Wicked Game

TITLE: Wicked Game
AUTHOR: KellyB/Pagan
PAIRINGS: Anakin and Padmé
DATE: Fall 2003/Winter 2004
SUMMARY: This is a missing moment scene which takes place right after Anakin wakes up from his nightmare on Naboo. Although this isn’t part of Succumb/The End Justifies the Means, the events that occurred in those two fic’s (up to the fireplace scene where Padmé rejects Anakin) have occurred. This is just for fun and offers another scenario for their first time. This story alternates between Anakin and Padmé’s POV. As usual this is not happy fun time Anakin and Padmé – I don’t do sappy.
TIME PERIOD: During AOTC.
TYPE: Romance, seduction, angst
RATING: Overall NC-17
WARNINGS: If you want to read a Disneyfied story of Anakin and Padmé, stop reading NOW! This story focuses on the unhealthy aspect of their relationship. Namely, that Anakin has a rather unhealthy fixation on Padmé.
DISCLAIMER: I'm just a simple woman trying to make my way in the universe. I intend no infringement on the Lucasfilm characters, situations, or storylines. I'm making absolutely NO money off of this so suing would really be pointless, George dear. This rendering is merely for the titillation of rabid Star Wars fans like me who have WAY too much time on their hands. Bless us one and all.
CRITIQUE: Constructive criticism and comments welcomed - I’ll hear whatever you have to say. Please respond to kellyb701@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: Sure, just let me know where so I can visit.
NOTE: Force thoughts (if any) are designated by: //thought//. Normal thoughts are designated by: italics thoughts. Any direct lines from AOTC and TPM (movie or novel) appear in italics and quotations.

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NOTE: 1/21/06 - Correcting formatting problems from site crash back in winter of '05. Tweaked story slightly as well but basically nothing new added.


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“When I was a child, I spoke as a child,
I understood as a child;
But when I became a man,
I put away childish things.”

“1 Corinthians 13:11


“No!”

The sharp word rang out loudly, yanking me from the realm of nightmares where my mother writhed in pain, her body bent and broken beyond repair. Blood - so much blood smeared over skin marred with ugly cuts and bruises. For the briefest of moments, I imagined I could actually smell the sickly sweet coppery tang mixed with the odor of burning sand.

The nauseating illusion was shattered when a cool breeze off the lake swept in through the half opened window. It feathered across my bare skin sheened lightly with the perspiration born from terror. The memory of the hot wind of my childhood dissipated slowly, fading away beneath the comforting fresh green scent that was Naboo. Without my voice shouting in protest the room was tomb-like in its silence. Only the violent hammering of my heart and the rush of blood in my ears disturbed the middle of the night quiet.

I stared sightlessly up at the plastered ceiling cracked with age but still beautiful with its swirls of blue and white meant to mimic a summer sky. How could there be so much beauty amongst so much death? A voice shrieked in my head setting my teeth on edge. Gods, I could still feel her agony as if it were my own.

Twice in as many hours I’d woken to the now eerily familiar dream; the one that told me my mother was in grave danger and suffering intolerable pain. Obi Wan said it was just a dream; that it would pass in time. And I desperately clung to his proffered words of comfort like a child to his security blanket.

But . . . if what he said were true why did I keep having the same one over and over? Why did I see her so vividly? Most importantly, why did I feel like time was running out?

I threw back the covers abruptly, a sickening spiral of uncontrollable hopelessness plummeting through me. I had to believe it was just a recurring nightmare because there was nothing I could do about my mother, not now, not when I had Padmé to look after and protect.

//Not when you’re in the perfect position to win her over//

No sooner did that thought filter through my fear addled brain than the events of the previous evening came rushing back to punch me viciously in the gut, the pain so intense I physically blanched. Utter desolation lanced my heart. Padmé had rejected me. She’d rejected me just like Obi Wan had done when Qui Gon first voiced his intent to bring me with them to Coruscant; just as the Jedi Council had when the Jedi Master brought me to them to be trained. While I had poured my heart out she’d sat there squirming uncomfortably, looking like she wished she were anywhere in the universe but at my side. With each nervous fidget, every restless shift of her body, my rambling declarations had sounded more and more desperate. The rejection, when it came, had hurt like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

But then she had slipped and hope had stirred in my breast.

"If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go . . . regardless of the way we feel for each other." She’d said.

Regardless of the way we feel for each other. Padmé finally admitted something was there between us and for one shining moment I thought I’d achieved what I’d been dreaming about, what I’d been plotting and planning for almost ten years. But the gods give with one hand and take away with the other.

It was only false hope wrapped in cold words.

"Then you do feel something!" I grasped on to her promising words like a drowning man to a piece of waterlogged driftwood only to have it unceremoniously yanked away.

"I will not give in to this. I have more important things to do than fall in love." Padmé’s voice was coldly determined and so horribly final.

