One Coruscant Night

Title: One Coruscant Night
Author: Kellyb/Pagan
Rating: NC-17
Setting: Takes place approximately four months after Anakin and Padmé were married on Naboo.
Summary: Too much time apart and a bit more alcohol than is wise leads to Anakin revealing a different side of himself to Padmé.
Disclaimer: This is fiction, fiction, fiction! I don't own any character in the Star Wars universe. Please don’t sue me, George!
Author’s Note: The Anakin and Padmé portrayed here are not related to the Anakin and Padmé from any of my other fics, i.e. Succumb, The End Justifies the Means, Wicked Game or Lessons Applied. As the story begins the characters are much more closely related to the way they were presented on screen in AOTC. However that changes as the story progresses.
Note: Force thoughts are designated by: //thoughts//. Normal thoughts are designated by {thoughts}. Direct quotes from AOTC (movie or novel) appear in italics with quotation marks.

This will be going up to NC-17 in the next chapter.

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“Can the brain keep cool and the heart keep quiet
When the blood is a river that’s running riot?
And boys will be boys the old folks say,
And the man is better who’s had his day.”

Ella Wheeler Wilcox


It was supposed to be a pleasant evening, a romantic tryst after too many long, lonely weeks of being apart. However, Anakin’s mood shifted almost from the moment they sat down to dinner, and from there what had started out as a promising reunion had rapidly deteriorated.

When they had first arrived at the tiny restaurant tucked away on some lower level back street far from prying eyes, Anakin had been his normal attentive self; boyishly charming with a hint of that almost overwhelming adoration that still left Padmé both restive and flustered at once, and she had to admit to herself, just a trifle . . . uneasy at times. But when she’d reluctantly been forced to admit, under his barrage of eager questions, that due to a last minute early morning meeting the next day she would have to return to her apartments alone, all of his happy playfulness evaporated. From then on, no matter how hard she tried to placate him, then to cajole him out of from his somber mood and steer the conversation to other topics, the odd undercurrent born upon delivering the unwelcome news never dissipated; instead it continued to simmer just below the surface like a pot on the verge of boiling. Now, instead of feeling relaxed and content in the company of her husband, she felt inexplicably edgy, as if she were constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. The overall atmosphere was very like anticipating the scrape of sharp nails on an old fashioned board of chalk, something she had hated as a child.

As the last plate of half eaten food was finally cleared away, Anakin turned to a new tactic, trying to pin her down on the details of their next assignation. The more he pressed for information she was unable to give him, the more agitated and distracted she became. Padmé took a large gulp of her wine to quell her irritation and guilt, and was surprised to realize she’d finished another glass. She was even more surprised when she realized she couldn’t summon to mind the number of times it had been refilled. Her surroundings were taking on a dream like quality, almost as if things were beginning to move in slow motion, a sure indication that she had already consumed too much wine.

A worried frown pursed her lips. Inebriation was no state to be in if she was going to be dealing with Anakin in one of his moods.

“This was supposed to be our night together, Padmé. We haven’t been alone together for a month and I’m tired of having to schedule an appointment just so I can see my wife across a desk.”

“There was nothing I could do, the meeting was set up by the Chancellor’s office, I told you . . .” Padmé began, frustration at having to repeat herself yet again making her tone one of exaggerated patience. But at her husband’s disgusted snort she swallowed the rest of her placating words knowing they would fall on deaf ears.

“If not tonight, then when? When is this mythical night going to materialize? Do you think you can squeeze us in between a committee meeting and a Senate session two months from next Coruscant Day?” Despite the unfairness of the accusation, guilt suffused Padmé’s face and she wasn’t quick enough in ducking her head to stop him from seeing the effect his words had on her.

Across the table Anakin could barely contain his impatience and irritation. Most of it centered on the fact that he was finally realizing how right Padmé had been that night on Naboo when she had predicted how difficult living a lie would prove. There was nothing he wanted more than to shout to all who could hear that he and Padmé were in love and married. The fact that he couldn’t do any such thing ate away at him every second of every day.

