AN:
Cheire – I love that last part too! As for Scintel yeah... I don't wanna give anything away but you're probably not gonna like her much here :D XO
Guest – I love the words you used to describe Anakin and Padme's chemistry. To be honest, I don't disagree with your rant. Clone wars isn't really my thing. Nothing against it, I just don't use it for character study. My source for writing the characters always comes from George's movies – especially for Anakin/Vader like when I wrote The Little Things (there's just deeper psychological work/insight in the films for me to catch onto). So if you're worried about Ahsoka taking over this story, worry not! She will appear sporadically but the plot will focus on Anakin and Padme's connection xo
Smooth Enigma
Man, it's a hot one
Like seven inches from the midday sun
Well, I hear you whisper and the words melt everyone
But you stay so cool
You're my reason for reason, the step in my groove
Anakin took Padme to sit on one of the benches. One that provided a panoramic view of the racetrack. The infinite sky brings about constellations and a faint moon but the sun wasn't ready to set yet. They cohabitate for a while, sharing between them cloudy streaks. They come together like one soul threading light and dark, accepting the need for shadows in order to see the light – an opportunity to put aside their contradictory goals.
"So how do these races work?" Padme crossed her right leg over her left, placing her cream-coloured handbag between her and Anakin.
"It's a fairly simple sport. Your goal is to get the car from point A to point B." Anakin mocked her softly.
A genial grin almost escaped Padme's lips but she kept it under wraps beneath an annoyed eye roll.
"I know that!" Padme said with an undertone of exasperation. "I mean, how do you get involved?"
"Well, you get a team, you pay in. Each tournament lasts about a month. You race on weekends. Winner takes sixty percent of the prize money, the rest goes to Sebulba."
Padme found it odd that Sebulba got such a high percentage of the earnings. But she kept her eyes on the strenuous mannerisms of the people in front of them. They were setting up the whole area for the race, dragging orange cones around, hefting benches, a communal routine, part and parcel of a day's work.
"Ever won a race?" She turned back to Anakin.
And he gave her a look – one of sheer hubris. "I'm undefeated."
"Really?" She pressed with a raise of an eyebrow.
He sighed as he recollected his escapades. "Only lost once. To this guy Maul. But he was backed by the Hutts so. . .I'm a little suspicious."
"Hutts?" Padme's forehead crinkled, confused.
"Crime lords."
Astounded by the news, Padme had to stop her eyes from widening. Her mind wandered mazily, sifting through his expressions. "I – can't tell if you're joking."
"I'm not." He replied earnestly. "Sebulba thinks they were up to something. . .but he's gonna stay in their good graces. You wanna keep those guys on your side..." Anakin glanced at her effortlessly. "Why do you think the police haven't been able to shut us down? I'm pretty sure you called to tell on us the night we met."
No wonder Dorme didn't think too highly of these guys.
"So, wait, let me get this straight..." Padme now faced him fully. And Anakin propped one knee up in a triangle, resting his sneaker on the edge of the seat. "You've won every race except for one."
Anakin confirmed this with a sedate head bob.
"Now don't take offense to this but. . .wouldn't you make a lot more money?"
Anakin gave off another sigh like the subject was a little tiresome, dull, and one he didn't give much thought to.
"Sebulba doesn't pay in-house participants." He explained. "Don't get me wrong he pays you for your job. I get paid for all the work I do on the cars. . .but if we wanna partake in the races, the money goes to him."
"That's not fair!"
"Well we don't have to pay the admission fee either." Anakin reasoned.
Padme sat with the information. Her lawyer brain just couldn't turn off. It was a sneaky, under-the-table corruption, laced with injustice, and she didn't understand why anyone would stand idly by a mediocre deal. "Alright but. . .given that you've won so many times and won him plenty of money, haven't you considered renegotiating?"
"Nah." Anakin shrugged it off. "In some ways I think it's better that it remains a hobby. What I get out of racing my car, money can't buy. Plus, today, I get to help Sebulba get back at the Tuskens." He pointed over to his opponent's team and Padme followed his index finger to the group of young men – some were adolescent. They were already drinking, celebrating the fact that they had made it to the final race.
"What do you have against them?" She questioned.
"They lie, cheat, and steal." Anakin clicked his tongue and his eyes flashed darkly. "The scum of the earth."
Padme seemed quite surprised by Anakin's obvious disdain. "And Sebulba is what, the good samaritan?" She sneered.
Anakin grew quiet. She got a glimpse of the implacable anger written on his face. A looming dark cloud pulled at his eyelids as they lowered. His eyes remained on the ground as memory enfolds him. "Sebulba's a lot of things. But he wouldn't have done what they did."
