in extravagant whirls and circles, flexing and unflexing his hands against her as she flexes her body in appreciation.

He experiments, gathers the fabric in his hands, crumples it, opens his hands and feels its heavy sensuous quality as it folds and unfolds in his hand.  He throws the crumpled silk over her thighs again and watches as it glides smoothly over her skin, settles intimately like a fine
layer of heavy dust.

With one finger, he draws between her thighs, makes a valley of the fabric, which settles cosily on her flesh, snug to her skin, showing every contour of her body while she sighs under his touch.

Lightly touching the heavy silk where it settles over her intimate places, he starts to stroke and feel the hair beneath.  A little more pressure and he feels the pretty woman-flesh beneath that, every soft and secret fold, every curve, is revealed to his questing fingers through the silk.

He puts his mouth there, kisses, opens it, presses it to her body and breathes warm breath hot against her tender skin.  A fang catches on a golden thread and he quickly pulls away, cutting it, sees the moist outline of his mouth left on the fabric, sees how the fabric has moulded over her flesh.  So he bends his head to her and breathes on her again, kisses some more, uses his tongue to put a little pressure on her delicate places.  She unconsciously pushes herself against his mouth, starts to breathe more heavily, murmurs in the back of her throat.  Her head starts to move from side to side in her enjoyment and she sighs, murmurs to him.

Putting his hands under her hips he raises them, parts her legs a little, settles his mouth between her legs at the entrance to her body and breathes yet again.  Little kisses follow, and he stretches the fabric tightly over her most sensitive places, uses his tongue and fangs
to touch and stroke as he kisses and teases.  Now her hands flutter, reach for his head and push at his horns as she makes a small sound in the back of her throat.  Her hips buck against him, and he lays his head on her belly, kissing through the fabric.

She needs him now, inside her.  He pulls away from her, tears the silk from hem to throat of the beautiful dress, and lays her body bare in front of him, the torn pieces like the wings of some fallen bird, spread out at either side of her.

The sharp contrast between her pale woman-flesh and black fabric fascinates him. It makes her glow faintly in the semi-darkness - or maybe it's her nature? The glow of her desire draws him to her. He opens his mouth slightly, breathes in her scent and revels in the sight of her beauty amid folds of soft, rich black silk, so inviting.  He covers her, enters her, and she sighs with pleasure as she feels him filling her, moving inside her.

As her hips counter his every thrust, he pulls the silk gently over her face, kisses her through it, pulls it over her shoulders, and holds her through it.  He pulls the silk between their bodies and covers her again, feels the cool silk between them, sliding softly as it caresses
them both.

 He pushes himself up on his arms, cocks his head to look down at her. As their bodies move, the silken fabric glides over her skin, a little at first, then more, drawn by its own weight, falling down by her side. He smiles, as her glowing body is thus gradually revealed to him once again. He finds the game to his liking. He gathers the fabric and covers her.

Her hips rise to meet him, and her soft smooth belly is bared to him with a barely audible rustle of cloth; then the valley between the perfect mounds of her breasts. She, too, revels in the caress of silk on her. Her nipples stand out like small excited buttons under the fabric,
until one of them is bared. He catches the other under his mouth before the silk slides away. He presses his lips around it and suckles, delighting in her gasp of surprised pleasure. They meet in long, deep, gliding thrusts, and all his attention shifts from the silk on her body to the silky feel within her.

They are close now, so he wraps his arms around her, the silk between his hands and her skin, the sensation so great now that every nerve end sparks in delight and anticipation.  And he holds her so tightly to him as he takes her, loses his mind in her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And when normality returned, and they were sensible once more, Maul stretched like a cat, flexing all his red and black limbs in turn, purring as he did so, then slid closer to her, put himself beside her touching everywhere he could.  He nuzzled her neck, and put his fingers in her hair, burying them in the thick glossy strands.

“Let’s go,” he said, “I have a fancy for scrambled egg, smoked fish, and a little champagne, perhaps some turkey later.  And you might unwrap your gift.”

“Oh, I think I’ve already done that!” she said, turning to him, holding his beautiful head, kissing him in abundance.

And may all your dreams come true…

~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

© Dark Lady - 25 December  2000

Thankyou Red, for the three best paragraphs...