.
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There's hardly been an occasion to drink herself silly. Not since being Queen at fourteen years old.
Naboo and its governed, esteemed individuals believed that young women were far too rational and educated to act carelessly and to put anyone, including themselves, into an extremely vulnerable position.
Padme hopes this is true. She has no immediate recollection of the Festival of Light after dusk, save for the matter of too much scentwine — purplish in quality and strong with its bright, floral aroma. Bare and thick grass against Padme's naked toes. An ensemble of laughter, far in the distance and joyous. Sabe's dark brown eyes on her, moist with unshed tears and full of the heavenly glimmer of the universe.
Sabe — the first woman Padme ever shared a kiss with. They had been so young, green as goblin moss while still training to be the Naboo Royal Handmaidens. She chased a laughing, bright-faced Sabe into one of the lone and dirtied corridors, pinning her to a wall and staring deeply, longingly into her eyes.
The skin on their palms had been smooth as the surface of a neutron star, their fingers locking down. Padme initiated the kiss, furrowing her brow and touching their spit-sticky mouths together. She gasped out when Sabe's lips quickly opened against hers, her tongue curiously prodding over the fleshy, pink-flushed seam. Padme doubts they truly knew what they were doing right then, clumsy and reckless as girls.
Padme's skull throbs. Far too much warm and white sunlight hazes into the royal bedchambers.
She wakes sluggishly to the odor of freshly brewed caf and various perfumes and sweat. Sache notices, and yet draws no attention to either of them, quietly stroking over Padme's temple and her forehead. The silken, round cushions feel cool and lightweight. Padme swallows down a moan, when Yane croaks out a loud, boisterous laugh. Yane's thin chapped lips puff out a twist of pale lavender, noxious smoke.
"By all of the holy stars, you are a brat," Rabe snaps, grabbing the cigarra and tossing it. More laughter. All of her handmaidens appear to be without their garments, cozily stretching out on the bed and on each other. Eirtae leans over to rub Yane's back, gently mouthing a line over her neck and smirking at Rabe.
Yane coos out, lifting her arms to thread her fingers into her own hair and fluttering her eyelashes. It earns an huffing noise and an eye-roll from Rabe, but the sterner and tan-skinned woman comes forward.
No one has ever been a more precise markswoman than Rabe, to Padme's memory. She's more durasteel than ice, and Yane has plenty of wildfire inside her, to melt her down and soften Rabe's walls built so high and so solid. A groan of ecstasy rips out of Yane, when Eirtae's hand locates her mound and Rabe's face presses down. She braces herself and folds her legs around Rabe's head, arching backwards into Eirtae.
Eirtae is seemingly paler than the others, with tiny, rosebud breasts. Her golden blonde hair like star-shine, and her blue eyes are clear as Naboo's waters. She's never without smiling, at the women, at Padme, eager to please her and groom her, begging for the mutual affection given from Padme's handmaidens.
Sache observes, as she has done since Padme has known her, her expression solemn and pensive. Her thumb massages over Padme's cheek until the Queen adjusts herself, sleepily taking the digit past her lips and teeth. She nibbles and grazes tenderly on Sache's thumb tasting like a hint of sweethoney and linen. The other woman shudder-exhales, her chest heaving, gazing down on Padme with a feverishly admiring stare.
That's when Padme feels someone else pry her away with careful intentions, holding her nakedness to themselves. "Good morning, my Queen," Sabe whispers, rasping into Padme's ear and breathing hotly.
Every inch of Sabe feels supple and heated against the drowsiness. Familiar.
Padme mewls out a low, surprised sound when Sabe's forefinger travels over her hip, etching her shape, running over her inner thigh and kneading. Sache joins her, wordlessly raising one of Padme's knees and petting her, helping her feel calm.
"There's tea and flatcakes with galactic fruit, left by the servants." Sabe's voice rasps again in Padme's ear, calmly, her mouth touching briefly over Padme's mouth, and then her earlobe, nibbling down slowly. Padme thinks hazily she can still taste the pickled egg and yogurt from last night's meal, when Sache bends over, kissing Padme deeply. "Rabe and Sache already took the egg omelets."
"Bumblefluff," Rabe mutters, wiping off her features with a wrist and crawling towards them.
"Forgive me," Sabe corrects herself, tonelessly. "It was mostly Rabe."
A soft, clapping smack lands on Sabe's upper arm. Padme tries to laugh along with her handmaidens, rosy and luminous in the sunlight. She moans and jolts away, her skull throbbing all-over harder than before.
They tut and fuss, hovering over Padme until she's sheltered into the hot, comfortable darkness.
Where passion and cherishing words are not feared.
Regretted.
Once they're more alert, Padme will escort Sabe into the Palace Courtyard and ask her why. Why she cried. Cried so beautifully and dismally, when they were by themselves in a field of green and lighted skies. When celebrations outweighed their sorrows, their thoughts rooted in farewells and journeys to come.
For now, silence and this embrace from all of her handmaidens will be enough for Padme's aches.
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Star Wars isn't mine. It's finally time to de-anon for the Star Wars Rarepair Exchange! I ended up making a little something for anaraine on AO3 based off their Padme/her handmaidens idea from a request list. I've tried writing this exact ship before and loved it so I'm glad to do a brand new fic! WHO DOESN'T LOVE FEMSLASH? There's not enough femslash in my fandoms and in general so I hope you guys really enjoy this and please yes any thoughts/comments are welcomed!