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Chapter Text

Padmé made her mind up in the space of two breaths. 

In the first breath, she was consumed by fear that she’d lose Anakin forever, bone-chilling terror running through her body as she sat by his bedside and watched him sleep off the anesthesia from surgery. In the second breath, that feeling was chased by an unshakable certainty that he was hers. Her Ani, who’d so quickly slipped back into her life like he’d always belonged there. Whose devotion to her had transformed before her very eyes, honed by all they’d been through over the last few weeks. 

She combed through her thoughts a thousand times in the hours he lay unconscious. Tried to rationalize the feelings that could not be reasoned with. What was the source of her love for him? He had no silver tongue, no astounding intellect, and vanishingly little wisdom. Completely unpretentious, his political views could be best described as naive. He was entirely unlike any of her peers in the Senate. Maybe that was the reason? He had no capacity to lie to her, not even in moments where it would have served him better to keep secrets. There was nothing false in his praise, no wheedling to get something out of her in return. 

Padmé had fought the inevitable for as long as she could. She was good at that sort of thing, steady and stubborn as bedrock, but Anakin had cracked her like a faultline. 

She thought of their first meeting in ten years. The feeling when she recognized him, gut plunging and lifting as if she was in free fall. Her long-held image of a sweet boy with shiny hair and soft cheeks all at once shattered, replaced with this Jedi Padawan on the cusp of manhood, tall and beautiful and breathtaking. You’ll always be that little boy from Tatooine, she’d told him, already in denial. 

Then, travelling together to Naboo. His nightmares in transit, how he sought her upon waking like it was instinctive. His eyes burning into hers (...or be with the people we love? he’d said, voice purposely lowered like he wished to impress on her just how much older he was now). How when he met her family, he'd fit right in, smiling at her father and enduring her nieces’ pestering with unusual patience. Even when Padmé insisted to Sola that there was nothing between them, she knew it wasn’t true. 

Her and Anakin picnicking together, how he’d tipped his head back to laugh—with his face towards the sun, those pale blue eyes looked like the sky behind the parting of a thundercloud. She couldn’t remember how she’d gone from hovering over him, playfully admonishing him for worrying her, to pinned in the grass. She couldn’t remember how long she’d stared up at him, watching the light catch in the ends of his hair and the tips of his eyelashes. 

The kiss on the lakeside balcony. He’d looked like he didn’t know how to stop himself, like it was completely unintentional when he touched her bare skin, and even more so as he leaned in to press his lips against hers. Padmé should have known better than to kiss him back, but for the few seconds before reason set back in, she was overwhelmed with the sensation of victory. Even with her eyes closed, the golden vision of him bled through. 

And then she’d had to tell him that they couldn’t be together. She couldn’t deny the Jedi their prodigy. She couldn’t take him away from the Order that had given him his freedom. Could she? 

Time slipped away faster and faster after that. Their trip to Tatooine. His mother’s death. The darkness that followed, the terrible, violent grief in Anakin’s heart that he had allowed to lash outwards first and then inwards, towards himself. Padmé had felt his confession of guilt wash over her in waves: at once, she was devastated that some irreversible piece of him had been forever broken, his innocence lost, a crime committed that could never be undone. Then, to her horror, she realized that her sadness was entirely for his sake. What did it say about him? What did it say about her?

All they could do was press on, after that. Too afraid to look back, and with too much at stake not to keep moving, they’d followed Obi-Wan to Geonosis. In those moments before what was surely certain death, Padmé couldn’t find it in her to keep fighting. The torment of not having him was surely greater than the torment of being with him. Padmé only had to choose the lesser of two evils.

And now, here they were. On an unmarked medical transport on their way back to Naboo, attended by only an astromech, a protocol droid, and a small team of medical droids. Padmé had been worried that they wouldn’t be enough—but after reassurance that a mechno-limb installation was one of the standard programmed procedures, she’d acquiesced. It was safer not to pull in anyone else who could be tied to their location, now that Anakin was just as much a mark as she was. 

His eyes finally opened, and he visibly relaxed the moment he spotted her sitting beside him. 

“Are you alright?” His voice was rough from disuse, crackling from between his lips. 

A short laugh burst from Padmé’s throat. “Me? I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.”

To her amazement, Anakin smiled. It was one of those huge, glittering grins that took up his whole face and made his eyes crinkle into half-moons. “You’re worried about me?”

“You must be on some pretty strong stuff,” she murmured, checking his drip-bag like it would reveal some secret to her. “How are you feeling right now?” 

“Perfect,” he sighed, lifting his head slightly from his pillow. “No complaints, milady.” 

It was only when he reached for her that his mood changed. His left hand slipped easily into her own, but the right did not move the way he expected. His eyes drifted down to the shining durasteel, brand new and almost skeletal in construction. 

“Oh,” he muttered. Padmé searched for something to say in the silence that followed. 

“I was told,” she started, swallowing when her voice broke, “that it’s rudimentary for now. To make sure that your body doesn’t reject it.”

“Oh,” he repeated, then gave her a smile that looked like it had taken all of his strength to produce. “I’ll have to mod it. I can do better than this.” 

Padmé squeezed his fingers in her own, wishing she could do more for him. They faced a galactic war, the consequences of which Padmé couldn’t even begin to comprehend. The Jedi had lost a huge number of their own in the battle and now would likely lose even more. The little comfort she could offer felt laughably inadequate. And still, he just looked up at her like she was the only thing that mattered to him. 

His eyes started to drift closed again after a few moments, as the newest round of painkillers flooded his veins. She leaned forward, kissing his forehead and rubbing her fingers against his scalp. 

“Feels nice,” he murmured, trying and failing to open his eyes and look at her. 

“Don’t fight it, Ani,” Padmé said gently. “You need the rest.” 

“Talk to me until I fall asleep?” 

She kissed his forehead again, smiling as she did. “Talk about what?”

“Anything.” Here, he was cut off by a jaw-cracking yawn. “Whatever you want. It doesn’t matter. I just want to hear your voice.” 

Padmé laid her head on the pillow beside his. Her back was bent uncomfortably, her neck turned awkwardly—but it wouldn’t take long, and she didn’t mind a bit of discomfort for his sake. An old story came to mind, one of the very first taught in literature classes on Naboo. A classic of Futhork calligraphy that acted as a primer for young students. One that Padmé had always loved dearly. 

“In the ancient days,” she began, keeping her voice low and sweet as a lullaby, “there was a man made of starlight. His name was given to him by the nebulae, whispered amongst dust clouds and passed from sun to sun. He was called Set, and he outshone all other stars and turned night into day wherever he drifted.”

Anakin’s eyes had slipped shut again, but she could see them moving beneath the lids. He was tired, but still listening. 

“He was brilliant and blinding and beautiful. The wisest and oldest stars knew that he would burn out too quickly, and that his death would spell destruction for the heavens. And so they dislodged Set from his place, and he crashed down to the planet below. 

“Nobody knew what to make of the starlight man. Some argued that he should be returned to his place, that he was too dangerous to keep planetside. Others wished to capture him, and keep him to display as a piece in their museums. While they bickered, the frightened Set ran as far as he could. He was soon lost and alone. He called upon his brethren above to pull him free from the planet’s gravity, but they refused until he had proven himself. Set wandered that way for many days and many nights.”

His breathing had evened out now. Padmé rested her hand on his shoulder, tucking her head even closer to the crook of his neck. 

“Eventually, when he was exhausted and afraid, he was discovered by a farmer named Veré. She did not know that he was special, and was surprised to find a stranger on her lands, but she offered him food and shelter all the same. For the next few years, Set remained with her to work her farm and share her home, the two of them living in peace and isolation. Her kindness and generosity captured Set’s heart.

“One night, he took her into her fields and confessed two truths to Veré: that he had fallen deeply in love with her, and that he was not a mortal man. Veré had fallen in love with him too, accepting him as he truly was. That night, the two were wed, and Set poured his light into her until they both glowed. When the wise old stars above saw that Set had dimmed by half, they pulled him from his lover’s arms and back into the sky. 

“Veré mourned, but did not despair. For the rest of her life she remained faithful to him, watching the nighttime sky and praying for their eventual reunion. At the end of her days, she went out to the field where they had promised themselves to one another, laid her body down, and breathed her last. But she had not died as a mere mortal, for she had carried his love with her all along. Her body was made light and drawn from the planet into Set’s embrace.

“Veré and Set, now, are two halves of a whole: two stars, orbiting around one another for an eternity.”

When Padmé’s story had finished, Anakin was fast asleep. 

o0o

Padmé eventually extracted herself from his side, growing restless enough to wander to the cockpit. She curled up in the passenger-side seat, watching the blur of hyperspace for what felt like an eternity, her own exhaustion finally catching up with her. The scratches on her back were healing under their bacta patches, but her skin pulled when she turned wrong. She could feel bags forming under her eyes. There was grit on her scalp and stuck beneath her nails (and Padmé could have died laughing, thinking that Anakin was right about sand, especially now that she’d gone tumbling down a dune of it). 

She was caught halfway between deciding whether to take a nap or a quick trip to the refresher when Anakin joined her. 

“You shouldn’t be up!” 

The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Anakin didn’t appear to mind being chastised, only grinning like he was proud of himself for staying upright. He gestured to the now portable fluid bag strapped to his upper arm. “Med droids seemed to think my condition was good. My legs were starting to atrophy.” 

“You’d only been down for a few hours,” Padmé pointed out, frowning. “Don’t you need the rest?” 

He was quiet for a moment, and she realized her mistake. He’d probably not slept this many hours in a row for quite a while. Her gaze softened. 

“Just thought I’d check our progress,” Anakin mumbled, shuffling over to the pilot’s seat. “But I guess I don’t need to. Artoo’s doing just fine on his own.” 

There were a series of trilling beep-boops from the control panel, where the little astromech had been dutifully stationed since they’d left Geonosis. Padmé couldn’t speak perfect binary, but she swore she heard a hint of pride in that string of coded warbles. 

For a long while, Padmé and Anakin sat together in companionable silence, eyes tracking the streaks of starlight out the window. Finally, though, she braved a look at him. 

Bathed in white and blue light, he looked remarkably fragile. Every now and then, he gingerly flexed the fingers of his new mechno hand, wincing at the feedback pain it was likely causing to his newly rerouted nervous system. His eyes traced the shiny surface, this strange new part of him that didn’t match. Anakin was nothing if not heat incarnate, golden and warm, and to see him like this stirred a terrible ache inside of her. 

“Are you cold?” 

Anakin looked up at her, surprised. “Not really,” he murmured, but she could see that he was either being polite or was afraid of wounding his pride. The bluish-green color of his veins stood out on his left wrist, goosebumps prickling his arms beneath the thin medical robes he’d changed into for treatment. Padmé stood at once, ready to grab the blanket from his bunk, but he caught her hand in his and she stopped still. 

“Padmé,” he whispered. He looked worried: brows pinched together, his eyes beckoning. She came to stand before him and let him wrap his arm around her waist. 

“Ani?” 

“Did you… did you mean what you said?” 

She blinked. It took her a moment to understand the full meaning of the question, but when she did, her breath came out of her in a rush. “I did.” 

“You thought we were going to die,” he said carefully. “Now that we haven’t…” 

She’d thought about this. Over and over, for the hours they’d been traveling, she’d thought of how to tell him the decision that she’d made. Padmé reached, tilting his chin upwards with her fingertips. 

“I meant it then,” she breathed. “And I mean it now, Ani. I love you.”

He leaned forward, resting his head against her chest. She held him close, hoping that he would be comforted by her heartbeat even as it sped up. Her fingertips tingled. The words she wanted to speak got stuck in her throat at first. She was so afraid to disrupt a moment this fleetingly peaceful, but if Padmé didn’t tell him the truth now she feared she never would. And then she might lose him. 

“Ani.”

“Hm?”

“When we return to Naboo,” she asked softly, “would you marry me?” 

When he didn’t immediately respond, Padmé worried that she’d made a terrible mistake. Her mind began forming apologies and explanations that died on her tongue. But when she looked down at him, he was staring at her wide-eyed, a smile slowly spreading across his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he said dreamily. “I think the meds are making me hear things. What did you say?” 

Padmé leaned backwards. “You weren’t hearing things.”

“Well, maybe I don’t know if I heard you right the first time.” Anakin stood, looking down at her in pleased disbelief. Relief flooded her whole body. 

“Marry me, Ani.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not asking again!” 

He laughed, the sound filling up the cockpit and warming even the frigid glow of hyperspace. He wrapped her up in a one armed hug, drawing her in until her head was tucked beneath his chin. She could feel the laughter in his throat vibrating through her, a frequency that existed nowhere else in the universe. 

“Padmé,” he whispered against the crown of her head. “I will marry you, if you’ll have me.” 

She wrapped her arms around him and clutched at his back, so overwhelmed with joy that she could have wept. 

o0o

The staff at Varykino had been chosen specifically for their discretion, which Padmé was exceptionally grateful for now. She and Anakin had disappeared together with no warning, and reappeared looking visibly worse for wear without giving any explanation. Though there had been a few raised eyebrows, everyone was wise enough not to ask any questions. 

“The Jedi have given Padawan Skywalker leave to stay here and recover from his injuries,” was all that Padmé had needed to say. “Your instructions have not changed. Please continue to make him comfortable and give him whatever space he needs.” 

From there, Padmé made an internal list of everything she needed to do in the next twenty-four hours. The first thing: secure an officiant. She and Anakin were in agreement that their marriage should not be on any official record, so that left out the typical civil ceremony. Instead, Padmé recruited Artoo and Threepio to make a small pilgrimage to the abbey of the Brotherhood of Cognizance. 

“We’ll want to use false identities,” she murmured, preparing to record her message. “I hate to do it, but–” 

“Veré and Set,” Anakin replied. He was half-asleep, sprawled out across his bed, forearm draped over his eyes to keep the late-afternoon light out of them. “Or is that too on the nose?” 

Padmé smiled at him, even though he couldn’t see her. “No. I think the Pontifex would love that.” 

Once the droids were sent on their way, she kissed Anakin and left him to try and rest for a few hours. Her next order of business: the dress. 

The Naberrie family’s ancestral wedding cloth was stored at Varykino, where it had been for generations now; a great bolt of it lay carefully preserved in one of the workshops with other important garments, cloths, and sewing-bots. At first, Padmé had thought to take enough for a whole dress—but it would be obvious that someone had grabbed enough to get married in, and she didn’t want to invite any questions. Instead, she decided to take just enough for a veil. It would be less conspicuous, that way. 

When she called Yané that night, she tried to remain vague about her need for a dress that matched, but it was impossible to hide its purpose. That was alright. Yané could be trusted to keep a secret, and if she was one of the few people who knew, it was a sacrifice Padmé was willing to make. It would have been safer to be wed in something she’d already brought with her, sure, but when Padmé imagined her wedding day she’d thought of being surrounded by family and friends. This was the closest she could get. 

By the time night had fallen, she was exhausted but satisfied with her progress. Anakin had slept for a long time and taken a little dinner in his room, but otherwise made himself scarce. Padmé went to him late enough that the staff was probably dead to the world, knowing there was a chance that he would be too, but when she knocked he answered as if he knew she’d been coming. 

Her hand was still raised when the door flew open. He was dressed for bed—he must have bathed, too, because his skin was steam-flushed and his hair stuck to his neck in sodden whorls, Padawan braid undone and dripping down his shoulder. 

Padmé stepped into his room. She didn’t wait to make herself comfortable, sitting at the edge of his bed and watching him flit around, toweling his hair and then frowning into the mirror. His left hand crossed over his shoulder, touching the long strands of hair, fiddling purposefully with them before he sighed in irritation. 

“Do you need help?” 

Anakin turned to her, embarrassment obvious on his face. “I’ve done it a thousand times before, it just–” 

“It’s alright,” she told him gently, gesturing for him to sit down beside her. He sat facing her, his body tense and stiff, a frown still directed at his hands. Or really, the one hand. 

“Keeps getting caught on things,” he muttered. 

She wished she could say something helpful. It felt… wrong to say oh, you’ll get used to it or maybe when you modify it, it won’t be so bad. It wasn’t like she could be sure, and she didn’t have any personal experience with having a limb replaced, especially not a dominant hand. Instead, Padmé gently touched the hair laying against his shoulder. “I’ll do it for you, Ani.” 

It was a statement, but also a question: please, let me help you.

And in the soft tilt of his mouth, the release of tension in his shoulders, an answer: you can, if you want to.

Padmé slipped her fingers through his hair, weaving the braid together with practiced ease and then tying it off for him. All the while, she felt his eyes on her as she had so many times before, the almost physical sensation of him watching her. It came as no surprise to her that the moment she was done, he leaned forward to kiss her. 

