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Chapter Text

The message came just after lunch, while Padmé was struggling through a mountain of data files relating to ground surveys on Naboo. It wasn’t a good time, she thought, instantly recognizing the droid like chirping she’d designated for all of Anakin’s messages but she was swamped on all of the minutia and a distraction was too tempting to turn down. Besides it was Anakin and he needed attention or he got into those sulks.

At first, it sounded accusatory. The words, “I know you’re attracted to Obi-Wan,” stared up at her vindictively from her datapad. All she could do was gape at the thing. How dare he talk to her like that?

“What are you accusing me of?” she wrote back, finger tips aching from how hard they hit the keys.

“Nothing,” Anakin said but the screen indicated he was still typing. She steeled herself for a real argument but what came through was, “Just thought you might like a chance to act on it.”

It was a weird message. She couldn’t judge his intended tone by the text alone.

“I’m not going to cheat on you, Anakin,” she wrote back.

His messages came, as always, in single sentences. “I have no intention of implying that,’ he typed and she waited for his follow up but what he’d written nearly knocked her out of her seat. “I was trying to offer my permission.”

Her entire mind shut down. She couldn’t fathom how to respond to that over a text based conversation.

“Can you call me?” She asked.

His signal popped up on her holo projector within milliseconds and she answered to find him smug on the other end of the line.

“Before you get angry with me, hear me out,” he said, tongue peaking out from between his lips to wet them before he really began, “I’m not just making wild suggestions. I’ve thought about this for a while.”

From the ambient noise on his side of the connection, she could tell he’d tucked himself into the cargo hold of whatever transport he and Obi-Wan were currently on.

It was kind of a weird thing to hear him say that he’d been thinking so long about something like this. “How long?” She asked.

He gave her half a shrug. “Little over two years, I’d say.”

“Two years?” she asked. Two years was a long time to have thoughts quietly alone about one’s own master.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” he admitted and her brain might as well have run out her ears.

“He can’t hear you, can he?” she demanded but Anakin just laughed.

“Nah, he thinks I’m taking a nap.”

“And you’re sure about this?” she pressed because it was honestly unbelievable.

“Oh yeah,” he said in a tone so confident it could have burned the hair off the balls of the last Barsen’thor.

It hardly made any sense. Not that it couldn’t. Anakin and Obi-Wan had always been close, affectionate even, but she’d never have expected to hear Anakin talk about his own Master so brazenly. And stranger still, the idea was getting to her.

“You’ve really thought about it?” she asked. She was sure he would balk if he ever had the opportunity really laid out before him to let her spend a night with Obi-Wan. That jealousy would certainly kick in.

Anakin offered her the kind of smirk he generally only slapped on when he was sure their night had a certain ending in its future as he leaned back against the hull wall of the cargo bay. “Thought about it, dreamt about it, foreseen it in the future. I’ve even squeezed one out to it. Or a few,” he amended biting at his bottom lip.

Padmé made a valiant attempt to swallow the thick spit accumulating in her mouth. It was just so much to wrap her head around. She stuttered, trying to find something to do with her hands and ending up shuffling uselessly through the data files on her desk display, needlessly rearranging them.

“You want me to,” here she stopped, fumbling for words, “sleep with your Master?”

“As long as I get to be there.”

Involuntarily, her knees squeezed against each other. “You want to watch?” She pressed.

Some of the panic had gone out of her now and it was starting to sound like maybe it wasn’t such a daunting thought. Maybe he really wasn’t trying to catch her in something or level any accusations. Beyond that, it was clear Anakin really had thought about it, the way his eyes flashed at her, the way his jaw set. He took a guttering breath that shuddered over the just-visible line of his teeth.

“I can already see his hands on you,” he said, almost distantly

The clock on her desk told her it was four hours until her work day would properly end. “Where are you right now?” she asked.

Anakin’s mouth pulled into an instant pout and the image of him skewed as he shifted to check the terminal by the cockpit door. “Border of the Mid Rim, but we’ve got a hyperdrive on this ship. I can be there in six hours.”

“Good,” she told him. “Hurry.”

A kind of gleeful anxiety climbed her with grappling wires as she tried to focus herself back on the work in front of her. Anakin would be there soon and they could talk then. She had work and at least some self discipline but even a scant six hours seemed an agonizing time to wait for details on what was obviously an inspired bit of fantasy even if it was entirely impossible in the reality of things.

“I can be there in six hours,” ended up three by some miracle of space and time. Or maybe it was just Anakin’s incredibly reckless flying. The image of Obi-Wan still sitting off space sickness in the hanger bay of the temple amused her as Anakin’s false hand wrapped around her own from behind.

“How did you get here so fast?” she demanded.

His other arm wrapped around her shoulders and he buried his face against her neck as a misdirection for stealing her stylus. It lay on it’s side, glitching the display on a graph chart, where he set it. Something she tried not to be annoyed by because the feeling of his smile against her skin was infectious.

“Ani, I’m still working,” she complained.

“So am I, I still have to give my report to the Council so we have to be quick.”

The legs of her chair screeched as he wrenched her away from the desk. “‘Anakin!” she chided uselessly. He was bigger than her, faster than her, and not so easily distracted from the wants of others by their words. Still keeping his grip tight on her wrist, he pulled her onto her feet and bodied her against the desk so it dug lightly into the crests of her hip bones.

“He’s very loyal to the code, you know,” he said against her ear and she instantly knew what he was talking about. Who he was talking about. The metal of his right hand was firm on her own, where he held her to the desk, pinning her between its solid surface and his own weight.

She knew what he was saying was true, that this was just a flight of fancy.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s never strayed before,” Anakin assured her.

This was another thing she couldn’t really wrap her head around. Of course if Obi-Wan had ever taken a lover, only Anakin would know about it. But the idea of Obi-Wan straying from the code seemed preposterous at best.

“When?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

“When he was still a Padawan,” Anakin explained. His human hand was like a fire on her stomach, pulling her back, against him. “He was given an assignment with Master Qui-Gon. Body duty for a Mandalorian politician.”

Satine, Padmé thought distantly. Satine had told her Obi-Wan had guarded her during the civil war. That they’d been close. It fit. It checked out.

Her voice shook when she asked him, “What happened?”

“Oh plenty happened,” Anakin told her.

The hand on her stomach dipped down, pressing her skirt between her legs and up into the mess she’d become over all this nonsense. It was good. A desperate relief for an itch she’d left deliberately unscratched. She gasped at the pressure, her own hand snaking down over his in thoughtless encouragement.

“Fuck look at you,” he growled. “They had what might have been an affair if it had ever gone any farther.”

Even through the layers of their clothing, she could feel how hard he was, the only comfort she had to the embarrassment of being this worked up over a few short words. His breath came as heavy as hers did, running warm against the back of her ear.

Padmé could imagine it. The kind of awkward, repressed flirting they must have engaged in. But she couldn’t see how that would qualify as a deviation from the code.

Anakin knew more than she did though as he was so happy to remind her. “It’s something a lot of Jedi do, you know? Skirt around the problem,” as he said this, he dragged his fingers back the way they’d come, pulling her skirt along with him pointedly. “If it’s not actually sex it doesn’t count, right? It’s not against the code.”

Padmé swallowed a gasp as he reached for the back of her waistband, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her skirt and rooting into the lacing of her corset like it was a handle to puppet her by. Then his other hand moved. Whirring softly, it traveled it’s way up the line of her sleeve to her shoulder, tracing along her collarbone.

“Ani,” she warned him as his fingers groped gently along the line of her throat.

There was another growl as he jerked back. Then his weight surged forward, bearing down on her laces so she had to catch herself to keep from meeting her data displays face first.

“He was her little vassal,” Anakin said. “He did everything she asked him, and she rewarded it.” He hissed, wrenching her skirt up the backs of her legs. “She’d let him watch, Padmé.” The leather of his gloves skimmed her thighs, making her shiver so hard her knees dipped under his weight.

The thought of Obi-Wan standing at the foot of Satine’s bed, patient and obedient as he saw the thing he wanted most right out of his reach was so crisp, she got the feeling Anakin was feeding her more than just words. They’d talked about this. Him and Obi-Wan. In depth. Anakin had details. He knew things not even a best friend should know and he’d thought about them shamelessly. Enough to construct whole worlds around the fantasies whatever conversations had enlightened him to these events had inspired.

His fingers dragged through her labia, teasing the idea of pushing deeper but never quite reaching. Frustrated and helpless, she whined against the delicate whips of holo in her face, disrupting the air the data stream projected onto. She felt so empty she ached.

“But she never let him have it,” Anakin concluded.

Padmé could hardly breathe. He was so close to her that past the transparisteel in her face, he was all she could smell, a mix of hard hormones from whatever mission he’d been on meeting his arousal now.

“Anakin, please!” she barked and he pressed forward. He let one finger dip into her until his knuckles hit her pelvis and then pulled back out in a single, smooth motion.

“She only ever teased him.” His breath fanned hot on her neck as he said this.

“Like you’re teasing me now?” Padmé demanded.

There was a shifting behind her as Anakin started to work on moving his own clothing aside enough and a little thrill settled inside her. This was her favorite part. The feeling of him against her as he pushed his way inside, always almost painful at first as she readjusted to the intrusion after his long absences.

“Anakin,” she called quietly as he inched his way into her and he groaned against her back.

“You’d be his first, Padmé,” he said.

It was a weird thing to find arousing. She’d always been into older men based on the presumption of experience. Anakin himself had been an exception and even he’d had some mileage under his belt by the time they’d decided to give it a go, though he’d never fessed up to where he’d gotten it.

She groaned, trying her best to muffle the noise against her desk so no one would hear them from the hallway as they passed her office. It was a good angle. Pressing down on her from above like this, he glanced hard against her g-spot as he pushed his way passed, bottoming out somewhere below her bellybutton.

