Rating: R, for sexual themes. Please do not read if you are not old enough to do so.
Summary: Padme reflects on a night spent with Anakin after his vision. Spoilers for RotS. This can be looked at as a companion to Night Wish, but it can be read as a stand alone as well.
Dedication: To stylusnz who wanted conception smut. This isn't about the twins' conception nor is it all that smutty but it's all I had in me tonight, Sis!
Disclaimer: All belongs to George!
When Anakin comes in off the balcony and joins her in their bed, he comes as an Anakin Padme is not familiar with. She is used to a practiced seduction (how surprised she was to learn on their wedding night that her supposedly celibate Jedi had been anything but!) and a coupling so fulfilling and complete that to call it anything other than making love seems a blasphemy. She knows that her satisfaction is Anakin's satisfaction and their marriage bed is more than the girl who had naively consigned herself to a life of selfless servitude could have ever imagined.
But tonight he is different.
His words are still ringing in her ears as he steps in from outside and their meaning sends a chill through her. She does not think she will die in childbirth but she is also aware that it is a possibility. It would take a woman with far more knowledge of destiny than Padme possesses to speak in certainties, although she dares not admit this to her Ani. Watching him walk towards her, she admits very little even to herself. The realization that he could not survive without her blindsides her but it is written all over him, from the frown lines marring what she considers a perfect face to the almost deadly determination blazing in his eyes.
She is his, he is hers, and they are one but still his gaze upsets her. Her stomach feels unsettled and-
Anakin sits on the bed beside her and regards her in complete and utter silence. His eyes trace her face and his hands skim lightly over her arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. He looks too alert; too focused somehow. Eerily, she thinks he is making some sort of pact with himself. It only troubles her further.
"Ani," she begins, trying to sound comforting, "it was only a dream."
He makes a choked noise and then he is descending over her with such a speed that it steals her breath away. Padme is powerless compared to him- she always has been- but it is never so apparent than when Anakin really wants something. Now, he wants her. His mouth catches hers before she has a chance to finish what she wants to say and it is a clumsy kiss born of desperation and the base neediness she has always sensed in him. She tries to embrace him- to hold him until he is convinced that she is real and hardy- but the roundness of her belly makes it awkward and only seems to horrify Anakin in the moment. He is already panting, his breath warm against her cheek, and she can feel the extent of his arousal where it presses against her thigh through the thin material of his sleeping pants. She is nowhere near ready but when he grinds out, "The baby?" she nods against her pillow senselessly and turns to her side.
He is behind her in a flash, stroking her thighs and mumbling nonsense into her hair. He is moving too fast for her but the words Ani needs this are running through her head like a mantra and so she does not protest when his hands stop caressing and start trying to inch up her nightgown. The careful adept lover she knows is gone. In his place is a clumsy young man bent on having her and having her now. For a fraction of a second, Padme isn't sure Anakin would hear her if she were to protest his advances. The thought is gone before it can fully form, however. She has never denied Ani anything and she isn't about to start now.
Helpfully, she shifts her thigh backwards so that it is almost draped over her husband but she is too slow for him. The fabric of her nightdress comes apart with a harsh rip, leaving her exposed clear to her stomach. Anakin grunts his approval and, before Padme has time to blink, he has grabbed hold of her hips and is pulling her towards him.
"I'm sorry, Padme," he whispers, his voice hoarse and strained. From somewhere she realizes that he is fumbling with his sleeping pants. "I need you. I can't wait."
She has figured this much out on her own but she is still somewhat surprised when he enters her right then and there with one deep forward thrust of his own hips. She gasps, more out of shock than pleasure, and brings a hand around to clench his arm. She thinks he apologizes again but then he is moving, clenching her left hip so hard that she supposes he will leave marks.