In the privacy of this room, without anything or anyone to hurry them, Padmé let herself get swept away by all of the small sensations of it: the clean scent of him, so addictive to her. The fullness of his lips under hers. The breaths that passed between them, shaky and hungry.

There might have been a world where she’d been able to go on resisting the pull he had on her, where he’d simply done as the Council had asked and they’d parted ways after. But that first kiss had been damning. He’d known it, even before she’d completely come to terms with how she felt. 

She couldn’t go back. She didn’t want to. All she wanted was him, here in this room, hot and sweet on her tongue. 

Anakin broke away first. He rested his head on her shoulder, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist. In spite of his height, he curled himself neatly into her embrace, fitting perfectly there. 

“Nearly everything is settled,” she whispered. “This time tomorrow night, we’ll be married.” 

He squeezed her tighter. “Married,” he repeated, like he still couldn’t really believe it. “Will you… stay, tonight?” 

“That’s not exactly traditional,” she teased. 

“Is any of this traditional?”

Padmé laughed. “Very little. But there are still some traditions I’d like to follow.” 

“Like what?” 

It occurred to her that he genuinely did not know what a Naboo wedding ceremony entailed. She thought of his mother, unmarried, raising him alone. Of the Jedi Order, who forbade these attachments. Who would he have learned any of this from, if not her? 

“Here,” she said, shrugging out of his grasp and laying herself across his sheets. She threw her arms out wide and Anakin burrowed into her without hesitation. “I’ll need to purify myself before Shiraya. It’s just bathing and praying for an hour, but it’s supposed to make the body and mind clean. A fresh start for a new life.” 

“Do I need to do that?” His voice was muffled into her chest and starting to take on the blurry edge of sleepiness. She grinned. 

“You could,” she replied, mulling it over in her head. “We could do it together.” 

He snorted. “That seems counterproductive.” 

“It probably would be,” Padmé agreed. “Anyway, I don’t think there’s a wrong way to get married. I just find some of the old rituals beautiful.” 

He was quiet for a long moment, so long that she wondered if he’d drifted off. But then: 

“Are you sorry it won’t be like you imagined?” 

Of course, Padmé had always thought of her eventual wedding day as being fairly intimate. But there’d always been familiar faces: her mother, passing on wisdom and helping her dress. Her father giving his blessing. Sola and her girls flinging flower petals into the breeze, singing folk songs in celebration. Her handmaidens, those girls who had become such fast friends to her over the years. The one thing she had never been able to picture with any clarity, though, was her future partner. It was always a blurry mirage, a formless bride or groom with no discerning features. She’d looked forward to her wedding day with the kind of vague, twinkly excitement that children had the night before a festival. 

When she thought of Anakin, it was not their wedding day that she pictured. It was their marriage, him in her bed, laughing in her arms, kissing her awake. Eating at her table. Taking up her space and her time, making her worry, making her melt. Someday, maybe, if they could ever find a way to reconcile their wildly disparate lifestyles, she could see him with their child in his arms. She craved that future, so hungry for it that she’d be willing to suffer through these next few years of wartime, surviving on scraps of him because the alternative was nothing at all. 

“I’m not sorry,” she said simply. “I get to be with you.” 

o0o

On a beautiful day, deep in the Lake Country of Naboo, a Pontifex of the Brotherhood of Cognizance married a young couple as the sun set over the water. Veré and Set had no known family, no history, no witnesses save for a pair of droids. They requested secrecy. No official record was to be kept of this moment. 

Padmé Amidala Naberrie needed no record. She’d never forget how Anakin looked at her in the dying light of day, how gently he took her hands into his own. 

o0o 

Alone in her room, waiting for her new husband to join her, Padmé started to get jitters like she’d never done this before. 

In a way, she hadn’t. She’d never been married. Never been with someone she loved this dearly. There had been a handful of lovers before him, men and women she’d liked well enough and had had a good time with, but it was just… scratching an itch. Perfectly functional. Something that could be penciled into her busy schedule, with partners who were happy to keep things easy, friendly, and uncomplicated. 

Nothing like Anakin. 

After the ceremony, they’d returned to their own rooms separately. Padmé knew that if the staff were keen enough they’d probably figure out what had transpired, but she was not going to make it any easier for them if she could help it. Once she was safely in her own quarters, she carefully stripped from her wedding clothes, packed them away gingerly, and stood naked in her closet for an embarrassingly long time. Her wardrobe had been curated well for her trip to Varykino: gowns that floated softly in the breezes off the water, silky nightgowns that were modest enough to be seen in case an emergency arose. Most of the garments were selected for their comfort, with a few here and there acting as outliers in case she needed them.

(The black dress… that had been a last minute decision. Even now, Padmé couldn’t say what exactly possessed her to pack it. Maybe it had been the way Anakin looked at her when she was packing in her apartment on Coruscant, with such unrestrained longing that she’d had to excuse herself.) 

The point was, nothing here had been specifically chosen for a honeymoon, much less a wedding night. 

She combed through practically everything she had brought, narrowing her selection down to a few choices that seemed like they made sense. Most were some variation on classic bias-cut silk gowns, some with a bit more lace and some with slightly higher hems. None of them would have been her first choice, had she been more prepared. 

But then she spotted a yet unworn gown at the back of her closet. It had been an option for the rare chance that Naboo had a rainy day—there was an underlayer of stiff burgundy satin, high necked with a long, a-line skirt. What caught Padmé’s eye was the overlayer; iridescent chiffon that shifted shades like the wings of a beetle. It floated over the rest of the garment, giving it a depth of color that could not be achieved with a single piece of fabric. And, blessedly, it was only attached at key points to the underlayer to allow it as much movement as possible. Padmé rushed to sit at the edge of her bed, ripping the seams delicately until the two pieces were free of one another, and then slipped it over her head. 

The chiffon fell over her body like water, sheer and tantalizingly revealing. The sleeves fell softly from her shoulders and gathered delicately at her wrists. The skirt skimmed her ankles, split into panels that showed flashes of ivory skin when she moved her legs. 

Yané would be proud.

Padmé swallowed the sadness that rose with the thought. There was no use mourning the need for secrecy; her friend’s craft had been present at the ceremony itself, and knowing Yané, she’d poured all her love into that dress. For now, Padmé tried to relish the small victory of producing something suitably sultry out of thin air. She’d done it just in time, too—there was a gentle knock at her door. 

She quickly donned a dressing robe, holding it closed with one hand as she rushed to let Anakin in. She ushered him inside quickly, closing and locking the door behind him. 

Padmé’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him, like she was seeing him for the first time in so many years all over again. She allowed herself to look at him with truly uninhibited desire for the first time, no worried voice at the back of her head telling her to stop, nobody else here to witness what was solely for him. Her eyes lingered over the curve of his neck into his shoulders. His lean frame, delicate but deceptively strong.

She reached for him. He dipped to kiss her, not willing to waste a single moment more. 

Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, lifting it as she traced the lines of his abdomen. His skin was smooth and hot under her fingertips—she already found herself imagining it pressed against hers, how good it would feel. She deepened their kiss, gently taking his bottom lip between her teeth and relishing his responding sigh. His hands remained still on her hips, but his fingers contracted slightly. 

“You can touch me, too,” she whispered. “I’d like it if you did.”

Anakin pulled away. He was beautifully disheveled; cheeks red, lips thoroughly kissed, eyes half-lidded. Padmé slid her palms up over his chest, spreading her fingers out beneath his shirt. 

“I don’t–” he started, before clearing his throat. “I don’t know how.” 

The uncertain tone of his voice told her more than the words themselves. Padmé had guessed that he’d never done this from context clues—it wasn’t like she’d asked him before tonight, and it didn’t usually matter that much to her. Tonight, though? She felt something strange unfurling inside of her. A kind of wicked excitement, delight at being his first. 

“I’ll show you,” she told him, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And I’ll tell you what I like. All you need to do is listen.” 

He nodded, his eyes locked onto hers. Padmé decided that first, she’d finish what she started. She worked his shirt off and over his head, stifling a laugh when his arms went up obediently at the barest urging. When he lowered them again, she dragged her fingers over the newly revealed skin, startled slightly when he twitched under her touch. 

“Sorry,” she giggled. 

“S’okay. Just tickled.” 

She smiled up at him and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his collarbone. Then, she reached up and dropped the dressing robe from her shoulders, letting the sheer fabric beneath make its full impression. His eyes instantly dropped to her chest and lingered there, before darting nervously back up to her face like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Padmé took his hand in hers, watching him carefully as she brought his palm to her breast. 

Anakin was, after all, still a nineteen year old boy. He blinked in shock, then squeezed lightly, trying to figure out the feel. Padmé bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. The last thing she wanted was to discourage him, even if it was more heartwarmingly silly than sexy. Still, when he brushed his thumb over her clothed nipple, it elicited a genuine moan from her. 

“Good?” 

“Mhm.” 

He hesitated, bringing his right hand up and then letting it drop again. Padmé saw the disappointment flicker in his eyes, self-doubt clear on his face. That wouldn’t do. 

“Come here. I have a better idea,” she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards her bed. When he laid down at her urging, she crawled onto the mattress beside him, tucking herself into his arms and tangling their legs together. One hand rested against his cheek, while the other found its way to his side, stroking gentle circles into his skin. “Can I kiss you?” 

“You can do anything you want to me.” 

Padmé laughed softly, before she pressed her mouth against his neck. She was careful, sucking lightly to avoid marking him, using her lips and tongue more than her teeth. His breath was coming quicker now. She could feel the press of his hardness against her hip, insistent and needy. 

“I’m glad to have your permission,” she breathed into his ear, “but do you know what you want?” 

Anakin shook his head. 

“Have you ever thought about it?” 

“I… I know I shouldn’t have,” he mumbled, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“You can tell me, Ani.” 

“It’s your hands, mostly. On me. Anywhere,” he started, his voice trembling. “Everywhere. I can’t even think straight, Padmé. I just want you to touch me.” 

Padmé considered this for a moment. Right now, he was wound up too tight, shy and self-conscious. Almost… hurried, in a way, fighting against his own body in a battle he had no hope of winning. She decided on the easiest solution, something that would hopefully buy them a bit more time.

“On your back, please,” she instructed. He didn’t even ask her why before following her lead, although when he opened his eyes he was clearly confused. Padmé sat up on her knees, reaching for the ties of his trousers and loosening them with nimble fingers. He swallowed heavily, but still didn’t ask any questions, just watched her intently. “Lift your hips?” 

Again, he did as he was asked. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his trousers and underwear, pulling both down at the same time. Once she’d gotten him completely bare, she swung one leg over his, sitting on his thighs with her hands spread over his hipbones. He glanced down, winced, and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Are you alright?”

“It hurts a little,” he mumbled, then frowned when she started to hoist herself up off his legs. “No, not you. It’s… uh.” 

Padmé finally let herself look at him, her eyes raking down the trail of hair descending from his navel, over the indentation of his muscles, then finally, the obvious source of all his anguish. He was right. It looked painful. She brushed her fingertips over the shining, flushed tip, delighting in the groan she got from him in response. Slowly, she wrapped both hands around his length, letting him adjust to the feeling of being touched for a moment. 

“You’re beautiful, Ani,” she told him, surprised at her own breathlessness. She hadn’t expected to be so worked up over so little. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Can’t… believe it either,” he panted. “I love you.” 

Her heart clenched with more of that sweet, golden affection. “I love you, too.” 

Padmé wiggled, settling herself in comfortably against him, and devoted herself entirely to stroking him off. It was easy, which didn’t surprise her; what did surprise her was how her own body reacted, desire ratcheting up inside her at every whining moan and twitch. She couldn’t help thinking of how good he’d feel inside of her, how perfectly hard and eager he was. How those noises sounded to her, how many others she might be able to get out of him when they were joined. It had hardly been a couple of minutes, and he was already squirming, his fists tight in the blankets and his shoulders scrunched up. 

“I–please,” he whimpered. “Please, Padmé.”

“Hm?” 

“Please let me.” 

That was certainly interesting, something that she decided to tuck away for later. But for now…

“You’re allowed to come,” she hummed. “Will you? For me, Ani?” 

He gasped sharply, then clamped his left hand over his mouth. Padmé was just lamenting the loss of more of those wonderful noises when she felt him throbbing in her grip. He climaxed spectacularly, spending all over himself, come splattering all the way up to his chest. She didn’t let go of him until she was certain he’d been fully wrung out. Several expletives fell from his lips—some of them in Huttese, most of which were completely new to her. She shuffled off his lap quickly, aware of his growing discomfort, and returned to him with a cloth in hand. 

“I can do that,” he offered, but Padmé batted his hands away stubbornly. 

“Let me?” 

His arms dropped beside him, his eyes locked on her as she wiped away the mess. Padmé took more time than she needed, distracted by the contours of his body, the sheen of sweat on his skin. She crumpled the cloth and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor, before leaning over him and kissing him. It was less desperate but no less passionate, his mouth open to hers, the pace slow and languid. His left hand tangled in her hair, fingers threaded through loose brown curls, while the other rested light and careful on her waist. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between kisses. 

“For what?”

“I might not know what I’m doing,” he grumbled, and Padmé pulled back to confirm that yes, he was indeed pouting, “but I know that wasn’t supposed to happen.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“I…” Anakin’s voice trailed off and his brows pulled together. “You’re not teasing me, are you?” 

Padmé laughed. “No, I’d be much too afraid to tease a Jedi.” 

“Ha, ha.”

“Really, Ani,” she said sternly, holding his jaw in her hands. “If I hadn’t wanted you to come, I would have stopped. Also, you asked so nicely.”

A breath pushed out of him like he’d been punched in the gut, his eyes fluttering shut. “Sure, but what about you?”

“Did you think we were done? I mean, I figured we had the whole night ahead–” 

“Alright, alright, I get it.” His cheeks were marvelously red again, but she could see that he was at least starting to relax. “I just don’t want to get this wrong.”

Padmé almost replied reflexively—she’d already told him that it was impossible to, that there was no way that he could. But it wouldn’t really help. Anakin was good at most things he’d tried; either through natural skill or through years of obsessive practice. Exactly how often had he encountered a scenario where he’d been forced to completely rely on someone else’s skills, and not his own innate abilities? She sat up, weighing her options. She’d originally planned on letting him set his own boundaries, explore at his own pace, decide what he wanted and didn’t want. But looking at him now, she could see that he was paralyzed with indecision and entirely out of his depth. 

“Could you promise me something?” 

Anakin nodded. 

“If I do anything you don’t like, tell me, and I’ll stop,” she told him. “But I don’t want you to apologize again.” 

“I promise.” 

“Good. Help me out of this, please.”

Given purpose, Anakin sat up immediately, helping her remove the fine chiffon draping her body. It fluttered softly away from her, leaving her naked in his lap. 

“Kiss me,” she continued, watching as his pupils dilated. He did, pressing their chests together in the process, the sensation of skin on skin sending goosebumps down her arms. Their tongues slid together, melting heat pouring through her belly every time they parted and rejoined, the soft, wet sounds making her restless with want. “My neck, now,” she panted. “But not too hard.”

Anakin pulled away from her lips, moving down the delicate line of her jaw. He swept her hair from her shoulder, obediently kissing the length of her neck, gentle as a breeze. “Like that?”

“Just like that,” she moaned. “Perfect.” 

She felt his cock twitch against her thigh at the compliment—very, very interesting—and she figured it was safe to continue. She grabbed his hands, guiding them to her breasts as she had before. This time, she was able to appreciate the dual sensations on her bare body; cool durasteel, warm skin. She bit her lip, folding her own hands over his. “I liked what you did earlier. Do you remember?” 

“Mhm.” He repeated the motion, sliding his thumbs back and forth over her nipples, watching as they stiffened under his touch. He glanced up at her, searching her face, hungry for more praise. 

“Put your mouth on me.” Padmé’s voice was thinner and needier than she’d expected it to be, her breath short as he laid claim to her breast with one of those wet, soft kisses. Her eyes fluttered shut, pleasure rocking through her, and when she opened them again he was still looking up at her. Watching. Waiting for further instruction. “More tongue,” she gasped. “Suck on it.” 

Something in her brain shorted out when he did. She didn’t make a conscious decision to say the words good boy, they just kind of… came out, and the moment they were past her lips, Padmé reached several important realizations at once. One being that Anakin responded to those words like a drug, a long, muffled moan dragging from his chest as he suckled harder at her breast. The other being that she felt something click inside of her, a long missing piece suddenly slotting into place. She could be a little bossy in bed, sure, but never like this. Nobody had ever looked at her like Anakin did, like he was hanging off of every word, a wild creature needing to be stroked and tamed. 

