A/N: I don't really know where I was going with this. It just sort of happened. The title says it all, really. Padmé is procrastinating with Anakin... and I am procrastinating with this instead of writing new chapters for my stories like I should be. So shoot me.
But. BUT! It's smutty. It's cute. And it's Anidala. What more could you want for a little filler fic to pass the time?
I hope this served as a little procrastination for you as well, because a healthy dose of time-wasting never hurt anyone, am I right?
He's such a child, Padmé muses as she works at her desk. There are five years separating her and her husband, and most of the time, she doesn't notice. Most of the time. It's when he does things like this, as he's currently doing, that Padmé once again realises that Anakin Skywalker is twenty. A restless, impatient, spontaneous twenty-year-old. A boy's soul hidden under the hardened exterior of a man. Of course, it's what she loves about him. He makes her feel alive, brings out a sort of childlike innocence that had been stripped from her when she was elected Queen. Padmé Amidala never had much opportunity to be a child, and most of the time she likes it.
That is. Most of the time.
But, right now, she wants to throttle him. In the most endearing sense of the word, of course. He's being annoying, fiddling with things on her desk, messing up the cushions on her leather couch, whistling loudly, pacing. He won't sit still. She's in half a mind to haul him out the window, because she just can't deal with this right now. There's a bill she's frantically trying to finish before the next Senate meeting, and all she can concentrate on is the insistent thud of Anakin's heavy boots against the wooden floors of her office.
He approaches her, stands behind her, and peers over her shoulder as she types. As much as she loves his presence, Padmé just wants him to leave her alone, because his breath is hot and heavy against her ear and it's distracting her. Trying to shut him out, she bites down on her lip and focuses her full attention on the screen in front of her, and she's quite pleased with herself, until she feels soft lips brush against the shell of her ear and she looses that precious concentration in an instant.
"Do you have to breathe so loud?" she groans.
He grins against her skin and she tries not to be affected when his lips press a delicate kiss at the base of her ear. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention, and the shudder shoots right down her spine. Gloved hands come up to rest on her shoulders, kneading out the tension, and she lets out an involuntary sigh of pleasure as he dusts her neck with another sweet kiss.
"You're tense," he informs her as his thumbs dig into a particularly tender spot between her shoulder blades, causing her mouth to fall open a little.
"Anakin..."
He shushes her, nose skimming along the back of her throat as his fingers work their magic, making her body easy and pliant for him. "You just worry about your work," he orders softly. "Let me take care of you."
She wants to protest, to tell him that she can't concentrate when he's making her feel so good, but instead, she nods and sucks her bottom lip further into her mouth, narrowing her eyes firmly. She's putty in his hands, muscles releasing easily under his tender affections. It's exactly what she needs. Her husband has wonderful hands and he definitely knows how to use them. Letting her eyes flutter closed, she rests her head back against him and releases a soft sigh of pleasure.
"Ani," she mouths his name. "That... that feels... you're so good at that."
The praise makes him laugh, a husky, sensual laugh that goes straight to her core and she clenches her thighs together underneath her skirt. His lips return to her skin, sliding wetly down the pale column of her neck, and suddenly, she feels the sleeve of her gown being pulled down just enough to bare her shoulder. Anakin suckles at the newly exposed skin with practiced attentiveness, making her emit these embarrassing, highly aroused gasps that seem to please him. Oh, he's good. He knows exactly the right spots which set her nerves alight, uses it to his advantage. Of it's own accord, her hand fists a hunk of his blond hair, keeping him where he is and Anakin nips her in response.
Then, as though she realises what is happening, she freezes against him, eyes snapping open, and sits up straight, pulling herself away from him. Her reaction causes Anakin to laugh again. He stops, though, when she fixes him with a firm glare. "Stop." His eyes flash dangerously, and the grin on his face informs her that he finds the whole thing extremely amusing. Which only serves to make her more annoyed. "I'm working."
Anakin shrugs. "I was just trying to help you relax." He winks at her. "You seemed to like it."
Padmé huffs immaturely. "Well, don't. How would you like it if I started doing... such things, while you were on a mission with Obi-Wan?"
"I'd feel sorry for Obi-Wan," he teased.
Rolling her eyes, she turns back to her screen and goes to start typing, but her brain is muffled and she can't even form words. All she can think about is her husband's wonderful hands and mouth. Damn you, Anakin Skywalker. Still, Padmé is a strong woman. She will not let herself fall victim to his advances so easily. He moves closer and she can feel the heat radiating from his body. His arms come around her and he nuzzles into her hair, inhaling deeply and she shudders. "You're ridiculous," she scolds him, her voice trembling with the desire she so easily feels for him, will always feel for him. It shames her to be so responsive to his advances, and he seems to notice, as he notices everything about her, and presses a line of soft kisses to the back of her throat.
He laughs darkly and it reverberates from his lips and down her spine, making her shiver. "I'll take what I can get, milady. If that means Obi-Wan must bear witness to our lovemaking, then so be it." It's times like this when Padmé believes her husband would make a better Senator. He definitely has a way with words... though his persuasion techniques would be rather inappropriate.
