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Maverick’s padawan was in a foul mood.
Things had been going fine; him and Bradley had sparred in the morning (his padawan had almost managed to pin him down, almost), he'd actually managed to meditate for a full hour (his own Master, Viper, would be proud—having spent years, literal years, trying to get Maverick to sit still for more than five minutes), and he'd even found some time to tinker with the droid he'd sneakily scooped off of Tattooine before a group of Tusken Raiders could get in there first. Maverick had actually been surprised by how well the day was going.
Of course, that was when things had started to go wrong.
Maverick hadn't known that at the time, though. Because even though he shared a force bond with his padawan, sometimes, trying to understand what Bradley was thinking was like trying to understand how he ended up being a Jedi in the first place—bewildering and made his head hurt the more he thought about it (because he'd been so sure he'd be just a lowly pilot), so he tended not to.
He'd bumped into an old friend, Penny Benjamin, in the halls; she'd been visiting her father (a Master Maverick still avoids to this day, (the mistakes of his misspent youth often coming back to bite him in the ass, he finds), and just had to catch up with him apparently. And Maverick had been happy to stop and speak to her. He'd thought he'd spied Bradley in the corridor at one point, his training robes fluttering behind his tall, gangly frame; but between one blink and the next, the corridor had been empty. It hadn't been the first time Maverick had thought he'd seen someone who hadn't actually been there, but it was the first time he'd seen someone who was still alive; his father, Duke, and Viper often liked to appear out of nowhere and give him their (unasked for) opinion about his life as a Jedi, and despite not being one with the Force, Goose had somehow found a way to visit him as often as he could. His best friend liked to chuckle at Maverick, that he couldn't just leave him, to cause chaos without him, and Maverick was just too overwhelmed by the sheer loyalty from Goose—a loyalty and (he couldn't deny it) love that gave the middle finger to everything about the Force that the Masters of old taught—that he could only just stop himself from trying to reach out and pull the goofy fool into his arms, even though he knows he'd fall right through him, every single time.
Once Penny had left him thirty minutes later, with a wink, telling him that he wore his robes in such a delightful way, Maverick's head had decided to remind him it was still attached to his neck with a sharp throbbing pain in his temple. He'd tried more meditating to try and get rid of it, but it hadn't worked. He had discovered that the pain wasn't originating from him though. It was his force bond with Bradley.
Goose often told him that his son (who was unable to see his father's ghost despite how much he wanted to, and could every so often, be caught gazing yearningly into an empty space; a fact which broke Maverick's heart every time), would give Maverick a headache. Maverick just hadn't thought he meant literally. He should've known though that Bradley would be contrary. Viper and Ice, would no doubt say it was karma. Maverick's starting to believe them.
He can't leave the hurt, anger—whatever Bradley is feeling—to fester within their bond though; they work together so seamlessly, despite Bradley only being sixteen, and Maverick doesn't want that to change. He knows the Jedi code forbids attachments, but Maverick hadn't got the name he had for no reason. He didn't think anyone, no matter their age, species, or planet they were from, could live in this world without forming attachments, and not come out the other side irrevocably broken. He'd tried it once, after his father and mother had died within a short space of each other, but the loneliness had felt crushing; an endless darkness that he thought he'd never escape from.
He'd felt the Force for the first time then; a small fuzzy ball of light inside him that felt like a whisper saying, you are never alone.
And he'd never felt alone since.
That wasn't just the Force though.
Before, when Bradley had asked him to train him—had looked at him with those puppy dog eyes and begged Maverick to be his Master—he'd hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be such a good idea for Bradley to bond with him; not wanting the parts of him that could reasonably be called as not what the Jedi texts would encourage, to bleed into Bradley and influence him in any way. But he'd said yes, because Goose had said he wouldn't visit him again if he didn't, and because deep down he'd wanted to, and it had only taken a day for him to realise that the space inside him—that darkness he'd never been able to fully get rid of—was filled by Bradley. The brightness and aliveness of his soul. He felt whole when he was connected to his padawan.
Which is why the muted sensation in chest, the bleed-through of only anger in his head, was causing him such distress.
Maverick strides down the corridor to his and Bradley's shared quarters, hoping his padawan will be open to talking about things. Bradley has a short fuse sometimes, and no matter how much meditation Maverick tells him to do, there's just no quietening that burning fire inside him. He'll spar with Bradley if he has to, but he hopes he doesn't; the throbbing in his head is draining his energy more than he'd like.
The door to their quarters open with a soft whoosh, and Maverick shucks his outer robes; folding them and placing them on the sofa. Carding a hand over his short hair, braid tapping against his nape as he sighs; Maverick heads towards Bradley's room. He opens his mouth, hand poised ready to knock, when he reaches the door. He hears Bradley say his name first though.
Figuring his padawan could feel his presence, even if he was suppressing their Force bond more than Maverick would like, he opens the door and enters Bradley's room.