She lifted off his lap, coming up onto her knees and breaking the contact between Anakin’s mouth and her body. Padmé’s hands trembled. She took his left wrist, not trusting herself to speak, and guided his fingers between her legs. His eyes went wide as he slid them between her folds at her urging, his touch light and curious. 

“You’re wet.” 

It was such an honest reaction that she couldn’t help smiling. “It’s because of you.” 

He bit his lip. “What do you want me to do next?” 

Padmé led his fingers to her entrance, her body tense with anticipation as she helped him push two inside. They were long, calloused, felt so good that she whimpered desperately when he’d gotten them up to his knuckles. She rocked against his hand, pleased when he moved against her and matched her rhythm. With her hips angled just right, she was able to grind her clit against his palm. 

“Right there,” she cried. “Right there, right there–”

“Padmé?”

“Keep your hand where it is, Anakin, please,” she clarified, feeling herself start to unravel. She forced herself not to squeeze her eyes closed, looking down just in time to see him return his mouth to her breast. The whole universe contracted to where their bodies touched, the heat of a singularity trapped in those infinitely tiny points. Padmé came hard and fast, squeezing tight around his fingers and dripping down his palm. 

“Did I do that right?” His voice was barely a whisper. Padmé nodded, extracting herself from his hands, pushing at his shoulders. 

“Lie down, Ani,” she breathed. Her body ached more ferociously than ever—the first climax had done nothing to sate her, had only made her hungrier for him. She dragged his sodden fingers to her lips, kissing them, sucking them into her mouth and swirling her tongue around the tips. He made a choked sound beneath her, but it barely registered. There was so much more she’d meant to say before this moment, things she’d meant to do. 

All she could think about was getting his cock inside of her, making him gasp and cry and beg for her. She positioned herself over him, gripping him and sinking down as slowly as she could. Her thighs met his hipbones, her legs bracketing him and holding him still. She only just had the clarity of mind to ask if he was alright. 

Anakin stared up at her, eyes shining strangely in the warm, dim light. “Angel,” he said, voice breaking. “Padmé. Of course I’m alright.” 

She folded over him, dropping feather light kisses all over his cheeks, his jaw, then his lips. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, keeping her pressed to his chest as she rode him. He rocked his hips up against hers, matching her on each downstroke and earning half-formed moans of praise, broken words of encouragement. He’d started making those beautiful sounds again, his voice ringing in her ears—he begged and begged for more, for everything, for something that was just out of reach for him but if she only said the word…

At the edge of orgasm, caught in the onrush of it, Padmé felt like she was being pulled apart and put back together again. He was inevitability in human form. He always had been, and always would be, and yet he sought her approval and permission. She felt, suddenly, that this was the most precious gift in the world: Anakin Skywalker’s complete, uncompromised trust. 

“My love,” she beckoned. “Come for me.” 

He cried out, his head thrown back against the pillow, fingers digging into her hips to urge her on. She wished that she’d thought to delay this a little bit longer, so that she could feel him throbbing inside of her better—but the sensation was whisked away in her own pleasure as it radiated out from their joining. Her body sagged against his as it passed, the two of them laying together in stunned silence as they fought to catch their breath. 

The air was muggy. The whole room smelled like sex. Her legs, spread out over his hipbones, ached at the inner thigh. She knew that she should get up and wipe herself off, but she couldn’t bring herself to move, the thought of leaving his arms almost physically painful. 

Padmé had never, ever been happier. 

Chapter Text

For the first time in months, Anakin dreamed.

Not nightmares, not prophetic visions of horrors to come; dreams, like the kind he’d had as a boy. One long and nonsensical storyline that his unconscious mind put together, each scene spilling into the next without rhyme or reason. He was under twin suns at one moment, staring into them until his retinas burned. Then, at a lakeside where water lapped at his ankles and a breeze ruffled his hair. In Coruscant, moving through city streets on the lower levels, booming music pounding in his chest and neon lights turning his skin shades of blue and green and purple. 

And everywhere, the sound of Padmé’s laughter. Her hand in his, pulling him from place to place. The shape of his dreams changed, gone all fuzzy at the edges as they kissed. He drowned in softness that seemed neverending, her lips sweet and giving under his. 

His eyes opened. She was asleep, snoring softly against his side. 

Day had yet to break, so Anakin figured he had some time before he’d need to creep back to his room. For a while he could just watch her, gently running his fingers through the brown curls that spilled over her shoulders. Padmé was beautiful, even in sleep; his eyes traced the peaks and valleys her body formed beneath the thin sheets. One of her legs was thrown over his, her thigh pressed into his hips, the remnants of last night pressing hot and wet where her skin touched his. 

Naturally, of course, he was hard. It was first thing in the morning, after all, and his naked wife (wife!) had been pressed up against him all night. Anakin shut his eyes and tried to ignore it for as long as he could, and when that failed he mulled over how to get it to go away. Padmé was waking up by the time he’d run through every Djem So attack form he could remember, shifting against him and stretching in his embrace. 

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling like a fool when she blinked up at him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Her voice was still a bit husky, which he found deeply endearing. “My husband.” 

Anakin squeezed her in his arms, burying his face in her hair and curving himself around her like a creeping vine. “Your husband,” he repeated. “Padmé.” 

She giggled, the sound muffled into his chest as she squeezed him back. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” he answered, stopping himself from adding that it was probably the best sleep he’d had in years. “You?” 

“You run hot,” she teased. “And clingy.” 

He snorted but didn’t release her, which really only added to her point. “Sorry, milady, I’ll try to remember that for next time.” 

Padmé hooked her leg higher around his hip, nudging him onto his back and forcing him to loosen his grip slightly. She was only able to because he let her, but he wasn’t going to tell her that, not when she looked so radiantly triumphant over him. Anakin grinned first, and then grimaced when her weight came down on his groin. 

“Interesting,” she mused, wiggling atop him. 

“Don’t tease me, it’s not my fault.” He tried—failed—not to pull a face at her, but with her rubbing against him this deliberately he did feel like he was being made fun of. “It’s always there when I wake up.”

“Interesting,” she repeated. “If you don’t want me to–”

“I didn’t say that!”

She laughed and kissed his cheek. “There’s something I want to do,” she whispered. “If you’d like.”

It was very difficult to imagine her doing something that he didn’t like, especially right now. He nodded with more enthusiasm than he meant to. Padmé sat up beside him, untangling them both from the sheets and then massaging her palm over his cock. It ached, pressed between her hand and his hip like this, not at all soothed by the gentle way she pet it. 

“Can I kiss it?” 

Anakin stopped breathing. “Huh?” 

“Put my mouth on it,” she clarified. It wasn’t that he hadn’t understood her the first time, it was more than he didn’t believe it. 

“Oh,” he said dumbly. “Yeah, please do that.” 

Padmé dipped, fingers encircling the base of his cock (painfully hard, leaking at the tip, he knew that he was in trouble) to hold him still as she lowered herself. She kissed him, her lips soft and delicate against the head first before moving down his full length. Then, she licked a long, wet trail back upwards. He watched his erection disappear into her mouth, felt the impossibly wet heat surround him, her tongue pressed to the underside of his shaft. She moaned softly and the sound shot right through him. 

“Fuck,” he gasped, his whole body going taut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck–” 

Padmé pulled away, her mouth pulled into a concerned little frown. “Is that alright?”

“What–” Anakin choked on his own tongue, shook his head, and tried again. “I should be asking you that.”

“I offered.” She licked her lips and smiled up at him. His dick throbbed in her hand. All the blood in his whole body was trapped down there, leaving absolutely nothing for his brain. 

He wheezed. “What if I… what if it’s really, uh. Fast.” 

“Okay, what if it is?” Padmé laughed, lightly stroking him. Her other hand spread out over his upper thigh, petting along the cleft where his groin met his leg. “I would take it as a compliment.” 

Anakin laughed in surprise. “Seriously?” 

She nodded. Her fingers tightened, bringing him dangerously close to her lips again. “Unless you’d like me to stop? I will, if you’d prefer.”

“No,” he whined, which came out significantly more desperate and pathetic than he wanted. “Please don’t. It’s good.” 

Satisfied with his answer, she sucked him back into her mouth. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to look, to watch how her lips pulled around him, her eyes closed, dark lashes soft against her pinkening cheeks, or if it was safer to squeeze his eyes shut and focus on not immediately coming down her throat. 

“If I don’t last, does that mean you’re really good at this?” he asked, although it was a fully rhetorical question. He didn’t expect her to answer, and wasn’t surprised when she only hummed. “Or does it mean that I’m really bad at it?” 

Padmé lightly swatted his thigh, looking up at him in reproach—and kriff, that was an image he wouldn’t soon be forgetting. He propped himself up on one elbow, shakily reaching for a stray lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder and was tickling his thigh. When he brushed it back, she caught his wrist and held his hand to her hair, letting him tangle his fingers in the curls. 

She pulled her mouth off of him with a small pop, but didn’t completely draw back; her tongue slipped over and around, in one moment flat and broad and soft, in the next, pointed and tracing diligently over every vein and crease. Anakin bit his lip until he tasted blood. 

“I can’t,” he babbled, mind starting to scatter. “I can’t, Padmé, I’m… fuck, please, please…” 

Anakin didn’t know why he felt so desperate for her permission. Maybe it was courtesy, maybe it was shame. Maybe he just liked to hear her telling him to let go when it felt like all he ever heard from everyone else was that he needed to control himself better. The only thing that he knew for certain was that he needed her particular guidance, her lessons, her discipline, because she was the only one who really understood what would make him better. 

So when her eyes met his, and when she murmured mhm around him, he felt triumphant. He’d passed another lesson. And he’d get better at this—he had to—but for now, he was just glad to get this small token of approval. His climax came on brutally, leaving him trembling and incoherent as she swallowed every single drop, down to the last weakening pulse. 

Almost the second that it was over, euphoria turned into mortification. Anakin sat straight up, pressing his fist into his cheek (confirming that it was absolutely on fire, as he’d feared) and gently pulling at Padmé’s shoulders. 

“What, didn’t you like it?” she laughed, shoving him backwards so that he was leaning against the headboard and then climbing into his lap. “You look scandalized, Ani.”

“Maybe I am scandalized,” he muttered, his eyes drawn to her lips. They were still wet.

“Poor boy.” Padmé draped herself against him, leaning in so that their bodies were flush. The feeling of her breasts pillowing against his chest got a weak, residual twitch out of his cock. 

Anakin snorted, but couldn’t help the heat creeping up the back of his neck at her tone. “I did like it,” he told her. “I was just surprised.” 

Her lips curved upwards, brown eyes glittering as she pressed even closer. “I have all sorts of surprises in mind, in that case.” 

Padmé kissed him, then, letting him bear her weight and taste her mouth (was that salty flavor him?) until they’d melted comfortably into each other’s embrace. Anakin touched her everywhere, running his fingertips over the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips, lightly gripping the flesh of her soft thighs. She broke away from his lips, bringing them to the shell of his ear, letting the heat of her breath rush over it. Shivers broke out all over his skin at the sensation, paradoxically hot and cold all at once. 

“What have you liked best, so far?” 

“How am I supposed to pick?” he moaned, letting his head fall back and thump off the headboard. “All of it.” 

Padmé chuckled, sending another waterfall of shivers down his spine. “Alright, different question: if you could have anything you wanted right now, what would that be?” 

In spite of his extremely limited base of knowledge, the answer came to him with blistering speed. “I’d want you to sit on me.”

“I am sitting on you.”

“Come on,” he grumbled. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know that I do, Ani.” She slipped her fingers over his shoulder, let them trail softly down his chest, his ribs, his belly. “Would you want me to sit here?” This, she punctuated with a soft stroke of his oversensitive cock, half-hard and already doing its best to recover quickly. “Or…” Those delicate fingers moved again, tracing back up until they’d come to rest over the parting of his lips. “Here?” 

His mouth watered, eyes going wide. It only made sense—she’d taken him into her mouth, why couldn’t he take her into his? The thought hit him like a blow to the gut, and now that the idea was in there his answer was swift and sure. 

“Here,” he breathed against her fingertips. “Definitely here.” 

Padmé shifted over him, replacing her fingers with her lips. “I don’t know if you’re ready for that, yet.” 

“I could be.” He squirmed, trying to straighten up more and look appropriately serious. “Only one way to find out.”

She kissed him delicately, barely brushing their lips together in a way that made his chest ache. “Kiss me–” she instructed, moving her head away when he tried to do it before she was finished speaking, “like you want to taste me.” 

Anakin didn’t need to be told twice. He captured her mouth eagerly, his lips crashing against hers. Their tongues slid together messily, breath hot between them, little smacking sounds filling up his ears and making him dizzy. This didn’t last for more than thirty seconds before she’d pushed him back gently, a wry smile on her face. 

“You’re not ready.”

“What?” Anakin frowned, displeased by both this news and also by how breathlessly whiny he sounded. “Why not?” 

“There’s a trick to it, Ani,” she chastised, though there was nothing unkind in her tone. 

“Show me,” he replied without thinking, and at her raised eyebrow tacked on a quick but very sincere: “Please?” 

She kissed him again, but held his arms to keep him steady and still. Slowly, she swiped her tongue between his parted lips, deliberately gentle. She pulled his lower lip into her mouth, sucking it lightly at first, letting it go, pulling it back in, over and over. Only when his mouth was swollen from her kisses did she open her mouth back up to him; this time, he tried to match her slow, steady pace. 

“It’s like that,” Padmé explained between breaths. “Just like that.”

By now, he was completely hard again, his cock trapped between them. She rolled her hips against his; so tantalizingly close, but still not close enough. 

“Later,” she said with a sigh. “I promise.” 

Anakin nodded, feeling almost drunk from being kissed so thoroughly. “Later, then.”

“Right now,” Padmé continued, “I’d really like to have you inside of me.” 

He groaned, heat rising to his cheeks and pooling with even greater intensity in his groin. “Isn’t that funny, I’d really like to be inside of you.” 

She lifted herself slightly so that she could position him at her entrance. The head of his cock notched against her opening, dipping slowly into slick heat as she lowered herself inch by inch onto him. It took his breath away, just like it had the first time; the feeling of her pussy around him was heaven. Padmé adjusted herself atop him, leaning back to press her hands into his knees and setting her feet flat against the mattress. He lamented the loss of closeness, but not for very long—like this, he could see absolutely everything. 

Padmé tossed her hair back over her shoulder with a delicate shake of her head, revealing the uninterrupted lines of her neck and chest. Anakin reached for her, holding onto her hips as she rode him, watching her breasts bounce with her movements. His eyes skated lower, down to the dip of her navel and the soft curve of her belly. Then, inexorably, his gaze was drawn to their joining. 

Anakin hadn’t really been paying as much attention last night as he should have. He was so distracted by the sheer sensation of her, the anxiety and novelty of it, that everything had sort of blurred together into a cloud of pleasure. Now, in the growing light of day, he was able to take in how profoundly beautiful her sex was: flushed red with excitement, glistening folds that parted eagerly to take him, the hard nub of her clit at their apex. His mouth started watering again, thinking about getting his tongue on it like she’d shown him. 

For now, though, he wanted to appreciate her exactly like this. She rocked her hips back and forth, tipping forward on each stroke to grind that nub down against him. The pace wasn’t too fast, wasn’t too slow, not quite as intense as it had been the first time. Padmé seemed content to take what she needed from him, her breath coming in sharp little gasps whenever she hit a good spot on each forward press. Eventually, she reached for his left hand and pulled it to rest over her belly. 

“Touch me,” she said, her voice taking on that gently demanding tone. “Please.”

She positioned his hand so that his thumb could slip in tight, quick circles over her clit. It took him a moment to get the exact pattern right, but Padmé was patient, helping him position himself and praising him sweetly when he was finally able to follow her movements exactly. She leaned back again, but now instead of grinding, she used the leverage of her bent knees to lift herself off of him and then sink back down. 

He found himself utterly still, somehow afraid to break her concentration and definitely afraid that he’d break his. His whole consciousness contracted to a singular point—he needed to make her come, and if it was all he ever did for the rest of his life, that would be fine. The only trouble was that he didn’t know what he could do, aside from what he was already doing. 

It couldn’t hurt to ask. “Padmé,” he murmured. “I want to make you feel good.” 

“You are,” she replied. She looked at him with half-lidded eyes, an expression that felt almost more intimate than the connection of their bodies. 

“How…” he trailed off, trying to figure out how to phrase the question in a way that made sense. He fought the rising embarrassment in his chest, the worry that he’d sound stupid—he’d already made a fool of himself before her and she was still here. “I want to know what you like. You already know exactly what to do to me, but I’m lost.”