“I’m not sure he’d know what to do without my help.” He told her, and suddenly, she could see it all like Anakin had imagined it. She could feel Anakin’s hand guiding Obi-Wan inside her. Her toes curled inside her shoes and her eyes rolled up into her head.

Desperately, she reached up over her own shoulders to grab at his robes. She needed more and she’d needed it three hours ago and he knew that. He knew because he’d needed it too. She’d seen it on him. She felt it now. Hard as he was, she was surprised he hadn’t already made a fool of himself but he was steadfast against her, playing it agonizingly slow so she had ample time to mull over each image he fed into her mind.

“He needs us, Padmé.”

But it was impossible. Obi-Wan would never agree to it. It was all a moot point so him trying to convince her was misguided in the end. Regardless, this knowledge didn’t stop her from trying to squirm her way backwards onto him, trying to goad him on. It was such a nice fantasy. She could see why Anakin had indulged it for so long. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever have imagined having both of them at once if he hadn’t suggested it to her.

“He wants it so bad, I can see it-“ Anakin insisted, pressing back into her, “-when I talk about you,” he half stammered into her shoulder.

“You talk about me?” she gasped. He’d sunk himself along the line of her stomach so her back twitched and her nails scrambled for purchase on the leather of his shoulder guard, against her own important documentation. There was a sick sense of shame that Obi-Wan would ever have been told about their relationship, let alone given details but it wasn’t the kind of shame to stop her from enjoying it all.

Anakin talked to Obi-Wan about her. He told Obi-Wan what it was like to see her and touch her. Her own unrealized childhood crush had thought about what it might be like to fuck her. Her own husband had handed him details. They went over it play by play. Just like they had with Satine.

“I can’t help it,” Anakin said, hands raking along her sides for purchase as he pulled himself out again.

Here it came, she realized. He’d just spilled the dirty and he was gearing up to rail her right while she was floundering under the embarrassment. The flare of his head stopped just shy of pulling out fully but he paused, running a hand along the bared skin of her upper back.

“He gets so worked up when I tell him about you,” her husband told her. His glove caught on the round of her ass as he ran his prosthetic around the front of her hip, flicking gently over her clit. “I can’t wait until you know what he sounds like.”

The words themselves seemed to curl up inside her, filling up every space he didn’t so quickly, the shock couldn’t really hit her. She gasped. He growled.

Then it all happened at once. Like they weren’t themselves anymore but animals. The only courtesy he offered was sliding his fingers between her hip bones and the edge of the desk as he drove into her, dragging a number of undignified sounds out of her throat. They were being more than loud enough to hear now but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t shut herself up with him tearing her open.

Somewhere, behind her eyelids, she could see a memory of Obi-Wan Kenobi coming undone. She could half feel it like she had been there, like it was her memory and not Anakin’s of pushing into the older Jedi’s lap and holding their dicks together in his false hand as he jerked them both off. It felt recent. The memory smelled fresh, spunk still staining the tips of Anakin’s glove with its scent. He’d pushed the same leather he used to relieve his master all the way into her body, knowing that he’d done it, reveling in the fact.

Her insides spasmed as she howled Anakin’s name.

“Am I really who you’re thinking about?” He demanded, voice harsh and wrung out in her ear now.

It was just too much. Her head bowed forward, forehead pressed into the surface of her desk as it started, just a trickle at first, but once it began, there was no stopping the torrent that followed. It splashed down her legs and pooled around their shoes as she came so hard she couldn’t feel her body, calling Obi-Wan’s name loud enough it might have been heard on the landing station ten stories below them.

Anakin gasped as he followed her, swearing into the collar of her dress as he finished himself off deep against her cervix.

“Shit, Padmé,” he said as they did their best to stand there, clutching the desk for dear life.

Her head was spinning with the rush of it all, but one thought was crystal clear in her mind as the fog of her own need began to pass.

“Padmé?” He asked as she blinked at a holo of her family on the wall, stewing in her own upended reality.

“You’re fucking Obi-Wan Kenobi?” She asked.

There was an awkward beat of silence as Anakin pulled out of her and she finally managed to push herself fully back onto her feet.

“Pads, I can explain-“ he started as she turned on him.

“You’re fucking Obi-Wan Kenobi?!?”

Chapter Text

“Well I wouldn’t say ’fucking’,” Anakin tried to reason but the look on Padmé’s face was crystallized fuel waiting to be ignited.

Half defeated, he slumped back into her office chair and gestured vaguely at his soggy pants, knowing there was no easy way to get himself back for debriefing on time now. But Padmé paid him no mind. Her eyes were locked angrily on the wall behind him.

“Well what would you say then?” she demanded. Somehow, she was mostly unscathed after their little tryst and he was deeply jealous. Especially since, for her, rearranging her clothing was as simple as letting her skirts drop. Other than the flush on her cheeks and the beading of sweat at her hairline she looked completely proper.

He, on the other hand, would have to take at least three minutes to rearrange his clothes to acceptable standards and even then he’d look like he’d either pissed himself or someone had poured warm broth in his lap. Not that she cared about his predicament, or the debriefing he was surely missing now which would, no doubt, lead to being reprimanded later. No, they were having this conversation consequences be damned.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But it’s not like we fuck. I don’t even know what that would look like.”

Padmé’s face scrunched furiously. “Oh so you’re like jack off buddies, right? You go out there with your little Jedi Jerk Off Crystals and jerk off together?!”

A heavy ring on her finger, nearly grazed his nose as she gesticulated in his general direction.

“And I don’t need to know?!” She demanded. “That’s not something you think you need to tell me?! Are you kidding me, Anakin? I even told you I used to call Rush Clovis daddy and you’re just going to casually omit that you’ve been touching your masters cock?! How long, Anakin?!”

This wasn’t a conversation he ever wanted to have. Why she couldn’t just accept this was a bit beyond him. As if she didn’t like the idea. Obviously, she liked the idea, he reminded himself as he began pulling his wet pants together over his own modesty again.

“A while,” he tried.

This time, she actually did hit him, not hard, but her palm glanced the back of his head. “How long?!” she said again through gritted teeth.

Anakin winced, rubbing at the spot she’d made contact like it had hurt more than it honestly had. “Since I was seventeen,” he mumbled.

“Since you were what, Anakin?!” she pressed, “Say it louder!”

“Seventeen,” he repeated.

Padmé threw her head back, mouth open in incredulity, hands splayed in front of her before bending over to brace herself on her knees. “By the Force, Anakin!”

He hid his eyes behind the palm of his prosthetic as she cast blindly around the room for something other than him to look at.

“You’re telling me I’m the other woman?” she demanded.

“It’s not like that,” he told her.

“I’m your wife, Anakin!”

“Pads, please,” he reasoned. “We’re in your office.”

“Oh well that certainly didn’t bother you while I was having a screaming orgasm just now,” she accused.

And what a thing to be held accountable for. “Are you mad at me for that now? You’re mad at me because you came?”

“Because of what I came to, you ass!” This time, the blow landed on the leather padding his shoulder. “You were off fucking him in the Mid Rim?! Are you kidding me?! When did you even have time in the middle of making a six hour flight in under three?!”

“We’d just finished when I called you,” he admitted.

She took a sharp breath, hands clenching and unclenching in the air before her like she was doing her best not to wring his neck. Which, maybe, he did deserve, actually, now that she laid it all out like this but when was he supposed to have told her? On their first date? The second? The first time she’d let him slip it to her? How would that conversation honestly have gone?

“I can’t deal with this right now,” she declared. “I can’t deal with you right now. I have documents I need to be looking over that are actually important, Anakin. Just-” here she stopped, a hand at her temple, “-go home. We can talk when I get back.”

“You want me to leave looking like this?” he asked, incredulous but she just rolled her eyes.

“Walk of shame, Jedi-boy,” she said, clapping her hands in his face to hurry him up, “Get to it.”

But Anakin couldn’t go home. He had a debriefing he’d missed and reprimands to show for, all of which could take most of the night. But she’d be pissed, he knew she’d be pissed, if he wasn’t there when she showed up.

She glared after him as he slunk out the window and along the ledge outside, crouching once he was sure he was out of earshot.

Obi-Wan picked up quickly with a sharp, “Anakin, where have you been?”

“I had some-“ he started, glancing over his shoulder just to be sure she hadn’t craned her head out the window to continue sending him her terrible vibes but she hadn’t, he was alone, “-thing to discuss with Padmé,” he said.

“Well I imagine that went exactly as planned, considering you look like a drowned, harassed rat,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin shrugged. Some people might have called it a pretty good outcome. She had nearly flooded her own office. Oh, and C3PO would have to clean that up, he realized, smothering a laugh behind one of his gloves.

“Honestly, Anakin, now that you’re quite done being very obvious about the illicit affair you’re having, you might want to get back here. Master Yoda has a few choice words for you.”

“I know,” Anakin groaned, “and I wish I could,” -that was a lie actually- “but I can’t. Um...” here he paused, not really sure what to say or how to explain the situation, “we still have a lot to talk about.”

“You’re shameless,” Obi-Wan accused.

“Actually, she has some choice words for me, as well, Master,” Anakin said.

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said. “You didn’t actually suggest to her that-“

“Oh, I did,” Anakin assured him.

There was an awkward pause. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows jerked up toward his hairline and he rolled his lips together. “Did I mention you’re shameless?”

“Yes, master,” Anakin agreed.

“I cannot imagine how you thought that was going to go well,” Obi-Wan said.

Again, Anakin cast another look over his shoulder toward Padmé’s office window. “Would you believe me if I told you it kind of did?” he asked.

“No,” Obi-Wan said soundly.

“Well, she’s into it-“

“Now that’s something I find truly preposterous.”

