Disclaimer: Star Wars and all associated characters, plotlines, and worlds (good and bad) are property and copyright © of George Lucas (aka The Richest Man in Hollywood). This is purely for fan entertainment only.
Chapter 2
Upon arriving at the masquerade ball, they were immediately accosted by several guests, all of them eager to catch the first glimpse at which politician was wearing what costume, what mask. The gossip was already ripe before they set foot into the ballroom, as they were a tad more than fashionably late. Word seemed to follow them in as everyone immediately recognized Senator Amidala, but were incapable of figuring out who the dashing figure beside her was.
They heard the whispers, "Oh my, who is that!" or "My goodness, that man!" Anakin only gave Padmé a smug grin in response.
Padmé learned it was not easy to mingle with the Jedi Knight hovering at her side, and grew grateful for the chords strumming up with the next dance. Anakin seized the opportunity, recognizing it as a lovers' dance, the provocative longing throbbing through the rhythm. He drew her quickly to him, her cheek pressed against his own, his hand wrapping snugly about her hip.
They followed the fast pace, relishing the only dance in which it was not against propriety to embrace, to grasp, to feel. His breath rushed with hers, their movements mimicking the craving, the yearning, of the pulsating music. It was only when the last beat had died off that he released her from his hold, bringing a gloved hand to touch her chin, his blue eyes intensely holding her gaze.
He tilted his chin down, the music still echoing through his brain, thirsting for her lips. Her tongue darted out, moistening in anticipation. His face loomed towards hers but jerked back as sirens rang out. He shook his head, thinking at first it was in his imagination, a mental warning. Then, as she crinkled her eyebrows in wonder, he realized it was an actual physical alarm. "What's going on?" he asked, disoriented.
She grabbed his hand, leading him towards the throng of people streaming through the doors in the rear. "Fire alarm." Padmé explained, her fingers clasping his own.
The ballroom had evacuated into the streets of Coruscant. If he had not been part of the mess, he would have laughed from afar at the scene: it was pouring rain and the delicate costumes of many of the women were ruined. Instead, he found himself wishing wistfully for the cloak that he had been advised so many times of always wearing.
Padmé did not seem to mind as much, and was tilting her head back, letting the drops fall on her mask and bare forehead, the cool moisture soothing heated skin. She turned back to him, "Where did you learn to dance?"
He shrugged, blushing bashfully. "Obi-Wan taught me."
The beautiful Senator cocked an eyebrow, "Oh?"
Anakin grinned, taking her hand in his own once more. "Yes, it has been useful in diplomatic negotiations."
He let her imagination stew in the possibilities of the women he had shared dances with, particularly that dance. She's so cute when she's jealous. She was about to snap a retort, but a handful of politicians approached. "Senator Amidala, an introdu…" one began, but trailed off as the couple disappeared into the guests.
Padmé laughed as they fled the scene and worked through the streets of Coruscant on foot, towards the Senatorial apartments. "I'm afraid that was the only way out of that one." She smiled an appreciation of his quick thinking.
Anakin shrugged, "One day, I'm going to be able to introduce you as my wife, as I legally should." He caught her gaze, the intention clear as he remembered precisely what he enjoyed doing as her husband, echoed through the desire in the dance earlier.
She flushed, waiting eagerly for the turbolift in her building. As soon as they entered it and the doors closed them out of sight, he pressed her against the wall of the lift, his fingers seeking her chin once more. His lips came against hers immediately, seeking the sweetness of her tongue. Anakin's embrace did not end until the lift stopped finally on her floor.
As they fumbled through the door, masks were tossed away and the first few buttons of her gown were already taken out of tiny eyelets. Breathlessly, she felt wonder at the delicate machinations his lithe fingers were capable of, whether they were working on machines, her gown, or her flesh. Just the thought of it sent a shiver down her spine, which he took advantage of, moving his hot mouth to the delicate curve of her neck.
Anakin had started feasting upon her collar bone, edging the gown off of her shoulders, when he was interrupted by a low chime, his holocommunicator buzzing for his attention. He groaned loudly, frustration marking the lines of his face. "I could swear Obi-Wan pulled the fire alarms, I didn't see any fire. He's always interrupting everything." He fumbled with the small electronic, setting it on audio only. "What?" he barked.
"Your presence is requested at the Temple." His Master's all-too-cheerful voice rang out.
His nostrils flared and he took a deep breath before continuing, his eyes drawing painfully to the revealed skin at Padmé's neckline, his body aching in a reminder of the last time he had been able to delight in her soft skin. "Not now."
There was no pause, only the simple reminder, "They will never take the recommendation that you become a Master seriously if you do not heed their requests."
Anakin at once was torn between the two, ambition and lust flooding his mind. Blue eyes went again to her breast, watching it rise and fall with her breath. "What is it about?"
A chuckle. "It seems that the security at your ball apprehended two younglings who had thought it a fun prank to pull the fire alarms."
Irritation sparked. That is the second time those two brats have interrupted my time with Padmé, tonight, then. "I will be there, shortly." He replaced the communicator. All he had time for was a handful of kisses, and a heated whisper, "I'll be back soon."