Her eyes widened a little, and he worried that he’d broken whatever spell she’d been under. But it was only temporary. A warm, sweet smile lit her face, fondness in her eyes so clear that he felt it like a physical thing. “It’s still new between us,” she said softly. “You don’t need to get ahead of yourself.” 

“I know, but–” 

“Ani.”

His spine stiffened. She’d told him last night that she wanted no apologies, but it didn’t feel like he was doing enough. Anakin gnawed on his lower lip, a small curl of self-doubt taking root among the heat and desire that was already filling him. 

“I love you,” she said insistently. Her movements had slowed down as she focused on this instead, and he immediately regretted saying anything. “I know that you love me. Do you know how I know?” 

He figured it was obvious, but he let her go on, not wanting to stop her from making her point. 

“It’s the way that you look at me,” she explained, and he noticed how she went slightly breathless at the end. “It’s your eyes. It’s your voice, too. The sounds that you make.” She’d started to move again, writhing to get as much of him into her as possible. Anakin redoubled his efforts on her clit, heat surging through him as she gasped. “It’s your hands,” she moaned. “It’s everything. It’s you.” 

He sighed shakily. She’d grown even wetter around him and under his touch. 

“You’re what I like,” Padmé whispered. “All you need to do is let me have you.” 

Anakin shivered, her words landing and twisting inside of him. The thought of being hers so completely, always at her mercy, body and soul at her service… it was hard to describe the feeling, but it was like something had untethered in his mind. Like he could float, perfectly free and detached from everything that held him, entirely at peace with the knowledge that she was the only thing that could pull him back in. He whimpered, felt her squeeze around him at the sound. It was a perfect feedback loop—all he had to do was let her know how badly he wanted her. How intense his need was. It was those ephemeral, intangible things which she craved most. 

“Oh,” he groaned, all of it connecting at once. 

It was easy then, to test the impact he had on her. Anakin let himself make every sound that he wanted to, grunts and cries of pleasure that he’d spent years learning to muffle now allowed to come freely. He stopped trying to fight with his own expression, something that he’d never been good at anyway, letting his yearning for her show bare and hungry in his eyes. And all the while, Padmé started to come undone around him, her movements growing faster and more urgent. He pressed his thumb harder against her clit and she seized, a soft sob falling from her open mouth as her pussy squeezed around him rhythmically. 

He waited carefully for it to taper off, pride blooming in his chest as she sagged forward against him. “How was that?” 

“You did so well, Ani,” she panted into his ear—and that made him feel like he was going to shake apart, his whole stomach lifting at those soft words of praise. “I want you to come, too.”

Given the opportunity, he wrapped his arms tight around her waist, braced against the bed, and thrust up into her. He was probably being rougher than he needed to be, but for now he was still floating: completely dependent on her to hold him down against the bed, needing her weight and warmth. She gasped into his ear, her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Their skin slapped together, wet sounds filling the quiet of the room every time their hips met. 

“Padmé,” he whimpered, not caring if he sounded pathetic or if he looked like a mess. When she met his eyes, she looked deeply, salaciously satisfied. She kissed him through his second climax, capturing every single sound for herself and riding him relentlessly to completion. His body felt like it was being pushed right to the limits of sensation, hovering on the edge of discomfort until it tipped over right at the end. He sucked a breath through his teeth. 

“Ani?” 

“Sensitive,” he grunted. She stilled, resting against him without moving for a while, letting him come back into his own body. He traced mindless patterns along her skin, feeling the swooping curve of her waist, the dimples in her lower back. If it hadn’t been for the sun, now well above the horizon, Anakin might have fallen asleep like that. 

o0o

The rest of the day was nowhere near as interesting as the beginning, sadly. Anakin was forced to creep away from her room, barely making it back to his own before he started to hear the movement of villa staff shuffling around. Alone again, he decided that a quick bath (he looked like he’d been fucked, frankly) and meditation were probably a good idea before showing up to breakfast. The trouble was that the moment he got to the table and saw Padmé sitting there, datapad in one hand and something strong and caffeinated in the other, he couldn’t stop himself from blushing. 

Oh well. Maybe her attendants would just think he had a crush on her. 

For Padmé’s part, she played the role of concerned friend turned comrade-in-arms extremely well. She asked Anakin all sorts of polite questions about how he’d slept, asked if he was comfortable, let him know that she’d be in her office today if he needed anything from her. Anakin felt his stomach sinking at each comment, disappointed even though he knew that this was exactly what they’d agreed to. He picked half-heartedly at his meal and tried not to stare at her, but probably failed. 

“You need to eat, Ani,” she said very softly, just out of earshot of the woman who was serving them this morning (Teckla, maybe? He couldn’t remember). “You’ll need the energy.”

That caught his attention. His eyes snapped to hers and found her smiling into her mug, a delicate pinch to her lips that suggested she was teasing him again. Anakin, never one to back down from a taunt, smiled back. 

“Don’t worry, milady. My stamina’s in no danger.” 

She snorted, looking like she was about to retort, when her commlink beeped. He watched her shoulders drop and the smile disappear from her face, replaced with that same neutral, placid expression. 

“I do apologize. I owe reports to several people,” she explained, her voice back at its normal level and devastatingly polite. “Please, make yourself at home.” 

And just like that, his wife was gone, replaced with Senator Amidala. 

He spent most of the day milling around in the library, pulling out old books and flipping through them half-heartedly before giving up and pulling out an available datapad to do some research. It was easy enough to lose himself in it; he’d always liked going down these sorts of wormholes, getting sidetracked into different niches of information. This time, he had a loose goal in mind, and was comfortably able to waste about six full hours reading about the basic fundamentals of medical cybernetics, and then another four going through mechno-transplant support forums and collecting every single linked article that referenced DIY mods. 

Normally, he’d just mess around with something until it either worked or got fried, but seeing as this was attached to him… he figured it might be smart to at least make sure he didn’t shock himself to death. 

Anakin had missed lunch entirely, too absorbed in what he was doing, but he didn’t want to miss dinner. Before—which felt like a weird thing to say, since before had only been a few days ago—Padmé tended to take lunch in her office, but dinner with him. As the sky started to shift in hue, turning golden at the edges, Threepio came to collect him and led him to the dining room. 

If it had been difficult to act normal at breakfast, this was even worse. Padmé’s eyes lit up when she saw him, and he had to stop himself from saying anything too incriminating in return. He’d flirted with her before Geonosis, trying to impress her with little tricks and jokes and pratfalls, but now it seemed… too revealing. Before Geonosis, she hadn’t been his wife. 

He did try to keep up a polite, appropriately friendly conversation with her as they ate. But he kept getting distracted by her mouth—he watched her lips press to the edge of her wine glass, hungrily stared as she bit into a piece of fruit. Eventually he had to stop looking at her entirely or he wouldn’t be able to get out of his seat without truly embarrassing himself. Padmé excused herself, announced that she’d be retiring early that night, and set off to get ready for bed. 

Anakin raced back to his own bedroom, brushed his teeth and washed his hands, then hovered at the door until he heard nothing but silence. He snuck down the hallway to her quarters, and hadn’t even finished knocking when she pulled him into her room. Padmé popped up on her toes, pressing her lips frantically against his and nearly knocking him off balance. 

“I can’t tell you how much I missed you,” she whispered, kissing his cheeks now. “I had so much to do today. But now it’s done, and I’m all yours.”

Anakin kissed her back, hoisting her up in his arms on a whim, whirling her around and listening to her laugh. When he set her back down again, she was luminescent with a blush, her dark eyes twinkling playfully. Tonight she was wearing a regular nightgown, one he’d seen before—and nothing like the frothy slip of a thing she was in last night—but it was no less beautiful to him. The pearl sheen of the silk made her skin glow, the fine fabric clinging to the soft curves of her body, all of it framed by her hair, loose and spilling down her back like she was some kind of deity. He dragged her in by the waist and kissed her again, but this time, he tried to remember how they’d done it this morning when she’d been instructing him. 

“You didn’t waste any time,” she panted when he pulled away to breathe. 

“No time to waste,” he replied, shrugging. And then looked at her beseechingly, hoping that he was coming across as appropriately deferential. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. I know what I want.” 

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I want to taste you.” The words came out in a rush, just on the edge of sounding desperate. “You promised I could.” 

Padmé laughed. “I guess I did.” 

She immediately set about undressing him—which he admittedly found confusing, since he sort of figured that it was more important to get her bare for this. All the same, he helped her strip his clothes off, obediently getting naked for her and then waiting for further instruction. 

Instead of laying down, or removing her own clothing, or anything he would have expected, she reached forward and laid her hands over his chest. She looked up at him so sweetly that he had to kiss her again, bending so that he could cup her face in his hands and hold her to him. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Her words were hardly more than a breath. “I can’t wait to see you on your knees.” 

Anakin immediately swayed, his body obeying the implicit command before his brain even knew what she meant. Padmé laughed again, bright and lovely, her hands clasping his upper arms to keep him upright. “Let me lie down first!” 

“Yeah,” he muttered, face flaming. “Okay.” 

She pulled him backwards with her until her legs hit the edge of her mattress, and then she reached down, hoisting the long skirt of her nightgown upwards. It pooled and gathered around her waist, held daintily there in her fingers, and only then did she settle herself at the edge of the bed. It occurred to him that even though her tenure as a queen was technically over, she still had not broken the habit of making every seat a throne. Padmé was still regal, even with her nightgown rucked up around her waist and her thighs parted. Anakin fell to his knees before her, fisting his hands on his legs as he tried to decide how to approach this all-important task. 

The first thing he did was for his own gratification. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, breathing her in and going dizzy with the scent of her sex. She was so close that all he had to do was shift a little bit, move his mouth and she’d be right there. But he looked up at her instead, silently asking her for advice. Padmé dragged her fingers through his hair, fingernails lightly massaging his scalp, pulling his head closer. That was all the permission he needed. 

Anakin went in tongue first, sliding it through the parting of her folds, moaning unabashedly at the taste. It was hard to describe—salty, heady, sharp. Not like anything he’d ever tasted before, certainly. For a moment, he forgot all about the morning’s little lesson and just let himself chase the source of that irresistible flavor, dipping his tongue into her and licking up the seam of her sex until he bumped into her clit. It wasn’t until her fingers tightened in his hair that he remembered what he was supposed to be doing, the pulling sensation grounding him again. 

“Mmph,” he mumbled, by way of apology. Padmé giggled above him. 

Refocused, he put his efforts towards sucking her clit into his mouth like she’d demonstrated. Pulling it in, gently but firmly, then letting it slide back out momentarily before repeating the action. He listened carefully for the sound of her breath, the pace and intensity of her sighs and gasps. 

“Good, Ani,” she whimpered, petting his hair now rather than yanking at it. “I… oh, I think you might be a natural?” 

He looked up from between her thighs to see whether she was poking fun at him or not. To his immense satisfaction, all he saw on her face was genuine surprise and pleasure. He fought a smile, worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep this up with a grin on his face. Anakin dutifully continued to suck and lick at her, occasionally distracted by the slick that seeped from her, too selfish to stop himself from licking that up, too. When he glanced back up in her direction, her eyes were shut tight, one fist pressed against her lips and her teeth in her knuckles. 

All at once, he remembered the night before. How she’d guided his fingers inside of her, riding them until she came. Anakin put the pieces together in his head; rather than asking (which would mean he’d have to stop, and honestly he would rather die) he lined up his left hand at her entrance and slowly pushed his middle finger inside. 

Padmé moaned, careening back against the mattress and only just catching herself on her elbows. “Another one,” she begged—wasn’t that strange, the sound of her begging—and so Anakin pushed his index finger in alongside the middle. She writhed against his hand and his mouth, rocking her hips up into him. He couldn’t say that he was displeased by this, but it did make it difficult for him to keep his rhythm. He hesitated for just a moment, hovering at the edge of a decision, and then decided to go for it. 

Anakin reached up, laying his durasteel palm across her lower belly, pressing her down to hold her still. It felt like a risky move. There was a chance that she wouldn’t like being pinned down like that, a chance that he might not get the pressure right. The moment he did it, she froze, and for the space of half a second he worried that the risk hadn’t paid off. 

“Ani,” she breathed, her voice shaky and tight. “Where did you learn to do that?” 

He pulled his mouth away reluctantly, but he couldn’t not answer her. “I didn’t? I mean, you were squirming, so…”

“Harder.” Her voice had gone even thinner, not the silky commands that he was already getting used to. “Please, harder. Don’t stop.”

Anakin very happily returned to her, heat prickling at the back of his neck as he did, relieved that his gamble had paid off not once but twice. He ate her out with even greater enthusiasm, holding her hips down and fucking her with his fingers. Her thighs twitched on either side of his head. 

Padmé made a funny sound above him, a squeezed out whine that almost sounded like pain. “Hook your fingers, please.” He did as she asked, his fingertips prodding the inside of her sex as he did. Nothing happened at first, not until he found a little patch of flesh that had a slightly different texture from the rest. When he rubbed against it, she sobbed. 

“Bad?” 

“No,” she whimpered. “I’m so close, Ani, please.” 

He didn’t let up, not even as his wrist started to cramp and his jaw twinged. None of that mattered to him. All he could think about was the smell of her, the taste, the sound, Padmé’s pleasure and nothing else. She cried out, fluttering pulses tugging at his fingers that grew stronger for a moment before tapering off slowly. More of that delicious wetness leaked into his mouth, coating his tongue like nectar. It was only when she shoved at his shoulders that he stopped trying to catch every last drop of it. He came away with his mouth absolutely drenched. 

A glance up at her revealed glazed eyes, a fierce blush that spread down her neck and disappeared beneath the neckline of her nightgown. Her nipples formed enticing points beneath the silk. He hauled himself up over her, mouthing at her breasts through the fabric until she pushed him away. 

“Let me at least get this off,” she laughed, working the offending garment up and over her head and then moving upwards on the bed so that she wasn’t hanging half off of it. “Come here.” 

She opened her arms, gesturing for him to climb on top of her. Unable to resist, he crawled over her, nestling himself between her legs and holding himself up on his arms to keep from crushing her. Padmé drew a foot up the back of his leg, pressing her heel into the small of his back when she reached it. One hand cupped the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a searing kiss; the other reached downwards, positioning his cock and guiding it inside of her. She was so wet that he was able to push all the way into her in a single stroke, his hips pairing to hers so smoothly that it took him by surprise.

“That’s all for me?” he panted, barely able to get the words out before she was dragging him back down. 

“Mhm.” Her voice was muffled, her kisses sloppier and filthier than they’d ever been. Anakin lost himself in the warmth of her embrace for a moment, feeling their heartbeats melting together. He only moved again when the aching of his cock became too insistent to keep ignoring. 

He groaned, almost more out of annoyance than anything else. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he huffed, pushing himself up on his elbows to give her a little more breathing room. “Just thinking it would be nice to be free of my stupid dick sometimes.” 

Padmé practically cackled, throwing her head back against the pillows. “Hey, it’s not stupid! I happen to like it quite a lot.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. 

“Don’t you dare get in your own head again,” she said, trying to sound stern but still fighting residual giggles. “You just made me come so hard that my ears started ringing, Ani.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.” Padmé looped her arms over his shoulders and nudged her hips up against his. “And I think it’s your turn, so if you wouldn’t mind–” 

He thrust in deep and fast, and was rewarded with a choked-off shriek from her. Padmé’s smile never left her face as he fucked her like that, pounding into her recklessly and selfishly. It was different, to be sure, but it felt so good and she was so wet and she’d said herself, it was all for him—

When he came, it was with a cry that he barely muffled in time, his mouth finding her neck at the last moment. It trailed off into wheezy laughter after that, and that spurred on more laughter from her, and soon the two of them were reduced to a hot, sweaty, giggly heap. Eventually, he managed to get himself under control, but the bubbly feeling inside of him remained as he laid his head against her chest. 

“We’ll have all day together tomorrow,” she said, stroking his back.

“Can we just stay in bed?” 

Padmé’s brows lifted. “That… might raise some suspicions. But I have a better idea.” 

Chapter Text

Padmé loved sleeping with Anakin. 

Not just in the euphemistic way—although she was incredibly fond of that, too. No, it was in the literal sense, the simple act of laying in his arms and talking until they both grew too tired to keep their eyes open. Feeling him hold her close as he dreamed, knowing he’d still be there when the sun started to rise. Seeing his face upon waking, and the rush of excitement that flooded her when he began to stir. 

She hated how temporary this was. She’d already begun to dread the day she’d have to go back to sleeping alone. But their time together was all the more precious to her for it. 

Today, they were both up before the sun. Padmé had barely finished saying good morning before he was on her, kissing his way down her body with an obvious goal in mind. When she asked what he thought he was doing, Anakin replied without a hint of embarrassment:

“Breakfast.” 