“-but that’s not stopping her being mad I didn’t tell her before that we-“

“You told her-“

“Well it came up.”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan reprimanded.

“We haven’t broken the code!” Anakin argued.

“But you shouldn’t just-“

“I had to tell her at some point!”

“-go around telling everyone- Oh, like she’s going to understand! Anakin, she’ll get the wrong idea,” Obi-Wan reasoned. “I should have gotten you a muzzle the second you started-“

“A Muzzle, Master-“

“-talking such nonsense. I can’t believe you told your wife what we do in private. Now she’ll think we’re-“

“She doesn’t think anything!”

“-some sort of item. Anakin!” Obi-Wan snapped. “Please, listen and stop interrupting me.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You have to correct her assumptions,” Obi-Wan told him. “I’ll cover for you here, but you’ll still have to report in in the morning for that reprimanding. Oh, and Anakin,” he added as Anakin reached to shut off the transmission, “don’t let her get any strange notions. I don’t want her saying anything to anyone.” By anyone it was obvious Obi-Wan meant Satine.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin agreed with a sigh.

“Don’t let her kill you either,” Obi-Wan said.

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” Anakin griped.

“Goodbye, my Padawan. Try not to die,” Obi-Wan bid him and then the transmission cut off, leaving Anakin crouched precariously on a ledge to mull over the two tongue lashings he was surely looking forward to.

He practiced arguments in his head as he tried to slink, undetected back to Padmé’s apartment. A hard task on busy Coruscanti streets with every droid and unknown civilian watching to see what next hot bit of gossip they could spin around their little scuttlebutt mill.

Yoda would tell him what an irresponsible person he was and remind him that he’d been a charity case when the Council acquiesced to take him on and Padmé would tell him he was untrustworthy and disappointed her.

At least Padmé would probably put out afterward.

At some point even if she was too pissed at him for make up sex tonight. And it would be awesome, he assured himself stopping to nab a speeder parked by the seedy diner across the street from their building so he could get himself up on the balcony.

“Just borrowing,” he assured it as he programmed it with instructions to take itself back once he was done. “Just can’t let the door man see me like this.” Or ever, he thought. Padmé might refer to her apartment as if it were his home too but it wasn’t. He very much did not live there and they kept it that way. As such, it was more his get away from the temple. The only indicators of his presence in the place at all were a few sets of neatly folded robes under a panel in the floor of her dressing room and an extra datapad hidden deep in the couch cushions.

Naturally, he elected to head for the robes first, stripping his sodden ones off the second he was inside and leaving them strewn across the floor. Let 3PO clean it up. He’d already have cleaned up the rest of it by the time he got home. With Padmé, Anakin realized suddenly, slinking back along the trail of damp clothing and collecting each item once more. No reason to make her any more mad at him than she had to be.

He deposited his would-be mess in the hamper just inside the bathroom door with every intent of changing quickly so he could waste the time left until she got home trying not to stress out about how she would chew him out but the shower looked inviting and he felt truly grimy after limping, wet through Coruscant’s filthy underbelly on foot for two kilometers.

He’d finished washing off and was just standing appreciatively under the hot stream of water when he heard the bathroom door open. Padmé was standing with her back against the wall when he looked up.

“This isn’t really where I expected to find you,” she said, staring at herself in the mirror rather than looking at him.

“I did just get back from a very important mission, Padmé,” he told her.

She frowned, a hand shooting up to cup the back of her own neck nervously. “I know that,” she said.

“Which I did very well on, not that you asked,” he added.

“Well now you’re just being an asshole.” She crossed her arms as she said this, glaring at the feet of a particularly unlucky settee.

“I don’t mean to,” he amended, shutting the water off, “I’m just tired.”

“I know,” she told him again, tone more resigned than defensive now. “But, look, Anakin,” here she finally met his eyes, “I’m not being unreasonable. I really wish you’d told me.”

He hadn’t been ready to. Sure, she’d needed to find out someday but- He set his jaw and reached for one of the towels hanging against the wall. There was always something he screwed up by nothing but the fact of his own limitations.

“I never said it was unreasonable,” he muttered. The towel was downy on his face as he wiped the water out of his eyes. “I just don’t know how I would have told you. Or when,” he added, wrapping the fabric over his own shoulders to keep out the cold slowly seeping into his skin.

“Well can you explain it now?” she asked.

Anakin shrugged. He was having almost as much of a hard time looking at her as she was looking at him.

“Can you give me a hand?” he asked her, pointing to the counter where he’d placed his prosthetic.

A small smile threatened to twist her lips as she obliged him.

It was comfortable to slide the thing back on. He always felt vulnerable without it in whatever short moments he allowed himself to be parted from it and having it back now made him feel a little less awkward during whatever this confrontation was. He’d expected her to come in yelling at him, not try to reason it out. Always the politician, his Padmé.

“He’s mad I told you,” Anakin confessed, “It concerns me.”

Sympathy pressed itself into the edges of the forced indifference on her face.

“He says I need to quell any strange notions you might have about our relationship.”

“Well what does that mean?” Padmé asked.

Anakin shrugged again. “He doesn’t want you to think it’s strange, or that we’re an item. It’s not like that,” he insisted.

Padmé frowned. He could feel something like concern curling in around the edges of her being now and that worried him even further. Maybe Obi-Wan had been right and telling her had been a mistake.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” She asked.

“No,” it wasn’t, not really, “Well it’s part of it but-“ he trailed off, tongue feeling fat and dry in his mouth.

“Ani,” she goaded.

“Well it wouldn’t be acceptable. Not on Tatooine or in the Order. It’s not something we’re supposed to do,” he reasoned.

“Why would it not be acceptable on Tatooine?” she asked.

Speaking was getting difficult and he frowned at the floor as he fumbled for words.

“Take your time,” she said, grabbing the light robe he’d pulled out of his little stockpile and offering it to him. “We can go sit on the couch and I’ll have 3PO make us some tea.”

That sounded nice. He took the robe, overly aware of the whirring from his prosthetic without the barrier of his gloves to dampen it, and followed her out to the living room where she sat him on the couch to stew in potential conversation options. None of which seemed to even graze being fully formed as she disappeared to dictate her instructions to 3PO.

She’d changed her clothes, he finally realized when she came back and sunk down next to him, leaning reassuringly into his arm. Probably something she’d done at the office before even coming home.

“I’m trying to understand,” she assured him. “I don’t want to be angry with you.”

“I know,” he said this time. She was kind. That was something he truly valued about her. The time and effort she took to try and see all sides of an issue. Not just in her work but also in her daily life.

Her hand folded into the crux of his elbow and he laid his own over it, reveling in the softness of her skin like he always did when she was close enough to touch.

“It’s just not something that’s done,” he began as though no time had passed between her asking of the question and his answering it.

“What?” she asked.

“That,” he said with a vague gesture toward the temple behind him. Toward where he knew Obi-Wan was, where he could feel his master breathing through nearly five kilometers of steel infrastructure. “We’re both men. It just wouldn’t have been acceptable.”

“Why?” she asked.

Anakin shrugged. “I guess you’re supposed to have a family,” he reasoned.

“Ani, you’re married,” she explained. “To a woman. We’ve even talked about kids.”

“I know,” he repeated.

She shrugged a single shoulder, lips pulling down at the edges and eyebrows jerking up toward her hairline. “So would anyone really have a problem with it?”

“I guess it’s more than that,” he admitted.

“But we’re not on Tatooine,” Padmé reasoned.

“It’s still not acceptable though,” Anakin argued.

“Were you worried I’d be angry with you?” she asked.

He didn’t know what to say so he defaulted to a silent nod.

“Oh, Ani,” she said, running a hand through his hair to tuck it back out of his eyes. “I wouldn’t have been mad if you’d just been upfront about it.”

“I don’t know that,” he said.

“‘But I do. So trust me when I say worrying about it so hard made it come true.”

“Mm,” he agreed. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around when the appropriate time for this conversation would have been. Why couldn’t now be fine? Now, when he was ready. When the idea had seemed suddenly not so daunting. Why did she have to get angry when he was finally ready to talk about it instead of just listening?

“I still love you,” she promised.

“Mm,” he repeated. “I just wasn’t ready,” he said.

“Well if you have any other secrets, you should probably sort them out as soon as you can,” she advised him. "The longer you hold a secret, the bigger it gets and the more angry people are when the truth eventually comes out- and it always comes out, Anakin,” she insisted as he opened his mouth to protest. “Eight years is a long time to keep a secret.”

It hadn’t seemed like a long time. It hadn’t even seemed like a secret so much as something that wasn’t anyone’s business. It was a personal thing. It was private. Between just them. He understood why Obi-Wan was upset with him for letting the gorg out of the bag. But it was Padmé. It wasn’t like he’d told just anyone.

“I told you because I decided I wanted you to know,” he said.

“Is that why you’re suggesting all this?” she asked.

“No,” he told her soundly. This was more for his own personal amusement. The thought itself had never been to tell Padmé by showing her, he’d just got caught up in the moment and- well his intention in feeding her that memory had been to share it. Genuinely. Let her have a taste of what it was like. How he felt. Who Obi-Wan really was to him.

Obi-Wan was just his master though, he reminded himself. Not really anything more.

Annoyance gnawed at the tips of his fingers as C3PO emerged from behind the curtains that separated off the hallway carrying a tea tray laden with refreshments.

“Thank you, 3PO,” Padmé said as he set them down on the sitting table in front of them.

“Oh, delighted, Lady Padmé, as always. We have shuura tea paired with Bantha cream scones. A wonderful flavor combination. The sweetness of the tea and the the tartness if the cream are lovely together and that’s not even to mention the way the rich, gold of this traditional drink goes against such a vivid, blue pastry,” the droid babbled happily.

