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padmeonpaper2009-05-09 03:54 pm
padme_kenobi) wrote in padmeonpaper2009-05-09 03:54 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: "To Ignite the Stars" (Star Wars, Obi-Wan/Padmé, 47/?)
Title: Satisfaction
Author:padme_kenobi
Previous Chapters: Can be read here.
Characters/Pairings: Obi-Wan/Padmé, others mentioned
Word Count: 4,494
Rating: NC-17 - married people doing married things
Summary: But if she had not been his anchor, he knew he would not have survived.
Author's Notes: Okay, so I was going to wait until I'd finished the latest plot arc to post, but since some of you (read: Lynda and Gen, LOL) have been bugging me for updates and I'm writing quite slowly at the moment for whatever reason, I knuckled under and decided to put up the stuff that's edited and ready and all pretty-like. This chapter is fluff at its absolute fluffiest - and, uh, smuttiest, too. ;) Given the emotional impacts of the upcoming plot arcs, both myself and the characters needed an interlude like this to prepare ourselves. No cliffhanger here, though it's coming in the chapter I'll post tomorrow. (Yes, I actually have two to post rather than one. Apparently I fail at keeping track of my own damn fic?) Those who are familiar with the Expanded Universe may note one minor inconsistency with regards to the Rebel Alliance and who named it, but I hope that for the sake of this particular narrative, you'll be willing to forgive that. :)
Unending though the months seemed to be, the Kenobi family was nevertheless glad for the peaceful days and weeks. The anonymity of their location was comforting to all of them, as was the access to medical care and the warm and capable hospitality provided by Mon. No request was impossible, and all desires were quickly and efficiently taken care of. Through the secure HoloNet link, they were able to obtain the latest news and information — albeit filtered through the bias and censorship of the Empire — as well as to keep abreast of the Emperor’s and Vader’s movements. It would not have been difficult to grow complacent under these sorts of circumstances, and Obi-Wan often had to remind himself that his wife and children could be placed in danger at any moment, and that he needed to be able to react very rapidly in such a case.
Their residence at Chandrila also allowed Padmé to resume a role she had dearly missed since the death of the Republic: that of activist. It all had to be done very covertly, of course, but Mon and Bail had, with the help of loyal consultants on Chandrila and Alderaan, been able to build a secure connection through which they could communicate out of view of both the public and the censors. This was vitally important due to the nature of the organization they were constructing.
Padmé was very impressed with how Bail and Mon had begun to assemble this organization, a group that when fully mature would serve as an effective opposition to Palpatine. They had already made several important, though covert, allies, and were working behind the scenes to build up support and to gather resources. It all had to be done carefully to avoid arousing suspicion, and the two politicians had become adept at that.
It was Padmé, though, who gave the organization its name: the Alliance to Restore the Republic. After all, as she remarked to Mon, what else were they building but an alliance that could one day topple the Empire? Mon had argued at first that this name was too inflammatory, but her friend had had a response for that too.
“There’s no use hiding our goals from prospective allies, so long as we can be sure they will keep our confidences,” Padmé pointed out. “And with your selection process I doubt that will be a problem. A name provides cohesion, tells beings they have something with which they can associate themselves and in which they can believe. This could be crucial to later morale.”
No one could argue with this logic, and so they agreed on such a moniker for the fledgling organization. But they had also accepted that for a long while, this organization would be so in name only. As tyrannical as all involved knew that Palpatine’s Empire was, until it committed a truly unpardonable and public act, recruiting allies for a rebellion would be difficult if not impossible. So they bided their time, focusing instead on gathering resources and on contacting those whom they knew to be loyal to the Republic. Though Padmé could not use her name for these efforts — even Senator Kenobi would have revealed far too much — she was nonetheless an enthusiastic participant in the efforts directed by Bail and Mon. With Dr. Ti-Lek’s approval, Padmé set herself a firm schedule, insisting upon rising early and partaking in Alliance activities and meetings with her colleagues, then caring for Luke and Leia in the afternoon. She was often exhausted by nightfall, leaving her husband to put the twins to bed, but no one seemed to mind this arrangement very much. Though they both loved routine, both children were excited by the novelty of their father bathing them and cuddling them before they fell asleep, and by the time this novelty had worn off, it had become routine in any case.
Obi-Wan, for his part, was glad to see his wife so happy and active, even if it meant that they saw slightly less of each other. She had often told him that the months of lying in bed, either because she was ill or because she needed to preserve the pregnancy, had grated on her nerves like nothing else, and he could believe it. Padmé had always been oriented towards action, towards taking control of her own destiny and those of the people around her, of finding tasks that needed to be completed and then completing them. Surely, spending months on her back or side and needing assistance for even such small things as getting to the fresher had driven her crazy.
But he was glad for another reason too: she was so tired each night that she tended to collapse immediately into bed, hardly stopping to give him a kiss goodnight, and this meant that she couldn’t ask for other things, things he desperately wanted but knew he couldn’t possibly give her. Previously, Padmé had grown increasingly insistent about intimacy, and while Obi-Wan knew it was partially her hormones driving this increased interest — she’d been the same way, if not more so, with the twins — he was so concerned about hurting the baby somehow that he couldn’t bring himself to respond emotionally, even though his body was very clearly motivated. Inevitably he would invent some sort of excuse, and while they both knew the real reason for his refusal, he had begun to sense that she was hurt by his rejections.