"Bradley, we should talk about thi—"
His eyes widen, and his mouth snaps shut, because he knows now—can see it with his own eyes, and by Force, he can't look away either—that Bradley hadn't said his name because he knew he was just the other side of his room. Maverick would stake his life on the fact that Bradley had had no idea he was even in their quarters.
"M-Master!" Bradley yelps; flushing a deep red and trying to tug a blanket over his naked body. It was tucked underneath him though, and kept getting caught, and so he eventually gives up; trying to brazen it out. Like Maverick hasn't just walked in on him stark bollock naked, his hand around his cock, and something (Force, Maverick can't bring himself to look what it was, even if his gut squirms with the knowledge that he wants to) nestled in the soft kiss of his asshole. "What are you—" Bradley snaps his legs closed, but it's no use; they're long and gangly like a giraffe's, pale and freckled, and his thighs are so soft-looking, that Maverick's hands itch to grip that creamy flesh and push them back open again. "I thought you were talking to Penny."
Maverick furrows his brow at the way Bradley spits out Penny's name. "Is that why you've been in such a foul mood this afternoon? Because I was talking to Penny?"
Bradley clenches his jaw; turning his head to look away. The flush of embarrassment that had already spilled over his chest—the cluster of freckles by his clavicle, the small mounds of his tits; flesh generous and enticing even with the numerous hours of sparring they do, Bradley growing into his limbs properly, but the fat on his chest refusing to turn into muscle just yet—turns blotchy with anger. "I don't care who you talk to."
A lie if Maverick had ever heard one.
He bites back a sigh; tentatively perching on the end Bradley's bed. With Bradley's gaze elsewhere, Maverick can't help but look at where his padawan is still hard and aching between his legs. Unlike the long bones Bradley has settled into, his cock is short and thick; no more than three inches in length, but girthy enough to make a palm feel the heft of it. He wipes his own sweaty palms over his thighs; uncomfortable with himself that he noticed so much detail.
"Bradley," he tries. "Padawan, please look at me."
Bradley shakes his head; copper curls bouncing against the tips of his ears, the plait that Maverick had tied himself, gently knocking against his neck.
Maverick lightly taps Bradley's ankle. "Well, I can't read your mind, dear one. You're blocking the Force bond."
"There's a reason for that," Bradley grumbles. Force, he really was difficult to deal with sometimes. But Maverick loves him. Truly loves him.
"You either tell me what's wrong, or you show me."
Bradley wets his lips; the small rolls of his belly jiggling as his whole body trembles. Maverick doesn't know if he's nervous or just cold. He opens his mouth and Maverick expects him to tell him to go, but no sound comes out. They sit there in silence; time feeling like the stretch of taffy between them. And then—
Maverick gasps.
The Force bond between him and Bradley opening up fully; wider than it even was before. He realises now, that Bradley had been holding something back; keeping a part of himself hidden from Maverick. It's easy to see why.
Sharp, gnarly, biting jealousy rages inside him like a storm; all of it swirling around with Maverick at the centre of it. Yearning, and greedy, possessive want mixed in there too. The most devastating part was the resigned acceptance; that feeling of not being good enough—the thought that Maverick would never want him.
Maverick shouldn't want him, and not just because of the Jedi code, and attachments, but because he was only sixteen and he's pretty sure Goose will find some way to kill him and haunt him even when they're both in the afterlife.
But still.
He's tempted. A low simmering heat in his gut that's getting harder and harder to ignore with every second he sits there on Bradley's bed.
Maverick sweeps the pad of his thumb over Bradley's ankle bone. A tear spills over the ridge of Bradley's cheek. Maverick reaches up to brush it away, and Bradley's breath hitches at the touch.
He'd gotten off lightly with the headache, because Bradley—
Force, his sweet boy was in pain and Maverick hadn't known.
The calling of his name when he'd been alone makes more sense now.
"Oh," he says dumbly, when he realises that Bradley is in love with him. "Oh, dear one."
"Just go, Mav," Bradley sniffs, still not looking at him. "I know you don't feel the same. I don't need your pity. I just—I just want to be alone."
Maverick doesn't move.
"I can't do that, Sweetheart. You know that."
Bradley huffs; folding his arms over his chest. "Such a fucking stubborn asshole sometimes, Mav." His legs fall open a little then, and Maverick can't help but look. Eyes widening because—
"Is that your lightsaber?"
"Yeah," Bradley grunts; trying to close his legs. Maverick's hand gets in there first; palming Bradley's warm thigh and pushing it to the side so he can get a better look. "Kinda difficult to find a sex toy around here, and it's hard to get the right angle using just my fingers."
Maverick garbles out some kind of strangled whine, because the angle hadn't been what he was worried about. "Bradley. Are you nuts? What if it switches on? You could seriously hurt yourself!"
"I was being careful!" He throws up his hand; glaring at Maverick. "You're the one who came barging in here, interrupting me. I'd have taken it out by now otherwise."