"What did they do?"
She waited for an answer that took a while to leave his lips. It was as though he had extinguished the past and was reluctant to fire it up again. Resentment seared in his mind. He had to give himself a minute to decide whether he wanted to bring it up.
"...About three years ago, Ahsoka – the girl from my apartment... Her parents were killed in a car accident." He paused to emphasize his ridiculous choice of words. "Accident... " He scoffed before correcting himself. "A hit and run."
He lowered the leg that was propped up on the bench and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. With an unyielding gruff voice, he continued. "I know it was them. I have it on good authority. . .they didn't even call an ambulance first. Just fled the scene and left them to die."
His eyes shifted like he couldn't bring himself to admit the whole truth.
"I'm sorry." Padme soothed gently. She turned her eyes back onto the plethora of people in front of them getting on with the day. She didn't want to pressure him with more questions.
Anakin remembered the night he was told that the Tuskens were involved. He had raced over to where they often met up, their sanctuary, broke into their place and just swung away. And he probably wouldn't have stopped until they were dead. He was consumed by rage, an emerging, vengeful shadow. And if it weren't for Sebulba finding out and coming to stop him, he would've spent a lifetime in jail instead of a night in a juvenile detention centre.
He also remembered how Sebulba encouraged him to come and work for him back then when he was seventeen. But Anakin had other things to take care of.
Padme observed him again. He had been quiet for quite some time now. And even in his thoughts he still wasn't completely honest about that night.
He could feel her eyes on him and quickly dropped whatever thoughts remained, aware of the pull the deluge of the past had on him, the draining tales of Tatooine. Luckily the sounds of a smooth engine and a familiar voice brought him back.
"Ani!" Kitster called over from the driver's seat of a 1990 white Porsche 911, interrupting the woeful silence between Anakin and Padme. "You're riding this one! A Carrera."
Anakin stood up and headed over to his friend, skeptical as he studied the car. It was difficult for him to part with Artoo. "I don't know, Kit."
Padme watched Anakin from the bench with a curious, invested eye as he scratched his jaw. His fingernails moving along his jaw represented his anxiety rather than a persistent itch — like a nervous tick. He seemed to hesitate, to search for an exist strategy, to pull back in the face of change. In fact, in the couple of weeks she's known him she noticed the concept of change alone seemed to constrict his heart with anguish.
"It's one race." Kitster assured. "You got this!"
Anakin's eyes caught up with Padme's. "I'm gonna give it a test drive. Wait for me?" Even the way he asked her a question or requested a favour came across like an order. But a gentle one. One she was enticed to honour.
Kitster got out of the driver's seat and made way for Anakin.
The commotion once the race cars were parallel to each other was patent. The crowds were hungry for entertainment. There was an immense rush of alacrity across the board. Everybody wanted, with an intemperate aim, to start the weekend.
Padme took in the eclectic verve of the people around her. It seemed every part of this park was occupied by people who shared the same vibrant energy. There were women in bikinis ready and waiting to dance in the sand to the pending rhythms of a guitar as a band prepared to set up after the races. On the other side, away from the cars were families sitting in a circle, feasting on packed sandwiches and sodas, a celebratory picnic, and then there were the boisterous movements of young adults ruffling around; they rivaled the calm, serene energy of the senior citizens lounging on patio furniture that they must have brought from their homes across the road.
The lives of the locals, full of high spirits, zestful, connecting generations, ready to make the most of their day off. It was a carnival of all walks of life. It was one of the few times the neighbourhood seemed to come together and forget the troubles of the daily rut... work, struggles, obligations.
Padme looked back at the racetrack. Anakin was getting into the Carrera while the racer of the Tusken's got into a red C5 Corvette. In between the lavish cars was a woman. She had glowing skin and wore a burgundy crop top and an asymmetrical skirt. She had dancers' legs and hips by the look of her as she got the crowd lively and riotous with a shimmy.
Anakin stuck his arm out the window, motioning for the woman to come over to him. He whispered something in her ear, to which she responded with an enthusiastic nod of agreement. As she headed back in between the vehicles, Anakin searched for Padme behind the many groups of people, finding her still on the bench, sheltered from the active crowd.
His stare remained sharply on her, a heady, intoxicating gaze with every intention of being obvious. He then shot her a wink, which sparked an exhilaration, an exuberance. A wink that made her knees weak with rapture and formed a shy smile on her face.