Despite this, Obi-Wan could not bring himself to acquiesce to what she wanted. Every time he thought about doing so, an image popped up in his mind’s eye of his wife lying in bed, pale as the sheets underneath her, trembling in his arms as she sobbed and begged her goddesses, the Force, him, to let her keep the baby. And while it was true that the risk of miscarriage had long since passed, given what troubles the child’s conception had caused, Obi-Wan did not want to create more by possibly making Padmé deliver their baby earlier than was the norm. He could almost hear Yoda in his mind as the Grand Master preached the values of patience he had taught Obi-Wan as a child: “Begin in their own time do all things, young Kenobi … and end.”
No, he was not willing to make that sacrifice. But it was growing increasingly difficult to resist as Padmé passed her seventh month with flying colours. She was now halfway through her eighth, and he could tell that she, at least, had relaxed.
***
A hand on his chest, a pause, small tickling sensations as that hand drifted …
He was ready, he wanted this, he had waited for so long. Obi-Wan arched into her skin, an almost obscene moan slipping from his lips. She was caressing his thigh now, the tiny hairs standing to acknowledge the approach of those fingers, and he wanted her to go higher … just a little higher … he was so close … a single touch would bring him to climax, he was certain of it. But she was determined to tease, and she bypassed that area entirely in favour of his navel, drawing soft circles around it until he was practically sobbing with arousal, on the point of begging … what did he have to do to get her to focus?
And finally — finally — exquisitely — she reached his length and it was her mouth that did the rest of the work, her tongue licking up the shaft, one of her hands holding his thigh down to prevent him from thrusting. So all he could do was wait, wait and let her proceed at her own pace … right now, that pace was maddeningly slow …
He grunted, still half in the throes of a wonderful dream, his breathing rapid and loud, sweat beginning to bead his brow. Oh, he didn’t care about the source of the feelings; he just wanted them to continue, and never stop … he needed this so much …
Someone had begun to hum softly, and it sounded like her voice … mmm, yes, definitely her voice. He just wanted her mouth again, hot and moist as it had been, her lips wrapped around him — oh, he would definitely arrive if he could see that — so perhaps he ought to open his eyes …?
Lazily Obi-Wan cracked first one eyelid open and then the other. As he’d expected, she was hovering deliciously over him, beginning to sink lower …
Ah.
“You know,” he remarked conversationally, “you were almost successful that time. Sneaking up while I was sleeping, now, that’s quite creative. I’ll give you full points for the effort.”
There was a delicious moment during which she simply gaped at him, frozen with surprise, before gravity took over and Padmé began to topple sideways onto the bed. Obi-Wan effortlessly caught her, lowering her slowly to the sheets, and still she didn’t betray any further reaction.
“Really, if you wanted to surprise me you couldn’t have picked a more ideal time,” he continued as though nothing at all had happened. (Not entirely accurate; he continued to ache for his wife’s touch, but now he was awake he also knew he could master himself — albeit with difficulty.) “Everyone lets down their guard when they sleep, and the way I am in the morning … well …” Here Obi-Wan blushed a little, unable to actually articulate it out loud.
Padmé suddenly rolled her eyes, an angry huff of breath escaping her. “You — you — you Jedi!” she blurted at last, as though it was the worst insult she could conjure.
“Us Jedi what?” He eased himself back down onto the bed, carefully so as not to create unnecessary friction against certain areas. At the moment, it wouldn’t be a good thing.
“Can’t you just turn off your senses for a minute? You were sleeping!” Padmé exclaimed, as though accusing her husband of an unspeakable crime.
“I was until you decided to wake me up, darling,” Obi-Wan nodded equitably.
“That was one of my best plans,” she grumped, giving him a sidelong glance. “I spent weeks on it. I programmed the alarm feature on my datapad so I could be absolutely sure of waking before you did, even before you got up to meditate. I checked five times that you were asleep. And you still figured out what I was doing!”
It was Obi-Wan’s turn to be surprised at the elaborate measures his wife had taken. “So does that mean you’ll give up?” he asked hopefully.
“On the contrary,” Padmé said coolly, flinging aside the covers on her side of the bed. “All it means is that it’s time for me to move on to my next best plan.” She clung on to the night table, trying to lift herself.
“Would you like some help?” Obi-Wan inquired.
“No thank you.” And she stood, eventually, after much rocking backwards and forwards and gripping of the night stand for dear life. Padmé then dressed, slipped her feet into her shoes and made for the door.
“Hang on!” he called as her hand touched the knob. “What about me?”
“What about you?” Padmé arched an eyebrow.
“Well …” He gestured downwards.
She made a crude jerking motion in midair; the intent was clear. “Surely you’re familiar with the concept.”
“But you started this! You should come back and finish it.”
“You were already hard when I woke up, darling,” said Padmé crassly, a smug smile curving her lips. “I just … helped you along. Now you’ll know what it feels like, to want and to constantly be denied.”
Obi-Wan would have protested, but he could sense an undercurrent of humour in her along with the determination, and he therefore knew that she was mostly teasing. He also knew that when she returned, he would more than likely be able to persuade her to “help” him, if not perhaps using the method that both of them wanted. And, all other things being equal, in the grand scheme of things, theirs was not a particularly vexing problem. At least not in comparison to the ones they could be experiencing.
The sheet slid slightly with the rhythm of his breathing, rubbing him intimately, and Obi-Wan sucked in a breath. He hoped she would return soon, even though she hadn’t given him the slightest idea of where she might be going. It was tempting — too tempting — to do exactly as she had suggested, and finish what Padmé had begun, but he knew it would be an empty climax, devoid of meaning. To feel complete, he needed her.
