'Tell me, Anakin, does your sweet, little wife ever wonder where you are when you spend the night here?'
The question dumbfounds him momentarily as he blinks at the older man in the darkness.
'She thinks I'm at the Jedi Temple, of course,' he finally answers, rolling away from him, sitting up at the side of the bed.
'So you are indeed capable of reading her thoughts?' Palpatine's tone, so light and unassuming, belying the intent behind his words.
'Of course not,' Anakin says, glowering in the dark. He reaches down for his discarded sleep pants.
Palpatine watches with appreciation as the young man stands to pull the pants up over his muscular behind. A tendril of desire alights in his breast, still unexpected, even now, even after everything that has transpired between them.
Anakin moves over to the window, stares at the passing night time air traffic. Coruscant truly never sleeps. He briefly wonders if Padmé is asleep in their bed before pushing the thought from his mind.
'And the Jedi? Where do they think you are?' Palpatine continues his slick needling. The city lights reflect blue along Anakin's shoulders, his jaw. Palpatine sees the latter flex in obvious aggravation.
'They don't have a fucking clue,' is the sullen response.
Palpatine smiles, enjoying himself immensely as he rolls out of the bed to join Anakin. His sudden proximity causes the younger man's skin to tingle with anticipation.
'Not even your precious Master Kenobi?' he asks, winding his arms about Anakin's waist from behind.
'He's the blindest of the lot,' Anakin replies with a sneer, relishing his own bitterness and the justification it provides.
Palpatine smiles even wider at this as he slips a single finger into the waistband of Anakin's sleep pants. 'Their love for you blinds them.'
'Who? The Order?' Anakin snorts. 'Not likely.'
'No, not the Order,' Palpatine responds with a sigh, halting the progression of his hand. 'Amidala and your Master.'
Silent contemplation. The young man puts his left hand over Palpatine's, knowing the latter's distaste for the prosthesis that serves as his right.
'You called Padmé sweet,' he finally says, at length. 'You don't think she's sweet at all. What was it you called her? "The thorn in your side"?'
'Indeed, Anakin. You caught me,' Palpatine responds with a chuckle that would sound entirely good-natured if Anakin did not know him better.
'Why must you mention either of them?' Anakin asks imploringly, his voice a thin reed of both despair and desire as he guides Palpatine's hand further down under the waistband of his sleep pants. At the same time, he feels the older man's arousal stirring behind him.
'Lamentably, they are every bit as much a part of your life as I am, my dear boy,' is the smooth reply. His mouth is close to Anakin's ear now, breath warm against his neck. The hand in his pants lowers with agonizing slowness, pausing to tease along the fine line of hair trailing downward. 'Or perhaps you enjoy toying with the affections of an old man.'
'You know that's not true,' Anakin breathes, pushing Palpatine's hand down to wrap around the stiffness of his cock.
'How do I know you're telling me the truth?' Palpatine asks, calculatingly as he strokes the young man's considerable erection. 'You're obviously skilled at the art of deception.'
Another snort, even as the young man moans, the sound hitching as he throws his head back, giving in to the older man's touch.
'I think I've given you plenty of evidence… of my devotion… to your… attentions… your Excellency.'
'I see.' Palpatine grins in the dappled darkness as he jerks his hand faster and harder over Anakin's cock, applying just the right amount of pressure to coax the orgasm almost painfully from the boy.
A strangled cry alerts him mere seconds before Anakin's release. He rubs it in, lubricating Anakin's cock with his own wetness, continuing his deliberate stroking until Anakin stops him, placing his hand over Palpatine's
'I'm still not entirely convinced.' The tone playful, but a hint of danger beneath it.
Anakin groans in mock frustration and turns to face Palpatine, kissing him hard. His tongue probes the older man's mouth with such neediness that Palpatine has to suppress the sudden, momentary urge to bite down on it, even as he thrills to the boy's desperation.
Sudden, insistent pressure on Anakin's shoulders. He lowers to his knees in front of Palpatine and looks up at him.
Palpatine's eyes, glittering like bene, so rare and precious on Tatooine. Anakin had once thought he could buy his mother's freedom if he could only find enough of the mineral.
That seems a lifetime ago now.
Palpatine touches his face softly, almost lovingly while Anakin's tongue traces an invisible path along the underside of his cock before rubbing the head lightly between his lips. Then, a teasing series of licks, infuriatingly slight.
He grips Palpatine's thickness in his flesh hand as he sucks lightly on first one, then the other testicle, rolling each one in his mouth with an expertness that had shocked the older man the first time he'd done it to him. He remembers that reaction keenly and pulls back, smiling up at Palpatine before brusquely, abruptly taking his cock all the way down his throat.
Finally a moan, low and promising. A hand in his hair.
His head bobs as he sets a rhythm to his sucking, relaxing the muscles of his throat to accommodate Palpatine's considerable girth. He lets up only once, to wet two of his fingers before thrusting them unceremoniously into the older man's ass.
'Oh, yes. Yes, that's it.' Almost a plea to Palpatine's voice, his eyes closed as he clearly surrenders to Anakin's ministrations.
Anakin smiles around Palpatine's cock, and begins to alternately relax and contract his throat. Palpatine groans loudly now, rocking his hips back and forth against Anakin's hand, Anakin's mouth, the growing pleasure momentarily eclipsing any sense of control he has. He is the young man's willing slave in this instant, this sliver in time.
He comes in pulsing waves that edge blackness into the periphery of his vision when he opens his eyes to stare up at the ceiling, cradling Anakin's head as he finishes him off. Palpatine finally urges him up from the floor and sweeps his tongue across Anakin's lips, hoping to taste himself, yet not entirely surprised when he does not.
'Are you convinced yet?'
The young man's smile: impudent, satisfied. He considers the question, narrowing his gaze at him until Anakin's smile falters.
'Perhaps in time.'
Palpatine returns to his bed.