"Well, we're definitely taking it out. Right now."
"We? What do you mean—Mav!" He pushes Bradley's legs open wide and grasps the handle. Pulls it slowly from the tight clutch of Bradley's hole.
"Relax, Sweetheart. You clenching is only going to make this worse."
"Well sor-ry! It's hard to fucking relax when the man I'm in love with—my fucking Master—has got his hand between my legs, trying to pull my lightsaber out my ass."
Maverick chuffs. He always did have a flare for the overdramatics. "Like you wouldn't want me to replace it with my fingers. Or my cock." The words spill out of him, unbidden. The knowledge that Bradley loves him, wants him, like he does flooding his veins, making it hard to think about anything else. A reason why they shouldn't do this, for one.
Bradley's whole body seems to go lax in shock and Maverick manages to pull the lightsaber free; placing it on the floor, trying and failing to ignore the shine of bacta smeared over the handle, that Bradley had obviously used as lubricant. His little hole—red and puffy, and gaping open—winks at Maverick in temptation. He traces the tender skin of his rim with his finger.
"Oh shit," Bradley grasps; jolting at the light touch.
Maverick slowly pushes two fingers inside Bradley's ass.
"Finish what you were doing, padawan," he says; starting to slowly pump his fingers in and out. "That pretty little cock of yours looks painfully hard."
He looks at Bradley; arching a brow when the teenage just stares at him, mouth agape. "What's going on, Mav?" he whispers.
"You told me you're in love with me, and whilst I don't feel the same—yet”, he says firmly, before Bradley can spill more tears, "I find that I want to watch you touch yourself while I sit here and finger you—you have such a greedy little hole, dear one, it's very distracting—and then once you've come..." Maverick waits until Bradley wraps a shaking hand around his fat drooling cock, before continuing. "Then, we'll sit down and talk about this, okay? Because I don't want to lose you. You're my padawan, yes, but you're also my heart, and I know the code forbids attachments, but I've been bonded with you since the very beginning, Sweetheart."
Bradley sniffs back tears; brown eyes wide and hopeful. He bites his bottom lip, jerking out a faint nod. "O-Okay."
He starts stroking his cock; short, rough jerking movements, his cock not long enough to need more. Maverick watches enraptured; pearlescent precum bubbling from his slit to dribble over his fingers. He fucks his fingers in and out of Bradley's hole slowly; grazing his prostate with each push and drag.
"That's it, dear one. Doing so well. You going to come?"
"Y-Yeah. Can I come, Master?"
Maverick closes his eyes for a moment; resigned to never hearing his padawan call him that the same away again. Looks at Bradley again; the young Jedi almost shivering with the effort not to come without permission. Maverick licks his lips. "Yes," he rasps. "Come for me, padawan."
Sticky white paints Bradley's soft belly in hot, pulsing stripes; making a mess all over him. Maverick feels the fluttering spasm of his hole around his fingers, and he thinks about how it would feel around his cock.
Knows then, that no matter what they discuss after, he'll end up balls deep inside Bradley at some point. It feels inevitable now. Like fate. Or the act of a force much more powerful than either of them.
He drags his fingers out; wiping the bacta on his leggings.
Bradley lays there; chest heaving as he catches his breath. Legs splayed wantonly; dick softened to a small, wide button-like nub, resting on top of the pouch of his testicles. He looks like something out of a forbidden fantasy. "Are you sure we'll be okay?" he asks; quiet and afraid.
Maverick shuffles up the bed; perching by his hip. Reaches up to cup his cheek. "We'll be okay, Bradley. I promise. As long as your dad's ghost doesn't kill me."
His padawan huffs out a small laugh. "He wouldn't dare. He knows I wouldn't be able to live without you."
Maverick hums; stroking Bradleys curls away from his flushed face. "I wouldn't be able to live without you either, Sweetheart."
It's a truth Maverick had accepted a long time ago, and one that he thinks makes him a better Jedi, not a rule-breaking one. He needs Bradley in his life; whether as his padawan or just as Bradley. The possibility of him being something else, something more—
it's not one he'd entertained before entering this room.
But...
There were much worse things than being loved by the boy who makes him feel whole, he thinks. Much worse things indeed.
The council would probably have something to say if he went all in, if he took Bradley as his partner, his husband, but as far as Maverick is concerned, they're all a bunch of stuffy, boring, old farts who had way too much time on their hands.
Bradley grins at him shyly, as if he can feel Maverick's determination to love him back the same however he can through their bond, and Maverick decides the council can go fuck themselves if they try to split him and Bradley up.
Rules were made to be broken after all.
And Bradley was worth breaking every rule for, and more.
(He’s definitely going to have to go over the proper uses for a lightsaber though, even Maverick can’t condone such reckless usage of so powerful a weapon. No matter how hot an image it made snug inside Bradley’s ass. He figures his padawan will be fine about it, once Maverick gives him something else to put up there).
(Unsurprisingly, he’s right).