"You say lovemaking as though it's a certainty." Her breath trickles off when he cups her breast through her gown, tending to the nipple that hardens at his touch, chafes against her clothes in a delectably painful way.
"It is a certainty," he remarks, biting down on the soft flesh of her neck, making her gasp. Then, his mouth is at her ear again and he sucks her lobe into his succulent mouth, making her whimper. "I can feel you, my love. I know exactly what you're thinking."
The way he says it, all dark and husky makes her whimper softly. "Do you?" she muses, curving her lips into a smirk. "And what is it that I'm thinking, dear husband?"
His hand makes its descent down her chest, towards her skirt, circling his finger around the apex of her thighs, just above her aching clit and she undulates her hips into his touch instinctively. "You're weighing the risks of a senator coming in here and seeing me touching you," he growls, his voice vibrating against her skin in a delightfully sinful way. "Kissing you." And then, he hums and licks at her earlobe. "Fucking you."
It's hard for Padmé not to react. Her blood pulses loudly in her veins, her breath catches in her throat and she feels a trickle of warmth pool between her thighs at his words. Such vulgar words they are, though she has heard them before. Her husband is particularly vocal during their moments of passion together and she has certainly heard worse things spill from his lips. She makes a growl of irritation and chastises him with a curt, "language, Anakin," only to cover the fact that she actually loves it when he speaks like this. It turns her on.
He takes his hands off her and she feels a sense of victory that maybe, just maybe, he will let her continue on with her work in peace. It's short lived, because suddenly, he's wedged underneath her desk - how he managed to get in that position is beyond her but she has a feeling the Force was involved, and grins impishly up at her. His hands slide up underneath her skirts, caressing the skin of her thighs and he pulls them up over his head, blowing hotly on her moistened underclothes. She squirms. "Anakin! What are you doing?" Her hands push him away and she closes her legs instantly, eyes wide as she stares at him incredulously.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he retorts and his tongue snakes out to wet his lips and she's transfixed. Her husband is so sinfully beautiful it makes her physically ache.
"You can't," she protests, biting her lip. It's already red and raw. "Someone might come in here..." her voice trails off and she swallows thickly in embarrassment. A senator's office is never private. Oftentimes, she is interrupted by fellow senators wanting to speak with her, and none of them have the courtesy to knock before hand. If someone came in and saw Anakin here, doing this... she shudders at the consequences.
"No one can see me," he assures her. "It'll be like I'm not even here."
Padmé shakes her head insistently. She can't let herself get carried away like this. "Anakin..."
He presses a sweet kiss to the inside of her knee. "Relax, angel," he tells her. "I want to help you relax. It's my duty as your husband." The way he says it, all formal and serious, with that little mischievous twinkle in his eye makes her snort. He's so full of it.
"I thought you hated the word duty," she whispers, smirking at him. Duty is the one thing that Anakin loathes more than anything, because it is the one thing that keeps them apart. His duty to the Jedi Order. Her duty to the Republic. He's often told her that sometimes he would throw it all away if she asked it of him, and Padmé has been tempted, certainly, but she knows she could never ask such a thing of him. Being a Jedi is what makes Anakin who he is. Who is she to take that away from him?
"This is a duty I'd gladly undertake any day... milady," he responds, his voice dark and rough and so irresistible that it's a wonder Padmé has held it together at this point. She's actually a little pleased with herself. A weaker woman would have succumbed to Anakin's skilled advances long ago.
He doesn't even give her a chance to respond, before she feels the press of his tongue against her underclothes. He laps at her over the fabric, dragging the flat of his tongue broadly over her lips before tracing her clit with the tip. Any words of protest she had begun to say were stuck in her throat, and her eyes flutter. "Oh," she gasps breathily, looking down at him. It's a little disappointing to see his head bundled underneath her skirt, she wants to tug his hair and see his incredibly blue eyes on hers as he licks her, like he often does. But when he hooks his fingers underneath her underclothes and deftly pulls them down her hips, until they pool at her ankles, she can't complain, because one of his long fingers is suddenly inside her, and his tongue is back on her clit and it's heaven.
Until it's not. Just as she's really getting into it, letting her thoughts cloud over at her husband's talented mouth, he stops. It's cruel, really, the way he removes his finger and peeks his head out from beneath her skirts, eyes flashing dangerously. Padmé whines in admonition, bucking her hips as a silent plea to continue his exploration of her. Anakin, however, seems to have other ideas, and simply smooths his hands over the flesh of her thighs in a gentle, soothing way. Padmé doesn't want gentle. She wants passion and fire and bruises and sweat. She wants to scream his name.
"You stopped," she glares at him, a little pout forming on her lips.
"You're not working," he informs her slyly.
She gapes at him. "Y-you can't expect me to..." she stammers, incredulous that he could even suggest such a thing. "When you're doing that...?"
Anakin shrugs and goes to stand up. "Fine. If you don't want it, then I'll just go."