The warm glow spreading in my chest like the buzz from some intense pleasure drug abruptly turned to a freezing chill. The joyous beat of my heart came to a stuttering halt as her meaning sunk into my conscience. How could you decide not to love? Love wasn’t a choice; you couldn’t just pick and choose as if it were of no more consequence than which outfit you wore! The absurdness of it all raced around and around my head while a low voice whispered to me from the back of my mind. Where before I would’ve tried to ignore it, to push it back down to the black pit from which it came, this time I listened to its seductive promise.

//Be discreet, be patient and you will prevail//

Instinctively I slipped further into the shadows, moving away from the heat of the brazier fire, away from the warmth of her. The night was mild but cold fingers of despair reached out to take hold of me in their icy grip. A shiver shook my frame. My rational side insisted on telling me I’d lost my battle to make Padmé mine and that I should accept defeat like a gentleman. But I’d been raised for the first half of my life on a planet that didn’t know the meaning of graceful defeat. On Tatooine you fought with all you had or you lost everything. As Padmé watched me with troubled eyes, I knew it wasn’t over. Deep within I knew if I obeyed that dangerous thrumming voice welling up inside I would triumph. It was a truth I acknowledged deep in my bones.

//Pull back and regroup so you can survive to fight another day//

I swallowed my hurt and pretended to agree with her assertion that living a lie would undoubtedly destroy us, telling her what she wanted to hear. It was a delaying tactic, a ruse to allay her shock and distaste at my unwelcome suggestion we conduct a secret and illicit relationship.

Padmé continued to regard me with a wary expression but I barely noticed. Already I was shifting through various ideas and scenarios, discarding first one and then another. Somehow I knew I would have to lure her away from this world where she felt safe and secure. I needed to isolate her from all that was familiar so she would only have me to rely upon. The only question was how to achieve that seemingly impossible state of affairs.

My reverie was interrupted when the balcony doors rattled violently on their hinges as a strong gust of wind picked up outside. While I’d been lost in thought a storm had begun to move in. Bits of grit and sand pinged against the glass panes, a familiar sound for someone who’d grown up on a desert planet with frequent sand storms. A brief wave of my hand closed the window with a decided click and the growing unrest outside faded to a muted howl.

"I will not give in to this."

Padmé’s refusal rose up again to taunt me. I wanted to scream from the ache in my chest. Never had I imagined I could hurt so much. I sat up with an impatient jerk, sucking in deep gulps of air in a useless attempt to clear my head, and then froze. Amongst the expected scents mingling in the still air I detected something familiar, a hint of the scent Padmé wore. I inhaled deeper, drawing in the tantalizing essence. Yes, there it was again, a light floral scent with a hint of rich vanilla. The heady combination of her perfume and soap mixed with her own sweet fragrance was unmistakable. Padmé had been in my room and she’d been there recently.

Needful desire struck me low and hard.

"I will not give in to this."

Then what exactly had she been doing in my room? A bright, hot flare of anger speared me, flushing the last lingering remnants of my cruel dream away. Padmé once again consumed my thoughts and it wasn’t in a pleasant manner. A guttural noise rumbled from me seconds before I hurriedly swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I remained unmoving as something dark and indefinable burst inside me. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and impetuously swept everything atop the antique bedside table to the floor in one harsh motion. The resounding crash barely registered as the remembered hurt and humiliation replayed in my head.

It wasn’t fair! I’d laid my heart on my sleeve and she’d rejected me despite her admitted feelings for me. She was choosing to throw away what we could have for the sake of a temporary position she’d confessed she’d accepted only because Queen Jamilla had asked her to take it up. Padmé had let me ramble on and on and then shot me down while wearing a dress that would’ve gotten her arrested in several systems.

My head snapped around. I glowered at the old fashioned ornately carved bedroom door as if it were the reason behind my growing frustration. The lines of my face tightened, my lips drawing back into a snarl of annoyance. If I’d had any lingering doubts about Padmé’s nocturnal visit it was dispelled by that sight. Barely imperceptible but proof nonetheless, the heavy wooden door was noticeably ajar. My furtive visitor had apparently left in such haste she’d failed to secure it properly when she’d made good her escape.

What kind of wicked game did she think she was playing? Nothing in my life had prepared me for these bizarre push-pull flirtations Padmé seemed so adept at playing. The mixed messages were driving me to distraction. The kiss on the balcony, her response to me on our picnic followed by her subsequent flight, the glances she shot through veiled lashes when she thought I wasn’t looking, her chilly withdrawals - they all added up to a conflicting picture that had my insides twisted into knots. One minute I was being given all the signs that pointed to go and the next I was yanked to a painfully screeching halt. Who was she to treat me like that?

Ten years of being with the Jedi had not done much to quell my feelings of inferiority. When I’d discovered that Padmé was not a handmaiden but the elected queen of her home world everything had changed. Never mind that she wouldn’t be in that position forever, she would always be a queen in some sense. How could royalty love someone who had once been a lowly slave? The daily reminder by the other Padawans that I was at the Temple due only to a dying man’s wish had not exactly done wonders for my sense of belonging. The premonition of marrying Padmé had been the one constant in my life and now a horrifying thought was threatening my most precious dream. What if I had been wrong all this time?