She laughed until the sound dissolved into soft sighs and moans, and laced her fingers through his. He ate her out quite passionately, leaving her shaking and the sheets drenched beneath her. The moment her senses returned and her vision unblurred, she hurried to return the favor. 

After, as daylight began to spill into her room, Padmé issued the day’s schedule. 

“Dress light,” she murmured, petting his hair. “And meet me outside in an hour.” 

He made a disgruntled sound, burying himself deeper into her embrace. Padmé couldn’t help a smile. Even though she would have liked nothing more than to lie here with him for the rest of the day, she felt like she’d be missing out if they just fell back asleep. Every waking moment was one that she needed to savor. 

She dragged her fingertips down his side, feeling him shiver beneath her touch. “Go on!”

Anakin disentangled himself from her, dragging himself out of bed and hunting down his haphazardly discarded clothing. She watched him with undisguised appreciation, her eyes trailing over the long stretch of his legs, the shape of his back. He had freckles on his shoulders. There was a cluster of moles on his neck. She almost asked him to come back, just so she could kiss them. 

Instead, she let him dress and leave her with a final, lingering look. It wouldn’t be long, but every second counted, so Padmé launched herself into preparations for the day. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and finger combed her curls. She wove ribbons into her hair, braiding it back from her face but otherwise allowing the loose ringlets to hang free. She chose a pale green linen gown today, an unfussy sheath of fabric that she wouldn’t mind getting wet or grassy, something which was merely acting as a coverup for the equally simple undergarments beneath. She slipped on a pair of sandals and shuffled into the kitchens, offering no explanation to the staff even when they looked at her inquiringly. It was obvious enough that she meant to picnic today. That was all they needed to know. 

When she met Anakin at the stairs leading down to the lakeside, he took the basket from her arm and held his out to escort her down. There was nothing overly suspicious about the action; he’d done it before, a simple courtesy that anyone might overlook. Aside from the more casual style of dress, they struck an identical image to the pair they’d made before: a woman and her Jedi bodyguard, looking for ways to waste time together in paradise until they could safely return to their duties. 

They walked together down to the lakeshore. On the opposite side of the port, anyone approaching from the main waterway would be entirely unable to see them together. There was a path laid out in river stone, winding through unkempt wildflowers and marsh grasses, sheltered by huge trees whose branches sagged and dripped under the weight of their own abundance. Near the spot where the greenery began to thin into sand, Padmé stopped and spread out the thick woolen blanket, then situated herself upon it.

At this hour, the sun hit the lake at a long angle. The waves glittered, and light filtered through the canopy of leaves above, dappling everything in lacy patterns of golden-green. The sand would still be cool and damp, and the water cooler still, but Padmé was in no hurry. She unpacked the basket, pulling out the treasures she’d swiped from the kitchen and storeroom one by one. 

“There should be glasses in there,” she instructed, drawing Anakin’s attention back from the water’s edge. He produced two thick, emerald green cups, and Padmé generously poured out two servings of blossom wine. His nose wrinkled when he smelled it, but he seemed to come around upon the first taste. 

“It’s light.” 

Padmé smiled into her own cup, letting the delicate floral flavor linger on her tongue for a moment. “What did you expect?” 

“Something stronger.” 

Her curiosity was piqued at that. It occurred to her that she had very little knowledge of his preferences for food, if he even had any, or what he’d grown up eating. What sorts of things comforted him? What did he like? 

“Would you prefer that?” 

“Not necessarily,” he mumbled, taking a solid swig of the stuff. He seemed to be warming up to it. “Strong brews don’t really go with all of this.” 

He gestured broadly to the spread of food before them, then at the waves lapping softly at the shoreline. Padmé took another sip, then carefully set her cup down. 

“I don’t consider myself a professional, by any means,” she said, picking at the array of cured meats and cheeses. She put together a bite that was, in parts: sharp whilk-cheese, a whispery thin slice of sausage, and a juicy wedge of shuura fruit. Padmé held it to Anakin’s lips. “But I know one or two things about good taste.”

He took the bite from her fingertips, eyes widening as he tasted it. “That’s good.”

Padmé folded her hands in her lap, pleased all the way through. “Have as much as you like.” 

“Aren’t you hungry?” 

She shrugged and reached for a hunk of seeded bread, spooning it generously with sticky berry preserves and a little of the same sharp cheese. It was this sort of simple, delicious food that felt the most luxurious to her, even more impressive than any of the multi-course fare she’d been served during Senate events in Coruscant. The scent of grass, flowers, and water must have had something to do with it, too. It was like each bite was subtly perfumed. 

“What’s your favorite dish?” she asked, once she’d politely swallowed and wiped away the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. 

“Hard to say.” Anakin’s table manners (or… blanket manners?) were markedly rougher. He barely finished chewing before speaking, but Padmé mostly found it endearing. “I’m not picky. I mean, this is definitely better than Temple food and light years beyond rations.” 

Her mouth tugged downward at the mention of rations. War, inevitable and complete, loomed beyond the confines of their little bubble. She shook her head, determined not to think of such things now. 

“But… I guess it’s either franikhad or candied pallies.” His eyes grew dark, distant as he looked out over the water. “Haven’t had either in a long time.”

Padmé’s heart ached. She’d meant to offer him a reprieve from his grief, not invoke it. “I’ll bet you anything that I could find a vendor somewhere,” she said softly. “If you wanted to try it again.” 

The darkness passed as quickly as it had come. When he turned to her, it was with a surprised smile. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” 

His eyes narrowed, a wry look suddenly spreading across his face. “There’s something else I used to eat loads of.” Anakin shifted, looking down at the corner of the blanket and then moving with startling speed. He clapped his palms together, then opened them to her, revealing something with way too many legs. Padmé shrieked. 

“Anakin!”

“It’s free protein,” he laughed, holding the chitinous body up between his forefinger and thumb. “What, you’ve never had a bug before?” 

“No!” 

To her absolute horror, he popped it into his mouth. She heard it crunch and her nose scrunched in disgust.

“It’s fine,” he explained, like he hadn’t just eaten an insect in front of her. “Doesn’t taste like anything. Get enough of them and it’s basically a meal.” 

“Anakin Skywalker, I am not kissing you until you wash that down with something!” 

He laughed even harder, shuffling towards her on his knees and wiggling his fingers menacingly. “Are you scared?”

“I’m not,” she hissed, although she couldn’t stop herself from skittering backwards. “I don’t want to get little legs stuck between my teeth, that’s all!” 

Anakin grinned—no bug parts anywhere in sight, thankfully—and reached for her waist. She pressed one palm over his mouth and picked up her half full glass in the other. 

“Here.” Padmé held the wine up to him, forcing him to take a sip. He drank eagerly, and when he was finished his eyes were sparkling and his lips were wet. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

She snorted, pushing at his shoulders until he was forced to relinquish his hold on her. Padmé stood up without another word and began to pull at her dress, tugging it up and over her head. Even without looking, she knew he was dumbfounded. She heard his breath hitch and saw him go completely still in her periphery. 

Her undergarments served just fine for swimming in. She’d picked out a soft white set of shorts and a bralette, both unadorned, not scandalous in the slightest. When she did spare a glance at her husband, though, she realized that it didn’t make any difference what she chose to wear. His mouth had dropped open, his eyes scanning the length of her body as hungrily as ever.

Padmé tossed a curl back over her shoulder. “Do you know how to swim?” 

“Huh?”

“Can you swim?” she repeated, resting a hand on her hip. 

Anakin’s face went red, his eyes dropping away from her. “Well enough not to drown,” he mumbled. “I haven’t had many opportunities to practice.” 

“Is it safe to submerge your arm? I won’t go all the way in otherwise,” Padmé explained. 

He was quick to reassure her. “Connections are all watertight. Should be fine.”

Satisfied with his answer, and seeing no reason to hesitate a moment longer, Padmé took off towards the small recreational dock nearby. For a moment, she felt truly young again—the worn wooden boards bending softly beneath her feet, the warm, morning air on her skin and the scent of freshwater beckoning her. She launched herself off of the edge, suspended for a breathtaking moment before she broke the smooth, calm surface of the lake. 

The water was bracing. There was no hesitation, no slow wading into the cool waves, just sudden and overwhelming sensation. It felt so good. Padmé came up with a laugh, pushing her wet hair back from her face and opening her eyes. Anakin had followed her out onto the dock, but she could see an unusual degree of trepidation on his face. He knelt, hands gripping the dock’s edge as he leaned. 

“How is it?” 

“Perfect,” Padmé sighed, bending at the knees and letting herself sink a little. It was deep enough here that she could submerge fully, but if she stood on her toes she wouldn’t need to tread water. “Why don’t you come in?” 

Anakin wavered but decided to oblige her request anyway, stripping out of his robes until he was down to nothing but a pair of compressive undershorts. He didn’t jump with nearly the same enthusiasm that she had, and the moment he touched the water she heard him suck in a sharp breath. 

“It’s kriffing cold,” he whined, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“For you, maybe.”

“Is this some kind of payback for the bug thing?” 

“It might be,” Padmé giggled, then splashed at him. He yelped, shrinking away from the spray. “It’ll warm up, I promise.” 

He frowned at her and splashed her right back. When she turned her head, it gave him enough of an opening to scoop her up into his arms. Padmé didn’t have time to react before she was airborne, tossed like she weighed nothing, her limbs flailing as she crashed back down into the lake. 

She couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed with him. A small part of her wanted to scream again, again! and demand that he see if he couldn’t get even better distance next time. His laughter joined hers. 

For the next few hours, they fell into a leisurely routine. It started with getting out of the water, running off the dock to compare who could fling themselves the farthest—no contest, Anakin’s natural athleticism would have done the trick even if she didn’t also suspect he was cheating by using the Force. Then, swimming; he really did only know how to keep himself above the water, but with little finesse. Padmé took it upon herself to teach him different strokes, how to float on his back. When their muscles started to ache, they hauled back towards the shore, ate a bit more, and let the sun dry them out until the heat of the day grew too uncomfortable. 

In, then out again. The sun had long passed its zenith before Padmé even thought of returning to the villa. She was certain that both of them were burned. Her hair would surely be a snarled mess. None of it mattered one bit. 

Eventually, they trekked back to the shoreline for a final time, reluctantly pulling on just enough clothing to be decent and packing up their picnic spread. She took his hand in hers and led him back along the path. There was a small guest house at ground level with a sitting room, an adjoining refresher, and a small bedroom. Padmé had always liked how secluded it felt from the main villa, how close it was to the water. She’d always liked sneaking down for afternoon naps during family trips. 

For now, her only aim was to get clean before dinner. She left the picnic basket and her shoes by the front door, tugging Anakin along to the fresher and stripping eagerly out of her damp clothing. 

“There’s a dryer here,” she told him, halfway through turning the water on. “If you want to put our things in.” 

Anakin collected their clothing wordlessly, his eyes practically glued to the curve of her naked back the entire time. 

Padmé stepped beneath the spray first, testing the temperature before pulling Anakin in beside her. There was plenty of room for them both, but she couldn’t resist tugging him close, pressing her body as close to his as she could beneath the downpour. They managed to make it past an initial rinse—enough to remove any grit and lake-plants that might have gotten stuck in their hair and on their skin—and then they were on each other. 

Anakin kissed her feverishly, his mouth hot and wet on hers before it travelled to her neck. Padmé responded in kind, gently biting his clavicle as she reached for his cock, already trapped hard and thick between them. She circled her hand around it, stroking him torturously, listening for the sound of his moans like she needed them to live. His left hand dove between her thighs, his long fingers fumbling at her entrance before sinking inside, palm pressed upwards into the mound of her sex. He’d remembered what to do. Padmé felt perversely proud of him. 

“Good boy,” she gasped, rocking her hips against his hand. “That’s exactly it.” 

He groaned at her praise, thrusting into her fist and curling his fingers inside of her. She thought she even heard him mutter thank you. 

She took great care not to lose focus, even as his fingertips found that perfect spot, even as his lips touched her ear and filled her head with all kinds of lovely, sweet sounds. Padmé moved her hand over him with an almost tactical precision, stopping short whenever his breath started to stutter or his hand lost its rhythm. She didn’t want him to come, not just yet, not until—

“Ani,” she whispered, barely audible over the sound of water hitting the glass panes of the shower door. That was alright. He was so attuned to her that he drew back immediately, looking at her hazily, eyes darkened from lust. 

Padmé pulled back from him, facing away from the spray and leaning forward to grip the handhold against the back wall. She reached behind her with her other hand, beckoning him, feeling a flood of bodily relief at the touch of his skin on hers again. They adjusted to one another easily; his right arm looped around her waist, pulling her into him, while his left hand curled over hers. He pushed into her, dropping his head against her shoulder. For a moment, she didn’t even want him to move. She was just happy to feel him nestled inside of her like this, buried so deep—even when he was the one holding her, she could still wrap all around him and give him somewhere to hide. 

“I love you.” Anakin’s voice trembled with longing. “So much, Padmé.” 

She turned her head, kissing him until she was dizzy and her lungs burned. He filled her with slow, deep strokes, and she met him on every single one. That was nearly enough to push her over the edge on its own—all it took was the lightest touch on her clit, her fingers barely brushing it, and she plummeted. She kissed him right through her climax, and then right through his. 

They stayed locked together until the water began to turn tepid and he’d softened. Anakin spoke first.

“Sorry.”

“What for?”

“I didn’t ask for permission that time.”

Padmé laughed, straightening out and turning in his arms. “I’ll grant it to you retroactively,” she told him. “This time.” 

They dissolved into giggles, holding onto each other like they’d fall over otherwise. Padmé wasn’t actually sure she wouldn’t. Her thighs were still shaking. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, letting it ground her. At last, when she could no longer ignore the wasted water and the growing chill, she pulled back. 

“Come on,” she said with a grin. “Let’s wash up.” 

o0o

Padmé and Anakin—reluctantly—parted ways just long enough to get properly dressed afterwards. She had to fight not to reach out and pinch his cheek when they reconvened; he looked somewhat more dignified in his full Jedi robes, all clean and professional like a proper bodyguard, but the effect was ruined by the glowing pink sunburn under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. 

“Dinner won’t be for a little while longer,” she explained. “I have something I’d like to show you, in the meantime.” 

The two of them made their way down to the lowest level of the villa, down beneath the ground where the air was cool and dry. There were several rooms down here: wine cellars, dry storage, various utilities. But the central hub was a grand, circular gallery, temperature controlled and full of paintings and sculptures that had been collected over the centuries of Varykino’s occupation. 

“This place used to be an artist’s retreat,” Padmé started, watching Anakin take in the sight of it all. “Most of what you’re seeing was also created here.” 

Each piece had a small plaque associated with it, a brief description of the work, its name, and the name of the artist who’d made it. Anakin was immediately drawn to a sculpture towards the center of the room: a pair of krayt dragons carved from gold-veined marble, twisting around one another. Each one held an orb in its maw. Though the sculptor had not spared any of the craggy details of each creature, rendering claws and teeth and scales, there was something undeniably tender about the way the two dragons melded together. 

“I like this one,” Anakin said softly. Padmé kissed his cheek. 

“I thought you might.” 

He smiled, then cast his eyes around. “Show me your favorites?” 

Padmé was more than happy to offer him a full tour. While the collection did generally feel cohesive, there was some variety—splashy watercolor landscapes, moody oil-paint illustrations of Naboo folktales, religious sculptures and framed manuscripts. While Anakin’s commentary was limited, she paid close attention to the things that caught his eye. He seemed particularly drawn to pieces that told stories, rather than those which were bold and abstract. Her own knowledge of art history told her that such a thing was unsurprising. On Tatooine, as she had seen and heard for herself, art was preserved and maintained by its oral tradition. 

Any man, woman, or child could hold so many stories inside of themselves at any time. They could be instantly transformed, shaped by the act of sharing, molded by community. Padmé wanted to ask Anakin to tell her all of his, everything he could remember, but she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt his observations. Maybe later, when they were in bed together.  

He stopped in front of one painting and pointed. “This one’s interesting.” 

It was a personal favorite of hers. A woman lay spread across the rocks of some cold water ocean, hair wet and tangled, fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt. Her face was contorted into an expression that could be mistaken very easily for pain—in fact, the title of the piece was René’s Agony. 

“It’s very evocative,” she said slyly. “What do you think?”

Anakin studied it carefully, his brows furrowed as he attempted to make sense of the image. Padmé stopped herself from asking leading questions: what did he think it meant? What of the lighting, cold and grey except for the highlights of the woman’s flesh, or the places where the waves crashed down upon her vulnerable body? He leaned in closer to examine it, his hands clasped behind his back as though he needed the physical reminder not to draw a finger over the varnished surface. Even without his touch, Padmé could trace the line of his eyes across the surface. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his cheeks going ruddy. 