Several minutes passed in silence, and he shifted again, his curiosity and arousal growing at almost an equal rate. Where had she gone? Surely there was nothing wrong? No, Obi-Wan would already have sensed trouble if it were present. And she had said she would return. So where was she?
He tried to control his breathing, to bring to bear the vaunted patience that had always served him so well, but he could tell that this was only going to end one way. Well, best to get it over with, then. Perhaps he could meditate afterwards, so long as Padmé wasn’t planning to spring another of her schemes on him. He would have tried to enter a trance now, but he knew he had no hope of doing the thing properly. He was too distracted.
With a resigned sigh, Obi-Wan dipped his hand below the bedsheets and encircled himself, surprised to find his fingers so sweaty even after a few moments of calm. Neither was it a stretch for him to imagine that she was still there, and that she had him between her lips now, sucking gently, wetly, her eyes never leaving his. With a gasp that shocked him, he arched off the bed, then tightened his grip to thrust, harder than he ever would have if Padmé had been pleasuring him. Oh, this wouldn’t take long, not if he kept at it, the same pace, the same motions, oh …
The Force suddenly shrilled a warning that even his lust-addled brain could not ignore, and he immediately paused, listening, sensing. At first Obi-Wan couldn’t understand the problem; Padmé was coming up the stairs, and he certainly wouldn’t mind her catching him in this state … but she was not alone, Dr. Ti-Lek keeping pace right beside her.
Muttering a rather colourful Alderaanian curse, Obi-Wan very regretfully abandoned his current occupation and leapt out of bed, scrambling to pull on his pants. He nearly stumbled into the night table as the material brushed his erection, and Obi-Wan furiously wiped away the liquid that had collected at his cock’s tip. There just wasn’t time for that now, not until he could be assured of solitude with his wife and could ask her to assist. She owed him that much, after the way she had chosen to awaken him.
He only had time to pull on his inner tunics before the door opened, but that would have to be enough. Padmé marched into the room, as much as a woman eight months pregnant could be said to march, with her physician following in her wake. Obi-Wan lurked near the night table in what he hoped was a polite manner, dangling his arms near his waist in an attempt to hide what he had been doing. It was probably patently obvious to Padmé, but the doctor might remain oblivious.
“So, is there something I can do for you, Senator Kenobi?” Dr. Ti-Lek said courteously.
Padmé tilted her chin towards her husband. “Obi-Wan, why don’t you ask her?”
“Ask her what?” There wasn’t nearly enough blood getting to his brain for him to figure out what she meant.
“You know.” She glared.
“I don’t, actually, darling; I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan replied, more puzzled than ever.
“Fine, then, if you’re going to be so silly about it.” Padmé faced the doctor and smiled. “Dr. Ti-Lek, my last physical examination and holo-imaging session showed that both myself and the baby are in excellent health, correct?”
“Indeed,” nodded the doctor.
“Therefore, I’m permitted to partake in all usual activities, right? Walking, bathing, showering …?”
“Yes, of course. There isn’t anything that currently contraindicates those activities.”
“And sexual intercourse?” Padmé persisted. “Is there anything, anything at all, to contraindicate that?”
Obi-Wan suddenly wished there was a convenient trapdoor in the floor into which he could disappear. It was all well and good for his wife and her doctor to discuss these things, but did they have to do it in front of him? Especially when part of that discussion ostensibly involved him?
Far from being embarrassed, however, Dr. Ti-Lek simply smiled. “Has this been a point of contention between you and Master Kenobi?”
“Constantly,” Padmé said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “He finds me all the more attractive when I’m pregnant, you see, but I wasn’t sure whether the baby would be safe if we attempted it. We’ve been arguing about it for weeks, and he insinuates himself upon me every chance he gets. It’s becoming tiresome fending him off. So I thought I’d best call you in here to settle the dispute for both of us.”
“I see,” the doctor responded, and both women laughed. “Well, I can assure both yourself and Master Kenobi that it poses no danger, not even in your current condition. Obviously if there is any bleeding or pain, stop immediately and let me conduct an examination, but I believe you should be safe to proceed. The child cannot be harmed.”
“Excellent.” Padmé exchanged several other pleasantries with Dr. Ti-Lek, mostly having to do with the overdeveloped libidos of male humans, while Obi-Wan did his best to melt into the wall. Only when he’d heard the bedroom door click safely shut did he round on his wife.
“Padmé!”
“What?” She was now standing innocently in front of her dresser, combing her hair.
“You know very well what! You made it sound as though I’m sort of — of crazed addict, when really it’s you who’s been trying to do those things to me!” Obi-Wan exploded, his cheeks flaming red.
Padmé chuckled softly. “Well, I had to pay you back somehow, didn’t I?”
“Payback?” he repeated faintly. “If anyone is paying anyone back, I should be paying you back! I can barely walk!”
“Yes, you did provide a rather useful visual demonstration for the point I was trying to make,” she agreed, nodding as she looked him up and down. “Thank you.”
“So you woke me up the way you did on purpose!” Obi-Wan accused.
“Oh, darling, stop being so dramatic.” Padmé pulled her hair back into a loose knot. “I’d asked Dr. Ti-Lek if it was safe before, right from the very start of my third trimester, actually. I thought it would be more fun to seduce you, to try and make you lose control. You’re so adorable when you do, you know. I hoped you’d be aroused enough to go to her yourself, or, failing that, that you’d go along with me this morning. Which you almost did.”
He was struck nearly speechless. “You — you mean we abstained for all those months for nothing?”
“I would hardly call it abstinence given the fact that I did, ah, assist you several times, but I suppose if you want to believe that, then yes.”
