AN: Thank you to pusuitoftappiness for the quick beta! This story is #49, and I promise that #50 will be The Empire Gang Strikes Back!
The Coruscanti Grand Ballroom was done up once again for another party. There were so many of them around election time that Bail lost track. All he knew was: Senatorial Robes, glad-hand for an hour or so, try not to miss his wife too much when the dancing began, and slip out early to call her before it got too late.
Bail swayed slightly to the music, looking out the large windows over the nightscape. The song ended, and the band quickly struck up another tune—Bail recognized it easily. It was their song: his and Breha's. He hadn't heard it since he'd last been home. It had been Breha's birthday-and he'd returned to Alderaan for the little party they'd arranged. It had been the last song they'd danced to before walking down to the landing pad so he could make the flight back to Coruscant overnight.
Had it really been three months since he'd seen her? Three months since he'd held her in his arms? They spoke nearly every day, which helped to ease the separation, but there was nothing quite like her soft hand in his, foreheads together as they danced to the simple waltz. He closed his eyes and allowed the memory to sweep him away.
His left hand was at her waist, his arm encircling her and holding her close. His right hand was raised, palm turned up, holding her hand aloft. His feet shuffled, first to the right, then to the left, and then a slight rotation that would tip Breha back ever so slightly. She always loved that part of the dance, and Bail loved the sweet giggle the step would elicit from her.
Next was a reverse spin of 180 degrees, and then they'd repeat the first part all over again. Bail walked through the steps on his own, imagining Breha there with him.
He could almost feel the swish of her long gown across the tips of his shoes, hear her musical laughter.
"I do so love this dance," Breha whispered. It was like she was here with him, like he was hearing her voice.
"And I do so love to dance with you," Bail flirted back.
A soft hand-a real hand-slipped into his and his eyes shot open: his wife stood before him, grinning mischievously.
"And I do so love you," Breha replied. Bail couldn't help the beaming smile that grew over his face.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Ah—we must finish this dance first," she stated regally.
Bail bowed his head. "As you wish, my queen."
Her forehead fell to his and they resumed the steps, enjoying for the moment the pure pleasure of physical contact at long last.
While the rest of the ballroom applauded the musicians, Bail drew his wife forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Where were we—oh, yes. Surprise," Breha teased.
"And what a surprise indeed. I've missed you terribly," Bail admitted.
"As have I. My schedule was surprisingly light for a few days, so I postponed or pushed up or canceled what was left, and now you have me for 36 standard hours."
"I will gladly take every moment I can. Now, queen of my heart, can I interest you in another dance?"
Breha pretended to ponder the question for a moment. "One more dance, and then I'd like to go somewhere we can kiss properly."
"I pray the dance is short," Bail said with a wink.
00
Bail knew his apartment wouldn't be the haven of solitude he and Breha so wished for, but they had little choice but to return there after their second dance. When he was staying there by himself, only his aid, Jules, and a security guard were ever around. Breha, however, was required to travel with a few more people. Her personal aid, Mirnora, would no doubt be there, as would the women who took care of her wardrobe, as well as Carlist and the rest of her security and flight teams.
They were all present when Bail opened the door, just as he suspected. Mirnora immediately had things to tell Breha, and her wardrobe team began to herd her toward the bedroom and the empty walk-in-closet that Bail saved just for visits like this. Reaching for her hand, Bail pulled Breha in for a quick kiss before she was taken away.
Jules helped Bail hang his robes and filled him in on the important headlines of the evening.
Bail stepped into the bedroom to tidy up his discarded socks and sighed contentedly when he saw Breha's black and gold gown hanging from the peg outside her closet.
"I put a bottle of wine in the chiller when the Queen's entourage arrived, sir."
"Good man," Bail praised, tucking his feet into his house slippers. Bail followed Jules out into the main room of the apartment, surprised to find it empty, save Breha and Carlist.
"Jules and the rest of the staff are sleeping at the consulate tonight. I'll be in the security booth if you need anything," Carlist explained. Bail shook his head in disbelief.
"Was this your idea?" he asked Breha, who was sitting primly at the counter in her robe.
"Indeed. I'm trying my best to get you alone," she teased, fluttering her eyelids.
"Come, Jules. That's our cue," Carlist chuckled, heading toward the foyer and the apartment's security booth.
"Alone at last," Bail whispered after the door had slid closed and locked with a click. He leaned against the edge of the counter and drank in the sight of her.
Breha was always beautiful to him—it didn't matter if she was in a ball gown or the canvas smock she wore to tend her garden, her head adorned in jewels, braids, or simply the light of the moon. But this Breha, the one who sat on a stool wearing nothing but a chiffon robe, her hair unbound and streaming down her back…this Breha was his Breha, and his Breha only, and somehow, that made it all the more special.
She crossed her legs: a move that seemed casual, but he knew was all for show - all for him, as her chiffon robe split up the middle and her bare legs appeared. This was a sort of game they often played when they were together, meant to foster anticipation. Who could hold out the longest? Who had more self-control?
Bail began a casual walk toward the chiller, carefully selecting two glasses on the way.
"Wine?"
"Please," Breha replied, turning to face him. He poured out two glasses and came to stand dangerously close to her: sharing space, sharing breath, but not touching.
"To…solitude," he murmured, passing her one of the glasses. She took it and touched the rim of her glass to his before taking a sip.
"Delightful," she whispered, leaning the slightest bit forward.
Her hair fell over her shoulder and Bail finally broke, reaching up to run the fingers of his free hand through the midnight tresses. Breha leaned into his caress, always appreciating the ministrations after a long day of wearing her hair tightly bound and set with crystals.
They both leaned forward at the same time and met in the middle for the kiss they'd been denied all evening.
"We should drink a bit more of this wine before we forget about it," Breha teased, turning toward the counter and her glass. Bail happily followed, taking a drink of his own glass before wrapping her up in an embrace from behind. Breha sipped the wine as Bail nuzzled her neck, kissing his way from her cheek to her collarbone and back.
"You know," he whispered into her skin, "I've never had the pleasure of helping you disrobe after a ball."
"And you feel that you have been wronged in this way?" Breha asked regally.
"Yes, my queen."
"You've brought your grievance to the right place, my good man. Perhaps I could talk to my designer about a simpler gown…one that wouldn't take extra hands to help me out of."
"Just two extra hands," Bail reminded, squeezing her sides.
"Ah, yes…I'll speak with her just as soon as I arrive on Alderaan. In the meantime, however…I know you've helped me out of this robe many times, but do you think you can bear to do it just once more?"
"I'm sure I can arrange that."
AN: 'tis a sin to read and not review!