“It’s wonderful, 3PO,” she assured him. “Do you think we could get a little privacy?”

“Of course, my lady,” 3PO assured her before whirring his way back out of the room.

Anakin wasn’t sure what conversation to make in the droid’s absence. He wanted to change the subject but got the feeling Padmé wouldn’t be fond of it if he tried. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted him to push for this now of all times but it didn’t seem like a bad idea. Talking about the baby, there were so many questions they needed to answer in order to plan everything properly. Who would be better to help them with that than his own Master? His best friend? Wouldn’t everyone feel safer with another pair of hands around to protect whatever little person came into the world. Was that not better?

Wordlessly, he offered the concept to her. No matter what Obi-Wan would be there to help, but wasn’t it better all laid bare? Wouldn’t he only be more immeshed with their lives if they allowed him in properly. As it was Obi-Wan tended to try and defer to Padmé’s claim to Anakin as though his was any lesser. He tried to talk it all down, refuse labels to it, insist it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Secretly, though, Anakin knew different. Maybe the connection he had to his Master wasn’t the same as the connection he had to his wife but that didn’t make it lesser by any stretch. In a balanced world, they would all be equals.

Confessing this, he realized, no matter how impulsive it had been, it was about equality.

Silently, Padmé offered him a gentle squeeze on the arm before pulling away to pour the tea, a look of thoughtful concentration on her face as she tried her best to parse this information. It wasn’t nearly so natural for her to rely on this form of communication as it was for Obi-Wan, something that could make telling her things difficult, but she tried to listen even if she struggled to keep up.

“This is way more serious than just jerking off together, isn’t it?” she asked the wall.

Anakin didn’t know how to answer that. Here he was, supposed to be clearing up any notions she might have but instead he was playing into them, cementing them. He was an idiot. That much was clear. And Padmé was going to be upset again.

But she wasn’t. Beside him, she tried to stifle a laugh behind her hand. “Drink your tea,” she told him, shoving his cup under his nose so he was forced to take it before sipping at her own. She heaved a deep sigh as she leaned back against the couch so far she was half lying across the cushions.

“You’re a dork,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Well, it’s every married woman’s nightmare to find out her husband is cheating on her,” she said and a pit of shame gnawed on his insides like a sarlacc. “But you’ve managed to do it in the dorkiest way possible.”

“What’s dorky about it?”

“Everything?” She suggested, still giggling against the rim of her tea cup.

“I guess that’s fair,” he muttered.

“Don’t be sullen,” she teased. “You’re going to get what you want.”

And she was telling the truth because the make-up sex was awesome. The kind of thing not even C3PO could ruin when he came around wondering if the tea service had been to their liking.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative,” the droid bit when neither of them offered a proper answer and Anakin smothered a laugh against Padmé’s neck as he heard a stiff, “Rude,” filter in passed the hallway curtains after the last flash of gold plating had disappeared from sight.

Chapter Text

This would be a normal evening, Obi-Wan Kenobi told himself as he stood half naked in front of his bathroom mirror. He would go to dinner. They would enjoy a lovely conversation to compliment a lovely meal. Then he would would make love to his ex-pupil’s wife. A very normal evening. One to approach calmly.

With a battle plan.

“They’ll greet me at the door,” he reasoned, combing through his beard. “And they’ll say something like, ‘Master Kenobi, it’s so good to see you!’ so I’ll say...” here he paused. “What should I say?” he wondered. It wasn’t like he was greeting some acquaintance. It wasn’t a diplomatic dinner- well in a way it was but only on an incredibly small scale -these were his friends. His best friend and his best friend’s wife. He should greet them casually. What would a casual greeting even sound like? “Hi?” he wondered to himself in the mirror.

No. That sounded truly silly. “Hello.” No that wasn’t it either.

“So they greet me at the door and say, “Master Kenobi, Welcome to our lovely home,’ and I’ll say, ‘Good evening.’ That’s casual.” It was smooth even. Everyone loved a ‘good evening.’ It was a universal greeting when one came calling late in the day. Didn’t matter what planet you said it on. It just applied.

“Good evening,” he repeated, examining himself to make sure each individual hair on his head was cooperating properly. One had to be well groomed for this sort of occasion. That was a necessity. “Good evening.” Yes that sounded very proper. Properly casual. The exact sort of greeting one might offer to an old friend and that friend’s wife, whom they were scheduled to have intercourse with.

He coughed through a particularly bad spike of anxiety as he opened the mirror up to rummage through his rack of colognes. He knew Anakin’s favorites, natural smells flowers, amber, but what would Amidala prefer? He tried to recall what sort of scents she wore regularly. Surely that was a good basis for extrapolation. From what he remembered at least, though this might have been influenced by Anakin, she tended to pick along the same lines so that sounded like a strong bet. After a bit of waffling he chose the Artha Seth.

“They’ll ask me to join them for conversation in the lounge while Dinner finishes making,” he assured his own reflection. “Small talk.” He was very good at small talk but what sort of small talk was conducive to the planned activities. Talking about food would be a good choice for pre-dinner conversation. That always got people hungry. Was it good to be hungry before initiating intimacy? he wondered. No, there would be more talk after dinner in which to inspire that kind of desire in his hosts. Best to focus on one thing at a time.

“A good icebreaker is key,” he reminded himself, thinking back to a Friendly Phrases and How To Use Them a gift Master Qui-Gon had given him while he was still in training and a very handy one to this day. “How have you two been?” he tried. “Ooh, maybe not. Perhaps, “Lovely weather we’ve been having. I heard humidity’s up 2% this season. Quite unusual, but pleasant.” He frowned. No. Talking about the weather with Anakin was entirely useless. He only ever complained about it. No matter what was going on outside, he was never happy. Dreadful to start out an evening on the note of Anakin’s endless complaining. By the time they got to the... main course, he’d be talking about sand and that was... the opposite of helpful.

“Icebreaker,” he repeated, drumming his fingers against the cool metal of the sink. “You’re both looking lovely tonight.” Now that sounded right. He clapped his hands together triumphantly. “That one!” he said, pointing to his own reflection. “Perfect.”

“You’re both looking lovely tonight,” he repeated. It was exactly the right thing to say. Anakin loved compliments so he would preen and Padmé would be flattered because apparently she’d always had a crush on him.

Preposterous notion, he still thought that, but, if it was true, he was banking on it.

“You’re both looking lovely tonight.” Yes. He really had it. This would work out marvelously.

No it wouldn’t. He had no idea what he was doing, he thought as he picked through his closet. It wasn’t as if he had much by the way of fancy clothing. Anakin had some. Most of it had been purchased for him by Amidala so he could blend in while ‘guarding’ her at high profile events but Obi-Wan didn’t have a wealthy benefactor and he tended to spend his own meager allowances on different parts of his presentation typically. Not to mention he honestly hadn’t expected to ever end up invited to this sort of event.

He wasn’t even sure how it had happened, how he’d been the one chosen for- Well it was Anakin. Anakin was impulsive. He simply did things.

“Oh no,” Obi-Wan said to his nice, gray tunic. What if Anakin just did something? He had no idea how he’d handle that with Padmé there. It would be weird for her, wouldn’t it? For him to bark orders like a general at her husband in her own home. That just wouldn’t do. He would have to find a gentler approach. But which.

He laid the tunic on his bed next to the cream one he was considering. White would have been a too-garish option but cream was a good candidate. Anakin would probably be wearing black. He always wore black so it was a good assumption. Padmé was a bit of a wild card when it came to colors though. He had no idea how he would compliment her. Better go with the gray.

“Oh, and if Anakin is a problem, I’ll just give him a little force push. That always works in council meetings when he gets uppity.” This would be fine. He had everything under control.

“When dinner comes out, she’ll invite us all to the table,” he told his reflection as he tried the gray on, “say something like, ‘Dinner is ready, why don’t we make our way to the dining room?’. So I’ll obviously be obliged to follow but I don’t want her to get the idea I’m unwilling to sit at her table.” This was complicated. Too much reluctance would give the wrong impression but being overly enthusiastic was also inadvisable.

“Dinner sounds lovely makes it seem like I forgot we’d planned a meal,” he complained.

No, no, the gray was too dark. He and Anakin would look like a couple of Sith Lords come to cause trouble. Terrible. Better to nix that option while the going was still good.

“I could say something like, ‘Thank you.’ No that’s too simple. It sounds childish. I could say, ‘I can’t wait to try your cooking,’ but we all know the droid made it.” This was the most trying issue to solve yet, he realized.

He worried over it as he paced back to the bed. “No I’ll let Anakin handle that one, he’ll probably say something stupid and everyone will think he’s charming.” Because he was somehow. In that over excitable child sort of way. Probably Obi-Wan’s own fault somehow his Padawan had never truly grown up.

“Then I get another chance to compliment him when we sit down because C3PO is actually a very competent droid,” Obi-Wan realized. That was good. They would both like that. Anakin because he was Anakin and Amidala because she seemed to react positively when Obi-Wan was nice to her husband. Likely because when he was, her husband didn’t complain as much.

Suddenly, the memory that she knew things about their time away now, sank like a newly drowned corpse in his stomach. Best to push that out of his mind. Probably made this less awkward somehow. He had no idea how. Grabbing the cream tunic, he stuffed his face into it as hard as he could to muffle a shout.

Good. Got that out of the way.

Dinner would probably be something simple but good. He’d eaten C3PO’s cooking before out of the lunches Anakin sometimes brought to the temple and it was truly impressive for a protocol droid. Its usage of temperature was very acute if the even browning on the grog eggs was anything to judge by.