Padme can't shake the sense of confusion she feels. It seems to her that Anakin just entered her rooms from their balcony and she can't quite figure out how they got to where they are so fast. She still has not caught up to him in passion and it seems unlikely that she will have time: Anakin's breath is hitching in that way she recognizes and she knows his release is near. She feels curiously disassociated, as though she were some sort of sacrifice offered up to him, this beautiful man embracing her with such desperation and unrestrained longing. She feels more observer than participant, a mere outlet for Anakin's fervor.
"Don't leave me," he says near her ear, only to pick it up as a chant.
She clenches her eyes shut against it, dreading the reminder of his vision, but manages to catch his spare hand as she replies, "Oh, Ani, never say that."
"Tell me, Padme," he commands, "Say it."
Ani needs this.
His panic is almost palpable to her. She doesn't think he could hold on any tighter without fusing himself permanently to her body. Out of nowhere, she pictures herself with two heads, wielding a lightsaber in one hand and baby clothes in the other. Despite herself, she smiles a little thinking on what Obi Wan might have to say about that and is momentarily glad Anakin cannot see her, although she knows that under different circumstances he might see the humour in this as well.
Pushing what can only be the beginnings of hysteria aside, she focuses on the firm pressure of his fingertips against her hip, on the way he clenches and unclenches her hand in time with their movements; on the warmth of his breath where it whooshes steadily against the back of her neck. She wishes briefly that she could face him; wants to look in his eyes when she makes her vow. She settles on gazing at the slight scar on his thumb instead.
"I will never leave you."
Her voice is low and deadly serious. He seems to note this as his breathing picks up and he grips her hip harder. Tentatively, she brings his other hand to her lips.
"I love you, Anakin," she reaffirms, "Never leave you."
With a shudder, he collapses against her back. His grip on her doesn't slacken, however, and for a moment it seems like there's nothing in the world except for the two of them. His breathing his hot and heavy against her shoulder and she thinks his cheeks feel damp. Hesitant to break their physical bond, she reaches behind her back and holds on tight.
Later, Padme escapes to the refresher. Leaning against the cool tiles of the counter, she notes that her hip is already marked by five perfect blue spots. She places her own fingers over them and sighs wearily, thinking that he has temporarily branded her as his own. Avoiding the mirror in front of her, she examines her nightgown and determines it beyond repair. Grimly, she wonders what she will tell Dorme and is endlessly glad that her handmaiden is nothing if not discreet. The last thing she needs is more rumours regarding her mystery lover.
She thinks Dorme knows the truth at any rate, even if neither one of them have ever mentioned it.
Hesitantly, she raises her head, catching sight of herself in the glass before her. The woman staring back at her looks patently ridiculous. Her hair is mussed and her eyes are gaping, seemingly too large for her face. She looks permanently shocked and… rather bleak, really. Yes, that is definitely desolation staring back at her from her reflection. A giggle bubbles up in her throat out of nowhere and before she can stop it she is laughing uncontrollably. Padme thinks she sounds demented and that only makes her chuckle all the harder. She laughs until her sides ache and from there it is not a big stretch to begin crying. She weeps with the same reckless abandon, hands pressed firmly over her face, and cannot stop herself from collapsing against the door of the refresher. Sliding down is awkward with her newfound girth but she manages this as well, huddling against the cool metal at her back in as close to the fetal position as her massive belly will allow.
Padme is sure Anakin can sense her distress even if he cannot hear her sobs (a fact that she highly doubts) but he seems to possess enough wits to leave her alone. For this, she is grateful. She cannot face him like this, utterly broken and unsure of herself. Anakin needs her strong; needs her to be the voice of reason when he is entirely incapable of being that himself.
Ani needs this.
Weeping pathetically, Padme does not feel strong. She does not feel like the voice of reason. She feels like a lost little girl, making promises entirely too big to keep. Clenching her fist firmly against her mouth, she prays silently that she will never be made to break them; never be made to leave the man she loves and the child she feels as though she already knows.
Against her balled fingers, she begins a chant of her own. It bounces off the tiles in the refresher and seems to beat at her from all angles but she basks in it because it, at least, rings true.
"I am sorry, Anakin," she whispers, "I am so sorry."