Padmé growls. This is not fair. Aggressively, she balls her fists into his Jedi robes and pulls him down to her, so his forehead is pressed against hers. "Don't you dare leave, Anakin," she hisses at him. The last thing she sees before he crushes his mouth to hers is that irritating little smirk of his. He attacks her mouth, forcing his tongue between her lips, tasting her, plundering the warmth he finds there and Padmé is helpless against him. She lets her tongue dance with his, lets her fingers twirl into the dark blond curls that frame his face, so much longer than when she last saw him, but she loves them just as much. Mewling into his mouth, she gives his head a little push, encouraging her husband to resume his position under her desk and he grins in compliance.
He massages her inner thighs, causing her to squirm and twitch into his touch. "Remember, senator," he begins, all formal and pompous and ridiculous. "The faster you finish your work, the faster I'll let you finish." The words drip with lust and Padmé sighs heavily, tilting her head back when she feels his mouth against her throbbing sex. "Padmé..." he encourages with a nip at her thigh. "Work."
She nods her head vaguely and narrows her eyes in deep concentration as she resumes her typing. It's hard though, oh it's so fucking hard to concentrate on anything when he's tracing her clit with his tongue. Padmé can barely keep her breathing under control as she forces herself to type, her fingers press the buttons in time with the jolting of her hips over Anakin's mouth. When he laughs against her sex, the vibrations are almost too much and she clenches her thighs around his head, teeth sinking so deep into her lip that beads of blood rise to the surface. Desperately, she tries to concentrate on the pain, instead of the pleasure, because she doesn't want to give Anakin the satisfaction of coming.
He knows what he's doing though, and part of Padmé wonders if her husband is the Sith the Jedi have been looking for, because he's so utterly cruel in his ministrations; slowly bringing her closer to the edge and just before she topples over, he pulls back, leaving her dangling precariously in some sort of limbo that only makes her moan in frustration. And yet, the slow torture seems to work to some extent; she is so desperate for release that she types faster than she's ever thought possible, knowing that the sooner she finishes, the sooner Anakin with relieve her torment.
Just as she signs off her document with a satisfied cry, because she knows her husband will finally give her what she wants, needs, Bail Organa barges into her office. The sight of him makes her gasp a little, combined with the curling of Anakin's fingers inside her slick sex.
"Senator Organa," she greets in the most normal voice she can muster, but it still sounds like a breathy squeak in her ears. She sneaks her hand under the desk to grip her husband's hair in warning that they have company and wonders if she looks as flushed as she feels, whether her fellow senator and friend can tell that she has a Jedi between her legs, doing things to her that Jedi are forbidden to do.
"Senator Amidala," Bail nods and hurriedly approaches the desk, taking a seat opposite her. Padmé can feel Anakin grinning against her and he takes this opportunity to suck harshly on her clit, causing her to grit her teeth as she tries to maintain her composure. If anyone caught them, the consequences would be severe. Anakin knows this as well as she, but he's always had a attraction to bending the rules, seeing how far he had push them until they break. "Senator Burtoni has requested the meeting be moved forward. It will be in an hour."
Her eyes widen. "An hour?" she gasps in astonishment. "That's absurd! I've barely had time to practice my speech." Her voice hitches and breaks off in a sort of high-pitched squeal as her husband roughly strokes that spot, deep inside her. Organa looks at her strangely, his head tilted to the side, and Padmé feels her cheeks flush with heat.
"Are you alright, Senator?" he asked in friendly concern.
Nodding her head, she flashes him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine. Just a little stressed, that's all." The lie slides off her tongue so easily she almost laughs.
The Alderaani senator smiles kindly at her. "You are an excellent speaker, Padmé," he tells her. "Do not be nervous. I'm sure you will bring many people to our cause."
She nods along blindly, not really paying attention, because Anakin is pumping steadily in and out of her and nibbling on her lips, once again drawing her closer and closer to release and it's all she can do not to whine. "Thank you, Bail," she manages to reply in a semi-normal tone, squeezing her legs hard around Anakin's head to tell him to stop.
Organa bows his head and goes to leave. "Well, I will leave you to your work. See you in the meeting, Senator."
Once he is gone, Padmé lets out a heavy sigh and pulls back her skirt to expose Anakin, who grins wildly at her. Taking a fistful of his hair in her hands, she brings him forcefully up to her, staring deep into his eyes. "You thought that was funny, did you?" she growls at him. "I told you someone might come in here, Anakin. I told you - "
"He didn't know," Anakin shrugged with a smirk and bent to brush his lips against hers.
Padmé glowered at him. "You have exactly five seconds to get your clothes off and finish what you started, Master Jedi," she threatens, the dull ache between her legs too much to bear.
Anakin's eyes flash with hunger. "Is that an order, milady?"
Her hands fly to the laces of his trousers, fumbling with them, purposefully rubbing over his hardening erection and she grins slyly. She leans forward, so her breath washes over him and draws his hips as close to hers as the position allows. "Absolutely."