Padmé bent towards him, lowering her voice. “That’s alright,” she started, looping an arm through his so that his posture was forced to relax. “Art is completely subjective. What you see and what I see might be completely different.”

He snorted. “I mean… it’s a woman on a beach, isn’t it?” 

“Literally, yes,” she continued, laying her head against his shoulder. “But that’s not all it is. When I was young, I thought it was a representation of fear. See how she’s bracing herself for the wave?” 

Anakin nodded, though he was still visibly uncertain. 

“Now that I’m older, I see it completely differently.” Padmé popped up on her toes, her mouth close to his ear. “She’s not in pain. She wants the wave to crash down on her.” 

She heard him draw a quick breath, the meaning suddenly obvious to him. “Is… that what it feels like? For you?” 

“Not always,” Padmé whispered. She watched his pulse quicken, the vein in his neck so close she could kiss it. “Sometimes it’s more like a sneeze.” 

Anakin laughed breathlessly. “Which one is it with me?” 

“The wave.”

He turned to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, let his eyes drop to her lips. Even at his most interested or curious, there was no comparison to the way that he looked at her now. 

“Do you ever think of what people see when they look at you?” 

Padmé didn’t mean to ask the question, but as the words passed from her she felt… lighter for it. Unburdened, in some strange way. Anakin shook his head. 

“There’s not much to see.” It wasn’t said self-consciously. It was just Anakin being himself: honest to a fault, blunt and plain. “I am what I am.” 

Inside of her chest, something twisted. Envy. It was not a feeling Padmé was used to, and certainly not one that she harbored willingly—but for once, she let herself experience it in its fullness. On Naboo, image was paramount. The link between aesthetic appeal and moral goodness was one that Padmé didn’t ideologically agree with, but found herself unable to ignore. So many of her formative years had been spent under the scrutinous gaze of the people, and no matter how she may have loved them, they were simply incapable of loving Padmé Naberrie back. Only Amidala. Only ever the image of a girl, a flickering visage of a young woman and her interchangeable handmaidens, who were all equally unknowable.  

She was, as always, both the observer and the subject at once. But in Anakin’s eyes? 

Maybe she was a version of herself that hadn’t existed since before her life of public service. Maybe, a version of herself that had never existed at all. Under his gaze, she softened and opened. 

“You’re beautiful to me.” She hoped he could feel how truly she meant the words. “You make me feel beautiful, too.” 

“You already were. You always have been.” 

Anakin kissed her tenderly, his hand gently cupping the back of her neck. It was lovely, sweet, but she needed more. 

It was rare for her to ever be at a loss for words, no matter how disarmed she might be. But there was no way to express the depth of her need, the mixture of frustration and want, the empty ache inside of her. She threw herself into his arms, letting him anchor her. She bit his lower lip softly, feeling him chase after her when she drew back. 

The gallery’s light was soft but clear, set so that everything within could be observed at its best. It glowed behind Anakin’s head, casting shadows across his face, softening him in some ways and sharpening him in others. Padmé wished she could sear this moment into her mind’s eye for all eternity, the vision of Anakin Skywalker young and desperately in love, gazing down upon her like she was the only woman in the galaxy. 

“I need you,” she admitted, terrified by how easily the words came from her. “Right here. Now.” 

He bit his lip, looking around until his eyes landed on a chaise lounge. It was set up in front of a huge, curving panel of paintings, meant to act as a place for aspiring artists to study and sketch in peace. Padmé imagined a younger version of herself finding out what she wanted to use it for and almost choked. 

Anakin, meanwhile, offered no such judgement. His excitement was plain—he followed her without protest, one hand weaving through her damp hair while the other pulled her hips forward into his. She rocked against him, feeling him rapidly hardening between the layers of fabric, thanking every and any deity that he was so eager for her. 

She fell into the chaise, then pulled her panties down, spread her legs, and lifted her skirt high. Her hands frantically worked at his clothing, loosening the fabric enough to free him. He fell upon her, one foot braced against the floor, the other digging into the cushion as he knelt. Padmé dragged him forward until he was nudged up against her wetness. 

When she glanced up at him and nodded, he sank deep. She bit her lip, barely able to keep in the sharp, keening cry that wanted to escape—it didn’t even matter that it had been less than an hour since the last time. Padmé was on a constant high for these past few days, ready for him at a moment’s notice, always hungry for more no matter how she gorged herself. Her fingers trembled as she reached to circle her clit, immediately setting a quick, needy pace. It was almost like she hadn’t even really come down since the shower. She thought of what they had done out at the lake: only pulling themselves out and away long enough to start craving the water again, so that it would feel as deliciously fresh and new on the tenth plunge as it had on the first. 

Her head fell back, mouth opening in a silent cry. She still had the presence of mind not to alert anyone to their activities, even if the gallery was completely empty. All the same, her muscles ached from the strain of controlling herself. Anakin’s body was wrought with the same tension, almost shaking with it as he drove into her. Her unoccupied hand went behind her, bracing against the back of the chaise to stop herself from being fucked into it.

“Ani,” she whimpered. “Ani, look at me.” 

He did as she asked, obedient even as he struggled against the rising tide of pleasure. She felt her own need mirrored back at her in his eyes, and his in hers, an infinitely repeating chain with no beginning and no end. 

Padmé’s toes curled inside of her slippers. She ripped her hand away from their joining and slapped her palm over her mouth just in time to muffle a scream. Her orgasm seemed to go on and on, and he didn’t stop until he’d come too, emptying into her with a low, shuddery moan. 

She reached for him, stroking the side of his face softly. He beamed down at her, outshining every painted sunset she’d ever seen, a masterwork of brilliant gold, flushing pink, and heavenly blue. 

o0o

Padmé suffered through dinner, torn between warring sensations: lingering wetness between her thighs, over-rough fabric rubbing against sensitive, sun soaked shoulders, and a persistent ache in her belly. She didn’t even bother putting on a nightgown when she returned to her room, opting to immediately start rubbing soothing gel into her skin. She answered the door completely naked, modesty be damned. 

“Woah,” Anakin murmured, acting like he hadn’t spent the full day either half-naked or inside of her. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, deflecting. 

He shrugged. “Great, honestly.” 

Padmé was unsatisfied with his answer, pointing at the tube of gel in her hand and then towards the bed. “I want to see the damage for myself, please.”

“It’ll be a tan in no time,” he assured her, but of course he didn’t think twice about disrobing and flopping down face-first onto her bed. “I’ve had way worse.” 

“I’m sure.” She climbed over him, sitting on the backs of his thighs. The skin of his back was mottled and flushed—she pressed her finger into his skin, watching it turn white before fading back to red. Padmé squeezed a generous handful of gel into her palm and got to work, rubbing it into his shoulders and upper arms and anywhere else where he’d caught a few too many rays. 

“‘M usually more careful,” he mumbled into her pillows. His voice sounded sleepy. “But it wasn’t so hot out. Didn’t even feel it happening.” 

“It’s different in the water,” she replied. “I should have warned you about that.” 

He made a funny sound, not quite a moan and not quite a yawn. When Padmé was done with the actual application, she let her fingers slide up the nape of his neck, her nails scratching gently against his scalp. 

“Thought I knew what I was doing.” His voice had gotten even more distant, although she wasn’t sure that it was all from exhaustion. 

“Honest mistake,” she said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. Anakin turned and she let him roll over, hovering above him as she tried to work out what he intended to do. She’d been right—the tone of voice was not, in fact, a sign of exhaustion. His eyes were remarkably keen, pupils blown wide until they just about swallowed the blue of his irises. 

He reached for her hips, pulling her towards him. Padmé didn’t even need to ask what he wanted, just shuffled up the length of his body until her thighs bracketed his head. He gripped her, pulled her down onto his mouth. She heard him take a sharp breath through his nose, watching as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment and his brows furrowed. 

“You taste like me,” he muttered. 

Padmé’s stomach lifted. His voice was proud, possessive. He’d done this to her, and now he wanted to reap the rewards, to taste the proof for himself. She squirmed above him, unsure how to handle the feelings that stirred in her chest.

She reached down and gripped his hair in her hands, tugging on the strands and eliciting a long moan from him. “Go on,” she insisted breathlessly. 

Anakin slid his tongue through her folds, pushing the tip into her and greedily swallowing the wetness that oozed forth. His fingers pressed needily into her flesh, digging in just enough to keep her locked over him. She squirmed but had no desire to get away from him, especially as he started suckling at her clit. She’d never been so wet in her life. She’d never heard such hungry sounds from a man. 

“Can you breathe?” 

He nodded, barely pulling away to grunt a short yep before he was back on her. Padmé’s abdomen tensed, the same heat that had been banked all day flaring to life at his urging. She almost wanted to cry, near oversensitivity but still desperate to come one more time. Carefully, she leaned back, wrapping her hand lightly around his erection and letting him rock his hips up into her hand.

It didn’t occur to her until a few moments had passed that she was the one not breathing. Padmé forced herself to take deep, slow lungfuls of air, letting the tension drain purposefully from her body. It was a form of control that she had perfected, but this was… a new use for it. She leaned into the onrushing wave, not tensing, just shutting her eyes and letting it take her. The resulting climax was deeper as a result, unknotting her nerves and blurring her senses. She didn’t even notice that Anakin had already come into her hand—it only registered when she flopped bonelessly beside him and saw the mess of it shining on her fingers. 

“I got it,” he told her, rolling out of bed and returning with a piece of his own discarded clothing. She nearly protested, but she didn’t trust herself to speak or stand, so she let him wipe her off. He returned to her arms as fast as he could, tangling with her without regard for the stinging of their skin or the damp heat between them. Padmé was so tired that nothing in the world could possibly matter to her more than how neatly he was tucked into her arms, how sweet the sound of his slowing breaths sounded. Her plans for storytelling and conversation dissolved, postponed as she was dragged into unconsciousness. 

Chapter Text

It was pitch black when Anakin opened his eyes and for a second, he was terrified. The space beside him was empty. The room was dark and unfamiliar. His body shook in that half-paralysis that came from waking straight from a dream. It had to be sometime well past midnight, bordering the very earliest hours of morning, but it was hard to tell. 

His eyes struggled to adjust at first. Shafts of moonlight spilled through windows in a silver haze. The door to the balcony had been thrown open, a breeze ruffling sheer curtains so that they looked almost like unsettled spirits. Anakin sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and blinking until he could make out clear forms in the darkness. Out on the balcony, beneath a canopy of glittering stars, stood his wife. 

It wouldn’t have even mattered if he could see or not. Her pull on him was inescapable. 

Anakin wandered out into the night to stand beside her. Her face was upturned, eyes shut, letting the cool air play in her hair and against her skin. Her fingers loosened their grip on the railing. Her eyes fluttered open, the brown of them almost black in the darkness. Her full, bowed lips pulled into the softest of smiles. 

“I was too hot,” Padmé explained. 

“Sorry,” he replied, but he didn’t mean it. He adored the stick of skin on skin, the sheen of sweat at her hairline. “Better now?” 

“Mhm.” 

The two of them drew together, Padmé coming to loop an arm around his waist as her head rested against his shoulder. For a few moments, Anakin’s mind was perfectly empty. All that existed before him were the simple bodily pleasures of Padmé at his side, the gentleness of the wind. He tipped his head back, searching for moonlight and watching thin clouds drift by in wispy streams. Eventually, though, he began to wake up. And as he did, he realized: 

It was their last full day together. 

His stomach sank like a stone, his skin going cold and his fingertips numb. Of course he’d known that this would happen, but he’d wanted so badly to forget for just a while longer. To exist in the stasis of this lakehouse, of her. Beside him, Padmé shifted, her head tilting thoughtfully. 

“Ani?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?” 

Anakin swallowed, finding it hard to answer honestly. He almost didn’t want to name his anxieties, like that might make them more real somehow. He fought to get a thin, tight smile onto his lips. “Can’t hide anything, can I?” 

She shifted, turning fully towards him, cupping his jaw in her hands. “No. Not now.” 

“We’ll have to… this is…” he struggled, involuntarily shutting his eyes for a moment as her fingertips traced against his cheeks. “I don’t want this to end.” 

He heard her sigh, but more than that, felt her echoing disappointment throughout his own body. When he opened his eyes, hers reflected the same melancholy back to him. 

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he admitted. After spending so many years longing from a distance, he’d tricked himself into believing that this would be no different, that the sensation would at least be familiar. But to have her so completely, to share a bed, to share heartbeats… he felt like he was choking, a pit opening up somewhere under his ribs at the thought of sleeping without her, not hearing her voice first thing in the morning. “Padmé…” 

She came up on her toes, silencing him with a kiss. There was something determined in her movements, a fire he had felt from her before. Her arms slid over his shoulders, anchoring her to him, and Anakin responded by laying his hands over her hips. Worry was quickly overtaken by want, his nervous system shifting and catching up to the taste of her on his tongue. 

“I know.” Her breath was hot in his ear, but her voice trembled. Just slightly, but… enough. “But we’re still together now, aren’t we?” 

His whole body broke into chills at the rush of breath on his skin. It made it easier to let his mind drift elsewhere, to forget their impending separation.

Padmé’s hands drifted down his sides until her fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants. She tugged, bringing his hips forward slightly, opening a gap between the fabric and his skin that was just wide enough to slip her hand through. His breath caught sharply in his throat. 

“Is this alright?” she asked sweetly, resting her head against his chest and curling her fingers around his dick. He almost wanted to laugh. As if there was any way it wouldn’t be—somewhere between being assigned as her personal guard and becoming her husband, he’d already decided that his body belonged to her. But if Padmé wanted an answer, he’d give her one.

“Please.”

He could feel her answering smile against his sternum. She stroked him to full hardness very easily—it took very little to get him to that state, but she seemed to be giving it her full attention and dedication nonetheless. Anakin shifted restlessly, leaning back against the railing to keep himself steady while she touched him. Padmé reached for the back of his neck, angling his head so that she could stand on her tiptoes to kiss him. He lost himself in her mouth, her hands, his skin tingling with heightened sensation. He gripped the balustrade behind him, flesh and steel clinging to the worn stone to keep from sinking to his knees. 

“Alright, it worked,” he whispered against her mouth, barely able to get enough air into his lungs. “I’m distracted. What will you do with me?”

“I thought you could decide,” she hummed. He throbbed, hot in her palm. 

Anakin groaned, his fingers tightening further. He still felt out of his depth, just unsure enough that he hesitated for a bit too long.  

“You’re overthinking it, Ani.”

It was a gentle reproach, punctuated with an equally gentle tug of her hand, but it got the point across. He laughed, bringing his hands up and spreading his palms placatingly. “Sorry, milady, I forgot to turn my brain off.” 

Before she could anticipate his next movement, Anakin scooped her up into his arms, hooking one beneath her knees and the other beneath her back. He didn’t so much hear her laughter as he felt it, a giggle trapped inside her throat as he carried her back inside. She was dropped onto the bed, bouncing slightly against the mattress, limbs akimbo as he followed her down. It wasn’t until he was over her that the giggles broke free, a sound that almost melted away his lingering anxiety. He quickly busied himself with a line of kisses across her collarbone. 

“You can–oh,” she broke off mid sentence, gasping as he pulled the straps of her nightgown downwards and slid his tongue over a peaked nipple. Whatever she’d meant to say trailed off into silence. 

He continued his way down her torso, feeling for every inch of skin that made her gasp, every touch that got a shiver out of her. When he reached her thighs, he parted them unhesitatingly, throwing one leg over each shoulder. 

She was wet, but not wet enough. Anakin set to work eating her out, trying to use what he’d learned in the last few days to test how quickly he could bring her to climax. The first few times he’d done this, it had not specifically been with that goal in mind—of course he’d wanted to please her, but now he felt a kind of  competitive desire rising inside of him. It wasn’t enough to be good. He had to be better than anyone, to give her something to need from him when they parted. 

So he started slowly, circling his tongue patiently but incessantly around her clit, waiting to feel it stiffen. Only once it had did he begin to suck the little bud into his mouth, carefully modulating the intensity based on the pitch of her sighs, the tightening of the muscles in her legs. He measured time not in seconds, but in pulses. He wriggled against the mattress, pushing his erection down into it in the hopes of keeping it out of the way—in no time at all, his body all but ceased to exist, disappearing into the points where he was touching her. 

She trembled under his tongue, against his fingertips. Silken wetness coated his lips, filled his mouth, dripped luxuriously onto the sheets beneath them, but some quiet voice in the back of his head hissed that it wasn’t enough. A terrible hunger had taken root in him—one that, in these dark hours, he was too tired to fight. 