“You couldn’t have told me? Not once? Not one little, ‘Oh by the way, darling, it’s all right now, the doctor cleared me’? Do you realize what I’ve been going through these past months?” Obi-Wan demanded.
She turned to him with a brilliant smirk. “Says the man who told me just a little while ago that he was capable of going without for long periods of time! I do believe you’re playing the hypocrite, Master Kenobi. And you could always have gone to Dr. Ti-Lek and asked yourself. She would have told you, I’m sure of it.”
He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, unable to believe what she was saying and yet willing to concede that it did make a strange kind of sense. Padmé wouldn’t have initiated all those encounters if there had been the slightest risk to their child involved, especially given her behaviour in the early months of the pregnancy. And it was true, he could have asked the physician, though Obi-Wan thought he’d rather wrestle simultaneously with two rancors than discuss his sex life with a stranger. But she must have known that! How could she not?
Still, there probably wasn’t much point in continuing to berate her. The pregnancy hadn’t been very easy for her, and she must have felt she needed to have some fun. But he could still pretend to be annoyed, and most important of all — he hardened further at the very thought — they could make love once more. He had wanted her, he had been so very desperate, and now, finally, he could have her.
“I,” Obi-Wan began huskily, “am going to make you scream. I am going to make you beg for your release. I’ll torture you as much as you have tortured me.”
Padmé shivered visibly with arousal, her cheeks flushing red. “I’ll do likewise to you, darling. All those months when I tried to seduce you were only preparations. You haven’t truly felt my hands on you, or my mouth wrapped around you … I want your fingers in my hair as you beg for me …”
His head hit the wall again and he squeezed his eyes shut. “All right, stop,” Obi-Wan gasped. “I can’t … if you say one more word I won’t last …”
Padmé crossed the room with a wide smile, her tongue occasionally poking out to lave deliciously at her lips. “My poor Obi-Wan,” she murmured as she reached him, one hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You need release, don’t you?” Her fingers trailed back down, cupping him, seeking the inside of his pants.
“Padmé …” His tone was pleading and at the same time, full of the pure unvarnished want he had felt since awakening.
In one smooth motion she slipped off her light dress, allowing it to slide to the floor, and tugged his pants carefully down. He was hard as durasteel under her touch and the engorged organ promptly sprang free, jutting proudly as he bit his lip and tried to think of something, anything, other than how tight and wet she was going to feel. Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, feeling the skin of her abdomen in contact with his.
“Look at me,” Padmé whispered, her touch on his chin, her tone still soft and alluring. “I want to see you … please let me see you …”
“I’m not going to last,” he warned as she drew closer, grinding slowly against him. “Padmé, I’m not, and it’s not fair for —”
“Shhh.” Her finger against his lips was nearly his undoing. “Don’t talk. Don’t worry. Just let me do this for you.”
Obi-Wan swallowed, tried and failed to take a deep breath, and finally nodded. “Just — p-please …” He stuttered as she grasped him, fumbling again to maintain control, but it was useless, like trying to stuff an ignited lightsaber into a small durasteel box. No matter how he attempted to contain it, his desire kept burning through. “H-hurry. Please.”
“I told you you’d beg,” Padmé said, amused, but he barely heard her. She had come forward, arched upwards and guided him inside her, buried right to the hilt. Obi-Wan gasped open-mouthed against her shoulder.
There was no way to stop it, no way to prevent the climax already coiling within him. He had delayed it for too long, tried to compromise with his body one too many times. And everything added to it — the way her breath tickled his earlobe; her arms wrapping around him in as much of an embrace as she could manage around the girth of her abdomen; milk-full breasts pressing against his chest. Padmé rocked him slowly back into the wall, kissing in a gentle line down to his collarbone, moaning softly as he in turn kneaded her back. Though he had hardly any time, he was going to do his best to bring her along with him.
Except …
“Let go, darling.” That whisper in his ear, so seductive. Her teeth were on his earlobe, tugging gently, and his body abruptly decided that this would be his end.
She held him tighter as it began, drawing his head down to rest on her shoulder as he grunted softly in release, his rapid breath and a moan of her name the only outward indicators of the sensations surging through him. But she knew, and rhythmically clenched and relaxed her muscles, milking him slowly, drawing the pleasure out.
They rested against each other for several minutes afterward, Padmé caressing his back while he simply reveled in their nearness, in the renewed intimacy. Even after four years of marriage, and the events that had come before, Obi-Wan still enjoyed these moments the most — the quiet time he could share with her, skin pressed to skin, her breath and scent all around him. The connection he felt with Padmé, due both to their love and his bond, was probably one of the strongest he had ever experienced, and yet it was different from every other. It did not resemble his bond with Anakin, nor with Qui-Gon, nor even with his children, though those were all equally strong and important in their own way. He knew only that his life would be in no way the same if this woman was not a part of it, and that she had taught him so much more than could have been gleaned from Jedi training. Being a Jedi was central to his existence, even though he was one of only two remaining Light Side practitioners in the galaxy, but Obi-Wan believed he would have been a lesser man, with an incomplete understanding of the universe around him, if not for Padmé. And it had taken him a long while to admit an even more fundamental truth: he needed her. Jedi were not supposed to need anyone or anything, aside from the Force, and he had schooled himself enough to let go of her should a situation arise in which that was necessary. But while she was safe, in these peaceful moments when they could simply be together, Obi-Wan needed Padmé. She was far stronger than he could ever hope or strive to be. All he could ask was that she pass a little of that strength on to him, so that he might somehow absorb it and benefit from it. She had given him infinite strength in the tumultuous year after Mustafar, and to this day he still wasn’t sure how she had coped. But if she had not been his anchor, he knew he would not have survived.