Damn the Jedi and the Naboo government and their unreasonable expectations, and damn every second Padmé’s duties took her away from him, he thought to himself, and not for the first time. The burning hole in his stomach told him it was far from the last.

To make matters worse he’d come out tonight with the idea that they would be sharing far more than a meal; Force knew he’d been thinking about it ever since they’d arranged this rendezvous through their elaborate network of HoloNet message boxes. In fact he’d been thinking about it so much he’d actually lost to Obi Wan at saber practice that morning. It had proved impossible to give his full attention to a sparring match when all he could concentrate on was what he was going to do when he bedded Padmé after more than a month of enforced abstinence; these past weeks apart courtesy of their hectic schedules and the ever mounting conflict between the Separatists and Republican forces.

Anakin gave an inward wince at the memory of the humiliating defeat and the subsequent dressing down he’d received for his inattention. But how in the seven hells was he supposed to focus on Obi Wan when he was wrapped up in the memories of Padmé’s sighs caressing his ears or the way he could reduce her to incoherent mutters and breathless pleas with his hands and mouth? He was a man, not a droid! Besting his Master simply could not compete with the deep satisfaction he received from succeeding in making Padmé forget about another infernal meeting or the work piling up on her desk. He’d become quite adept at his methods of persuasion if he did say so himself.

The smug smile threatening to spread across his face never materialized however, as Padmé’s disappointing news echoed anew in his head like an unwanted lecture from his mentor. It really wasn’t fair. Finding that both his embarrassing defeat at the Temple and his racy day dreams had been for naught was a very bitter blow.

Very bitter.

Duty, responsibility, meetings, senatorial committees . . . Gods, he was sick to death of hearing about them. What was worse, he was beginning to suspect that Padmé didn’t suffer from their time apart nearly as much as he did. Hurt and desire welled inside, warring together like old enemies too stubborn to let their knowledge of the inevitable outcome stop the carnage.

Marriage was supposed to end the long nights of longing for the one you loved. In his case though, it seemed to have just made it worse. There were even times when he thought he might prefer to be called to the frontlines just so he could concentrate on something besides what he couldn’t have. Better to be able to fight and work off the incessant tension than sit and wallow in forced celibacy, unable to touch or taste the tempting fruit so close at hand.

Anakin’s gaze automatically dropped to the black mid-riff baring outfit that clung so lovingly to his wife’s curves. He’d been adamant on Padmé wearing that particular style of dress so she would blend in with the crowds who inhabited the lower levels. She’d resisted at first but in the end she’d given in, acknowledging reluctantly that he knew the district they would be going into far better than she ever would.

It was what passed for summer on Coruscant and Padmé’s outfit was completely in keeping with the manner of attire the women wore once one left the more genteel and lofty areas of Coruscant. His eyes followed the sweep of curls pulled back from her face and the way the heavy mass tumbled about her shoulders before dropping back to the outfit which had produced such a disapproving frown from Dormé as she had helped Padmé dress.

The ink black material looped the nape of the neck, crisscrossing over her breasts in a plunging V before wrapping around her back with just a thin strap securing it in place. This left almost the entire length of her elegant back, her arms, and a fair bit of her toned abdomen bare, though her long curls served to screen some of the exposed flesh. Hidden from view by the table was the rest of the ensemble, a matching skirt worn snug across her slender hips and held in place by a silver belt. The thick metal and silk braid served as the only decoration to the otherwise severe outfit. As was the fashion, the skirt’s hem skimmed the ground but there were several nearly thigh-high slits that revealed tantalizing glimpses of silk clad leg when she moved.

Anakin grimaced, shifting in his chair as his frustration became more uncomfortable. If she thought the evening was going to end with a chaste kiss goodnight and then with him watching her walk away like the supposedly good little Jedi protector he was being forced to pretend to be then she was badly mistaken. In the meantime, maybe another drink would help ease the hunger and longing coursing through him like a raging fire.