Anakin would likely entertain them during the meal by telling stories about arguments he started in lunch lines while off duty so he’d have to plan when he laughed properly in order to tune most of it out. Then Amidala would probably have something to say about philosophy which was always entertaining. He couldn’t think of a single time he’d actively disagreed with any of her policies and she was a good speaker when something got her passionate.

It was probably one of the most attractive things about her.

Returning to the mirror, he tried the cream on. Yes that would do nicely. He looked quite fresh if he had room to say so himself without tooting his own horn. Smoothing his beard out a final time, he came face to face with what was surely to be the actual biggest challenge of the night.

After desert, like a forth course, would certainly be the main event. This was what truly had him nervous. He’d been to dinner parties before but never sex parties. He was a Jedi in the way of the Force. Sex parties had never been something he’d expected to do anything more than witness casually from across a nightclub whilst chasing down some ruffian. Likely while dragging Anakin after him all the while because his Padawan was still as impulsive as he’d been when he was actually a Padawan. Just as impulsive and just as insatiable. Obviously. Who other than someone truly ravenous would ever suggest something like this.

Taking two lovers was already enough of a statement, even if made in total private. But having them both at once was- Well Obi-Wan really didn’t know what to call it. Sluttish? If the shoe fit, he’d make Anakin wear it.

“Dinner finishes,” he said thoughtfully, trying to imagine the scenario. But what would come next? “She says something like: ‘Would you like to retire to our bedchamber?’ and I’ll say, ‘I’d be happy to.’ No no. That sounds- rrgh,” he said to his own reflection. How could this be so difficult.

“‘Master Kenobi, would you care to join us in some absolutely filthy fornication?’ How would someone even say something like this out loud?!” He demanded, slamming his hand on the sink.

He was in the midst of taking a deep, calming breath when a knock came on the door.

“I’m busy!” He announced to whoever it was, too frazzled to feel them out through the Force at the current time with all these thoughts of dinner and threesomes and awkward social situations mulling about in his head.

“Is something the matter, Master?” He heard Ahsoka ask from the other side.

“No, I’m just-“ here he had to be careful in his word choice, “-attending an event!” He called through the door.

“Oh, well, I was given a meditation by Master Plo Koon and I wanted your advice,” she said.

Sighing, he trudged his way over to the door. “Normally, Ahsoka, I’d love to,” he said as the steel panel slid out of the way, “but now isn’t the best time.”

“Is it another one of those diplomatic things?” she asked, eying the embroidery on his tunic.

“Well, yes,” he lied and she gave him a sympathetic wince.

Concern edged its way into her expression as she gave him another once over. “Is it on Mandalore?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He had no idea what in the Galaxy had given her that impression.

“It’s just,” she started, rubbing at the back of her neck anxiously, “you seem nervous.”

He offered her a forced laugh. “Why would I be nervous?” He asked.

“Well I know that Duchess Satine can give you a hard time-“

“Who said that?” he asked, instantly, cutting her off.

For a moment, she blinked at him blankly before saying, “Master Anakin.”

“Well you shouldn’t always believe, Master Anakin. He has his own agendas. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get ready,” he told her, moving to toggle the door controls but she headed him off, fingers curling over them. Just like Anakin. Too bold. He was really beginning to rub off on her in the worst ways.

“Master,” she said gravely, staring him straight in the eye. “Whoever you’re eating with is going to be perfectly happy with your diplomacy. You always get wonderful results from diplomatic missions and everyone in the Order knows it. You just have to keep yourself calm.”

“Right,” he agreed, “Thank you, Ahsoka.”

And she smiled before letting him close the door.

This, he thought, was going to go terribly.

Anakin was wearing black when he greeted him at the door, but, unexpectedly, Padmé wasn’t with him.

“Well you look sharp,” his Padawan said as he slouched against the door frame in daily wear, his leather tabards conspicuously missing.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, glancing around. “Where’s Padmé?”

“On the couch,” Anakin said like it was the most obvious thing he could have said. “But you have to take your shoes off.”

This was something he hadn’t expected to hear, but, looking down, Anakin was indeed barefoot himself which was unusual to say the least. It wasn’t often that Obi-Wan had ever seen the boy forego boots. He absolutely adored them.

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan agreed, pretending he wasn’t bewildered by the request as he followed it. “Where should I-“ Anakin pointed to a little shelf of shoes by the door, “-oh. Well that’s quite handy.”

“She hates when I make messes or track dirt in,” Anakin explained as he lead the way into the sitting room. “Not that I think you’d ever do that, Master, but she thinks all Jedi are the same.”

“Obi-Wan,” Amidala called happily from the couch as he entered the room, “Don’t you look handsome.”

Obi-Wannswallowed hard as she put down her datapad and slid her legs off the couch. He was beginning to think he had really overdressed. Even Padmé was wearing what could either be referred to as loungewear or lingerie. He wasn’t sure which designation would be more accurate.

“I brought something to drink,” he said dumbly, offering her the bottle of alcohol Master Qui-Gon had left behind in his passing. The one he’d never known what to do with.

Padmé goggled at it. “This is Serennoni Brandy,” she said, clearly flabbergasted.

“Is it bad?” Obi-Wan asked asked. Behind him, Anakin snickered audibly.

“Bad?” she demanded. “It’s at least 200 years aged.” And instantly, she hurried her way over to a dresser tucked along the wall, summoning a drinking set with the push of a button.

Panicked, Obi-Wan cast a glance over his shoulder at Anakin.

“She loves it,” his Padawan assured him.

“This should really be let to breathe,” she said, almost tiptoeing back to them out of what Obi-Wan could only assume was excitement. He’d certainly never seen Amidala act this way. “But I am weak with anticipation. I’ve always wanted to try this stuff!” she insisted and as she spoke, she sank to her knees by the low sitting table in front of the couch, gesturing emphatically with the cups clutched in her fingers for them to join her.

“Where did you even get this?” she demanded.

Anakin settled himself cross legged behind her while Obi-Wan was busy trying to figure out how to map the situation. Casually, she leaned against her husband, letting him tuck his head over her shoulder and watch her set the glasses out in a row.

“It was a gift,” he said, awkwardly, “From Master Qui-Gon.” The half truth was certainly much more comfortable than admitting it was something the old man left behind.

“‘Oh, now it feels almost sacrilegious to open it,” she said reverently.

“Old man would have wanted us to have some fun,” Anakin insisted, reaching forward and twisting his way through the foil top. One force push was all it took then to pop the cork out.

“Sit. Drink,” Padmé insisted as Anakin poured all three drinks left handed.

Showing more hesitance than he would have really liked, Obi-Wan joined them. He sat beside Amidala, where she had directed him, on the bare soles of his feet.

“You can relax you know?” she said, reaching for the two fingers now practically glowing in her cup. “I won’t bite you.”

“Unless you decide you’re into that,” Anakin joked.

The panic nearly brought Obi-Wan’s alcohol up his nose, but he managed to cover for it.

“This is amazing,” Padmé insisted, apparently too distracted by the booze to notice his anxiety.

Anakin, on the other hand, was watching him like he watched live broadcasts of pod races on the holonet, anxious not to miss a second of the action. They locked eyes and his ex-pupil smirked at him before turning his attention back to his wife.

“This would have originally been distilled during the High Republic Era,” Amidala was saying, “and I don’t know if I can call myself a history buff,” -Anakin rolled his eyes- “but I have a little bit of an obsession with the aesthetics of the period.”

“All her furniture is reproduction,” Anakin said smugly.

“You ass!” She snapped, smacking him soundly on the thigh. “This table is a legitimate antique.” Here she gestured toward the sitting table as if it were the most glorious thing she had ever owned.

There was a sarcastic edge to Anakin’s tone as he said, “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” that Obi-Wan certainly would have called insubordination if it had been directed at him. “This table is a lovely antique and you got it for a steal on the auction market- But everything else in this house is a reproduction,” he finished, sure to direct that final addition toward Obi-Wan.

Padmé swerved against him so that they were face to face “Just you wait! I’m gonna waste all my Senator money on stupid antiques and you’re not gonna get anymore presents out of me,” she threatened, a clear smile on her face.

“Yeah, do it. That’ll show me,” he told her.

“It’s quite an ambitious undertaking,” Obi-Wan said, focusing on his own drink for a sense of stability in these turbulent times, “As I hear it, High Republic paraphernalia is incredibly expensive.”

“Not if you’re a bargain shopper-“

“Padmé’s a bargain shopper,” Anakin agreed with a nod.

“-like me,” Padmé declared.

It was quite unnerving to see her so dressed down, Obi-Wan thought. Not just physically but emotionally. All decorum forgotten, it made perfect sense how Anakin had actually managed to woo Senator Padmé Amidala, Once-Queen of Naboo. She was just so approachable. So approachable Obi-Wan had no idea how to respond to her, the humanity she showed, the playfulness.

Satine never would have behaved like this with anyone. Like she was just a normal person. Just like anyone else. In private, he and Satine had always continued to discuss the same things, in the same way they would have had they been standing before an audience made up of the entire republic city. They followed all the formalities, observed every ritual and counted every millimeter of socially dictated distance between them. They had not been warm with each other. They had not touched when it was not permitted for them to do so. They had not cuddled or even kissed. It had simply been a series of displays meant to reenforce their positions in relation to one another, their places in the universe.

This was nothing like that.

Anakin’s human hand had already laid itself low across Amidala’s hip and the comfort with which he touched her was maddeningly hubretical but she did nothing to stop him. This was the girl who had masqueraded as her own handmaiden to avoid the make-up and the formalities just a little longer, Obi-Wan reminded himself. The one who had dressed down from her station in order to blend into the background, out of the spotlight.

“Your refreshments, as requested, Lady Padmé,” C3PO announced from the hallway.

“Bring them in, 3PO,” Padmé called, clearly beginning to feel the effects of her drink.