Author:
padme_kenobiPrevious Chapters: Can be read here.
Characters/Pairings: Obi-Wan/Padmé, others mentioned
Word Count: 4,494
Rating: NC-17 - married people doing married things
Summary: But if she had not been his anchor, he knew he would not have survived.
Author's Notes: Okay, so I was going to wait until I'd finished the latest plot arc to post, but since some of you (read: Lynda and Gen, LOL) have been bugging me for updates and I'm writing quite slowly at the moment for whatever reason, I knuckled under and decided to put up the stuff that's edited and ready and all pretty-like. This chapter is fluff at its absolute fluffiest - and, uh, smuttiest, too. ;) Given the emotional impacts of the upcoming plot arcs, both myself and the characters needed an interlude like this to prepare ourselves. No cliffhanger here, though it's coming in the chapter I'll post tomorrow. (Yes, I actually have two to post rather than one. Apparently I fail at keeping track of my own damn fic?) Those who are familiar with the Expanded Universe may note one minor inconsistency with regards to the Rebel Alliance and who named it, but I hope that for the sake of this particular narrative, you'll be willing to forgive that. :)
Unending though the months seemed to be, the Kenobi family was nevertheless glad for the peaceful days and weeks. The anonymity of their location was comforting to all of them, as was the access to medical care and the warm and capable hospitality provided by Mon. No request was impossible, and all desires were quickly and efficiently taken care of. Through the secure HoloNet link, they were able to obtain the latest news and information — albeit filtered through the bias and censorship of the Empire — as well as to keep abreast of the Emperor’s and Vader’s movements. It would not have been difficult to grow complacent under these sorts of circumstances, and Obi-Wan often had to remind himself that his wife and children could be placed in danger at any moment, and that he needed to be able to react very rapidly in such a case.
Their residence at Chandrila also allowed Padmé to resume a role she had dearly missed since the death of the Republic: that of activist. It all had to be done very covertly, of course, but Mon and Bail had, with the help of loyal consultants on Chandrila and Alderaan, been able to build a secure connection through which they could communicate out of view of both the public and the censors. This was vitally important due to the nature of the organization they were constructing.
Padmé was very impressed with how Bail and Mon had begun to assemble this organization, a group that when fully mature would serve as an effective opposition to Palpatine. They had already made several important, though covert, allies, and were working behind the scenes to build up support and to gather resources. It all had to be done carefully to avoid arousing suspicion, and the two politicians had become adept at that.
It was Padmé, though, who gave the organization its name: the Alliance to Restore the Republic. After all, as she remarked to Mon, what else were they building but an alliance that could one day topple the Empire? Mon had argued at first that this name was too inflammatory, but her friend had had a response for that too.
“There’s no use hiding our goals from prospective allies, so long as we can be sure they will keep our confidences,” Padmé pointed out. “And with your selection process I doubt that will be a problem. A name provides cohesion, tells beings they have something with which they can associate themselves and in which they can believe. This could be crucial to later morale.”
No one could argue with this logic, and so they agreed on such a moniker for the fledgling organization. But they had also accepted that for a long while, this organization would be so in name only. As tyrannical as all involved knew that Palpatine’s Empire was, until it committed a truly unpardonable and public act, recruiting allies for a rebellion would be difficult if not impossible. So they bided their time, focusing instead on gathering resources and on contacting those whom they knew to be loyal to the Republic. Though Padmé could not use her name for these efforts — even Senator Kenobi would have revealed far too much — she was nonetheless an enthusiastic participant in the efforts directed by Bail and Mon. With Dr. Ti-Lek’s approval, Padmé set herself a firm schedule, insisting upon rising early and partaking in Alliance activities and meetings with her colleagues, then caring for Luke and Leia in the afternoon. She was often exhausted by nightfall, leaving her husband to put the twins to bed, but no one seemed to mind this arrangement very much. Though they both loved routine, both children were excited by the novelty of their father bathing them and cuddling them before they fell asleep, and by the time this novelty had worn off, it had become routine in any case.
Obi-Wan, for his part, was glad to see his wife so happy and active, even if it meant that they saw slightly less of each other. She had often told him that the months of lying in bed, either because she was ill or because she needed to preserve the pregnancy, had grated on her nerves like nothing else, and he could believe it. Padmé had always been oriented towards action, towards taking control of her own destiny and those of the people around her, of finding tasks that needed to be completed and then completing them. Surely, spending months on her back or side and needing assistance for even such small things as getting to the fresher had driven her crazy.
But he was glad for another reason too: she was so tired each night that she tended to collapse immediately into bed, hardly stopping to give him a kiss goodnight, and this meant that she couldn’t ask for other things, things he desperately wanted but knew he couldn’t possibly give her. Previously, Padmé had grown increasingly insistent about intimacy, and while Obi-Wan knew it was partially her hormones driving this increased interest — she’d been the same way, if not more so, with the twins — he was so concerned about hurting the baby somehow that he couldn’t bring himself to respond emotionally, even though his body was very clearly motivated. Inevitably he would invent some sort of excuse, and while they both knew the real reason for his refusal, he had begun to sense that she was hurt by his rejections.
