I. First Time

Cool evening mist on the lake outside, fireplace warmth turning the sitting room golden.

Her veil on the floor, her dress on top of it.

'Do you trust me?' he asked.

'Of course.'

'Do you love me?' he asked.

'Even more so.'

He was on top of her, resting on his knees and elbows. She was beneath him, her skin pinkish, maybe from the fire, maybe from something else. Her lips were full, ripe. Parting just a little. Her tongue wet her bottom lip then her teeth nipped it. He wanted to do the same. His mouth descended onto hers.

The nervous energy flowed out from their limbs and crackled on their fingertips.

'This is my first time.' He admitted what she must already know.

'Mine too,' she whispered.

He was privately glad. Nobody else had been where he had been. Nobody else had been allowed to know her the way he was going to. And nobody else ever would (he would make sure of it–the thought came darkly to his mind and was dismissed). She was his wife, the secret name of Skywalker given to her in front of a brilliant sunset.

What was it his mother had said about the sun?

'You can't stop the change any more than you can stop the suns from setting.'

When he was a boy he had become a Jedi in the last rays of the sun. When he was a man he had become a husband in that same light.

What would this change do to his life?

Better not to think of it. She was waiting for him. That was all that mattered. What mattered was Padmé, his wife. What mattered was the way the grip of her arms around his neck said 'I love you'. What mattered was the way her nipples were the colour of a flower petal.

They kissed again and then they were grinding, writhing, like two snakes entwined with each other, getting tangled, getting stuck like that forever. The fabric of the sofa rubbed against her back, creating the friction that he wanted to cause, stealing the idea before he'd had a chance to do it.

He was too excited. He bit his lip to not cum too fast; he wasn't even inside her yet. It was all too much and every nerve ending was exposed, every layer of him peeled away like the skin of a fruit until the flesh was exposed, raw and sweet. Something ready to be devoured.

Devour me whole. Don't spare any expense in your love for me.

I want need all of it.

His hand trembling, he touched those petal pink nipples so softly his fingers were barely there. She moaned; he grew harder. And more confident–he touched her there again. He had no experience at all. Intuition was his only guide here. He tried again, this time brushing the nipple with his thumb. It was as hard as he was, a tiny pink mountain surrounded by a darker lake of colour.

Every day of my life I could see this, if I wanted to. The thought carried a strange power.

Every second without her was a waste of life. Duty be damned, he had all he needed right here.

Now his hands cupped her breasts. They were small, his hands spanning each curve right where they should. Perfect fit. She groaned again, the sound escaping through her gritted teeth. Her eyes were closed. Her lashes were long and dark. She still wore the makeup she'd been married in.

Her own hands were exploring the muscles of his back. He had removed his shirt but kept his pants. There was a sense of finality in removing those that perhaps he wasn't ready for just yet. But soon, oh Force it had to be soon. His aching cock rubbed up against the stretched fabric to remind him (as if I could forget).

All of his attention was for her, but in a blink of an eye he saw the door to the room was open just the smallest amount. Enough for a loth-cat to slink through. Enough for a prying eye to uncover a secret, pupils wide with the shock and the dim light.

He did not care. She would, he didn't.

Let them look at us and wish they had just a moment of this.

He straightened up. Her arms and legs protested, unwilling to let him go, but it was time; he couldn't wait any longer. His cock ached so bad he couldn't help dipping his hand inside his pants, wrapping his fingers around the base of it and giving it a few strokes. A drop of liquid appeared at the tip and he was on the brink of insanity. He got up and removed his pants. Almost shaking, he got up and stood a little way from the sofa, maybe more than he needed to. His fingers fumbled.

She waited for him still. Her hand traced the trail of his fingers upon her breasts. He had a sudden thought of her alone in her bed on Coruscant, waiting for him like this. Touching herself like that.

Maybe that was the future. What mattered was the now. And she was waiting for him.

Naked now, he eased himself onto the sofa, on top of her, his knees sinking into the cushions again and bringing them closer. Their bodies were almost touching, only a millimetre separating them. They were both electric. They were both on fire. Both about to combust.