Hesitantly, the droid carried in a platter of snacks, still in the midst of some hemming and hawing. Why Anakin had programmed the thing to be so neurotic Obi-Wan would never understand but the depth of the humanity the droid displayed was, well, rather more than impressive when knowing it had been built by a nine year old. Hard to believe even if that nine year old had been Anakin Skywalker especially because he knew the only reason Anakin had built the droid was so he’d have the opportunity to stick his fingers into its still-firing sockets because it ‘felt neat’.

And suddenly the anxious feeling of being watched set into Obi-Wan’s stomach. Did even the droid know? Would he never have peace?

“Short-wafer cookies, madam, with jam and cream spreads,” C3PO informed them as it deposited the food on the table. Then it beat a hasty retreat from them, disappearing once more behind the hallway curtains.

“Your people eat these,” Padmé informed Obi-Wan, pulling his attention back to her and the food.

“I suppose they do,” he agreed. He didn’t really know much about his own culture at all and had never much cared to investigate but Padmé seemed to enjoy surprising people with thoughtful little gestures which had no actual relevance and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

“They have good snacks,” she insisted, seemingly entirely oblivious to Anakin burying his face in her neck. But she wasn’t, Obi-Wan realized as her eyes fluttered shut. “I like snacks.”

“Where’s the restroom?” Obi-Wan asked.

Instantly, Anakin surfaced, smirking like he’d won some kind of bet. While Padmé pointed him down the hallway. “First door on the left,” she said.

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan bid them. Then, he rose and made his retreat to the neutral ground of the hallway, tripping over C3PO which had left itself standing, completely unconscious just beyond the curtain.

“Oh!” The droid said, clearly embarrassed. “I am sorry, sir. I am simply here on standby awaiting orders. Please carry on and pay me no mind.”

“Certainly,” he said, steadying it back against the wall.

“Oh, thank you, sir,” it said. “And do enjoy your visit.” Then it’s eyes went dark again.

He scrambled his way into the bathroom. Shutting the door resolutely behind him. Surely, they were distracted by each other, and he had some time to regroup in the safety of solitude. The idea of what Anakin might be doing to her out there needled at him. All of this was going too fast. There had to be some way to slow it down. Hadn’t there been dinner plans? Hadn’t Anakin invited him to dinner? Where was that in all of this? And wasn’t sex supposed to be had in a bed? Weren’t they supposed to retire to the bedroom where the droid wouldn’t listen?

“No,” he told his reflection resolutely. “It’s fine. You’ve got this. Just improvise. Got it.”

He took a deep breath and straightened himself up, ready to go tackle the situation but when he opened the door, Anakin was standing just on the other side, looking almost rueful.

“Master,” he whispered. “Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said confidently.

There was a sudden pressure then and Anakin reached unceremoniously under his arm to thumb the door controls, pushing him back into the bathroom.

“You’re overthinking this,” his Padawan told him as the door hissed shut behind them.

“How can I be-“

“Master,” Anakin insisted, leaning into his space. “It’s not that different,” he hissed against the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear.

Obi-Wan steadied himself against the sink counter. “I don’t see how,” he argued.

“Just don’t think about it,” Anakin insisted, his prosthetic hand lacing itself into Obi-Wan’s robes and pulling him closer. “Just relax. We’ll do all the work for you.”

“But-“

“Master, please,” Anakin said, voice threatening to reach speaking level.

“The droid is on standby in the hall. Waiting for orders. That’s what it told me. That means it’s listening,” Obi-Wan blurted.

Anakin heaved a deep sigh. “Master, I made C3PO. I wouldn’t let him serve Padmé if I was worried he couldn’t keep a secret.”

“I know for a fact that droid tells stories,” Obi-Wan insisted.

“Oh?” Anakin demanded, crowding into him again. “But did he ever tell you how close Master Qui-Gon got to my mother while he was staying with us?”

Obi-Wan nearly swallowed his own tongue.

“I thought not,” Anakin concluded.

“Well he told you,” Obi-Wan argued.

“Nah, I knew about it,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan blinked blankly. He had no idea how to process this information. Much like most of the information Anakin chose to deliver to him, it was impossible to tell what he was supposed to do with it. “You trust the droid,” he observed.

“And you trust me,” Anakin reasoned.

Distantly, Obi-Wan nodded.

“So, we’re gonna go back out,” Anakin explained, a hand behind him on the door control panel, “And you’re gonna forget whatever pep talk you just gave yourself and just hang out with us.”

“But Anakin, I’ve been invited to dinner before, and I’m telling you now this just isn’t how it’s done.”

There was a deep groan as his Padawan dragged his gloved prosthetic down his own face. “Master,” he said to the inside of his wrist, “dinner was a euphemism.”

“I’m going to need you to be a little more clear with your words because, in my experience, Dinner is a meal eaten at a dining table, generally with courses,” Obi-Wan told him.

The look on Anakin’s face was long suffering as he emerged from behind his glove. “You can’t eat a whole meal before you fuck, Master. It’s bad form. Like eating something heavy right before battle.”

“Well I didn’t know that. No one ever told me that,” Obi-Wan reasoned. Anakin ran his hand through his hair, eyes fixed on the shower behind his Master. “I need to know what to expect.”

“What you should expect, Master, is that we’re all gonna go kick it around the table, drink some of that incredibly expensive hooch Master Qui-Gon left you so that maybe you could get laid someday, and bone our stupid little brains out,” Anakin said.

“That’s a very general overview,” Obi-Wan told him but Anakin didn’t seem to want to hear it.

His face constricted for a moment, eyes and nostrils flaring as he reached out, left handed and grabbed Obi-Wan by the upper arm. “Master, listen to me,” he said very gravely, looming into Obi-Wan’s space at his full height so that the four inches of difference in them were suddenly deeply apparent, “you need to treat this like we’re just having a normal time hanging out. You and me. Padmé being here shouldn’t change things so much you have to flounder for who to be while you spend time with her.”

“But she’s-“

“She’s just Padmé,” Anakin said resolutely. “She likes being nice and she likes antique furniture and she likes you. So just go be you.”

“I expected her to talk about politics. I prepared notes on politics,” Obi-Wan complained.

“Well that just shows you how foolish it is to be attached to your expectations,” Anakin hissed as he shoved him back into the hallway.

“Is everything alright, Master Anakin,” the droid asked.

“Fine 3PO, thank you,” Anakin said. Then he turned to Obi-Wan, jerking his head toward the sitting room, “Now get back out there and stop thinking.”

“We thought we’d lost you,” Padmé chirped as he half tripped through the curtain.

“Well, I’m here,” he said, absolutely not thinking as he offered her a little wave and then kicking himself for it.

Anakin was short after him, a strong hand on the back of his shoulder’s to steer him back to the table. “Sit,” he said, shoving Obi-Wan down into a cross legged position beside Padmé.

For what it was worth, she smiled obligingly and offered him his nearly untouched glass. A glance at Anakin and a firm nod both told him to accept quickly so he did. It hardly even burned going down but Padmé did offer him an expression of surprise as he set it back on the table, taking her own moment then to look to Anakin for reassurance who simply nodded as though this were all normal.

“Eat a cookie,” Anakin said, reaching over Padmé’s head for the platter C3PO had brought them.

Instantly, both of them followed the direction. They sat, nibbling akwardly, as Anakin poured them each another round, delicate to let an extra finger slip into his and Obi-Wan’s glasses without Padmé noticing.

“So a while back, I had this clone in my platoon who was a bit of a spaz, actually, they called him Hevy, and while we were on Corelia he got a few of the other clones to sneak out with him to this strip club,” Anakin said. Here he paused to take a sip of his drink and then continued. “Meanwhile, I get back to base and five of my men are missing. I ask around, nothing, so I go into the barracks and I’m looking around, seeing if I can’t feel out any clues. When Dogma shows up right behind me, he’s got this worried look on his face. He’s all,” -and here Anakin put on an accent- “‘They’re out fraternizing with civilians, Sir. I heard the whole plan.’ I’m like ‘Great what is it?’ and Dogma looks at me, serious as anything, like he’s about to spill secrets on Sith war crimes and he says, ‘Pussy, Sir’. I shit you not. Those are exact words,” he insisted as Padmé stifled a snort of laughter behind her hand.

Obi-Wan smirked at the glass in his hand. This was a story he’d heard before. Dogma saying the words ‘Pussy, Sir,’ had been cause for serious amusement for several weeks following the incident and was something Anakin even referenced to this day.

“But the problem was,” Anakin continued, “Dogma didn’t understand how someone would get pussy. He thought people dealt it like spice. So I’ve only got one clone who’s willing to tell me anything about where these five men are and he’s the most hopeless one in the entire lot when it comes to civilian culture. I’m like, ‘Alright, Dogma, come help me out,’ and he’s tagging along behind me like some shiny fresh off Kamino. We’re wandering in and out of strip clubs, this kid’s never seen a tit before in his life and he keeps looking at me like ‘Sir you’re gonna get me in trouble’ while I’m asking the bartenders if they’ve seen five clones in full duraplast armor. I get five ‘no’s and I’m really starting to wonder how far these clones went to avoid getting caught at whatever strip club they’ve decided to attend.” Padmé stifled another laugh and leaned back into Anakin’s lap again. His arms looked strong around her. She was tiny against them and perhaps this hooch was a bit more alcoholic than it seemed because Obi-Wan found that much more distracting than he normally might have.

Anakin smirked at him as he continued. “But we get to the sixth club and instantly I spot them right up against the stage. Hevy’s got his face nested in some twi’lek’s tits like he could go home and live there the rest of his life. Naturally, I cut a line for the stage, grab him by the shoulder and address him like the insubordinate he is. I’m half way through a reprimand when I say something like, ‘and you better consider yourself lucky Dogma told me otherwise you’d be marked as AWOL’ but as I’m saying it, I’m pointing at Dogma, who is somehow already getting a lap dance not even two feet behind me.”