Despite this, Obi-Wan could not bring himself to acquiesce to what she wanted. Every time he thought about doing so, an image popped up in his mind’s eye of his wife lying in bed, pale as the sheets underneath her, trembling in his arms as she sobbed and begged her goddesses, the Force, him, to let her keep the baby. And while it was true that the risk of miscarriage had long since passed, given what troubles the child’s conception had caused, Obi-Wan did not want to create more by possibly making Padmé deliver their baby earlier than was the norm. He could almost hear Yoda in his mind as the Grand Master preached the values of patience he had taught Obi-Wan as a child: “Begin in their own time do all things, young Kenobi … and end.”
No, he was not willing to make that sacrifice. But it was growing increasingly difficult to resist as Padmé passed her seventh month with flying colours. She was now halfway through her eighth, and he could tell that she, at least, had relaxed.
***
A hand on his chest, a pause, small tickling sensations as that hand drifted …
He was ready, he wanted this, he had waited for so long. Obi-Wan arched into her skin, an almost obscene moan slipping from his lips. She was caressing his thigh now, the tiny hairs standing to acknowledge the approach of those fingers, and he wanted her to go higher … just a little higher … he was so close … a single touch would bring him to climax, he was certain of it. But she was determined to tease, and she bypassed that area entirely in favour of his navel, drawing soft circles around it until he was practically sobbing with arousal, on the point of begging … what did he have to do to get her to focus?
And finally — finally — exquisitely — she reached his length and it was her mouth that did the rest of the work, her tongue licking up the shaft, one of her hands holding his thigh down to prevent him from thrusting. So all he could do was wait, wait and let her proceed at her own pace … right now, that pace was maddeningly slow …
He grunted, still half in the throes of a wonderful dream, his breathing rapid and loud, sweat beginning to bead his brow. Oh, he didn’t care about the source of the feelings; he just wanted them to continue, and never stop … he needed this so much …
Someone had begun to hum softly, and it sounded like her voice … mmm, yes, definitely her voice. He just wanted her mouth again, hot and moist as it had been, her lips wrapped around him — oh, he would definitely arrive if he could see that — so perhaps he ought to open his eyes …?
Lazily Obi-Wan cracked first one eyelid open and then the other. As he’d expected, she was hovering deliciously over him, beginning to sink lower …
Ah.
“You know,” he remarked conversationally, “you were almost successful that time. Sneaking up while I was sleeping, now, that’s quite creative. I’ll give you full points for the effort.”
There was a delicious moment during which she simply gaped at him, frozen with surprise, before gravity took over and Padmé began to topple sideways onto the bed. Obi-Wan effortlessly caught her, lowering her slowly to the sheets, and still she didn’t betray any further reaction.
“Really, if you wanted to surprise me you couldn’t have picked a more ideal time,” he continued as though nothing at all had happened. (Not entirely accurate; he continued to ache for his wife’s touch, but now he was awake he also knew he could master himself — albeit with difficulty.) “Everyone lets down their guard when they sleep, and the way I am in the morning … well …” Here Obi-Wan blushed a little, unable to actually articulate it out loud.
Padmé suddenly rolled her eyes, an angry huff of breath escaping her. “You — you — you Jedi!” she blurted at last, as though it was the worst insult she could conjure.
“Us Jedi what?” He eased himself back down onto the bed, carefully so as not to create unnecessary friction against certain areas. At the moment, it wouldn’t be a good thing.
“Can’t you just turn off your senses for a minute? You were sleeping!” Padmé exclaimed, as though accusing her husband of an unspeakable crime.
“I was until you decided to wake me up, darling,” Obi-Wan nodded equitably.
“That was one of my best plans,” she grumped, giving him a sidelong glance. “I spent weeks on it. I programmed the alarm feature on my datapad so I could be absolutely sure of waking before you did, even before you got up to meditate. I checked five times that you were asleep. And you still figured out what I was doing!”
It was Obi-Wan’s turn to be surprised at the elaborate measures his wife had taken. “So does that mean you’ll give up?” he asked hopefully.
“On the contrary,” Padmé said coolly, flinging aside the covers on her side of the bed. “All it means is that it’s time for me to move on to my next best plan.” She clung on to the night table, trying to lift herself.
“Would you like some help?” Obi-Wan inquired.
“No thank you.” And she stood, eventually, after much rocking backwards and forwards and gripping of the night stand for dear life. Padmé then dressed, slipped her feet into her shoes and made for the door.
“Hang on!” he called as her hand touched the knob. “What about me?”
“What about you?” Padmé arched an eyebrow.
“Well …” He gestured downwards.
She made a crude jerking motion in midair; the intent was clear. “Surely you’re familiar with the concept.”
“But you started this! You should come back and finish it.”
“You were already hard when I woke up, darling,” said Padmé crassly, a smug smile curving her lips. “I just … helped you along. Now you’ll know what it feels like, to want and to constantly be denied.”
Obi-Wan would have protested, but he could sense an undercurrent of humour in her along with the determination, and he therefore knew that she was mostly teasing. He also knew that when she returned, he would more than likely be able to persuade her to “help” him, if not perhaps using the method that both of them wanted. And, all other things being equal, in the grand scheme of things, theirs was not a particularly vexing problem. At least not in comparison to the ones they could be experiencing.
The sheet slid slightly with the rhythm of his breathing, rubbing him intimately, and Obi-Wan sucked in a breath. He hoped she would return soon, even though she hadn’t given him the slightest idea of where she might be going. It was tempting — too tempting — to do exactly as she had suggested, and finish what Padmé had begun, but he knew it would be an empty climax, devoid of meaning. To feel complete, he needed her.
Several minutes passed in silence, and he shifted again, his curiosity and arousal growing at almost an equal rate. Where had she gone? Surely there was nothing wrong? No, Obi-Wan would already have sensed trouble if it were present. And she had said she would return. So where was she?