I'll tell you one thing
If you would leave it'd be a crying shame
In every breath and every word
I hear your name calling me out
And if you say this life ain't good enough
I would give my world to lift you up
I could change my life to better suit your mood
Because you're so smooth
The woman in burgundy raised her arms up high in the air and counted down from three with her fingers. She then waved the cars off and, immediately, thunderous engine roars had people rallying, even though they were getting covered in smoky sand as the cars took off with a blazing fast speed. A speed which suffocates the air, wedging them in a fog of dust, leaving behind the shrieking sounds of tires long after they've driven away.
The tone of the unruly atmosphere was a dichotomy between deviant and majestic. It had the dark, down and dirty, grunge factor mixed with the effervescent sounds of freedom – a vigorous energy, light-hearted fun, free from restrictions.
The dark-haired woman in the burgundy co-ord made her way over to Padme. Her bright blue eyeshadow was the first thing Padme noticed along with her pearly white smile as she approached her.
"Hey!" The woman welcomed with a gust of encouragement. "You're Anakin's friend, right? Padme?"
"Yeah." Padme smiled softly.
"I'm Aayla." She held out her hand with such a natural friendliness it was quite endearing. "Anakin told me to watch out for you."
"Oh thanks." Padme said politely, but she wanted to laugh at the silliness of his request.
"So can I get you anything? A drink, something to eat?"
"No, I'm good. Thank you though."
"Ugh, I gotta sit down for a bit." Aayla stretched her arms up, groaning from aching muscles.
"Please." Padme invited, moving her bag out of the way so Aayla could join her on the bench.
"So how long have you known Anakin?" At first Padme just wanted to make conversation but she quickly considered this an opportunity to see his world.
"Since he joined us." Aayla replied, taking off her wide headband that she had wrapped around her wrist and placed it over her head to keep her hair out of her eyes. "Gosh, it must be at least a couple years ago now. He was this wild eighteen year old when I met him – who just got behind the wheel and blew us away. He went flying!" Aayla chuckled as she pictured it. "He just flew off, the daredevil! He was fleeing something – I don't know, his past, I guess..."
Aayla's bubbly vibe didn't diminish despite how depressing her words sounded.
"What makes you say that?" Padme wondered out loud.
"Why else would you come here?" Aayla's response was rhetorical yet her optimism remained eminent. "Everyone's escaping something. And, here, for a couple of hours on weekends. . .you're free."
Padme looked ahead, watching the two cars accelerate round the corners, shooting through the lanes like bullets. "They're going fast." She commented. Eagle-eyed once she noticed the Tusken leader almost precipitate a crash, deliberately bumping into Anakin's car. "That other guy isn't playing fair."
Aayla let out a languid sigh like nothing shocked her. "You're new here." And Padme glanced back at her, perplexed.
"The Tuskens," Aayla elucidated. "They're their own tribe. And they've stolen a lot from us over the years. Can't leave your bag or shoes – nothing." She warned, pointing to Padme's cream-coloured handbag. "This is a setup. Sebulba made sure they'd make it to the final so they'd have to race Anakin... They're not gonna beat Anakin." She added bluntly. "So they'll have to pay the prize money. And we get it all back."
Padme pursed her lips. She was skeptical and, dare she say, cynical, but she responded back with a tenderness. "But Sebulba isn't going to give you guys that money."
"No. But he'll invest it into this whole thing. A place that attracts the bands, the food trucks, the life, the fun. So we still have our escape." The way Aayla pontificated about the park made it sound like a fantastical place – like to some people this was the ultimate escapist's dream, a fairytale. "And in cases like these, the experience is way more fulfilling than the money."
"Hm." A contemplative Padme reconsidered how she viewed the way they operated with Sebulba. She didn't agree with it but whether or not they were settling, she realized an attainable dream differs from person to person. "Anakin said something similar."
"Yeah, well, you know how they say a broken clock is right twice a day? Anakin is lost most of the time but every now and then you get these little pearls of wisdom." Aayla expressed an almost imperceptible chuckle. "Anakin's. . .he's a smart kid. You have no idea what's going on in that head of his. . .but it's those eyes, you know? He walks around, like, without a care in the world but you look into those eyes and see he's carrying a lot. . .there's so much going on there that you don't even know about."
Aayla's speech kept ringing in her ear and seemed to simultaneously offer Padme relief and exacerbation. It confirmed for her that she was right to see something in Anakin. But as she sat there deep in thought, in a hard as steel rumination, there was so much she didn't know. And she didn't know what she was getting herself into.
But then a cool breeze of air ran through her hair, like an interval from the mind's ramblings. And it made Padme realize that she wanted to go with her gut. Regardless of what her boss might think or what Dorme had said. If Aayla could peel back the layers and see the humanity and soul underneath a tough and inconspicuous exterior, then she too wanted to be brave enough to explore what she saw in his eyes.