Normally, the sense of being unworthy would have inspired a gloomy depression. It was something Obi Wan was familiar with after ten years of being my Master. But now the feeling inspired something else altogether. The mocking voice in my head fanned the flames, instigating an ever widening circle of anger, waking that deep rooted sense of the injustice of it all. I needed an outlet, and soon. I needed to take matters into my own hands or I was sure the painful ache in my chest would never stop.

The enticing fragrance of warm vanilla and flowers intensified, growing overpowering within the confines of my room. It was all around me, in my nose, my mouth, my throat. The memory of her musical laughter, so enchanting on our picnic, now seemed a cruel amusement, a secret joke at my expense.

"You will always be the little boy I knew on Tatooine."

Was she laughing at me, the poor, infatuated boy? My stomach dipped and rolled with a terrible thought. Dormé wasn’t here but if she had been I suddenly wondered if my heartfelt but clumsy confession detailing my true feelings would’ve been the subject of derisive laughter; or even worse, contempt and pity. The conjured image of the two women tittering in amusement at my audacity and cheek was too much for the fragile hold I had so far managed to maintain on my self control.

The air practically crackled around me, the growing animosity fueled by my hurt palatable as my thoughts moved from gray to the blackest of black. Padmé had wanted me that day in the meadow. Her body had been warm and pliant beneath mine, her arms twined around my neck and she’d kissed me back . . . with a little persuasion on my part. A cold, grim smile of satisfaction twisted my lips. I could do that again. All it would take was for me to do what she had just done – invade the sanctity of her room. She wasn’t immune to me, not by a long shot. Padmé could protest all she wanted. No amount of clipped words spoken in her cold politician’s voice would convince me otherwise.

I’d been relatively restrained since arriving on Naboo, the picnic notwithstanding. I’d tried not to push her too far, too fast and look where it had gotten me – shunted aside like worthless flotsam floating in space. Maybe more overt forms of persuasion were called for. Maybe I’d backed off too soon in the meadow. Treating her like spun glass wasn’t the answer.

If it was possible my mood plunged even further into the bottomless well of despair that constantly resided inside me. So if it wasn’t virginal reluctance stopping her then it must be the damnable Order, I decided. She was just being stubborn in some misguided attempt to keep me from going against the outdated Jedi Code. Her body had heard the call just as mine had. She just needed a little help to hear it more clearly.

I slipped from the bed with a glowering frown. The glazed tiles felt cool beneath the soles of my feet as I started for the door. The air of grim determination left me feeling edgy, shaky, like I’d drunk too much kaffee and hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

I couldn’t get the haunting visual of Padmé with someone else out of my head. She was a career politician, a woman who moved in social circles where sex was a commodity to be traded for favors. I didn’t for one minute think she’d play that sort of game but I had little doubt she’d dabbled in a discrete affair or two.

How many other rooms has she snuck into in the dead of night? How many lovers has she had? The poisoned thoughts brushed against my mind, snapping at me from the darkest corners of my psyche and stopping me in my tracks. The thought of Padmé with other men made me sick to the center of my being. The revelation about Palo paled in significance to the almost certain knowledge that as a woman of almost twenty-five, she had surely been intimate with someone by now.

So have you, whispered my conscience. I shrugged the voice of reason aside in favor of the growing tide of jealousy threatening to swamp me. I’d never really considered the likely possibility, had definitely never wanted to entertain the horrible idea at all. But how likely was it that she would’ve waited for me when she didn’t believe we were meant to be together? I’d had faith, why hadn’t she?

Immediately my mind dredged up the torturous vision of another man’s hand smoothing over her soft flesh, someone else’s lips tasting her, kissing the silky skin of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair. The idea that someone else had possessed what was mine made me flinch. A brilliant red mist of jealous rage washed down to screen out those appalling images. Padmé was mine, damn it! Not only had someone dared touch her but she had given herself freely. The jealous murmurs twisted logic and sense into a tangled mess that I was not inclined to try and sort out. Not when my body and soul was clamoring for my heart’s desire.

At my sides my hands balled into tight fists. I was shaking uncontrollably as I fought to quell my irrational feelings. Maybe I wasn’t the first in her life but I would be the last if it killed me. I could make her forget the ones that came before me. Of all the things in the universe, of that I was positive.

The seduction in the meadow had failed because I’d been trying to give her the time to come to realize we belonged together. That was a mistake. I obviously had to make her believe it. I strode purposefully forward. My entire body was on fire. I was feverish with a heady surge of anticipation. She had feelings for me. If she hadn’t proved that in the meadow, she’d admitted as much in front of the fire. No more changing the rules of the game. It was time to see those feelings through to fruition. I was going to talk and this time Padmé would listen. This time refusal wasn’t going to be an offered choice.