He tried to control his breathing, to bring to bear the vaunted patience that had always served him so well, but he could tell that this was only going to end one way. Well, best to get it over with, then. Perhaps he could meditate afterwards, so long as Padmé wasn’t planning to spring another of her schemes on him. He would have tried to enter a trance now, but he knew he had no hope of doing the thing properly. He was too distracted.
With a resigned sigh, Obi-Wan dipped his hand below the bedsheets and encircled himself, surprised to find his fingers so sweaty even after a few moments of calm. Neither was it a stretch for him to imagine that she was still there, and that she had him between her lips now, sucking gently, wetly, her eyes never leaving his. With a gasp that shocked him, he arched off the bed, then tightened his grip to thrust, harder than he ever would have if Padmé had been pleasuring him. Oh, this wouldn’t take long, not if he kept at it, the same pace, the same motions, oh …
The Force suddenly shrilled a warning that even his lust-addled brain could not ignore, and he immediately paused, listening, sensing. At first Obi-Wan couldn’t understand the problem; Padmé was coming up the stairs, and he certainly wouldn’t mind her catching him in this state … but she was not alone, Dr. Ti-Lek keeping pace right beside her.
Muttering a rather colourful Alderaanian curse, Obi-Wan very regretfully abandoned his current occupation and leapt out of bed, scrambling to pull on his pants. He nearly stumbled into the night table as the material brushed his erection, and Obi-Wan furiously wiped away the liquid that had collected at his cock’s tip. There just wasn’t time for that now, not until he could be assured of solitude with his wife and could ask her to assist. She owed him that much, after the way she had chosen to awaken him.
He only had time to pull on his inner tunics before the door opened, but that would have to be enough. Padmé marched into the room, as much as a woman eight months pregnant could be said to march, with her physician following in her wake. Obi-Wan lurked near the night table in what he hoped was a polite manner, dangling his arms near his waist in an attempt to hide what he had been doing. It was probably patently obvious to Padmé, but the doctor might remain oblivious.
“So, is there something I can do for you, Senator Kenobi?” Dr. Ti-Lek said courteously.
Padmé tilted her chin towards her husband. “Obi-Wan, why don’t you ask her?”
“Ask her what?” There wasn’t nearly enough blood getting to his brain for him to figure out what she meant.
“You know.” She glared.
“I don’t, actually, darling; I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan replied, more puzzled than ever.
“Fine, then, if you’re going to be so silly about it.” Padmé faced the doctor and smiled. “Dr. Ti-Lek, my last physical examination and holo-imaging session showed that both myself and the baby are in excellent health, correct?”
“Indeed,” nodded the doctor.
“Therefore, I’m permitted to partake in all usual activities, right? Walking, bathing, showering …?”
“Yes, of course. There isn’t anything that currently contraindicates those activities.”
“And sexual intercourse?” Padmé persisted. “Is there anything, anything at all, to contraindicate that?”
Obi-Wan suddenly wished there was a convenient trapdoor in the floor into which he could disappear. It was all well and good for his wife and her doctor to discuss these things, but did they have to do it in front of him? Especially when part of that discussion ostensibly involved him?
Far from being embarrassed, however, Dr. Ti-Lek simply smiled. “Has this been a point of contention between you and Master Kenobi?”
“Constantly,” Padmé said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “He finds me all the more attractive when I’m pregnant, you see, but I wasn’t sure whether the baby would be safe if we attempted it. We’ve been arguing about it for weeks, and he insinuates himself upon me every chance he gets. It’s becoming tiresome fending him off. So I thought I’d best call you in here to settle the dispute for both of us.”
“I see,” the doctor responded, and both women laughed. “Well, I can assure both yourself and Master Kenobi that it poses no danger, not even in your current condition. Obviously if there is any bleeding or pain, stop immediately and let me conduct an examination, but I believe you should be safe to proceed. The child cannot be harmed.”
“Excellent.” Padmé exchanged several other pleasantries with Dr. Ti-Lek, mostly having to do with the overdeveloped libidos of male humans, while Obi-Wan did his best to melt into the wall. Only when he’d heard the bedroom door click safely shut did he round on his wife.
“Padmé!”
“What?” She was now standing innocently in front of her dresser, combing her hair.
“You know very well what! You made it sound as though I’m sort of — of crazed addict, when really it’s you who’s been trying to do those things to me!” Obi-Wan exploded, his cheeks flaming red.
Padmé chuckled softly. “Well, I had to pay you back somehow, didn’t I?”
“Payback?” he repeated faintly. “If anyone is paying anyone back, I should be paying you back! I can barely walk!”
“Yes, you did provide a rather useful visual demonstration for the point I was trying to make,” she agreed, nodding as she looked him up and down. “Thank you.”
“So you woke me up the way you did on purpose!” Obi-Wan accused.
“Oh, darling, stop being so dramatic.” Padmé pulled her hair back into a loose knot. “I’d asked Dr. Ti-Lek if it was safe before, right from the very start of my third trimester, actually. I thought it would be more fun to seduce you, to try and make you lose control. You’re so adorable when you do, you know. I hoped you’d be aroused enough to go to her yourself, or, failing that, that you’d go along with me this morning. Which you almost did.”
He was struck nearly speechless. “You — you mean we abstained for all those months for nothing?”
“I would hardly call it abstinence given the fact that I did, ah, assist you several times, but I suppose if you want to believe that, then yes.”
“You couldn’t have told me? Not once? Not one little, ‘Oh by the way, darling, it’s all right now, the doctor cleared me’? Do you realize what I’ve been going through these past months?” Obi-Wan demanded.