No going back.

At first he saw nothing in her eyes but his own reflection, and then her eyes were full of a tenderness so sweet that it brought a lump to his throat, thinking that she could look at him like that (that she could love him like that), and she cupped his face with her hands and drew his lips to hers and it was the taste of honey and it was the rush of falling.

'I love you,' she assured him. Words he could never get tired of hearing. Words he was learning to believe – he was deserving of her love. He was someone who could be wanted. Despite it all.

'Angel' was all he said. A reply and a statement all in one.

He touched her, his flesh hand trembling only the slightest amount. He was still timid with his other hand, the new one. When she had taken hold of it during the ceremony it had meant everything in the galaxy to him, but he was still so conscious of it. Its newness smarted and shone.

She was so warm. She was so wet. He wanted to taste her, to bring his fingers to his lips, (what does a goddess taste like? Summer fruit? Stardust?) but he was worried she would find it uncouth. When he hesitated just the slightest, she reached out for his hand and drew it back to her. She placed it where she wanted it, her confidence making him harder, making him throb. When she fingers herself does she look like this? He bit his lip, teeth almost finding blood.

He rubbed her clit with his fingers that were still slicked with her. She groaned and ground her backside into the sofa cushion. Her eyes were closed, screwing tighter shut when he moved his fingers inexpertly, rubbing her clit, exploring the rest of her. Every now and then her hand would guide him to a spot she liked better, and he noted each movement for the future. He was a fast learner.

Oh Force, he was so hard he thought he might die. When she reached to grab his cock, he thought he would.

She gripped it with her hand, rubbing up the shaft until she was at the tip, and the pad of her thumb rubbed a gentle circle and he groaned, oh Force oh Force, he was going to cum already.

'Padmé.' His voice became a shuddering breath. 'I … I don't think I can wait much longer.

It was an embarrassing revelation; Anakin's armpits prickled because of it, but she understood.

It was a tight fit, even tighter than he'd expected. He slid into her slowly, each millisecond of it the most he'd ever felt of anything ever. He couldn't help but grunt because it felt so good; the sound felt too crude, too animalistic, and his cheeks burned red until she smiled and he knew it was okay.

When he began to move, her face changed, and he stopped.

'Padmé?'

'It's okay,' she murmured. She pressed her forehead to his. 'Just be gentle.'

He began again, and they kept their foreheads pressed together for a while as he went slowly. She wrapped her legs around him tighter and he sunk deeper, to the base, and every second was delicious, delirious. A dream; it must be, he must have a fever. Maybe he did. It was so hot in here.

I love you I love you I love you I love you. Every thrust inside of her punctuated with those words. The only thought in his head. I love you I love you I love you so much I love you I need you I want you I love you I love you …

Afterwards, he pulled out of her, spent. There was a wet patch underneath her when she moved. Some remote part of him understood the significance of that wet patch, what it could mean for the both of them. A quick glance at her toned stomach. A thought to revisit in a distant future. She was protected–had mentioned it shyly before they had parted ways to dress for the ceremony.

But maybe one day … That was as far as he thought. One day was not this day.

He collapsed onto the floor. The sofa was not big enough for them to lie side-by-side. He lay on his back on the woven rug and he grinned because oh Force , oh FORCE, he was married and in love and nothing had ever been better than this.

Maybe nothing could be better. Maybe this was the high point of his life. Oh well. Better take it.

Even stars burn out–but he ignored that part. Love was forever, right? You didn't stop loving someone once you'd started–at least, he never had.

She reached down and held his hand and he squeezed hers tight. He moved into a sitting position, cross-legged, and leaned over so he could kiss her where she lay on the sofa. Her eyes were closed and she hummed softly when his lips explored hers.

This was new. They were new.

The fire crackled in the grate and a wind blew up, the window panes rattling. A storm was coming. He could feel the pressure change. It was much too hot in here; sweat shone jewel-like on the both of them. It beaded on his upper lip; the soft, blond hairs damp.