Long fingers wrapped around the mug and Padmé’s eyes tracked the glass’ progress up to Anakin’s lips, watching as he tilted his head back and exposed the length of his tanned throat. Her gaze locked on the corded muscles as they worked sinuously to draw the rest of the amber liquid down in one long pull. She didn’t realize she was still staring until the sound of the mug hitting the table broke into her thoughts.

“You haven’t answered my question. When can we be alone?” Anakin asked again, his voice husky in the stale, smoky air.

“We are alone.” Her reply was automatic. She hadn’t missed the way his heated eyes had swept her figure earlier. The quivers of desire his gaze had stroked were still darting just below her skin like tiny surface tremors.

An incredulous expression flickered across her husband’s face seconds before he began making a great show of craning his neck around to check out the other restaurant customers to disprove her claim.

Padmé bit back an exasperated retort. Of course she knew that wasn’t what he meant, knew that he didn’t consider their time together in a third rate restaurant as being alone. But what else had he expected? Padmé asked herself irritably. Anakin simply didn’t appreciate how difficult setting up this evening out had been. And gods knew they had been lucky to get even this much. The lengths she’d had to go to rearrange her schedule had resulted in her stepping on quite a few toes, including those of her staff and the viceroy of Alderaan, Bail Organa himself. She could only hope Bail would accept her personal apologies when she next saw him.
Lying to cover lies, she thought dismally. I am turning into someone I no longer recognize.

“Well, I don’t think the rest of the patrons would exactly agree.” Anakin said, breaking into her reverie, a gleam of wicked speculation in his eyes. “But knowing this crowd’s tastes I’m sure they wouldn’t object to a show. This table’s a bit hard though. There’s an empty booth over there, the padded seats would probably be a bit more comfortable.”

Padmé’s cheeks flushed pink at Anakin’s unexpected lascivious suggestion. Seconds later the flush turned to a bright red when an unexpected Force aided image flashed through her mind. An erotic vision of just what they would look like in the booth with her straddling Anakin as he guided her hips up and down, her dress half off her body, back arched, Anakin’s mouth lowered to her breast…

“Anakin!” She gasped, half in shock and half in . . . what? Desire, her inner voice taunted knowingly, excitement? No! Thinking that was dangerous and stupid. They were out for dinner and that’s all it could be. They certainly couldn’t go to the Temple or her official apartment, not with the junior delegate from Naboo visiting, and checking into a spaceport hotel, even an inexpensive one, was out of the question. Letting him continue in this manner would lead to frustration and hurt feelings. It had happened before. Memories of times past jerked her out of her muddled state but it proved a temporary reprieve.

“I guess that’s a ‘no’ then? Sorry I forgot. We mustn’t sully that pristine image of yours, after all.” Anakin drawled, making decency and common sense sound like character flaws. His voice suddenly dropped, turning several degrees warmer. “I bet I could make you forget all about those things.”

The words purred out of him, charging the thick air between them with a current of something foreboding and electric. The boyish Padawan was gone; in his place was someone she didn’t recognize. With a flash of understanding she realized she was seeing the face of the future, the face Anakin would wear after he had been hardened by battle and death, after he lost what little innocence he still possessed. It was a face forged by tragedy and it was both frightening and disturbingly beautiful.

Anakin was finding a strange freedom at the bottom of his glass. The effects of the alcohol buzzed through him, warming the blood in his veins and loosening his inhibitions. The door in the very back of his mind, the one he normally kept closed out of fear of what would be set loose, had come ajar, and now it was slowly sliding open to let fly the impulses normally held in check by years of Jedi teachings. He felt as if he’d been caged and was suddenly set free. He felt – liberated.

“Let me make you forget, Padmé.” He commanded in a voice filled with sweet temptation.

Gods, thought Padmé. Where had he learned to talk like that?

Yet for all the heady promise there was something dangerous lurking in his tone.