She turned to him with a brilliant smirk. “Says the man who told me just a little while ago that he was capable of going without for long periods of time! I do believe you’re playing the hypocrite, Master Kenobi. And you could always have gone to Dr. Ti-Lek and asked yourself. She would have told you, I’m sure of it.”
He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, unable to believe what she was saying and yet willing to concede that it did make a strange kind of sense. Padmé wouldn’t have initiated all those encounters if there had been the slightest risk to their child involved, especially given her behaviour in the early months of the pregnancy. And it was true, he could have asked the physician, though Obi-Wan thought he’d rather wrestle simultaneously with two rancors than discuss his sex life with a stranger. But she must have known that! How could she not?
Still, there probably wasn’t much point in continuing to berate her. The pregnancy hadn’t been very easy for her, and she must have felt she needed to have some fun. But he could still pretend to be annoyed, and most important of all — he hardened further at the very thought — they could make love once more. He had wanted her, he had been so very desperate, and now, finally, he could have her.
“I,” Obi-Wan began huskily, “am going to make you scream. I am going to make you beg for your release. I’ll torture you as much as you have tortured me.”
Padmé shivered visibly with arousal, her cheeks flushing red. “I’ll do likewise to you, darling. All those months when I tried to seduce you were only preparations. You haven’t truly felt my hands on you, or my mouth wrapped around you … I want your fingers in my hair as you beg for me …”
His head hit the wall again and he squeezed his eyes shut. “All right, stop,” Obi-Wan gasped. “I can’t … if you say one more word I won’t last …”
Padmé crossed the room with a wide smile, her tongue occasionally poking out to lave deliciously at her lips. “My poor Obi-Wan,” she murmured as she reached him, one hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You need release, don’t you?” Her fingers trailed back down, cupping him, seeking the inside of his pants.
“Padmé …” His tone was pleading and at the same time, full of the pure unvarnished want he had felt since awakening.
In one smooth motion she slipped off her light dress, allowing it to slide to the floor, and tugged his pants carefully down. He was hard as durasteel under her touch and the engorged organ promptly sprang free, jutting proudly as he bit his lip and tried to think of something, anything, other than how tight and wet she was going to feel. Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, feeling the skin of her abdomen in contact with his.
“Look at me,” Padmé whispered, her touch on his chin, her tone still soft and alluring. “I want to see you … please let me see you …”
“I’m not going to last,” he warned as she drew closer, grinding slowly against him. “Padmé, I’m not, and it’s not fair for —”
“Shhh.” Her finger against his lips was nearly his undoing. “Don’t talk. Don’t worry. Just let me do this for you.”
Obi-Wan swallowed, tried and failed to take a deep breath, and finally nodded. “Just — p-please …” He stuttered as she grasped him, fumbling again to maintain control, but it was useless, like trying to stuff an ignited lightsaber into a small durasteel box. No matter how he attempted to contain it, his desire kept burning through. “H-hurry. Please.”
“I told you you’d beg,” Padmé said, amused, but he barely heard her. She had come forward, arched upwards and guided him inside her, buried right to the hilt. Obi-Wan gasped open-mouthed against her shoulder.
There was no way to stop it, no way to prevent the climax already coiling within him. He had delayed it for too long, tried to compromise with his body one too many times. And everything added to it — the way her breath tickled his earlobe; her arms wrapping around him in as much of an embrace as she could manage around the girth of her abdomen; milk-full breasts pressing against his chest. Padmé rocked him slowly back into the wall, kissing in a gentle line down to his collarbone, moaning softly as he in turn kneaded her back. Though he had hardly any time, he was going to do his best to bring her along with him.
Except …
“Let go, darling.” That whisper in his ear, so seductive. Her teeth were on his earlobe, tugging gently, and his body abruptly decided that this would be his end.
She held him tighter as it began, drawing his head down to rest on her shoulder as he grunted softly in release, his rapid breath and a moan of her name the only outward indicators of the sensations surging through him. But she knew, and rhythmically clenched and relaxed her muscles, milking him slowly, drawing the pleasure out.
They rested against each other for several minutes afterward, Padmé caressing his back while he simply reveled in their nearness, in the renewed intimacy. Even after four years of marriage, and the events that had come before, Obi-Wan still enjoyed these moments the most — the quiet time he could share with her, skin pressed to skin, her breath and scent all around him. The connection he felt with Padmé, due both to their love and his bond, was probably one of the strongest he had ever experienced, and yet it was different from every other. It did not resemble his bond with Anakin, nor with Qui-Gon, nor even with his children, though those were all equally strong and important in their own way. He knew only that his life would be in no way the same if this woman was not a part of it, and that she had taught him so much more than could have been gleaned from Jedi training. Being a Jedi was central to his existence, even though he was one of only two remaining Light Side practitioners in the galaxy, but Obi-Wan believed he would have been a lesser man, with an incomplete understanding of the universe around him, if not for Padmé. And it had taken him a long while to admit an even more fundamental truth: he needed her. Jedi were not supposed to need anyone or anything, aside from the Force, and he had schooled himself enough to let go of her should a situation arise in which that was necessary. But while she was safe, in these peaceful moments when they could simply be together, Obi-Wan needed Padmé. She was far stronger than he could ever hope or strive to be. All he could ask was that she pass a little of that strength on to him, so that he might somehow absorb it and benefit from it. She had given him infinite strength in the tumultuous year after Mustafar, and to this day he still wasn’t sure how she had coped. But if she had not been his anchor, he knew he would not have survived.