Anakin redoubled his efforts, pushing one finger inside and then a second. Padmé made a keening sound and he glanced up to find her watching him, beautifully dishevelled and red-faced but obviously focused. Daring him, almost, to look away from her now. 

He couldn’t back down. Couldn’t stop; for her sake, or for his, or for nothing more than that small but insistent need to prove himself. She broke contact first, her head lolling back against the pillow, eyes slipping shut. It didn’t take long after that. She came hard and fast, voice straining as she struggled to stay quiet. When he pulled back, there was a dark spot soaked into the sheets, the air heavy with the perfume of sex. Sweat rolled down his temple, slicked over his skin. He felt half-drunk as he pulled his thin sleeping pants off, unwilling to spend another second away from the source of all of this heat. 

Padmé reached for him, meeting him halfway. She hadn’t even bothered to fully undress herself, simply rucking her nightgown up around her waist and guiding him between her thighs. They moaned in unison as he slid inside, two sounds dragged out in perfect harmony. 

She pushed her hips upwards, lifting them slightly off the bed to better match his thrusts. Anakin held her like that, caught on a knife’s edge: terrified to hold too tight, desperate to keep her right where she was. His fingers pressed divots into her flesh—he forced himself to loosen his grasp, if only to stop her from bruising. The only sounds in the room were of their skin coming together, the heavy, shaking breaths that passed from their lips. 

“I kept dreaming of your mouth on me,” she whispered after a moment. “That’s the real reason I had to get out of bed.” 

Her confession landed like a gut-punch, winding him, setting his whole body aflame. “You could have woken me up.” 

“I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

“You can’t. You won’t.” He struggled against the vice-grip around his lungs, tightening harder every time his hips met hers. “Whenever you want me, I’m yours, Padmé. I’m yours.” 

Her hands moved again, up his arms, pulling slightly. He tipped forward at her urging, pressing their bodies tight together—she wrapped all around him, her legs tangling with his, her fingers finding his back, her mouth at his ear. “My love,” she breathed, sending a wave of tingles down his spine, “I want you all the time. What do you want?” 

What did he want? He never wanted to leave this lakehouse. He never wanted to be apart from her. He wanted to be loved, to be known, to be held. All of Anakin’s life had been a never ending plea, and every gift, every concession came with a condition. Right now, though, with fire pouring through his veins and threatening to spill all over her, he could only think of one answer: 

“I want you to come,” he whimpered, “and I want you to let me come with you.” 

She shuddered, a hand sliding from his back to her sex. He felt it moving between them, her fingers  quick and purposeful. Her other hand gripped the back of his neck, pulling him to her until their mouths met, entirely without finesse or rhythm, just hunger. Electricity shimmered along his nerves, release so close that he felt like he could taste it at the back of his tongue. 

“Anakin.” Padmé’s voice was a sob, a request and a command both. With that one word, his already weakened control shattered—he fell apart, clutching her desperately through a climax that left him feeling hollowed out. His ears rang and his breath came in sharp, jagged gasps like he’d been on the verge of drowning. It wasn’t until Padmé’s fingernails dug into the nape of his neck that he felt like he was back in his body. She’d followed him, just barely out of sync. 

But maybe it was a blessing. He stroked her hair and kissed her cheeks all through her orgasm, able to focus now on the smaller details he might have otherwise missed: the way her voice caught like a hiccup, the knot between her brows, the way one leg kicked out involuntarily. 

All heaviness temporarily lifted from the air, from his heart, replaced only with affection. 

o0o 

By the time morning had come, wind off the lake had brought in a blanket of clouds. Anakin woke up cooler that morning than he ever had during his time on Naboo, even with Padmé pressed to him beneath the sheets. She stirred, blearily opening her eyes and folding herself into him, tucking her head under his chin. He wasn’t sure how long they lay together for, only that it didn’t feel like long enough. 

“The day is still young,” Padmé finally said, breaking the silence. Her lips moved against his neck, almost like she was kissing the words into his skin. “Let’s not waste it.” 

Slowly, then, the two of them roused. At some point, they’d wordlessly decided that it didn’t matter if the house-staff found his room empty, or if it was too obvious that they’d been together the whole night. Nothing seemed as important as wringing out every second. There was a different kind of intimacy in that—something that came from dressing together and preparing for the day. Anakin was done long before Padmé, but stayed and watched as she picked out her outfit and pinned her hair in place. He had a new appreciation for just how precise her choices were; she selected a heavier gown, velvety and structured in a shade of warm, deep green. Something that not only suited the cooler weather, but also seemed to act as a kind of armor against the oncoming day. 

Her hair was given the same treatment. While not as complex as he’d seen it before, certainly, gone were the loose curls of the days prior, replaced by a sleek and sensible coil that wrapped over her head like a crown. She applied her makeup with a reserved and polished touch, and she was recognizably Amidala once again. 

When she took his hand into hers, though, he saw right through the disguise. She was as dignified now as she had been while naked in his arms. The fire of her spirit had blazed as hot yesterday, when she’d jumped into the lake and made love to him in the gallery, as it had ever been in the Senate Hall on Coruscant. These different facets of her all shone from the same light, the same core thing that made her beautiful. 

“I love you,” he said, internally cursing the words for being insufficient. She came up on her toes to kiss him, still holding his hands for balance, and he stooped to meet her. 

She broke away after a long moment, lingering against his lips. “I love you, too.”

Their hands stayed locked together for as long as they dared, only parting when they reached the dining room. Here, Padmé gently instructed the staff to bring breakfast out onto the ground level patio—the pair walked out, with Anakin following at a (mostly) polite distance into the cool morning air. Like most of the villa, the space was set up for relaxation and meditation. It was nearer to the shoreline, with a short set of stairs leading directly down into the waves. The water itself wasn’t as inviting, but the sounds it made were at least soothing. 

Padmé set herself up on one of the carved stone benches, softened by layers of cushions and pillows. In short order, the low table in front of her was laden with food: a pot of strong brewed tea, fruit preserves and butter and flaky biscuits, slices of thickly cut cured meat fried off in its own fat, little crackers made entirely from seeds and nuts. Anakin stood still and out of the way until he was sure the last dish was brought forth, nodded in thanks, and sat beside his wife the second the coast was clear. She smiled at him, almost immediately reaching to put a plate together for them to pick at. 

Anakin was, honestly, not all that hungry. The food was good, like everything had been here, but his stomach turned with anxiety that made it hard for him to even taste what was going down. He was halfway into a sip of rapidly cooling tea when Padmé looked him over and asked him a question.

“What was your life like, before I met you?” 

He paused, genuinely unsure of how to answer. There’d been such a hard demarcation line: before Padmé, and after. It almost felt like he’d lived two different lives already. 

“The first time, or the second?”

“The first, if you like,” she shrugged. “I thought you were such an interesting boy, to be so sure of yourself at such a young age.”

“Like you,” he pointed out. “I don’t know if I really understood what I was getting myself into.” 

It was a sentiment they’d shared, one of the first moments after their long separation where Anakin had felt her open up to him. And it had come as a surprise to him, too—for so long he had held the image of her in his mind as infallible, indestructible. She was filtered through his own memory and through the passing images he caught on screens in the years following. To hear her admit that she had been unsure, that she’d imagined her own future differently… it was hard to pinpoint any specific moment where admiration had become love, but that was one in a cascade of them. 

He smiled. “Still, I was right about one thing.”

“Oh?”

“I knew I was going to marry you.” 

Padmé laughed, her posture loosening more as she did. She looked… comfortable, safe. As safe as they could possibly be, considering all they’d been through recently. Anakin thought back for a moment. It was hard to find anything from before Padmé that seemed worth repeating. But there was one that stuck out from the rest, a break from the endlessly repeating pattern of work and exhaustion that marked life on Tatooine. 

“When I was seven, I got caught in a sandstorm,” he told her, watching how her body shifted towards him, like she was physically hanging onto his every word. “It was my own fault. Jira told me not to stay out too late and everything, but I was convinced that if I really scampered I’d be able to get the parts I needed from a speeder crash nearby and be back home before the wind picked up.”

Padmé’s mouth turned down. “Didn’t scamper fast enough?”

“Nope.” Anakin snorted, remembering how it had felt when he realized he wouldn’t make it home. The panic that seized him, followed by an almost trance-like calm, the near meditative state he felt himself fall into as he decided what to do next. “The first thing you have to do, if you ever get caught in one, is cover as much of your face as possible. There are people who get out of the squall alive only to turn blue and have their nails fall off a year later. Something about the silicates in the sand, I guess. So that’s what I did. I couldn’t see anything, but I wouldn’t have been able to anyway.” 

“How did you find your way back home?”

“I didn’t, at first. Not while the storm was still on.” He shrugged. “I stumbled into a rocky crevice by luck. Just wide enough for me to wedge myself into. If I’d been any bigger, I probably wouldn’t have been able to squeeze inside.” 

She tilted her head. “You were a small boy. I remember thinking that when we first met.”

“That’s malnutrition for you,” he laughed, though he cut himself off when he noticed that Padmé didn’t seem to find it nearly as funny. “It’s not all bad! It opened up into a cave, and because the entrance was so narrow it was calm inside. So there I was in complete darkness, safe and sound, and all I could think about was how boring it was going to be if I didn’t find something to do.” 

At this, Padmé did laugh, a sound that sent relief through Anakin’s veins. “Wasn’t the storm enough excitement?”

“Apparently not. I built a fire at first and performed a few shadow plays for myself, but you know what happens if you have a fire and no ventilation?”

“Oh, Ani, no!”

“Yeah. I almost gave myself carbon monoxide poisoning.” Anakin considered for a moment, then smiled wryly. “Ask me to show you my shadow puppets sometime. I can do a pretty good sarlacc.” 

She reached forward, batting at his forearm in playful admonishment. 

“I was stuck in there for nearly three days, I think. I subsisted almost entirely off of cave worms—don’t make that face, I didn’t have a choice! By the time that the wind had finally died down, I realized that I’d only been a stone’s throw away from home the whole time. I was so proud of myself, though. I’d survived completely on my own.” 

“That’d be impressive for anyone,” Padmé agreed. “Especially a child.”

“Yeah, well, I was humbled pretty fast. I went to tell Watto where I’d been and you know what he said?” Here, Anakin did his best impression of the rough-throated Toydarian, folding his arms over his chest to sell the effect. “I lost three day’s worth of profits, you little wermo. He sent me back to my mother black and blue.” 

There was a beat of silence. He’d miscalculated, he could tell. Padmé’s eyes went hard and sharp, even though she kept the rest of her face as soft as possible. A politician’s mask. Anakin felt a pit form in his gut.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” 

“No, you don’t need to apologize.” Her voice was thin and quiet. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

While Anakin had obviously not… enjoyed being physically reprimanded, Padmé’s response to it jarred him. On Tatooine, it was simply the law of the land—power, authority. Punishment. There was never any worry of breaking him beyond repair; he could be replaced like a spare part. 

But something twisted inside of him at the pity she tried to hide. Some remnant of a memory: going home to his mother, small body aching and pride thoroughly wounded. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him to feel bad for himself because she was always there, waiting to wipe the grit from his face and kiss away his tears. Watto’s blows had never hurt for long. 

The memory of her felt like the maw of a great black hole, heavy and vacuous. It seemed like the absence of love was a far greater torment than the presence of suffering. He could endure almost any bodily pain, but that loss left him breathless. Anakin cringed without meaning to, his body curling on itself. 

“Ani?”

“It’s–” He nearly said nothing, don’t worry, but Padmé was far too clever to be fooled by that. He swallowed heavily. “I was thinking of my mother.”

Immediately, her hands went to his, folding over where they had fisted on his knees. Anakin blinked down at the sight, the enveloping softness, startled by the stinging in his eyes. He tried, once, to suck in a breath. To reign in the grief and the dread that had been trying to overwhelm him since he’d awakened too early that morning. Let it go. 

Anakin made the mistake of meeting her eyes, then. Warm and grounding and kind, filled with undisguised love. Something cracked beneath his ribs, a floodgate suddenly failing against feelings he hadn’t been able to suppress. He pitched forward, unsteadily falling into her arms like a miserable child, beaten and worn and tired. Padmé pulled him into her, letting him lay his head against her chest, wrapping her arms around his shoulders like that alone could keep him safe. 

“I don’t know why, I…” His voice trailed off, trembling shamefully. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more, but then, he didn’t need to. Padmé would already know. Her fingers combed gently through his hair. 

He didn’t want to cry. It had always been his great weakness—he was prone to tears, and to anger, often both at once. Other Jedi initiates, younglings like himself, had always seemed… confused by his outsize reactions. Small criticisms meant to gently redirect felt world-ending. Loneliness, something which could be such a useful tool for self-reflection, was almost unbearable to him. It was no secret that the others didn’t know what to make of him. Nobody had ever known where he fit. Envy ate away at him throughout his adolescence, acute anguish over the inability to let things go like his peers could. Such weaknesses could be fatal on Tatooine—a sign of mental deficiency, a defect to be destroyed—but at least there, they were understood. 

But such emotions, born of attachment and loss and fear and inextricable from love, had once motivated him. Just as they’d motivated a young queen, who had stubbornly taken on not just her home planet, but the entire galaxy as a responsibility she must bear. That was the way that Padmé approached her duties, which had echoed as true in Anakin at nine as they did now, at nearly twenty. 

Buried in her embrace, listening desperately for her heartbeat, Anakin waited for the ache to pass. 

o0o

After breakfast, Anakin trailed Padmé like a living shadow. Even though she had only taken one full day truly to herself, there was an astonishing amount of work to catch up on: arrangements must be made for her return to Coruscant, full debriefings planned with her security detail there, and updates to be made with her domestic and professional staff. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to listen to these conversations and remember what they meant, but he still preferred it to being alone. Just the sound of her voice was enough to soothe him. 

In the villa’s large private office, he watched her work in much the same way he had watched her prepare for the day. Padmé worked as quickly as she could, and after her final message was sent, she sighed and stretched her arms above her head. 

“Finished?” Anakin hoped he didn’t sound overly eager.

“Almost,” she replied, dropping her hands and gesturing for him to pull up a chair beside her. “Two more things.” 

He settled in beside her and waited for her to explain. 

“First… I think we are going to have to give Captain Typho and Dormé the benefit of the doubt, at minimum,” she said slowly. He sensed some anxiety off of her. “I don’t feel there’s any way around it. Given our circumstances… it’s important for them to know that you are someone I can trust.” 

“I understand.” All told, it was a concession he was willing to make. “Whatever you need to do to stay safe.”

Her trepidation burst like a soap bubble, gone in an instant. “It’s for your safety, too. The last thing I need is for someone to mistake you for an intruder.” 

“Do you expect me to come sneaking in to see you at night?” 

“You’ll be given full access to my senatorial residence,” she replied lightly, obviously fighting a smile. “What you do with that information is… up to you.” 

“Duly noted, milady.” 

Padmé straightened up, seemingly back to business. “The second item: I’d like to update our personal comlinks to include an encrypted line, if you’re alright with me modifying it.” 

Anakin didn’t have to think about his answer. He pulled his comlink from its clip on his belt and had it in her hands in mere seconds. 

Of course, it was no surprise to him that she knew how to secure a personal line, but he still found himself fascinated by how clean her methods were. Perfectly procedural, each step was check-listed and double-verified before she would be satisfied. Anakin had taught himself back-alley encryption from scratch. He was inclined to trust her version more—not only did they have unique ciphercodes set up to each specific personal device, she had also included a self-wiping string that automatically removed the message once played. A step further, and a simple double-tap after listening would delete the ciphercode itself, rendering any incoming messages completely garbled and useless. 

Anakin observed with great interest, taking mental notes all the while. Once both of their comms were fully updated, she ran a test on each. The message came through clear and wiped clean after. 

“There,” she said, handing his back to him. “Now we won’t be so far apart.” 

He felt a small curl of relief. Hope, instead of dread. Something as simple as this felt like a lifeline—and even though he knew that no matter where he wound up, he’d always feel her as a bright spot in the living Force… it was reassuring to know that he could answer her back. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” He didn’t bother hiding his awe, leaning his elbow against her desk and resting his cheek on his fist. Color rose on her cheeks. 

“It’s not that impressive, Ani.” She bit her lip, glancing down at her own device, small and innocuous in her palm. “And there’s plenty I can’t do.” 

He felt as though she’d tugged some loose thread from inside of him, an unseen pull that she might not even be aware of. Anakin reached for her cheek, brushing durasteel knuckles over its soft curve. Weirdly, it didn’t matter that the pressure sensors were suboptimal, or that the temp-module hadn’t been fully calibrated to his nervous system yet. It seemed like… if he just imagined it, he could feel the delicate warmth of her skin.  

