Author's Note: Short, sweet little one shot for Anikin/Padmé, because, while listening to music, I was thoroughly inspired. Clearly this is somewhat AU. If you know the waltz that this is based off of, it may be good to listen to it before/during/after you read this, as the events correspond to the music. C: Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Opus 437

"Anakin, promise me you'll at least try to behave yourself tonight? This is an important mission."

"Yes, master."

Obi-Wan sighed heavily. Anakin was absolutely incorrigible, much to his dismay, and despite the simplicity of the mission, Obi-Wan just knew his former Padawan would find a way to blow the whole thing, or mess it up beyond salvageable repair.

"Anakin, I'm serious. We cannot afford to have this mission ruined." Aforementioned troublemaker quirked the corner of his lips.

"Who says I'm going to ruin it? I'm always on my best behaviour, master." Obi-Wan shot him a glare at that.

"Because you always mess up these easier missions, and because I know you too well. And for the last time, I'm not your master anymore; you don't have to call me that."

"Yes, master." Anakin grinned cheekily, as he ducked out of the way of elbow that was sent in his direction, straightening immediately, having forgot that he no longer was at the liberty to move as freely as he pleased. They had been assigned to monitor the Republic's annual ball that was held in the recesses of the Senate building, to make sure there were no assassination attempts or any other forms of chaos. And to ensure that they weren't detected, they had been forced into the stuffy outfits that all the pompous, self-righteous, arrogant, condescending –

"That's why you never trust a politician." Anakin flushed for a moment, embarrassed that his mentor had caught onto his train of thought. "Now come, we're here." Obi-Wan strode from the elevator, Anakin trailing behind him, cursing the ridiculous shoes he'd been forced into with every step. They were still boots, thank the Force for that, but they were outrageously decadent. He winced as the sequins caught the light – again – glittering manically. He cursed again. He glared ahead to his former mentor, wishing the training bond was still intact, if only so he could send him the full weight of his displeasure. Of course Obi-Wan had to have been on time for the briefing, of course he had to have gotten first choice at attire, and of course he chose the only pair of shoes that weren't completely absurd! He glared at the retreating form a last time before stopping and pulling himself up to full height. Obi-Wan had insisted that they split up once inside, as to avoid detection. And regardless of how much Anakin had begged not be left alone with the snobs of Coruscant, Obi-Wan had left anyways.

Sithspit.

He would be forced to spend the evening sulking by the refreshments table, watching as all the politicians and senators-

Padmé.

Grinning like an idiot, he threw open the doors to the ballroom, and strode in to the sound of trumpets blaring.

Instantly, his mind went blank, his senses overloading. The air carried the soft, delicate smell of spices and ladies' perfume, coupled with the musk of men's fragrances, the tantalizing sweets on the buffet table. Beneath the sweetness that polluted the air, the rich smell of the old architecture laid masked, hardly distinguishable, but adding a texture and depth to the environment nonetheless. The orchestra sat elevated, the colourful members dressed in various shades of exquisite finery. The music sank through his skin, ringing within his bones, the joyous fanfare of the brass accompanied by the dancing of the strings. The chandeliers overhead twinkled and sparkled with life, sending rays of light scattering around the ballroom floor and across the ornate golden arches, illuminating the murals painted on the ceilings and walls.

And the politicians...

The politicians...

Dresses and capes of every colour and fabric filled the air, swirling and twirling together in time, coated in jewels and riches that a boy from Tatooine would have never dreamed of in a million years. And that was just the politicians.

The senators, kings and queens were dressed in such finery, Anakin doubted their ability to walk straight, if move at all. All the gold, and diamonds, and all that silk! He decided he had never seen a dress bunched so far out. Gold, silver, ruby, diamond and infinite amounts of other jewels cascaded down the backs of the dresses and hung from the necklaces. Hairstyles more elaborate than Padmé had ever worn bunched on top of the heads of the royalty, the silken locks twirling wildly with the dance.

Anakin swallowed nervously, feeling his skin break into a cold sweat.

And then he saw her. And his world stopped.

A deep crimson, backless dress covered in bunching gold cords brought out the soft, creamy colour of her skin. The dark, normally unruly hair spilled freely down her shoulders in elegant curls, flowers woven within them.

Anakin would later swear that he hadn't stopped breathing, nor had his jaw hung open.

Coughing nervously to clear his throat, he strode over to her.

"It's a fine evening, isn't it, milady?" She turned quickly to face him, her startled expression quickly morphing into a teasing smile.

"It certainly is. It's quite a pity I don't have a partner to dance with, isn't it, milord?" A strange thrill shuddered down his spine as she spoke. Force, this woman... He turned to her, unable and unwilling to stop the large grin that spread over his features.

"A pity indeed. A pity that should be remedied." He gently took her hands in his. "May I have this dance?" A sly smile curved across soft pink lips, her eyes lighting up.

"I would be honoured."

He led her out to the dance floor, ignoring the curious looks from nearby politicians. Let them look, he scoffed. Nothing else matter. Padmé was here. With him. Upon reaching the centre of the floor, he settled one hand on her lower back, taking her hand in his other.

"I should believe that it's the man's job to lead the dance." She sniggered at the look of horror on his face. Anakin grimaced.

"The kind of dancing I normally do is much less refined than what you expect me to do, milady."

"Oh? You dance? I was unaware."

"As a matter of fact, I dance quite often. Except my dancing involves a lightsabre, and my partner doesn't often live to see the end of our number." Padmé threw back her head and laughed at that.

"I certainly hope that you're not going to try that style of dancing with me." He scowled at her, but quickly changed it into a dangerous smile.

"Oh no, the kind of dancing I want to try with you is much, much, more personal." He revelled in her shock and amusement.

"Oh, Anakin, I've missed you so." She sighed out, leaning her head against his shoulder. He tightened his grip on her waist.

"I never stop thinking of you."

The tempo of the waltz kicked up, and they were moving, gliding, spinning around the dance floor. No one else existed, just he and the woman of his dreams. Being this close, smelling the fragrance she was wearing, feeling the rush of her skin, the prickle of her hair... his head was spinning just as rapidly as they were.

She looked up at him, her eyes glittering with amusement, pink lips slightly parted. He couldn't take it anymore.

And so, with the Supreme Chancellor and his Jedi Master watching, he did the last thing he would have ever thought he would do in public.

He kissed her.

Thanks for reading!