Padmé came down onto the floor next to him, and they lay together on the rug. It was cooler, comfortable. He didn't mind the heat of her body pressed against his. It meant they were both alive. So so alive. More than ever. It was important that they were alive. It was important that she was alive.

He cut his thoughts off there.

They fell asleep. She was cradled under his arm and her skin smelled like the meadow and Anakin was so in love that it hurt.

II. Last time

Cold city air in an artificial room. A sense of unreality rested like a blanket over everything. Smothering them.

Five months was an eternity when this many things had changed.

'Be careful of the baby,' she murmured, her hand rubbing underneath the weight of her stomach.

He nodded. The baby, the baby. Everything was the baby. What about him?

He slipped inside of her, perfect fit. Her body was different but she was the same. She was Padmé, she was his wife. She was home. Some things didn't change. Couldn't change. Love was one of those things–right?

Right?

Her belly made it a little difficult. It bumped up against him with each thrust, reminding him, over and over, of how long he had been away, and how much things had changed, and how much things would change.

'You can't stop the change–' but he cut off his mother's voice, as was the norm now. He never thought of her. He never remembered, at least not on purpose. His mother was gone. Let his memories be gone too. He didn't need them. The pain was his reminder.

But soon Padmé would be a mother, and that would mean he would be … best not to think of it right now. The feeling of falling and nowhere to land.

'Can we change position?'

Padmé opened her eyes, slackened her limbs. 'Ani? Is everything okay?' He cringed at the insecurity in her voice. She must be worried about what he thought of her changed body.

'Of course.' He smiled at her, leaned down to kiss her, still inside her, still a part of her, never wanting to be apart from her again. My soul is replaced with you. He was heartsore from missing her. He was heartsore for a lot of things, lately.

'Are you sure?' Her soft hands on either side of his face. Pulling him to her and pulling him out of himself.

Can I climb inside your body and live there for a little while?

No, because something (someone) else has already taken your place.

Her knowing eyes searched him for an answer. She was waiting. His stiff cock twitched and he ached for her. Her breasts were bigger now and her nipples were still the colour of a flower petal. He pulled out of her, still so hard, still so aching. Still so heartsore.

'Can you go on top?'

She was lying on her back. Her hand was on her belly. It was full and ripe, like a shuura fruit. You could bite into a shuura fruit, devour it whole, its sweet juice running down the sides of your mouth. He descended between her legs, the idea of her riding him suddenly forgotten. He had to devour her. He had to consume her. He ate her, his tongue relishing the taste, she was so wet, he was an expert now. She groaned, panted. Whimpered. Her hands knotted in his curls. He rubbed his cock against the sheets, and then, because he couldn't help it, because he was so hard, he grabbed it with one hand, his flesh hand, pumped it as he feasted on her.

For a moment he came up for air. 'You're so beautiful.' Echoes of his words from earlier, on the balcony, when everything had felt alright. When he had felt hope. When he had felt happy.

His wife, a baby. A family. Secret, yes. Unexpected, yes. But still, a family. He had let himself get carried away. Let himself believe in the 'what if'.

Now, he was afraid. It was midnight and they were here, in their bed, where he hadn't been for five months, and he should be happy, he should be overjoyed in fact, but there was something pulling his attention, something at the back of his mind. A feeling he had felt before Anakin help me! No, mom, no, don't, a feeling that he had been running from for three years. But it was catching up. And when he looked in his wife's eyes, full of nothing but love for him and for the baby (their baby), nothing but hope, dream come true perhaps, Anakin tried to feel the same way. Tried to enjoy the feel of her warm body, tried to enjoy the wonderment of the child's movement. But he was afraid.

He was so afraid.

When she came she bucked forward despite the weight of her belly. She stayed like that for a glorious millisecond, a goddess, Venus, an Angel, anything more than the mortal she really was, her face pure ecstasy and nothing more. Then she fell back, slightly awkwardly, onto the pillows. Her hand came to rub her belly again. He ignored it.

When he was finished they both collapsed into nothing. He crumpled into sleep.

They were spent, two stars burned out.

Their lives were short.