“You never told me that part,” Obi-Wan accused, setting his drink down a bit more heavily than he normally would have, had he been entirely sober.

“I didn’t want my men getting reprimanded, Master,” Anakin argued.

“Oh, always so selfless,” Obi-Wan accused. “No, you just didn’t want me realizing you’d been a bad influence.”

“Are you taking your men to strip clubs, Ani?” Padmé managed to ask through a series of giggles.

“No!” he insisted a bit too quickly.

Without hesitation, she elbowed him in the stomach, prompting him to overplay a pain response for her benefit.

“Maybe once,” he admitted. “But it was only the once- and they’d earned it,” he added, pointing at Obi-Wan almost accusatorially.

Obi-Wan scoffed. “Utter breech of conduct,” he said.

“Like this, Master?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan frowned, trying to understand the question when Anakin’s hand twisted itself into the collar of his tunic, pulling him off balance and into his Pawadan’s waiting mouth. Between them, Amidala gasped as their lips met but if it hadn’t been for that, he might have been drunk enough to forget her completely. His own hand aborted mid-way through a journey to the back of Anakin’s neck as the boy licked a stripe across his bottom lip. He tasted like the drink when their tongues met briefly. Drink and suggestion. With his touch came a flood of images and kinetic imaginings- manifested desires -that he pushed hard over Obi-Wan’s understanding. What he should do, how he should touch her.

Obi-Wan’s mind stuttered and floundered, forcing him to pull back, to collect himself.

“Would anyone like some tea?” he asked.

Chapter Text

Anakin was laughing at him but he couldn’t help it. “I’d love some tea,” he repeated.

“Right away, Sir,” C3PO called from the hallway.

Dreadful thing, he thought. It really was listening. How could they both be so blasé about that? As if it didn’t matter who might overhear- things.

“Okay, take five,” Anakin relented, sliding up onto the couch.

Padmé stretched her arms up over her head so her elbows cracked loudly. The grace was still there, Obi-Wan saw, even while she lounged about in such casual clothing, chatting like she was just anyone. She sighed as she laid herself out over the floor, arms still over her head.

“Maybe I drank too fast,” she reasoned.

“That’s what you get for trying to keep up with people twice your size,” Anakin teased.

There was a harsh scoff as Padmé pitched her head in his direction. “Oh, like there’s some mythical Jedi Tolerance to intoxication when none of you even drink,” she said.

Anakin offered her a one shouldered shrug. “Would you be more comfortable sitting on the couch, Master?” he asked.

He really would be, Obi-Wan realized. He wasn’t accustomed to sitting on the hard floor in front of a couch rather than on it. It wasn’t something done on Mandalore and in the Temple, there was always somewhere designated for sitting like a cushion or stool. This was simple anarchy.

Anakin braced an arm behind Obi-Wan as he sat down beside him, Padmé watching, contented, from the floor as Anakin leaned over to whisper, “We could start somewhere familiar,”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Obi-Wan asked him.

Anakin offered him a roguish smile, running his tongue pointedly across his bottom lip and then canting his eyes in Padmé’s direction.

Obi-Wan blinked blankly after him. ‘You can’t mean-“ Anakin nodded, “Your own wife.”

“Not like she’s never done it before,” Anakin assured him.

“I’ve done a lot, actually,” Padmé said.

Obi-Wan found this information quite alarming. Not that he should have, really. But perhaps he had become too attached to his expectations after all. Padmé had found Anakin a suitable partner. Why he should have assumed she would be disdaining of- Still, it did seem like a profanity to allow her to do something like that. All of this seemed like a profanity if he was truly honest.

“Or I could,” Anakin suggested.

Obi-Wan swallowed, adamsapple bobbing hard with the strain. This proposition sounded at once like it was both safer and more dangerous. Anakin was a filthy person as was. Obi-Wan had seen his own Padawan put a number of unsavory things in his mouth without thought. Droid parts and shell casings mostly. But the idea of Padmé watching them wasn’t nearly as comfortable as doing it while they were utterly alone, somewhere no one could pinpoint their location.

“Don’t think about it,” Anakin told him, lips brushing the shell of his ear now.

Obi-Wan was looking at Padmé who was looking at him, watching the way her husband whispered dirty nothings to him, her eyes half lidded. She drew a delicate finger up the bare plane of her stomach, very distracting, as Anakin continued. “Don’t think about anything.”

She canted her head, tipping her chin up, exposing her throat. So approachable. Her fingers tracked their way back down to her naval, rounding out at the low waist of her lounge pants.

“Trust your feelings,” Anakin said.

There was a definite twinge in Obi-Wan’s pants and Anakin missed nothing, groaning softly against his ear.

“Tea,” C3PO announced from the hallway before carrying in a second tray, this one laden with a traditional Naboonese tea set. “The lady’s favorite, a black Citron.”

“Thank you, 3PO,” Padmé said, buns pressing into the floor as she craned to get a look at the unit from her prone position.

“Would you go check on the laundry?” Anakin asked it. “We’ve been having some overheating issues. Think there might be lint in the system again. Could start a fire if it’s not seen to.”

“Certainly, Master Anakin,” the droid assured him. “This is an issue of the utmost importance and I will waste no time.” There was a soft whirring and clanking as C3PO returned to the obscurity of the hallway.

“He’ll be looking for that lint for the next two hours at least,” Anakin said.

“Well that’s comforting,” Obi-Wan thought aloud.

“3PO’s harmless,” Padmé insisted. “He’s never told a secret.”

“No secrets, maybe, but that droid’s full of stories,” Obi-Wan said.

“He’s got an eventful life,” Anakin explained as he poured the tea. A cup was handed to each of them, warm and calming against their palms. “But that’s not important right now,” The boy concluded. “Why don’t you tell us a story, Master?”

“I wouldn’t know what to tell,” Obi-Wan said into his tea cup. It was a nice, delicate flavor, mildly sweet.

“Why don’t you tell us about Satine?” Anakin suggested.

“Because it would be rude,” Obi-Wan said soundly, prompting Anakin to chuckle against his ear.

“Oh, you don’t kiss and tell, Master?”

“No, I don’t, thank you,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin hummed his understanding against the edge of Obi-Wan’s jaw. “Does that mean everything you’ve told me has been a breech of conduct?”

“Y-yes,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin’s prosthetic hand clicked as he ran his fingers up through the hair on the side of Obi-Wan’s head. “So I shouldn’t tell Padmé-“ here his voice dropped so only Obi-Wan could hear him, “-how you caught her once?” Obi-Wan’s breath caught in his throat. “Or how she touched you when-“

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan chided but Anakin was already pulling him back through the embarrassing amount of memory he’d managed to glean out of the long conversations he’d insisted in pursuing on the subject. Which was just too much while he was drunk and had so much to think about, while Padmé was lying just a few feet away on the floor looking inviting and nearly naked.

Anakin was a hard pressure through the Force beside him, breathing warm against his neck as he reminded him what Satine looked like sprawled out on the bed that night as he checked on her because it sounded as though she were having some sort of nightmare. The way she’d looked at him and simply neglected to stop. He swallowed hard as a twinge began to form into an ache.

“Tell me how her hands feel, Master,” Anakin begged into his ear.

“Anakin stop it,” he tried to say firmly. Anakin just smirked. He was used to the game he played with Obi-Wan’s code of ethics and, at times, Obi-Wan thought perhaps that was part of the appeal for his Padawan.

His cup was burning a hole in his hand at this point but he kept clutching it, watching Padmé’s fingers as they repeated their journey across her skin once more.

“Do you remember?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and neglected to answer that. The alcohol was starting to creep up on him a bit, drunk too quickly for the effects to be more immediately apparent. Anakin knew what he was doing. He knew too much, could call on too many buried and repressed desires. Worse even still, that was all Obi-Wan’s fault for being so open with him, so trusting.

He didn’t remember that well what Satine’s hands had felt like on the one occasion she had initiated any contact, but he could remember Anakin’s. Anakin fumbling through their first real bout with- whatever the hell it was -and Anakin now, fully grown, completely aware of how to get what he wanted.

The boy wasn’t a boy anymore, he kept telling himself that but the designation in his mind never seemed to change. Anakin was Anakin and Anakin’s hand had somehow wound up slipping through his robes while he wasn’t looking. The leather of his glove was soft and worn but Obi-Wan still jumped at the sudden sensation against his stomach.

“Master,” Anakin called soft against his ear and Obi-Wan really hated it when he did that. He hated how his Padawan could just say a word- a normal everyday word -and he lost half his head.

His eyes closed again and he nearly forgot about the tea cup in his hand as Anakin dragged his tongue along the line of his jugular vein. Things were good, actually, the drink was warm in his stomach and he was much more intoxicated than he would have expected. Anakin was smirking against his neck, pulling one handed at his robes, prosthetic still tangled into his hair.

“I know you too well to let you self-sabotage, Master,” Anakin said and that made perfect sense in its way. Anakin was always that extra lift that carried him where he wanted to be when he didn’t want to want to be there. He came like the intervening of fate and the Force came with him, carried in his every action, as he reached down past the resistance of Obi-Wan’s belt.

Suddenly, there were hands everywhere, as though there were no end to his Padawan. Overwhelmed, Obi-Wan laid his head across the couch back and let it happen, let Anakin guide him through it. He stopped thinking, as he’d been asked to so many times and Anakin made sure to reward such faith.

Obi-Wan wasn’t such a stranger to these acts he didn’t know what a mouth felt like though. The transition was clear. Fingers were followed by a tongue. Instantly, he perked back up, aware again of the tea cup in his hand only to find Anakin, solid and real beside him. Face still buried in his hair and Padmé between his legs.