Mouth completely dry, no pithy comebacks sprung to mind, no witty repartee appeared to counter the seductive spell his last words wove in her head. All she could do was meet his blue gaze with a mesmerized fascination that held her riveted to her seat. Vaguely she was aware that something most unusual was happening but her alcohol addled mind simply refused to correlate the information it was being fed.

As his hot eyes continued to feast on her, Padmé’s heart turned over in her chest with a hard thump and a frisson of something akin to fear trembled through her. But beneath the fear was the want, the all consuming need, the very hunger that Anakin always managed to inspire. Her hands were starting to shake so much she had to hide them in her lap. Either she wasn’t fast enough or he was just that confident because an arrogant smile spread across his face at her hasty act. A heavy languor began to spread through her limbs and a familiar ache started up between her thighs.

Not good.

This wasn’t the Anakin she knew. This wasn’t the Anakin who had backed off when she had turned him down on Naboo or acted so surprised when she finally admitted that she loved him. This was the Anakin who had flirted with her in front of his Master and her entourage, the Anakin who had dared to first suggest they live a lie. This was the Anakin who had devoured her with his eyes in her bedroom as she had packed, not caring that Dormé stood less than ten meters away. It was at times like these when she was reminded there were sides to Anakin she didn’t really know; depths that remained hidden like dangerous reefs beneath the oft deceptive surface of an ocean.

“Well, if it works.” His eyes so serious, his expression hard and chilling before he broke into a teasing grin that brought back the warmth and light to his boyishly handsome features.

Padmé started as another ale was set down with a flourish in front of Anakin, shattering the memory of that day in the meadow.

She stared stupidly at the full glass of the frothing beverage. How many had Anakin had exactly? But she’d lost count just as she could no longer remember how many glasses of wine she had consumed. Even as she dimly tried to think back, her husband nodded at some unheard question from the server and, before she could protest, her wine glass was topped off with the rough vintage offered by the house.

Waiting until the server had moved away and they wouldn’t be overheard, Padmé took a deep breath and tried to push aside her growing trepidation both at the turn of the conversation and her worry at what the affect of too much alcohol would have on Anakin’s already aggravated mood. Scrambling to turn the conversation back to what she thought were safer grounds, she unwisely trod on quicksand.

“I’m truly sorry tonight could not be more.” She said, her small hand reaching out to rest atop his in what she hoped he would take as a conciliatory gesture.

“Are you?” Anakin stared at the delicate fingers as they gently stroked the back of his hand, so white against his tanned skin.

“What?”

“Are you really sorry? Sometimes I get the feeling that you don’t mind our separations all that much.”

“How can you say that?” Dismay flooded her features and she snatched her hand back as if burnt. “Ani…” She began only to be interrupted.

“Anakin.” A muscle worked in his jaw.

“I don't understand.”

“Ani was my slave name, and I’ve asked you not to call me that before.”

Padmé’s mouth dropped open and then just as hastily closed again. It was true he had said that at some point in the past but then later he hadn’t seemed to mind. What was wrong with him tonight?

“You're not making any sense." She exclaimed with a bewildered shake of her head. "I don’t know how to talk to you when you’re like this. I don’t know what you want from me.”

Lips formed a crooked smile as Anakin carefully set his glass down. For a long moment he didn’t do or say anything, and then he leaned forward and beckoned her to do the same.

Padmé leaned in, placing her forearms on the table for balance when the room tilted slightly beneath her. She didn’t understand what he was doing, the restaurant’s trade was no longer slow and all the tables were now filled so she doubted they would be overheard. On the other hand, if he was going to make more suggestions like the one about the booth then perhaps it was better that he whisper it to her!

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Anakin’s hands came down on top of hers and then slid up her bent arms, trapping her in her forward leaning position, half in, half out of her seat. The table was small but she wasn’t a tall girl and the position was awkward for her. For a moment she worried what the other diners must be thinking. But a quick glance around the dimly lit room confirmed that no one was paying them a bit of attention, the other patrons being far too engrossed in their own conversations or meals to care about the goings on of some anonymous couple.