It was head-spinning, nerve-racking, an ebullient force of cheers and stomps of feet when Anakin won the race. Padme could barely see him through the crowd as everyone rushed over to the two cars.
She thought it would be best to sit back and wait until things had died down and the crowd had dispersed but the entire celebration was halted thanks to the barks of the scorned Tusken leaping out of the Corvette and through the mass of revelers.
"He cheated!" The man dashed toward Anakin with his claims, pushing past people as though they were useless obstacles. "You cheated!" He yelled again once he stood before Anakin.
The haste, the note of fury, the sense of peril all clouded the area at once. And Padme's view was quickly shut off thanks to the swarms of fascinated onlookers.
The little man ignored the obvious height difference between him and Anakin and chased his need for retribution. His fist reached up and his wobbly aim landed a punch on Anakin's mouth. He felt this rapid, anxious pressure to seek vengeance and it caused Anakin's tooth to cut his lip.
Anakin sucked his bottom lip, searching the cut with his tongue from the inside of his mouth. He remained stood there, stealth and silent, deadly as his vision narrowed in on his attacker. After the quick shot of adrenaline had simmered down, the man slowly felt his feet freeze upon noticing Anakin's glare.
He took one careful step back, ready to follow it with another but Anakin had pounced before anyone had the time to even shiver. He grabbed the wrist of the Tusken, the arm that went flying at his face, and twisted it behind the man's back. The Tusken cried out in pain as Anakin kneed him to the car, bending him over the hood to stretch the arm further. Blocked between Anakin and the car, the Tusken tried with sinuous movements to release himself from Anakin's firm clasp.
The acute strain an unmerciful Anakin put on his arm made the man resort to begging for a ceasefire. Luckily, the audience intervened, persuading Anakin to let go.
The Tusken was freed, sent out into the arms of his supporters as they rushed him away. But not before catching the laconic threat of Anakin's glare.
"Put your hands on me again, I'm taking the arm off." Anakin growled with the perfect balance of cruel and calm in his voice.
The air finally cleared from being stale and stifling. As everyone went back to their cliques, the band began to play, ready to cleanse the sky, the environment with their own musical ambiance.
Kitster strode across the sand to Anakin who remained by his car. He wanted to ensure Anakin had cooled off. Anakin spit blood on the ground before sucking any exposed blood on the cut. He brushed off Kit and the rest of the bystanders and made a beeline for Padme who was running over to hm now that she could finally get a good view.
"Is everything okay?" She asked hurriedly.
"Yeah." He smiled lightly as though nothing had happened. "Is it even a real race if no punches are thrown?"
"He punched you?!" She said, appalled.
"A pathetic excuse for a punch." Anakin murmured as if it were merely a trivial matter. He sounded like he almost pitied the Tusken's endeavor.
Padme caught sight of the small cut on his lip. "Come here, I have wet wipes in my purse."
Anakin slouched down on the bench, propping his head on the backrest as Padme tended to his lip.
"I didn't expect the races to break out into a brawl." She chuckled, surprised, having no other option but to laugh at the absurdity.
"Happens more often than you think." Anakin came across quite blase about it all.
"You guys are crazy." She uttered hopelessly as she smiled down at him.
His eyes squinted with mischief. "Does it turn you on?"
"Shh." She pretended to be unamused by his audacity, concealing a smirk. But his eyes remained fixed on her as she wiped away the blood on his bottom lip. Her brown eyes were magnetic – he could look at them forever. From here he could feel her warm breath, smell her heavenly perfume – he was elated in her savior-like embrace.
"There." She announced, scrunching up the wet wipe and tossing it back in her purse to avoid littering. "Luckily it's just a scratch." She sighed softly. "You're all put back together."
"Thanks." He said with quiet gratitude.
The mellow look on his face had her smiling back at him without even realizing it. She gazed intently at the delicate edges of his face. The shape might as well have been intricately carved by angels – or the devil – every detail designed to move, mesmerize, and seduce. Her fingers lightly stroked his cheek, grazing along his cheekbone up to his temple, where her sight honed in on the scar across his right eyebrow.
"Where'd you get that scar?" She asked
"Construction accident." He mumbled, not taking his eyes off her; surveying her was a cathartic bliss.
"What, you took an axe to the face?" She said in a half-serious manner.
"Something like that." Anakin's lack of interest in his past was not lost on Padme.
"...Looks deep." She lightly brushed her thumb along it to soothe, to say with touch what didn't need words.