When she looked up at him, her pupils were wide. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever had a favorite color before, but he decided then that it was this exact shade of brown, followed closely by the blushed ivory of her skin. 

“I’d say these are pretty secure,” he said, voice coming out a bit rougher than he meant it to. “In case you ever have any important Senate secrets to share with me.”

“Not what I had in mind,” she laughed, though it was more of a rush of breath than true laughter. 

Anakin’s brows shot upwards before he even had a chance to think about what she meant. “What did you have in mind?” 

If Padmé was flustered, it didn’t last long—never one to back down from a challenge, one corner of her mouth lifted as she leaned in conspiratorially. “I should have thought that was obvious. What’s an encrypted line for, if not to send my husband dirty messages?” 

He nearly choked on his own tongue, even though he’d invited that exact response. Embarrassment fought with curiosity, and as it had many times over in the last couple of days, curiosity won by a lightyear. 

“Not sure I follow,” he said slowly, half-feigning ignorance. “What can I expect?” 

“Maybe I’ll relive some memories for you,” she said quietly, leaning closer. Her hand landed on his upper thigh, ostensibly for balance. “Or… maybe I’ll give you instructions.” 

Her hand shifted somewhat dangerously. Heat flooded his face, then pooled beneath her palm. He couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to her lips, watching them eagerly, hopefully. “Why wait?” he murmured. “I’m all ears.” 

She was so close now that it was impossible for him not to reach for her, his hand drifting to cradle the back of her head, pulling her in to taste her mouth as deeply as she’d let him. Padmé kissed him fiercely at first, her tongue sliding against his as her palm finally came to rest over the growing swell in his trousers. Even through layers of fabric, her touch was electrifying. 

When he gasped, she broke away. He tried to follow her, but her other hand gripped his shoulder and pushed him back against his chair with surprising strength. His cock twitched beneath her hand and he bit back a grunt. 

“I can’t tell you if my mouth is busy, can I?” 

“No, milady, I guess you can’t.” 

Padmé looked up at him so innocently that he felt almost conflicted. She could make any demand of him that she wished to, but it never seemed like she did it to put him in his place. Some very, very deeply buried part of him whispered to him to test that theory. Push the boundaries a little. Find out how far he could go before her hand would go tight on him again, before she would correct him more firmly. 

But he wasn’t sure he was ready to find out the answer. Not yet, anyway. For now, he stilled, laying his hands on his knees and waiting for her to continue. 

“When we’re apart, will you touch yourself for me?”

Heat skittered all through him like water across hot metal. He nodded. 

“Good.” Padmé’s fingers curled over his erection, which was now hard enough to hurt. “I’m going to miss this. I don’t think my own hands will be enough anymore.” 

Anakin didn’t miss the subtle but very real praise hidden in that confession. “I know mine won’t be. I’m ruined, Padmé.” 

She laughed under her breath, all fondness. “When you do touch yourself, promise me something?”

“Anything you want.”

“Record it. You don’t have to say anything in particular,” she went on, “just as long as it’s your voice.”

She stroked him softly, almost playfully. He whimpered. Partly as a demonstration that he understood, but mostly because he wasn’t sure he could control himself enough not to. She leaned forward, kissing his jaw. “Exactly like that.” 

He felt himself start to unravel, drawn into incoherency, panting harder with every whisper-gentle kiss and delicate movement. His fists had gone tight on his knees, knuckles white and durasteel straining. 

“You’re not… you’re not going to make me come right now, are you?” 

“I don’t know. Should I?” 

Anakin’s brain tried to fire off signals to the right synapses. Nothing came of it but a terrible, needy sound from somewhere deep in his chest. He was barely able to get his mouth to form the word “please”, but even he couldn’t be sure if it was a plea for her to stop or to continue. He’d die if she stopped; he’d die of embarrassment if she didn’t. 

Her holoprojector chimed suddenly, too loud and extremely unwelcome. Padmé jumped backwards, her eyes wide and her face now entirely red. 

“Oh, stars–I,” she squeaked, turning away from him like he’d burned her. “I’m so sorry, I have to take this.” 

He slumped, not trusting his legs to carry him. Instead, he scooted his chair backwards until he was safely out of range of the intake aperture. Padmé took a deep, stabilizing breath, and clicked in to receive the call. Anakin didn’t even bother paying attention to who was on the other end—it didn’t matter, really—but he noticed how quickly her voice changed, deepening and smoothing out. The only sign that she’d been out of sorts at all was the remaining blush on her cheeks, which could easily be mistaken for makeup. 

But then her eyes flicked to his as she was saying goodbye, and she stuttered. It was such a small misstep that it probably wouldn’t have even registered, but the moment that the call ended, she dropped her face into her hands and moaned in dismay. 

“I can’t believe I did that.”

“Which part?” 

“Any of it. All of it,” she sighed. “You distracted me.” 

Anakin gestured to himself loosely, his whole body still feeling like it was about to self-destruct. “Look what you did to me.” 

Padmé’s eyes narrowed slightly, a sly sort of expression crossing her face that looked like it spelled trouble. She reached for her holoprojector and switched it off entirely, disabling any further interruptions. 

o0o 

Darkness, inevitably, fell over Varykino. 

The dying of each day had previously been marked by anticipation—in darkness came comfort, concealing and forgiving. Whatever the newly married couple had decided to do when the sun went down belonged entirely to them; while privacy was mostly maintained in daylight hours, it was absolutely sacrosanct at night. 

Now, though, it was a terrible reminder that their time was up. 

Neither Padmé nor Anakin made any attempt to pretend that this night was like the others. There was a sense of finality in the sound of her bedroom door shutting and locking, a sluggishness to their movements as though they could slow down the passage of each minute by willpower alone. 

Anakin helped her out of her dress as innocently as a lady’s maid, following her instructions to hang it back up again while she slipped on a thin robe in its place and went to go run water for a bath. The tub was halfway full when he joined her, and he undressed quickly and lowered himself down into it at her urging.

“It fills up faster with another person in it,” she mused, watching the water displace around his body. “How is it?”

“Come in and find out.”

Padmé dropped the robe from her shoulders and sat opposite him. It was a large tub, matching the rest of the villa’s trend towards spaciousness and luxury, but it wasn’t exactly made for two people. Anakin watched the steam and foam swirl for a while, the plane of it disturbed by where his and Padmé’s knees emerged from the bubbles like snow-capped mountains. 

The only light came from the sconce over the sink, casting the room in a diffuse glow. It was calm. Almost sleepy. He felt strangely heavy, tired down to his bones, an exhaustion that felt more mental than physical. Across from him, Padmé’s fingers traced soapy lines across the edge of the tub, holding onto it to stay upright. 

There was so much Anakin wanted to say, and many more things that he dreaded saying. In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to speak at all. It was all written across his face, he knew; Padmé could feel it as surely as she could feel the heat of the steam and the slip of their skin touching beneath the water. Her eyes had gone glassy, lashes stuck together in places. 

“C’mere,” he finally murmured, opening his arms. She shifted forward at first, then turned to rest her back against his chest, sliding into the spaces between his limbs like she’d been designed to fit there. Tiny waves lapped at the tub walls from her movements, their quiet sounds just barely breaking the silence. He wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing his knees up and leaning into her. He listened for the pattern of her breath. He waited, unsure of what he was even waiting for. 

“I don’t regret any part of this,” she finally whispered. Her voice was unusually small. “I knew from the beginning that I’d have to let you go. You’re… you’ve always been part of something bigger.”

His throat constricted. There was nothing bigger, nothing more important than her.

“We both are. I know that.” Padmé drew in a shaky breath. “But I love you, Anakin.”

“Is there any future where we won’t have to hide?” 

It seemed, even to him, like an unbearably cruel question. She had warned him that there could be no life for them as they were, that they’d always be forced into a lie. That it would, in time, destroy them both from the inside out. He’d conceded then—but now, even though it hadn’t been so long ago, he felt like someone else had spoken those words. Now that he had felt the fullness of her love, her light, the bond that he was sure could only be shared by two stars locked in eternal orbit… there was no going back. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if there is, I won’t ever stop fighting for it.” 

That hope, small as it may be, was enough to rest his entire life upon. His arms tightened further around her.

The two of them sat together in that heavy, full silence until their bodies cramped and their skin turned pruny. They bathed each other after with almost religious reverence, hands working to cleanse the other, wiping away sweat and dirt as much as doubt. Once that was done, Padmé let the water drain away, and grabbed the attached showerhead to rinse every last bit of the soap that remained. By now, the hair at her temples was curling from humidity, still up in its coil. Anakin twisted one small ringlet around a finger, then kissed it as if it could bestow some blessing upon him. 

At long last they emerged, clean and flushed. They toweled each other off, and she paused when she realized that each pass of the cloth was peeling away a thin layer of skin on his shoulders. Padmé frowned.

“You’re still a bit red. The worst thing for a burn is to let it dry out too much,” she said, reaching for a container and scooping some of its contents into her palms. “Here.” 

Anakin tried to stay still while she spread the lotion over his back, his shoulders, his arms. It was a subtle scent, nothing that would register as overly suspicious—but it belonged to her. His heartbeat picked up. It was so strange how sadness could melt into desire like this, quickly as flipping a switch. 

He grew restless watching her hands on his bare skin. Padmé slowed as she came around to his front, fingertips drifting at first across his clavicle and skimming down his chest. She traced along lines of musculature, the pretense of helping him all but abandoned. 

“Am I distracting you again?” 

She looked up at him through dark lashes, her teeth already sunk into her bottom lip. “I wondered when you’d notice.” 

He cracked a smile at last, then took her face into his hands. He took possession of her lips in the way that she had taught him—half a demonstration of his hunger for her, half a reminder of what his mouth was capable of. It wasn’t until he was already lightheaded that he remembered to breathe. 

“I never want to stop,” she whispered, just as breathless. The acoustics of the room were strange, tile walls and glass surfaces making her voice seem very close and very far all at once. 

“If I could…” He trailed off, resting his forehead against hers. “I’d never do anything else. I’d waste away. I’d never sleep again.” 

Even though it was mostly a joke, Anakin knew that he needed her like a heart needed blood or a mind needed rest. That yawning, hollow hunger from early that morning returned. What choice did he have but to feed it? 

He took her hand in his hand, pulling her back into the soft comfort of her room. Steam seemed to pour in behind them, warmth chasing their steps. He didn’t bother to disguise his eagerness as he climbed into bed beside her. 

Their hands were all over each other in an instant. His palms swept over her torso, feeling the dip of her waist, skimming over her breasts. He tried to slow himself down, lingering for as long as possible on every soft curve. Meanwhile, Padmé mirrored his touch, her fingers twisting in his hair first and then blazing a path down his chest, the midline of his abdomen, fluttering over his hipbones. They came away from every kiss gasping, their lips swollen and wet, eyes half-lidded. 

He had no idea how long they stayed locked in this stalemate, tempting one another but offering no relief. His erection pressed needily into her belly, throbbing and leaking and obvious. While he’d say it was unfair, he could just as easily feel her arousal—physically, he was sure that if he touched her, he’d find her wanting. But it was more metaphysical, like a low electric hum hitting his brain even if his ears didn’t register it as sound. 

Padmé was the first to give ground, to his surprise; she broke from his lips, kissing along his jaw and then down the length of his neck. She stopped near the hollow of his throat, just at the place where his Jedi robes usually folded together to conceal his skin. 

She bit him softly, then sucked a bruise into the mark her teeth left behind. Anakin whimpered—he hadn’t expected it—and helplessly ground his hips into her. 

“Make that sound again.” 

“Bite me again,” he replied, “and I’ll do it as many times as you want.”

She sank her teeth in again, more along the ridge of his collarbone this time. He wasn’t sure if he was making exactly the sound she’d asked for, only that he couldn’t seem to help himself. While Padmé’s mouth branded him, her hand slid down between them, fingers wrapping around his cock to pull him closer. Anakin made no attempt to quiet the sounds that came out of him then. 

He reached for her, left hand pushing between her warm thighs as the right held her hip steady. Slick heat bloomed across his fingers, coating them before he’d even worked them inside of her. He felt her pulse there, and the involuntary twitch her pussy gave around him. Even at an absolute feverpitch of desire, he couldn’t help feeling like it would be wasteful not to draw this out for as long as they could both bear. If he focused, if he breathed, he could match the invisible frequency of her body. It almost… calmed him, in a way. His reactions could be controlled selectively, he realized. 

Groans and whispers passed easily from his lips like heat being vented, while the nearly volcanic lust in his belly dulled to a simmer. Present, sure, and inevitable—but held off. Anakin curled his fingers inside of her and luxuriated in the rippling pleasure it gave her. He slid them out and circled her clit around and around, feeling those waves grow stronger. More heat bubbled up inside of him; he groaned again. 

He cherished every lesson she had taught him in these last few days. Pleasure without shame, sex as an expression of joy, the beautiful pain of longing and the even greater beauty of fulfillment when he lay in her arms. And now, whether she had even noticed it or not, the culmination of those lessons: control. 

He could take it, and he could give it. He could be at her mercy one minute, and in the next have her incoherent with need. He wondered how it might feel to have that control stripped back even further—bound under her hands, senses muddled, fighting off his own climax for the sheer fun of a challenge. But for now, all that mattered was that at this moment, they were in perfect balance with one another. 

“Anakin,” she sighed, as if coming to the same realization. 

“Padmé,” he echoed back. “How do you want me?”

She extricated her hand from between them, pushing at his shoulders to urge him onto his back. He felt a rush of delight go through him, intensifying as she straddled him and sank onto his cock. They found their rhythm together; she fell upon him and he met her halfway, holding her hips and driving up into her. At some point, her hair had begun to fall out of its updo, wayward curls bouncing in time with their movements—the sight of it, and of all the small ways that he had made his mark on her, filled him with such reckless pride that he almost started grinning. She must have felt the same way. She’d certainly made her mark on him. 

Padmé leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders and arching her back to press her clit into his pubic bone. Anakin really did grin then, delighted by her cleverness. She was the only thing he could see now, the only scent, the only sound. The air almost seemed to shimmer around her. Between them, he could feel the bright, sharp edge of climax—whose didn’t seem to matter, if there even was a distinction. 

And then—as if perfectly preordained—they reached it at the same moment. He wasn’t sure he’d ever come so hard in his life; his abdomen clenched almost violently, a wracked cry wrenching from his throat as he spent inside of her. Even in the throes of his own, he felt hers with incredible clarity: squeezing, softening, the shuddery aftershocks that came in slower and slower frequency until she was wrung out. Padmé dropped against his chest, seemingly surprised by the weakness of her limbs. 

The two of them came down from their high just as they had approached it. Slowly, tenderly, and in perfect synchronization. 

Chapter Text

Coming back to Coruscant was a rough crash-landing back into reality. Padmé's senatorial residence seemed to have had all the color leeched from it, all life drained away during her absence. That first night back, she slipped beneath her covers and found that for the first time, she was way too cold.

In the light of day, Padmé would be right back to herself. In spite of the war raging across the galaxy, in spite of the many failures that it represented... her sense of purpose was stronger than ever. But that would be for tomorrow. For now, she shivered under her sheets, arms wrapped tight around her torso to keep herself held together. The splay of her fingers across her ribs, if she just imagined, could be mistaken for those of a larger, rougher hand. She felt him like a missing piece of her, phantom pains coming in the form of conjured sensations: the rush of his breath in her ear, his body curving against her back, his long legs tangling with hers.

She sighed, turning onto her back. She stared at the ceiling for a long, long while—well past the point of the chrono ticking over to 00:00 on her wall. How had she been able to sleep, before?

After wrestling with insomnia for what felt like an eternity, she threw her sheets off and reached for the comlink on her nightstand. Before she could think about what she was doing, she clicked it over to the private channel she'd so carefully encoded just days before. She held it close in the darkness, so close that her lips brushed against the casing.

"I miss you," she whispered. "That's all. I hope you have better luck sleeping tonight than I'm having. I love you."

Padmé ended the message and sent it, staring absently at the device until her vision started to blur. And then, just as she thought she might give rest another try, it blinked. Anakin's voice came through the line, soft and secretive:

"I miss you more. I can't sleep either." A sigh punctuated the thought. She could imagine his exact expression. "It's cold without you next to me."

A smile spread across her face. She lay back down, tucking herself around the comm like it was a precious to her. They traded messages back and forth for the next hour, each one sleepier than the last. Padmé was barely awake when the last one came through, and she played it three times in a row like it was a lullaby:

"Goodnight, my love."

Somewhere in the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker was falling asleep with his head full of her. As her own thoughts steadily turned to dreaming, she imagined him as a glowing point amidst the stars—brighter and more beautiful than the rest.

In her own chest throbbed an answering luminescence, light that she had taken into herself to keep.