He swallowed hard as another wave of anxiety hit him. She was nobility and they were just knights. Lesser gentlemen at best. But her mouth was stretched around him and her eyes had fluttered shut in a way that seemed natural to her.

“She’s good at what she does,” Anakin assured him, factually. And if Anakin said he’d foreseen this it had been inevitable regardless.

The urge to touch her hair, to grab onto those neat little buns and pull was so deeply tempting but Obi-Wan found his hands uncomfortably full. “What do I do with my tea?” he asked.

Anakin offered him a warm chuckle as he took the cup and balanced it on the couch-back not even a foot away from them. ‘Stay,” he commanded it through the Force and it rooted itself to that spot.

Now empty of distraction but no more filled with the amount of initiative he’d like, Obi-Wan found his hands fisted against the couch cushion he sat on.

“Anakin,” he said softly and Anakin knew what he meant because Anakin always knew.

“I’m here, Master,” his Padawan assured him as that soft leather wrapped around his wrist, pulling his arm forward to settle his hand in Padmé’s hair with the same absolution that always followed an absence of choice.

She was soft. Her hair felt like the separated strands of a fine silk wound up on her head and she moaned against him when he finally dug his fingers in at the base of one of her buns, sending a wave of shivers up into his chest.

It was good. Her mouth was smaller than Anakin’s and her teeth therefore inherently more present, but she tucked her lips around them well so they were just lines of pressure. And she was so pretty. The novelty of watching her do this coiled in his stomach.

Beside him, Anakin smirked and clutched at his robes. The boy came in waves like this, pushing and pulling like a tide at the edge of his being.

“I know you thought about it,” he accused, something Obi-Wan normally would have refuted had he the power of mind to do so but he didn’t and Anakin was very rarely wrong. He knew every time his Master lied to him. He knew more truths about more people than anyone else might rightly know. The Force told him much. It had told him this. That this would come to pass. That they would be here, in this moment, Anakin beside Obi-Wan while Pamdé nestled in between his legs.

Obi-Wan felt his knees tense as her tongue stretched along the bottom of his length, flexing gently, and she sucked, not hard. Just hard enough.

“Oh,” he said dumbly and Anakin groaned again.

“Master,” the boy whined and it was too much, too fast.

Anakin’s hand in his hair, Anakin’s hand on his chest, Padmé’s on his thighs and her mouth. Her lips were so pretty. Devoted, as if almost in prayer, to the act. A spike of something half electric shot from the heel of each of his feet up into his legs, leaving an odd, fuzzy sensation in the floor of his pelvis.

He was going to make a mess of her, he realized distantly and in that very moment of realization, Anakin surged against him excitedly through the Force. There was a sudden pressure at his jaw as Anakin grabbed for him. Turning his face so that he could lick Obi-Wan’s mouth open. The boy was good at this, good at most things he tried. Obi-Wan’s grip on Padmé’s bun tightened and she whined, fingers digging into his inner thighs just hard enough to be rewarding as she sunk down him the last of the way.

He was going to make a mess of her and she wanted it.

’Yes!’ Anakin seemed to silently scream at him, ’Please’.

She wanted it. No breech of conduct if no one knew. She wanted it. Anakin wanted it. He wanted it. Almost like he’d never wanted anything. Not that he liked wanting, not that it was comfortable, not that he wanted to admit to wanting.

The firm line of her teeth behind her lips pulled itself along him, nestling in at the base of his cock and squeezing gently so his breath came in bursts and Anakin clutched to him, pressing their mouths closer together.

All too much. How could they pose such a united front? How could they-

Padmé moaned again and Obi-Wan’s knee jumped hard under her grip. Too much. But with Anakin it was never enough. He bit at Obi-Wan’s bottom lip, pushing his own memories of Padmé into Obi-Wan’s mind so he could smell the arousal, see her office, watch what weren’t his own hands hold her down to her desk, feel her around him twice over.

“Master,” Anakin whined, breath hot in his ear again.

Padmé cast them a look, eyes smiling in every way her mouth couldn’t and pulled back, leaving Obi-Wan cold and exposed to the air as she rose up on her knees to fiddle with the claps of her waistband.

This, he realized, was really happening and some sort of shame hit him but it was too mixed with the arousal to stop it all because Code be damned he wanted.

Her knees settled on either side of his thighs on the couch and instantly, Anakin’s hand was on her, groping needily along the lines of her legs, upward to the round of her ass and then down again, running the fingers of his gloves through her. She shuddered and steadied herself agains Obi-Wan’s shoulders while his cock throbbed for the inevitable. He knew how she’d feel, Anakin had showed him. He knew and the knowing only drove him more insane with it. Thoughtlessly, he reached out for her too. Thoughtlessly, he pulled at her hips. She sank, legs folding beneath her and the leather of Anakin’s glove helped to guide him home.

This had been inevitable. There was no shame in wanting it because there had been nothing he could do to change course. Surely the code could be waved if it was what the Force wanted, what Anakin- the Chosen One -wanted.

She was so slick around him and they both shivered together as she bore down.

“Master,” Anakin whined again almost as though he were the one inside her, about to loose himself there.

Padmé’s hands were on Obi-Wan’s hands, guiding them across her body as she took a moment to adjust to the intrusion. She pressed them to her breasts, encouraging him to squeeze her through her shirt.

“I’m not gonna last,” she whined and Anakin made a guttural noise beside them.

Obi-Wan could agree with the sentiment. He could feel himself already on the edge. Just a bit more friction would be all he needed, but she held still there. Half way down his length, shuddering until Anakin’s hand folded over her shoulder and forced her the rest of the way down.

“Oh fuck,” she said out loud.

Obi-Wan could feel her twitching and contracting wildly around him as Anakin leaned forward, lips pressed to her ear so he could order her to ‘move’. Her eyes rolled pretty into her head as she followed the command. Slow at first, she rocked against him, letting Anakin lave hickies over her throat. It was a good show, one Obi-Wan watched unabashedly because he couldn’t have looked away if he tried. Because he wasn’t culpable. The Force simply moved through Anakin and who were they to deny it?

Padmé braced herself against his knees and rose a bit, drawing him out of her, before pressing back down. He was too close. She felt too good. Both nothing and everything he’d expected. Was it this way for everyone who did this? Had he been missing out this whole time? Did any of that matter when he had this now?

Anakin braced an arm around the back of her shoulders, offering extra support as he flicked the gloved fingers of his prosthetic over the round of her clit. This action drew her taught like a quivering bowstring. And Obi-Wan watched her call his name into her husband’s mouth. His name. The most broken he’d ever heard her voice. She moaned and whined and squeezed around him, rolling her hips slowly into his the whole time while Anakin stroked her off.

< p>

Obi-Wan bit at his own lip. He wanted to hold on just a bit longer, to watch her, them just a few seconds more. Anakin reached for him through the Force, pulling him closer so they all three were pressed essence to essence in that short moment as Padmé clutched at them both. Then Obi-Wan felt it run through her. A convulsion, this one new even amidst all the newness of the night and she muffled a scream into Anakin’s shoulder as her hips wound hard against Obi-Wan’s, pulling him along after her only seconds in her wake.

Obi-Wan gabbed her as the sensation crested, cleaved his body to hers, burying his face in her neck as he emptied himself- shame, shame, how could he? -into her as deep as he could possibly manage. Then they sat there, half frozen, clutching each other as they tried to gather their bearings.

Anakin was the first to breathe and then the first to move, pulling Padmé, limp and pliable out of Obi-Wan’s lap and into his own, pressing her back flat over Obi-Wan’s thighs so her stomach arched.

Obi-Wan expected him to fuck her, wrestle through his own clothing and shove himself inside, but instead, he pressed his face between her legs, making her clutch at Obi-Wan’s robes, making her sob, as he swallowed everything he could from inside her.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan felt his cock give a useless twitch as she came again, body taught, voice strained.

Anakin’s face was a mess when he surfaced, awash with mixed fluids that smeared against the sleeve of his tunic as he wiped himself clean. “You taste good, Master,” he said as he pulled himself closer, forcing a crooked leg under her.

Now, he fumbled with his clothes, pulling them out of the way as Padmé lay daised over both their laps. He was leaking already when he finally managed to pull himself free, glans darkened heavily by sheer excitement. Her eyebrows tugged together as he pressed inside.

“Anakin,” she called, mindlessly and Anakin moaned.

He pressed a hand down on her lower stomach, moving shallowly so her head lolled off Obi-Wan’s lap.

“Anakin!” she called again.

Obi-Wan couldn’t take his eyes off her, the way her breasts bounced as Anakin slammed himself into her again and again. Too hard for how little he moved. Too strong for the amount of space he was working with. So he shook her body and her thighs jiggled with the impact. So she arched and wailed.

Anakin clawed at the top she still had on, dragging it low enough her breasts were bared through the neckline and then setting Obi-Wan to work there, helping him roll a nipple between his fingers so she gasped.

Padmé shouted, a hand over her eyes as Anakin finished himself into her.

“Oh fuck,” she said once the movement had all stopped and Anakin had collapsed against Obi-Wan’s side again, head nestled on his Master’s shoulder. Her voice was full of wonder but her eyes stared almost blankly at the ceiling.

“You got me wet again,” Anakin accused, making her hide her face in her hands.

“Now 3PO has to clean the couch,” she half laughed into her palms.

“Mm,” Anakin hummed.

Obi-Wan rested his head against his Padawan’s and let himself just float there in the half meditative state that had followed the frenzy of activity.

“Do we want to have a proper dinner then?” She asked but Obi-Wan couldn’t find the tongue to answer her and Anakin only grunted.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was fully down and he was lying in their bed between the two of them, both blissfully asleep under each of his arms.