Her soft spot for him had risen up to the surface, vividly on display. It was dreadful—or dreadfully heartwarming.
"It was." The sleek tone of his voice would make anyone in her position right now flutter with coy titillation.
"Does it hurt?" Her undertone was so melodic, so caring. It eloquently matched the nourishment from her hands. Her nurturing voice, the soft touch of her fingers, it spread a happiness, an impassioned esurience through his veins.
He shook his head lightly in response, gazing at her, loving the closeness, recalling how her lips felt on his when he kissed her before.
"I'm all stitched back together now." He beamed. And she saw clearly a gleam of light, a blue electricity bursting out of his twinkling eyes. It was euphoric.
"Ani!"
The call from Aayla forced Anakin and Padme out of their hovering haze of sweetness and temptation. With a low groan in the back of his throat, Anakin lifted his head up to catch their interloper.
"You guys coming to dance or what?" Aayla exclaimed.
Anakin rested his head back down and turned to Padme. "You wanna?"
"No." Padme prudently scooted away, creating some much needed space between her and Anakin. Like Aayla's voice had woken her up before the risky freefall.
"You say no to everything." Anakin now sat up straight and gravitated back to her, rendering her effort to maintain a sensible distance moot. "It's your favourite word or something?"
"No." She grinned.
Anakin shook his head disapprovingly before taking her hand. "Come on."
He took hold of her handbag and quickly trotted over to his truck. He inserted the bag through the window, and Padme remembered what Aayla mentioned about certain thieves after your bags and shoes around here.
Anakin drags Padme to the centre where the band played. Everyone around them was already moving to the jazzy rhythm bridging rock and blues, a rhythm which instills the fervidity of the liberated, evokes the animated. Anakin guides Padme in front of him with a protective hand on her waist as they watch the band play. She finally starts to find the beat enveloping her nerves, and she relaxes with each note drawing her in to a freedom, the very essence of living in the moment.
Anakin should've been looking at the band but his eyes stuck to her, to the way her fine hair looks like it'd be feathery to the touch, the smell of her shampoo perfumes under his nose with a fragrance that induces his arousal, the way her neck curves up, the way her shirt is tucked neatly into her skirt, outlining exactly where her hips sway. A skirt he wanted to hike up to reveal the smooth curvature of her silky thighs and–
–No. He quickly contained himself, distracted himself by becoming aware of the band, their surroundings, and he decided to shake off his impulsions with a dance.
He spins her around and she feels untrammeled in the twirl. Her hips loose, her hair wild. She feels her heart pounding in her chest, opening up as her arms open out, free. He spins her back towards him and they bump noses for a split-second. She giggles. And her laughter is as melodic as the tunes the band plays. Until his hand wanders to the small of her back, silencing her, pulling her body close to his, chest to chest, hip to hip, heart to heart, igniting a flame, joy in the stillness as they breathe each other in. They are nervous with curiosity. Before she can catch her breath, they're off again. The quick steps of their feet, the slides, the turns of the heels make the winds blow past quicker, sending a breeze back to cool the hot air that clings to their skin. He picks her up, deftly swinging her around either side of him – her legs swing from one side of his body to the other. Her tiny frame feels light as he moves her with ease. She's flying, ecstatic, floating on air with his arms wrapped around her waist. He finally lets her feet touch the ground and beams of sweat drip down their foreheads from the whirlwind of movement.
Overwhelming her with his frenzied style, he dips her, and her hair tumbles down, shining streaks of sun-kissed brown locks. He gazes at her, and there's an insurmountable tension as his eyes, like a hunter, scan her with interest. Her shirt is now stretched tight against the round curves of her breasts, her dainty neck falls back, accentuating the pleasant line of her collarbone, her lips are parted, and he can almost inhale her, craving what is aromatically feminine.
He brings her back up slowly. And they're face to face, almost holding in their exhalations, as though each breath were a secret. The heat from their exertions and breath are palpable. She holds onto his arms as though she would turn to liquid if she didn't and break with a confessing fever. They are sharing an unspoken intimacy that whispers what they pulse for before they could even put it into words.
She stumbles slightly but he holds her close so she can find her bearings.
"I feel dizzy." She admitted with a weak yet jovial smile.
A grin grew from his lips as though he had found a way to distribute the delicious senses evenly—and above the waist. "So do I."
And it's just like the ocean under the moon
It's the same as the emotion that I get from you
You got the kind of loving that can be so smooth
Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it
Let's don't forget about it, no
Let's don't forget about it, no
Santana feat. Rob Thomas - Smooth