Anakin drew closer until they were nose to nose. The low light turned his eyes a darker blue, reminding her of the reflecting pools back home on Naboo. She lost herself in their swirling depths as the wine flowing through her began to slowly spin the room. Warm puffs of ale scented breath brushed her cheek as the sounds of the restaurant faded into the background. They existed in a bubble all their own, time out of mind.

“What I want is for you to forget.” Anakin whispered. “Forget about your meetings, your responsibilities – the blasted Senate. For once, let go of it all and let me have control.”

Later she replayed those words over and over in her head but never could she recapture the sensuality and danger they invoked when they came from her husband. Watching her lips form the words in front of her dressing mirror, she would wonder why they came out so flat and lifeless when Anakin was able to instill them with such erotic mystery. What magic did Anakin possess? She wondered. Why did he hold such power over her?

Padmé’s heart slammed violently against her ribcage. There in the restaurant the world spun away into nothing and her ability to breathe was stolen. Arousal and fear vied with each other as desire buzzed through her veins at his tone of honeyed sexual promise. While at the same time the niggling misgivings of the repercussions of conceding control to another flooded through her. And Anakin knew it, damn him. Even if her uncharacteristic fidgeting and crumbling composure weren’t signs enough, through the Force he could sense her unease and deep seated fear of submitting fully to another as easily as he could read a flashing marquee in the theater district. There was a price to be paid when you loved a Jedi.

Smoky blue eyes glittered arrogantly. Padmé’s eyes widened in sudden self–revelation; her burst of panic and mounting apprehension were actually exciting him!

She was still trying to mentally grapple with that discovery when Anakin’s lips brushed her cheek, his breath stirring the soft tendrils of her hair as he uttered the coup de grace. “It’s going to happen, Padmé. You just won’t know when.”

He drew back as if to measure the effect of his words and the warm smell of ale filled her senses again. Padmé took in the smile on his face and caught the elusive shadow hovering there. It was the alcohol, it had to be. Her insides twisting and rolling, she grabbed onto what she hoped was the logical reason for Anakin’s behavior. She pulled abruptly away and was relieved when he made no further attempt to keep her imprisoned. Sitting back with the air of someone who had just escaped a sorry fate, she hastily signaled for the server while pushing her wine glass away as if she were afraid it would leap at her at any second. With dismay, Padmé realized that her hands were still shaking.

"We’re finished," she stated unsteadily. "No more for me and I-I think you’ve definitely had enough as well. We both need some fresh air and then I have to get back home before Dormé sends out the guards.”

It was an empty threat and both of them knew it. Dormé may have disapproved of the circumstances of their marriage but she trusted Anakin with her mistress’ life and would never risk betraying their secret unless she truly thought their lives were in danger of being forfeit. Being late from an evening out, especially when the recently wed couple had been apart for a month, would not set off any warning bells. Tonight would hardly be the first time Dormé would be dealing with Anakin’s stubbornness in returning Padmé home on time either.

Anakin nodded in somber agreement, surprising her with his sudden willingness to acquiesce to her demand. "You’re right. We probably should start back. We can walk for a bit and catch a shuttle further down.” At her suspicious look he added. “You wanted some fresh air remember? The walk will do us both good.”

The easy way he said it, the casual air he affected set off uneasy flutters in Padmé’s stomach. But she was trapped by her own excuse. Telling herself she was being ridiculous for feeling nervous with her own husband, she gave herself a mental shake but when their eyes met, her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth and she could only nod.

{It’s going to happen, Padmé. You just won’t know when}

Padmé stood up on wobbly legs, feeling absurdly shy under Anakin’s gaze. Once more she recalled that day in her bedroom, when she had told him not to look at her that way. Then, as now, his hot eyes roamed over her face and body with hungry appreciation, leaving her feeling decidedly vulnerable. Wherever they touched, heat penetrated her until the only escape was to move towards the exit as quickly as she could and out into the slightly fresher air of the city night.


TBC
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